Lust...Lost...Last Survivor.

Wu's gaze paused on them, his lips twitching as he tried to suppress his shock. "Madness," he muttered. "Absolute madness." But deep down, he couldn't help but admire the commander Jin, who—against all odds—had found a way to defy death with nothing more than his sheer mad audacity.

The humans have been pushed to this breaking point, having endured unspeakable atrocities at the hands of the demons for far too long. Their rage, while grotesque, stems from years of suffering, humiliation, and the destruction of everything they held dear. 

The demons weren't just enemies on the battlefield—they were living nightmares, relentless tormentors who had stolen their homes, their families, and their dignity. The madness and brutality now unleashed on the demons are, in their twisted way, acts of justified vengeance.

For years, humans had been nothing more than playthings for the demons' amusement. Cities burned, children were slaughtered, and women were defiled before their families were torn apart. The demons reveled in their power, treating humans like cattle, mere livestock to be toyed with or devoured at their leisure. Every day was a new horror. 

Every hour, a new atrocity. So when Commander Jin stood tall, pissing on the Iron Butcher, it wasn't just an act of madness—it was the human race pissing on years of oppression, defiling the symbols of their endless suffering.

The courage and madness of these soldiers joining Commander Jin's peeing defiance encouraged the rest of the army and it broke the dam of hesitation.

The human soldiers, once frozen by despair, found a new strength, they surged forward with newfound fury, driven by a sense of liberation from the terror of demons. Commander Jin's act of defiling the demons in such a humiliating manner had broken the dam of all hesitation, all terror. Now it was the time of defiance and revenge.

They came across the battlefield, picking their targets. The once-feared demons now looked vulnerable, even pathetic, to the human soldiers. 

The Scarlet Empress had been one of the worst offenders. Her seductive allure had led countless men to their deaths, or worse, turned them into mindless thralls who worshiped her as if she were some dark goddess. She had enslaved entire kingdoms, bending the wills of rulers and warriors alike, reducing proud men into obedient lap dogs. 

To defile and violate her dead body now, to rip her apart and turn her into nothing more than a defiled corpse, was the ultimate act of rebellion. It was as if the humans were saying, No more. They wouldn't be her toys, her mindless slaves. They would be free.

The next target was the Gilded King, Keeper of the Eternal Vault, his body glittering with treasures stolen from countless realms—gems, gold, and jewels embedded in his flesh like a grotesque mockery of wealth and power. A group of soldiers swarmed him, their eyes gleaming with both greed and fury. They hacked at his adorned form, prying off gems, ripping out gold, and tearing away his flesh like scavengers feasting on a carcass. The once-mighty demon, who had robbed human realms blind, was reduced to nothing but a naked, shriveled old man—a grotesque shell of what he once was. 

Every gem they took symbolized a life destroyed, every piece of gold, a dream stolen. And as iron spears pierced his sagging skin, driving through his heart, the last thing the Gilded King saw was his precious hoard scattered across the blood-soaked ground. For all his wealth, built on the suffering of thousands, there was no sympathy, no hesitation—only the justice of reclaiming what had been stolen, tearing down the symbol of their oppression.

Then came the Maw of the Abyss, Devourer of the Unseen, a grotesque creature who had swallowed entire towns and villages in a single breath, consuming not just bodies but hope itself. His bloated form, covered in ragged cloth, was a horror to behold, his enormous, gaping mouth never stopping its mindless chewing. Eyes wild and hungry, he searched the battlefield for something—anything—to devour. 

But the soldiers, disgusted by his monstrous hunger, dug a large deep pit and pushed him into the pit but before that they pried open his maw with spears and pierced the insides of his throat. Then just like Iron Butcher, In a vile act of defiance, they poured filth—piss and feces—into the great Devourer's mouth, forcing him to choke on the filth of humanity. It was more than just a sickening gesture; it was retribution. He had reduced them to nothing, and now they did the same to him, watching with twisted satisfaction as his endless hunger drowned in the filth of those he had once devoured.

The Iron Butcher? He had been the most feared of them all. His wrath had decimated cities, leaving nothing but ash and bones in his wake. He had burned human soldiers alive, laughing as their screams filled the night. They pushed him too into the same pit with the Maw of the Abyss, as he knelt in piss, drenched, drowned and humiliated, the tables had turned. He was no longer the executioner—he was the victim of a new kind of vengeance, a humiliation so deep that even his flames could not burn away the shame.

This was a new wave of madness in the battlefield, carrying the soldiers to their next victim: The Slumbering Monarch, Lord of Chains. The massive demon, too slothful to react, had been wrapped in heavy iron chains for centuries. His bloated, sluggish body barely moved as the soldiers descended upon him, using his own chains to choke him. His face twisted in pain, eyes bulging as the very tools of his confinement became his doom. The iron links constricted tighter and tighter, until his wheezing breath finally ceased, and the once-immovable Lord of Chains collapsed into a heap of flesh and iron.

The final target was the Withering Shade, Mistress of the Coveted. Small, hunched, and twisted, she was the ugliest of the Seven, her shriveled body frail and wretched compared to her fellow demon lords. Her glowing green eyes flickered with malice, but even she was not spared. Many soldiers, still venting their depravity on the Scarlet Empress's corpse, turned their depraved hatred toward the Withering Shade. Though far less desirable than the Empress, their hatred and fury knew no bounds.