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For better or worse, the mages and scholars found themselves thrust into the centre of a brewing storm, the Demon Horde looming ominously over their once-quiet realm. Their failure to recognize the true capabilities of the Demon Horde had plunged them into a crisis of unprecedented proportions.

It was a bitter revelation—the realisation that their arrogance and complacency had left them blind to the warnings that had echoed through the ages. The warnings from Ress, once dismissed as mere superstition, had proven all too real, yet it seemed they had chosen to ignore the signs.

The demons were not just mindless fiends; they were cunning adversaries who understood the very fabric of magic and could sever the mages’ powers with a flick of their grotesque wrists. As the news spread like wildfire through the kingdom, fear settled in like a dark fog, especially among the King and the high nobility.

With each passing hour, they felt the weight of impending doom pressing down upon them. Their lives hung by a thread, teetering on the edge of a precipice, and they were acutely aware that time was not on their side.

They were trapped in a gilded cage, and even their wealth and status provided little solace. The idea of facing death was alien to them, something they had never prepared for and never thought they would experience. Yet, amidst this chaos, denial bloomed like a poisonous flower. Many of the survivors clung to hope, scrambling to rationalize the impossible situation. Some whispered desperate suggestions, their voices laced with panic.

"What if we offer the mages and scholars to the demons?" one voice trembled. The notion was a last-ditch effort to buy time, to placate the merciless horde with the very people who had once been their protectors

. They believed that perhaps a sacrifice could spare their own lives, that the demons would be satisfied with a trade. It was an absurd thought, yet in the throes of fear, the line between reason and madness blurred.

But reality had other plans.

The Demon Horde, entrenched in their own self created ’internal’ struggles, paid little attention to the turmoil roiling within the kingdom’s walls. They revelled in chaos and conflict, their infighting a testament to their savage nature. To them, the plight of the humans was just another spectacle—one they would not be swayed by. Their hunger for power eclipsed any notion of negotiation or compromise. The desperation of the humans fell on deaf ears, replaced by their own primal instincts.

At the same time, the Demon Horde devised a cunning plan to exploit the vulnerabilities of their human counterparts. Though they lacked the ability to wield magic due to the formidable isolation barrier that rendered them powerless, they found a way to attack their enemies in a uniquely devastating manner.

Instead of fireballs and lightning bolts, they unleashed swarms of locusts—tiny agents of chaos designed for one purpose: to wreak havoc among the human population. These were no ordinary locusts; they were the apex of nanotechnology, the brainchild of the System’s Research Department. Infused with nano-processing chips, the locusts operated with perfect precision, autonomously programmed to seek out food within the inner quarters of human settlements.

Unlike the mages who could conjure spells, these creatures didn’t need magical manipulation to create disorder. Their very existence was a calculated strategy, aimed at disrupting the lives of humans and driving them towards insanity.

As the locusts descended upon the unsuspecting humans, they began their work of destruction. Their primary goal: to consume everything edible in sight, converting it into biofuel. This biofuel served a dual purpose. Not only did it sustain the locusts, but it was also transformed into a potent scent that wafted through the air, infiltrating the minds of those who inhaled it.

The effects were immediate and chaotic; rage, confusion, and even lethargy began to sweep through the human ranks. Some of these engineered locusts were equipped with the ability to release a sleep-inducing pheromone, further adding to the chaos as individuals succumbed to sudden bouts of unconsciousness.

The System’s Research Department was watching closely, eager to analyse the outcomes of their experiment. They were not merely interested in creating chaos; they sought to study the psychological and physical responses of the human population under these extreme conditions. Every reaction was meticulously documented, creating a feedback loop that would allow them to refine their strategies and enhance the efficacy of the locusts.

Meanwhile, the Demon Horde prepared for the inevitable fallout that would result from their actions. As insanity began to take hold, the Demon Horde anticipated the splintering of human alliances. Infighting was a natural consequence of chaos, and the more disarray they could sow, the less cohesive the humans would become.

With their enemies occupied, the Demon Horde could strengthen their own ranks, training and strategizing while humanity descended into madness. The biofuel produced by the locusts did not go to waste either. The majority was crystallized and turned into what the Demon Horde referred to as ’supplement pills.’

These pills were a source of energy, enhancing the stamina and strength of the demons. As they consumed these biofuel crystals, the Demon Horde felt invigorated, ready to face any adversary that dared to challenge them. In this intricate dance of chaos and control, the world around them began to shift. The balance of power was teetering, and every day brought new opportunities for the Demon Horde to capitalize on the disorder they had so cunningly created.

Without the ability to wield magic, the mages found themselves powerless against this relentless swarm. Swords and bows were rendered ineffective, mere toys in the face of this engineered menace. The only flicker of hope lay in the feeble attempt to use fire, waving torches in a futile effort to drive the locusts away.

However, these mechanical creatures were programmed to behave differently from their organic counterparts. Instead of scattering in fear, they deftly maneuverer around the flames, single-mindedly focused on their mission: to consume every food source in sight. As the locusts devoured crops and supplies, paranoia set in among the people. They feared that the swarms would spread a toxic poison through their food, a fear that, while unfounded, was amplified by the chemical agents released by the locusts themselves. What began as a sensible precaution soon spiralled into madness.

In a desperate attempt to safeguard their remaining supplies, the inhabitants resorted to setting fire to their own food stocks. Ironically, the very act meant to protect them became the catalyst for their demise.

Panic-stricken and driven by anxiety, even the most rational minds succumbed to irrational decisions. Pressure and fear twisted their judgment, turning allies into enemies in a matter of moments. It wasn’t the locusts that were to blame for the devastation; it was the humans who, in their fear fuelled frenzy, burned their own provisions to ashes.

As the flames crackled and consumed the last remnants of hope, the true orchestrators of the chaos—the Demon Mages—watched from the shadows. They had cleverly engineered this disaster without needing to engage in direct conflict. Their machinations played out like a dark symphony, with humanity unwittingly composing its own downfall.

With every blaze that erupted within the inner quarters, the living conditions deteriorated exponentially. Food supplies dwindled, and a once-thriving community found itself on the brink of starvation.

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The locusts, relentless and unyielding, continued their destructive path, while the people engaged in a self-destructive cycle that exacerbated their plight. Each day brought more despair, as resources grew scarcer and tempers flared. The once-familiar faces of neighbours turned to masks of suspicion and fear, each accusing the other of incompetence in the face of a near invisible enemy.

In the depths of despair, patterns of demented behaviour began to emerge among the lower-class citizens, creating an atmosphere thick with tension and desperation. It was a time when survival instincts clashed violently with the societal structure that had long oppressed them.

In the heart of this tumultuous landscape, the cries of the downtrodden reached a fever pitch, igniting a spark that would soon erupt into chaos. One fateful night, the silent frustrations of the lower class boiled over, leading to a full-blown riot against the nobles who had confined themselves within their lavish quarters, shielded from the suffering outside.

As the chemical additives from the mechanical locusts continued to wreak havoc on their lives, the lower-class survivors felt an overwhelming urge to reclaim their dignity and sense of agency. Their spirits, long crushed by the weight of oppression, now ignited by the prospect of vengeance, drove them to take action. While the more rational among them understood the futility of their rebellion, the whispered rumours of a hidden stockpile of untouched food hoarded by the nobles became the rallying cry for the masses.

This glimmer of hope, however misguided, fuelled their determination to storm the palatial homes of their oppressors, igniting a firestorm of chaotic energy. The military guards, once loyal to the nobility, found themselves trapped in the whirlwind of the uprising.

As the numbers of the rioters swelled, the guards quickly realized they were outmatched and overwhelmed. The cries for justice drowned out the oaths of loyalty sworn to protect the elite. Those who stood in defiance were struck down, and the tide of the revolt surged ever forward, a relentless sea of humanity crashing against the walls of privilege.

What began as a desperate attempt to seize food soon devolved into a savage display of primal instincts. As the peasants breached the strongholds of the nobles, their humanity began to erode, replaced by the raw impulses of survival. The chaos unleashed a torrent of violence; torture, murder, and other heinous acts became the new currency of their rebellion. In the corridors of power, the echoes of suffering rang out as the nobles were dragged from their gilded chambers into the clutches of the vengeful mob.

It was here that the true essence of mankind, stripped of the veneer of civility, revealed itself. The noble houses—once bastions of wealth and security—fell before the onslaught of the disillusioned masses. The fervour of the riotous mob shifted, their sights now set on the ultimate target: the head of the King himself.

Whispers of discontent had permeated the air, tales of the nobility’s betrayal in ignoring warnings from the wise Ress. The seeds of discord were planted, and the people, now emboldened by their numbers, sought to uproot the very foundation of their enslavement.

As the Demon Horde, an ominous presence lurking at the fringes of this chaos, watched with interest, they did not need to intervene. The turmoil wrought by the lower classes was enough to sow the seeds of their own destruction. The nobles’ hubris, paired with the relentless drive of the peasants, created a perfect storm that spelled doom for the old order

In short, the Demon Horde did not even need to do anything else.

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