CH971 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 971: A Frightful Experience in a Demon’s Memory

A prolonged horn blast silenced the demons all at once. The Red Mist, crystalline a moment before, began surging like boiling lava inside the gigantic sinkhole.

Two demons stepped from the crowd and crossed the slender stone bridge.

One was clearly a Mad Demon—the largest Roland had ever seen—though it looked mediocre beside its companion: a giant crawler-shaped Lord of Hell. Neither wore armor, and the tension between them was obvious. They shouldered and jostled each other the entire length of the bridge.

The surrounding demons showed no surprise at this. If anything, they looked excited.

Is it a duel?

Roland guessed it was some kind of ceremonial combat—the sort barbarian races enjoyed. A fight to the death. A show of strength. The survivor venerated as a hero.

He despised such spectacles. Not from racial prejudice—it simply seemed to offer nothing beyond the entertainment of watching something die. The world he came from had indulged in such theater once too, though there the dying was done by slaves against wild animals, which meant neither outcome merited grief.

As the only human being present—intangible, invisible, a ghost among thousands—Roland felt no particular stake in either contestant. He walked straight through the crowd and followed the two demons onto the bridge.

The island, roughly the size of Neverwinter’s main square, was not empty.

His eyes widened.

It seemed to be a female demon.

He couldn’t be certain at first. But he couldn’t deny the resemblance—the upright posture, the proportions, the face arranged in a way that was, against all reason, almost—

This isn’t scientific at all.

He checked himself.

How could an alien species, completely incompatible with mankind, produce an individual who resembles a woman this closely? Walking upright made evolutionary sense—height benefited both predators and prey. But this degree of similarity, purely coincidental?

He reconsidered. Most people, he knew, would not share his impression. She had livid skin, prominent horns, a third eye on the forehead, and bony spurs bristling from her shoulders and arms. Anyone else would have called her terrifying.

Before the duel began, the two demons bowed to the female in her white robe, then moved to opposite ends of the island. They stood near the edge, facing the Red Mist Lake with a gravity that reminded Roland of soldiers before an execution.

The female demon walked to the island’s edge and sang.

Her soprano rang out across the sinkhole, and the lake answered. The mist surged upward; the surface roiled as though something beneath it was waking.

Maybe it isn’t a duel. Maybe these two demons aren’t fighting each other at all.

Two massive tentacles erupted from the lake. They swung toward the Mad Demon and the Lord of Hell separately, each one thick enough to crush a building—and at the last moment, both demons raised their arms. They didn’t flinch. They didn’t retreat. They simply stood with arms extended, as though offering themselves.

The female demon cried out. The tentacles hesitated, hovering above each demon’s head. Then they curled back and spat: a gout of mucus, and from within it, a crystal gemstone for each.

The demons caught the stones. Without hesitation, they drove their fingers into their own chests and pushed the gems inside.

Light detonated from their bodies. Roland threw up a hand against the glare.

Magic stones. Is that how demon warriors acquire their power?

He ran the numbers immediately. No—that can’t be right. Mad Demons are common soldiers. Thousands of them. The demon city couldn’t hold a grand ceremony for every one.

Several minutes passed before the light subsided.

What it revealed stopped his breath.

The Lord of Hell had curled into a ball. All the spiracles along its back gaped open, leaking white fog. Its body appeared to be dissolving—melting from the inside like wax left too close to a flame.

The Mad Demon fared better, though its body had shrunk after absorbing the stone. Its arms and legs were no longer as massive, and vivid blue veins pushed through the wound at its chest. It looked miserable. But it was still standing.

Looking between them, Roland thought of the God’s Punishment Army’s incarnation ceremony.

Do demon warriors also pay with their lives to gain power?

The Lord of Hell screamed.

It reared upward, lunging toward the female demon—and landed hard enough to shake the entire floating island. When the impact dust settled, there was no crushed body. Only shattered stone. It had missed entirely.

Red-eyed, it turned its aggression toward the Mad Demon.

That’s it.

That’s why they behaved this way.

A demon doesn’t die from absorbing a Magic Stone. It changes. The Lord of Hell, intelligent a moment ago, is now something closer to a beast. It has lost itself.

The Mad Demon didn’t flinch. It threw itself at the crawler with a ferocity that looked like joy.

Whatever the stone had given it, it had also made it smaller and faster. The seemingly invincible four-legged crawler was driven backward. The hot steam it vented could only singe a corner of the Mad Demon’s garment; the Mad Demon’s waves of black light cut open the crawler’s body in long, deep gouges, exposing the bone beneath.

In less than five minutes, the duel was ending.

The Mad Demon tore off the crawler’s tail, stripped the flesh from the tailbone with a few savage pulls, and hurled it back at the dying creature. The bone punched through the Lord of Hell’s head. It was over before the crowd could exhale.

Roland, watching from the side, felt his jaw tighten.

The Mad Demon’s throwing arm hadn’t withered.

The frenzy on its face as it walked toward the dead crawler was something close to religious. It reached down, extracted the Magic Stone from the body, and swallowed it whole—along with whatever flesh and blood still clung to the surface.

The crowd erupted.

Before Roland could track the moment, the female demon was on the island again. She seemed to raise her eyebrows slightly, as though surprised.

The Mad Demon’s expression twisted with pain. Steam hissed from its nostrils, from its ears. But it was grinning through it. Savoring the torment.

This time, the transformation lasted nearly half an hour.

When it finally ended—when the blistered old skin tore away and sloughed to the ground—what stepped out looked nothing like a Mad Demon.

Its face resembled a human being’s.

The crowd detonated.

He didn’t know who called it first, but the word swept through tens of thousands of voices in a single wave:

“Charita!”

“Charita!”

“Charita!”

The chant rolled and rebounded off the stone walls of the sinkhole, reverberating until it felt less like sound than pressure.

Roland’s heart continued to sink.

He thought of what Pasha had mentioned—a rumor, old and uncertain: Long before the first Battle of Divine Will, someone had made contact with the demons. Someone had taught them knowledge, had lifted them from something not far removed from beasts.

Perhaps that was why Senior Demons now looked increasingly like humans.

Discussion

Suggest a change