Demonic Devourer ch. 115

The Sixth Circle

Skoton’s presence leaves without further incident, leaving us alone in a darkness that isn’t quite as harsh as it was a few moments ago.

There are demons in this hell, I sense, but they are clustered, few, and far between. Whether that’s because there just naturally are fewer demons in the Hell of the Neverending Night or the ongoing reality collapse has something to do with it is anybody’s guess.

“I still need to recharge,” I say. “I’m going to commit some demon violence. Want to join?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

As a full Titan, the fabric of the world is more intuitive for me to understand now, and though I don’t think I’ll ever particularly understand the exact mechanisms of the hells, I can sense what’s in them well enough.

These demons can’t hide from me.

I take Sierra with me into my Crimson Storm, checking my attributes as I do.

Interestingly enough, the system does not consider normal demons to be my kin, because my Kinslayer trait has not increased. Also, the demons it counts as kills are inconsistent. It counted the Ninth Circle, but not the Eighth Circle. We didn’t kill any demons in the Burning Sky, so I’m not sure if they would have counted there.

I wonder if that means the demons further down have souls, since that’s what the system seems to count as a “life.”

I also wonder if I can manipulate my traits myself, then decide against it. The part of my authority that deals with those is more complex than I care to meddle with.

Then we get into combat, and I don’t bother thinking about that much more.

The level of ease with which we slice demons apart is verging on being boring. In the Ninth Circle, the restrictions of the hell combined with our lower power levels made the fights actually challenging—now, even though the demons might be more powerful, the hells no longer affect us through my constantly active nullspace, and our powers combined are enough to shatter a continent.

I look at a demon, and it dies under the force of my glare, Eviscerated into a bloody chunk of meat.

Theoretically, I could just go around at a pace greatly eclipsing the speed of sound with a porcupine quill sphere of Soulblades surrounding the Crimson Storm, but Sierra wants to get some practice in too, so I let her.

Her progression has not been advancing in the same way as mine. It’s kind of obvious, given the fact that she’s not a fully-fledged Titan yet, but even leaving that aside, she’s chosen different paths with her authority.

“I can mimic being a Category 4,” she tells me. “Their ascendant domains are similar to nullspaces—they infuse their domain into each one of their skills. Thus, if you take a Category 3 and a Cat 4 and give them the same skill with the same amount of mana, the Category 4 will produce a skill many times stronger.”

“You mimic that by forcing your domain into your skills?” I ask.

“Yes and no,” she replies. “Take me to a collection of demons, please.”

I locate a few and bring us to them. In this hell, concepts like “distance” are functionally meaningless. Anything less than five hundred miles away is right next to us, for all it matters.

“I count twenty-three,” I say. “Would you like to demonstrate?”

The demons hiss in fury, recognizing a hostile.

You are witnessed, I say at them.

The hissing stops, replaced by a slow, fearful retreat that soon turns rapid.

“You could at least keep them from running,” Sierra complains. “Watch.”

In front of us, a lightless explosion detonates in the center of the fleeing demon swarm, followed by a sphere of intense sunlight that illuminates the nothingness of the hell and a darkness even blacker than the Neverending Night around it.

The magic surges towards us, and then, just as I’m about to Crimson Storm to take us away from it, Sierra uses another swirl of magic, and the blast folds in on itself, crumpling into a ball.’

“In order,” she says, “that was the special skills For Every Shadow, There Is A Light and Eclipse Devastator followed by Vector Magic - Redirect.

“I’ve never seen you use that last skill,” I say.

“Because I didn’t have it,” she says. “Using it is an application of my newest special skill, Wrath of a Peaceful Soul.”

“Did you choose to be wasteful, then?” I ask, knowing the answer is no. Sierra isn’t the type of girl to waste three capstone skills just to show off.

“I discovered how to make them permanent,” she says, grinning wide. “I can infuse my domain into them, and while it’s not a true ascendant domain, I highly doubt any other Category 2 can manage the same.”

“That’s for damn sure,” I say. “Congratulations. You’ll be able to equalize with me if you reach level 300, then?”

“I’m not sure,” she replies, her smile fading. “I will try, of course, but—you won’t leave me behind if I don’t receive it, will you?”

“No, of course I wouldn’t,” I say automatically.

Wait, I said what?

It makes total sense for me not to abandon Sierra, I rationalize. She’s the one I protect, after all—except that wasn’t the reason I initially decided to join her, was it? At some point, she went from protector to protected, and yet I still react to her the same, instinctive way.

Is this what human attachment is like?

I think my late creators would hate to see me like this, so I lean into it.

“I won’t leave you,” I say, consciously this time. “We’re bonded in more ways than one. Do your best, and if that’s not enough, do more. If even that doesn’t work, then I’ll keep you safe.”

She floats over and hugs me. “Thank you.”

I… don’t have anything in mind on how to respond to that, so I just hug her back.

“You know, I have to wonder,” Sierra says, extricating herself. “How much do these demons actually fuel you?”

“Not much,” I admit. “These demons are Category 2, for the most part. There was a point where that would have been enough to fill my reservoirs up to full, but now it’s like trying to fill an ocean with a bucket.”

“Then why bother with them?” Sierra asks.

“It’s relaxing,” I say seriously.

She takes one look at me and starts giggling.

“What?” I ask. “What was funny about that?”

“It’s—it’s nothing,” she says, struggling to hold in laughter. “What a picture that paints. Evelyn Carnelian, demon killer extraordinaire. One month ago, one of these demons would have obliterated both of us, and here we are now, relaxing.”

She giggles again, then grows serious. “I asked because I have no objective here. I have no way to advance. The demons provide me nothing.”

“You want to move up a hell,” I surmise. “Alright. I still need fuel, though. It could take a while.”

“Would it take as long if you chose to Devour the hell as well?” Sierra asks.

I hesitate to answer. “I… did do that to some extent earlier. Doing it now might lose us the trust of a Titan, though.”

She stares at me, aghast. “Are you the same Evelyn I know? When has that ever stopped you?”

I consider my soul, then my mind. Mostly normal, yes, but that sentimentality—oh, that little seed she’s planted inside me is growing, isn’t it?

Throwing it away like I do with most human emotions is the right call, but I like her enough that I prune it a little.

“Thank you for pointing that out,” I say. “Now, is there anything else you’d like to do, or should I start eating?”

“I thought you would never ask,” Sierra replies, taking my hand.

I begin to Devour the Sixth Circle.

At Sapphire tier, my skill is far more than the lowly magical coating on my teeth that granted me extra power when eating. When I consume the hell around me, I do it by turning into a red and black supernova.

Though it took all my willpower to do this before, I find that it’s as natural as eating human flesh now. The semi-stable reality of the hell slips from the void like I’m flaying the skin off a particularly juicy kill, and I surge with what I Devour.

“This does appear to have the side effect of utterly destabilizing the hell,” Sierra says. “I should have realized that earlier. Sooner would likely be better.”

I barely heed her words. Power flows into me, but it’s not true power. The hells are just the shadow of the gods, after all, and a mere shadow will never match the original.

Data flows into my mind, though. Memories. That which was lost.

For the briefest of instants, I remember the gods; then the memory flickers, the moment passes, and it slips from my mind like water through fingers.

The deluge almost overwhelms me, but it opens my eyes enough that I know I will soon be able to open my eyes.

By the time I have enough, my nullspace is a floating bastion of stability in a sea of a hell hanging on to reality by tenterhooks. Only tiny strips of the Sixth Circle remain, and I am barely in contact with them.

But I have Devoured what I need and gained much from this hell, so I draw upon divinity, and I create an anchor in the Fifth Circle, and once more, I take the two of us into the primordial void.

As I reach for the anchor, though, another, larger one appears in my way, blocking us.

I try to go around it, but it is infinite. Comparing this anchor to mine is comparing a pebble to a mountain.

The feel of this anchor is achingly familiar, and I burn with hatred at the sensation. I am going to end you, I think.

Carnelian, Sapphire Clearwater’s voice says. You have begun to see the true underpinnings of this world. Congratulations, experiment. You are a success.

The anchor slams into me, foiling every attempt I can make to escape it.

Shit, I think. Sapphire is far too strong. I can’t escape her.

“Hold on!” Sierra cries. “I can remake the anchor, just—hold on!”

I do.

I try.

But the void is merciless, and Sapphire never stops until she gets what she wants.

Sierra’s fingers slip through mine as my body becomes less real, shunting away from this unreality.

When I come face-to-face with my greatest enemy, Sierra is gone.

#

Angelic Tower — Root: The 50th Floor

Once again, Adrian’s system switches off for this level, but he’s ready for it. Thanks to Faetouched and Remembrance, the patterns he needs to follow in order to break through the limitations of the system are clear to him.

“Traveler,” a different fae’s voice says. This one is more feminine than the last.

“Blessed One,” he replies.

“This one is not merely blessed,” the fae says. “You may refer to me as Lyriel.”

“Lyriel, then,” Adrian says. “Is this the trial?”

Unlike the last time, where he was thrown into pitch darkness, he sits at the center of a pristine white temple, entirely empty but for him.

“Those who would traditionally select the trials have been dismissed,” Lyriel says. “The situation has changed, traveler.”

“I know the hells were collapsing,” Adrian says. “Has something changed outside?”

“The hells are a shadow of our blessed reality,” Lyriel’s sourceless voice says. “Yet they are more than that. Each reality—that of mortals, that of the blessed, and that of angels and demons—are a pillar of the consensus. Should one collapse, the others will follow in short order.”

“Ooookay,” Adrian says. “How does—no, I know how that concerns me. The fuck do you expect me to do about it?”

“You understand why there is no trial, now,” the fae says. “Traveler, you are one of a limited few who may understand how to use a key to the world.”

“What?” Adrian asks. “I genuinely have zero clue what you are talking about.”

‘The gate behind the gate beckons,” says the fae. “It needs soldiers, and the fae have long since grown accustomed to peace. It may already be too late to end the threat before it becomes unstoppable.”

“Threat,” Adrian says. “One that’s breaking the hells. That makes sense. Explain that to me.”

“The eighteenth Titan, guided by the hand of the first and guiding the hand of the one who may become the nineteenth. Your partner.”

“Evelyn?” Adrian asks. “Her?”

The fae does not respond.

He’s less surprised than he thinks he should be, but he figures that if anyone was capable of starting a process that will end the whole world, it’s Evelyn.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he continues. “Then go on. Educate me. Why would I want to fight my partner?”

“Traveler, we do not take your services because you are willing to or capable of slaying a Titan,” Lyriel says, irritated. Once again, Adrian prides himself on his ability to annoy disembodied otherworldly voices. “Angels have been sent to pacify the situation already.

“No, traveler, you have been propositioned for that which you may yet achieve. The Ocean’s Waves, found in one whose eyes have been opened, may be the last piece we need to reverse this. To travel back and execute every last one of the ones we failed to.”

“Lady, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if you’re trying to imply that you can use my powers to time travel, you’re dead wrong,” Adrian says, standing up. “I wish you weren’t, but you are.”

“Sit down,” Lyriel says.

Adrian blinks, then finds himself sitting down. He doesn’t remember moving a single muscle.

“Allow me to tell you a story,” Lyriel says. “One of the originals. One of the ones who once walked the world. Of the powers that came to be, of the desperation we face now that those powers have stagnated.

“A story about the fall. About fae. About angels and demons. About gods.

“A story of the system.”