Demonic Devourer ch. 109

Somewhere, nowhere

Our Defiance doesn’t take us straight to the Eighth Circle. Of course not. That would be too simple.

Instead, Sierra and I hurtle through an in-between, a place that isn’t quite the void but isn’t exactly real, either. I want to call it an anomaly, but even that feels wrong. Glimpses of infinity flicker past us as we fall and rise and stop all at once. Information flows into my brain, feeding me sights, sounds, smells, sensations—a hundred thousand million of them all at once, far too many for anyone, even me, to process.

The deluge of everything, everywhere, everywhen pouring into us overwhelms our thoughts. Time becomes meaningless. We exist in the thin line between that which is real and that which is not.

And then, suddenly, an anchor. A single island of meaning where up is up and down is down and time passes at one second per second.

The one we created, I realize. The primordial soup we’re wandering through can’t just the space between hells, because it’s not the void.

Is this what the system does? Is this what that layer of divinity that connects our mortal bodies to our magic experiences?

A second anchor appears, and though this one is less solid, it’s more familiar.

Sierra. I grasp onto her, and together, we connect ourselves to the anchor, connecting A to B through the unreality around us.

Defiance, we whisper together, and we disappear into the anchor, exiting the world between worlds.

#

The Eighth Circle

We drag ourselves out of the hole in reality and instantly begin drowning.

At least, Sierra does. I don’t need to breathe.

We’re suspended in liquid. Viscous, thick liquid, and the weight of the ocean around us threatens to crush us both. Our physical attributes are high enough it won’t come close to crushing us, but breathing is an actual concern.

Though my body functions perfectly fine without oxygen, Sierra is still mostly human. Corrupt brought her into the demonic fold, but physically, her internal makeup is nothing like mine.

The ocean is blood, I realize as I flick through my skills. When I hit Blood Sense, everything around us lights up.

Sierra twitches, and even though I can barely make her out through the deep crimson, I can tell she’s barely holding on.

I have to assume that just like before, this is an extension of a Titan’s nullspace. I try to Hemokinesis the blood away, but just like when I tried to Manifest my nullspace when Sersui’s hell was still fully intact, a presence far greater than both Sierra and me presses against my mind. Unlike the last hell, though, my skill doesn’t just fall apart—I’m still able to control the blood within myself, and with increasing difficulty, I can manipulate it within an inch or two of my body.

A few inches, though, is enough for a temporary solution. Blood Sense is nearly useless when I can detect blood everywhere, but I can see Sierra through the Titan map that our shared class grants us. I grab onto her, drawing on a hint of Bloodpath to slice through the blood with ease, and I draw her into an embrace.

Hemokinesis only works within an extremely close range. I can see through the dim red of the blood ocean that Sierra’s aspirated blood already.

I need to do this fast.

The two of us have bonded souls, which makes this easier. I finally make use of my attribute points, pouring 143 entire points into Magic (Meta). With the massive fifty-level jump I received, that brings the stat total to 393.

More than enough to bend the rules, if not break them.

I kiss Sierra, melding two bodies into one, and I activate Hemokinesis on the blood in her lungs.

It flows from her into me, and I don’t even notice the familiar coppery taste.

What I do notice is Sierra’s eyes flying open; the look on her face as she processes what has happened; the sensation of her kissing me back.

Clever, she sends in lieu of a spoken reply. Even when she draws back for air, she keeps me close, the two of us intertwined close enough for me to create the smallest of air bubbles around us.

It’s been a while since we had this much contact. Her forehead to mine, my lips brushing against hers with each of her breaths, her chest rising and falling against mine.

Oddly enough, it reminds me of simpler times. Of that first time she borrowed Shape Blood from me, back when I didn’t even know what a Category was and the biggest issue I had was the UCC guards in power armor coming after me.

Necessary, I reply. The Titan messaging is significantly easier than it was before, like we’ve finally adjusted to a new limb. I wonder why that is—the creation of the skill? The dive through unreality?

Whatever the answer truly is, I am deeply grateful for the increased ease. Simpler communication means simpler manipulation of the fabric of reality, which in turn means that we can create another Defiance with ease.

Right now, we need to get to an area where we can slow down for a moment and determine how we’ll ascend from this hell. If this hell is anything like the last one, there should be safe zones that are either largely unaffected by the circumstances of the hell or allow us to take control of it.

Not that I particularly know how to get anywhere. There doesn’t seem to be proper gravity here. The blood weighs heavily on us, but now that neither of us are in immediate danger, it’s obvious that there is no proper up or down.

I remember the path I saw when I was given the chance to follow in another Titan’s footsteps.

This hell is a reflection of the Titan of the Blood Ocean.

I try to Devour the blood around us to create more of a safe space, but evidently the blood itself is infused with the Titan’s authority, because once again, the skill fails once it extends more than a few inches from my body.

Find shelter, I suggest, happy my thoughts can come through so coherently now. Even if it takes some extra effort, I have to admit that it’s pretty nice.

Agreement. Direction?

I shrug. Unknown.

Guide us, Sierra declares. The nuance of our statements is increasing, too. That “guide us” is complete with the idea that Sierra is just as clueless as I am, and it’s me who can keep her from drowning in blood.

So we continue.

I take us in and out of Bloodpath, never allowing the two of us to drift more than an inch apart, and we swim through the blood.

Unlike the Ninth Circle, the conditions here aren’t readily apparent. There, I couldn’t heal in the areas we hadn’t taken over yet, nor could I bring my nullspace into existence. Here, I can still Restore Self, I just can’t use any of my blood skills past a certain radius and Devour is greatly weakened.

I wonder what else there is here.

When we’ve traveled for almost four hours, I conclude that there are far fewer demons here. At the very least, it’s much harder to spot them. That might be a symptom of this hell existing in three dimensions, where the last one was primarily flat. We could very well be passing by demon settlements all the time and not noticing them.

Defy again? I end up asking.

Need fuel, Sierra replies.

That’s a good point. Last time, I was able to add fuel to the fire by Devouring the hell itself, but this one seems awfully reticent in allowing me to do that.

We need to find demons.

I might have a way to do that.

Idea, I say, trying to fit the details of everything that my semblance of a plan entails. I’m not entirely sure if I get it through, but—

Agreement.

Alright. I don’t have any better ideas at the moment. I could try to advance to Category 2 now that I’ve hit level 200, but I’d much rather do that while not actively being affected by a hell.

I reach out and Annihilate the blood around us.

My nullspace is typically a hodgepodge of blood and demonic magic, and my Annihilate reflects that.

But not this time.

This time, a beam of pure nothing explodes forward, atomizing blood everywhere it touches.

When it’s complete, it does not fade away into a wound on reality. The entire Annihilate remains there, a gaping hole to the void, and blood rushes towards it.

The first angels arrive less than three minutes later.

Sierra greets them.

Mistake.

#

The First Circle

Marie finds herself growing increasingly bored with the first hell.

The few demonology scholars on her level tend to agree that the hells are reflections of the Titans, but the first one doesn’t seem to even have that.

There are nine hundred ninety-nine identical obelisks in the First Circle, each of them complete with a castle that houses angels and the demons they farm alike. Of the seventeen “main” hells, this one is the only one she doesn’t have a Titan to associate with. Perhaps it is just the stronghold that the angels have chosen to enforce their domain on.

As far as Marie knows, the angel whose obelisk she is currently visiting is the strongest one in the hells, bar none. Angels 1 through 12 oversee the material world, ensuring that the primordial chaos under the surface will not bubble through to return reality to the void.

Yet she cannot bring herself to offer it any respect. The angel’s true form resembles a geometric shape more than anything else, though it’s difficult to see its constantly shifting body through the raw divine power it has to offer.

“You ask for much, mortal,” 13 rumbles. Marie has always wanted to dissect one of the upper 100 angels—those tend to eschew more humanoid or animalistic forms for ones that simply defy physics and magic alike, and she’d love to know what makes them tick.

“I am roughly as mortal as you are,” Marie comments. “I would not be so sure of the difference between you and I.”

“True enough. Yet collapsing a hell is no small feat. You ask much.”

“It would not be you collapsing the hell, Thirteen,” she says, exasperated. “It would be a borrowed use of your power—not even that, if you wish not to taint yourself. The Titans have already collapsed the Ninth Circle.”

“I am aware,” 13 says. “Executioners have been dispatched to the Eighth. The legions are repairing the scar that was the Ninth.”

“Has it degraded further?” Marie asks, curious. Her only people that were weak enough to make it to the Ninth Circle were predictably immediately slaughtered, and the equipment she possesses to monitor it can only see so much.

Somewhere a few layers of reality to the side, a hell has collapsed, taking six of Marie’s scientists with them. She just wishes they could have relayed their last moments.

“The stability of the rift is owed to the legions and the legions only,” 13 says. “Should the Eighth fall as well, it may well bring the rest down with it.”

“All the better to try,” Marie replies, raising an eyebrow. She takes a slow sip of the ambrosia that passes for water in this hell.

“No.”

“Truly? Thirteen, how long have you been alive?”

“Since the fall,” the angel replies.

Disappointing. “A thousand and some years, and you cannot fathom the idea of change? Of course we will not trigger a cluster reaction. Examining the effects of intentionally condemning a hell to the void may be precisely what I need to cure the issue forever.”

Angel 13 cannot raise an eyebrow, but the energy it emanates changes in frequency. The effect is much the same.

“Have you been to the material world in the last century, Thirteen?” Marie asked, taking another sip. It tasted of pine needles and sap, which, while not exactly pleasant, was more tolerable than the hellfire and ash taste of the last angel’s. “Are you aware of the scientific advancement known as a vaccine?”

“I have not.”

“By examining a controlled, weakened version of a plague, humanity is able to understand it,” Marie explains. “And create a solution that neutralizes it. I am proposing the same with the Eighth. A controlled, safe detonation. One that we understand. It eliminates your Titan issue and sets the foundation for the end to chaos.”

13 thinks, then spreads its wings.

“What power must you wield to execute this collapse?”

“A sample of your power, and a willing angel,” Marie says. This one is truly a simple being.

Of course she does not intend to kill the Titans. Though Angel 13 may believe the void can kill them, she knows her niece. If Sierra dies here, Marie will be sorely disappointed.

13 is not much more than a child in terms of mental development. Young, though it is a relic; angels are unchanging, forever and always.

“The angel need not survive until it hits the Eighth Circle,” Marie adds. “The lower the number, the better.”

“191,” 13 declares with absolute, ironclad certainty. “191 can do it.”

“Then bring it here,” Marie says.

Three and a half hours later, with the assistance of Sapphire—who just eerily smiles at the idea—and the rest of the researchers, Angel 191’s body is primed with enough chaos to tear its own system apart.

“Your methods are madness,” 13 says.

Marie titters at that. One of the most powerful beings on this planet, measuring up to the Titans, and it’s scared because Marie can do a little magic beyond the scope of the system.

To be fair, that little magic is ultimately intended to break it, and protecting that structure is 13’s only purpose, but she digresses.

“Send it,” she orders, and the demigod complies.

#

The Eighth Circle

Three point seven seconds into our battle, the angel detonates with the force of a thousand suns.

Mistake, indeed.

But it was ours.