Two days of relentless riding had pushed both Damien and his horse to the breaking point.
Normal men would have collapsed. Normal horses would have died from the pace he'd maintained. But the demonic core burning in his chest sustained them both – his stamina seemingly endless, his mount drawing strength from proximity to his transformed essence.
He'd felt the changes accelerating with each mile. His senses grew sharper. His reflexes faster. The shadows themselves seemed eager to serve, reaching toward him like faithful servants awaiting commands.
But he'd learned to control it. Channel it. Use it without letting it use him.
The village of Rothval appeared on the horizon as the sun set on the second day – or what remained of it. Burned buildings, shattered walls, a makeshift fortification erected around the village's old stone church.
And surrounding it, dozens of demons.
Damien reined his exhausted horse to a stop on a ridge overlooking the village, studying the battlefield with cold tactical assessment.
The demons were varied – some humanoid with twisted features and dark armor, others more bestial with claws and fangs. They moved with disturbing coordination, clearly organized rather than mindlessly aggressive.
They looked like far weaker variants than the one's that appeared later in the novel, but still strong enough to trouble Aldric and Elara who were still quite weak at this point in the story.
The church's fortification looked desperate. Magical barriers flickered weakly. He could see maybe a dozen defenders still standing, their numbers clearly depleted from the initial attack.
And in the center, maintaining the largest barrier with divine light that was obviously fading, stood Elara.
Even from this distance, he could see her exhaustion. How long had she been holding that barrier? Days?
[TACTICAL ASSESSMENT: 47 Demons, Various Types]
[Defender Status: Critical]
[Barrier Integrity: 23% and falling]
[Estimated Time Until Collapse: 2 hours]
[Recommended Action: Strategic intervention]
Damien dismounted, leaving his horse on the ridge. The animal wouldn't survive what came next.
He checked his sword – ordinary steel, nothing special, but it would suffice. The real weapons were the shadows gathering around him in response to his intent.
This was the moment. His first real combat using demonic power. The System had warned that using these abilities would accelerate his corruption, push him further toward becoming the villain he was meant to be.
But Elara was down there, dying by inches while holding her ground.
The corruption could wait.
He started walking down the ridge toward the demon horde, not bothering with stealth. Let them see him coming.
The nearest demon noticed first – a hulking brute with gray skin and jagged armor. It roared something in a guttural language and charged.
Damien didn't break stride.
Shadow erupted from the ground at his mental command, forming solid spears of darkness that punched through the demon's torso in three places. The creature collapsed mid-charge, black ichor pooling beneath it.
[DEMON SLAIN: Grunt-Class]
The notification barely registered. Damien was already moving.
More demons rushed him, recognizing a threat. He let the shadows flow naturally now, no longer trying to contain or hide them. Darkness coiled around his arms like living armor, his blade wreathed in black energy that ate the fading sunlight.
Two demons attacked from opposite sides – coordinated ambush tactics.
Damien pivoted, his enhanced reflexes making their movements seem almost slow. His shadow-wrapped blade severed the first demon's head cleanly. The second he caught with his free hand, and for a brief moment considered using Corruption Touch.
No. Not yet.
Instead, he drove his blade through its chest and let the shadows do the rest, tendrils of darkness spreading through the wound like poison.
The demon screamed once, then crumbled.
[DEMONS SLAIN: 2]
The horde was reorganizing now, recognizing him as the primary threat. Good. That was the point.
"COME ON!" Damien roared, his voice carrying supernatural weight from the fear aura he'd unconsciously activated. "Is this all the abyss can send?!"
Inside the fortification, someone shouted in surprise.
"The barrier – look at the ridge!"
"Who is that?"
"He's... he's killing them. By himself."
Damien smiled coldly.
A larger demon – some kind of commander class by its ornate armor – bellowed orders. Twenty demons disengaged from the church siege and rushed Damien in a coordinated assault.
This was going to hurt.
He met them head-on.
Shadow manipulation on this scale was instinctive now. Darkness rose from the ground in waves, forming barriers, weapons, grasping hands that pulled demons down.
His blade moved in precise arcs, each strike empowered by demonic energy.
A clawed swipe caught his shoulder, tearing through his traveling coat and drawing blood. The pain was distant, almost negligible. His demonic regeneration was already working, flesh knitting back together even as he spun and decapitated the attacker.
[INJURY SUSTAINED: Minor]
[REGENERATION: Active]
Another demon lunged for his back. Damien didn't even turn, simply willing the shadows behind him to form spikes.
The creature impaled itself on solid darkness.
He fought like someone who'd been doing this for years, not minutes. The muscle memory from the original Damien's combat training combined with supernatural enhancement created something beautiful and terrible.
And he was very aware that everyone was watching.
Inside the fortification, Aldric Brightblade stood frozen in shock.
"That's... Lord Valcrest?" The hero's voice carried disbelief. "He shouldn't be – how is he – "
"The shadows." One of the Church guards whispered. "He's controlling them. What kind of magic is that?"
Sister Catherine's face was pale. "Nothing holy, that's certain."
But Elara wasn't listening to their muttering. She was staring at Damien through the barrier, her expression caught between relief, confusion, and something else entirely.
He'd come. Through demon-infested territory, alone, against impossible odds.
He'd come for her.
Outside, Damien was finishing the assault wave. The commander demon finally engaged personally, a massive creature wielding a serrated blade that crackled with its own dark energy.
This one was stronger. Faster. Actually dangerous.
Their blades met with a sound like thunder. The demon's strength was immense, forcing Damien back several steps. But he'd fought stronger opponents in the psychology of combat – the creature fought with raw power, no finesse, no strategy.
Damien slipped the next strike, letting the massive blade pass within inches, and drove his shadow-wrapped weapon up through the demon's jaw into its brain.
The commander twitched once, then fell.
[DEMON SLAIN: Low Commander-Class]
The remaining demons hesitated. Their commander was dead. This human had cut through twenty of their number like paper.
Damien stood in a circle of corpses, breathing steadily despite the exertion, his blade dripping black ichor, shadows coiling around him like a living cloak.
"Run," he said quietly, his fear aura pulsing with the command.
They ran.
The remaining demons broke formation and scattered into the darkening forest, all coordination abandoned in face of overwhelming threat.
Damien watched them go, then dismissed the shadows with a thought. The darkness receded, leaving him standing alone in a field of demon corpses, his ordinary traveling clothes torn and bloodstained but his expression calm.
He turned toward the fortification. "Is anyone going to open the barrier, or should I wait out here all night?"