Chapter 20
Meanwhile, back to the battle between Sorial and the Devil.
The fight had passed critical long ago. Truth be told, calling it critical was an insult to its scale. This was the kind of battle meant to be carved into history, assuming anyone lived long enough to tell it.
Sorial fought like a man possessed.
His odachi flashed and vanished, slicing through the air with speed that bordered on monstrous. The world itself seemed to answer him.
The storm twisted around his movements, thunder and wind bending to his will as if the sky had chosen a side.
If the battle had not taken place high in the air, there would have been nothing left of the city.
Even so, the ground below was already pushed to the brink, shattered by the aftershocks of their clashes.
Power slammed into power.
Fury burned hot.
The battle raged on in relentless destruction.
At first glance, it looked like a stalemate. In truth, Sorial was pushing ahead. His blade grazed the Devil again and again, carving wounds that should have been fatal.
They healed in moments.
Every cut vanished as if it had never existed.
The truth became clear.
The Devil was unkillable.
Sorial knew it. He just did not care.
Rage and desperation drowned out reason. His life essence burned violently, fueling his azura as he attacked with strength beyond the natural limits of any being.
Then, after a brutal exchange, his odachi pierced deep into the Devil's chest.
The blade went through him.
The Devil looked down at the wound, then back at Sorial.
"Little Sorial."
He smiled.
"You have grown."
Something snapped.
"Shut up," Sorial roared. "Stop calling me that."
He ripped the blade upward, splitting the Devil clean in half.
Sorial's chest rose and fell as he stared.
The body began to disintegrate, fading into nothingness.
Relief flooded him.
Had he done it?
Had he finally ended the monster responsible for so many ruined lives?
Then a voice spoke to his right.
"After all these years, are you still foolish enough to think I can be killed?"
Sorial froze.
His eyes widened. His breath caught. His body trembled.
He turned.
The Devil stood there, hands tucked into his pockets. His expression was calm. His red eyes glowed softly under the moonlight.
Rain crashed down all around them, yet not a single drop touched him, as if an invisible barrier wrapped his entire form.
Rage flared in Sorial's eyes, then twisted into something deeper.
Hatred.
Guilt.
Grief.
Something painfully personal.
"Why," Sorial asked, his voice breaking. "Why would you go this far?"
His gaze locked onto the red eyed Devil.
"Master."
The Devil remained silent for a moment, then spoke with composed certainty.
"Simple. I never planned for your family to die. If you had surrendered, none of this would have happened. You could still save your children. Are you ready to surrender now?"
Sorial laughed.
It was hollow. Broken.
"Stop pretending to care," he said. "You have no emotions left. Not after that day. You are only acting because you need me.
My bloodline. My power. For whatever twisted plan you are hiding."
His gaze sharpened, deadly and unyielding.
"I will make sure you never get it."
Lightning crackled violently around his body. He closed his eyes, focusing on the white radiant core pulsing in his chest.
One word escaped his lips.
"Burst."
Life essence exploded out of him.
Blinding bolts of lightning erupted in every direction, tearing through the city with brutal force.
They hunted down every demon hiding in the ruins, frying them before they could even scream.
Sorial raised a finger, lightning dancing at its tip.
He pointed it at the Devil.
"I will make sure your plan fails."
Then he turned the lightning inward.
Straight into his own heart.
His body shattered.
A few final words slipped from his mouth.
"Helesy. Jaren. Jarren. Gazel. Trent. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."
His form trembled, then dissolved into glowing particles.
The storm faded.
One of the strongest Shural had fallen.
Sorial was dead.
---------
The rain stopped.
The storm faded.
An eerie silence settled over the battlefield.
Through that silence, a figure staggered forward.
Battered. Bruised. Barely standing.
His black and white hair was slick with rain and blood. His face was sunken, reddened from pain that refused to dull. But tighter than anything else was his grip on the baby wrapped in white silk.
His grip was gentle.
Jarren was dead.
So they had to live.
The others needed to know. They had to know.
The battle was over. He could tell them now.
He dragged his broken body forward. No demons remained in sight. For that, he was grateful.
Then Gazel stopped.
His body froze.
His breath caught in his throat.
Pinned to the remains of a half collapsed building was a figure riddled with metallic spears.
Blood soaked the stone beneath her. White hair hung lifelessly over a face that would never move again.
His older sister.
Gazel could not believe it.
Jarren was gone. His brother had just died.
But this?
No. This had to be a nightmare. A lie. Something his mind invented to escape reality.
But she was right there.
She was not breathing.
She was dead.
His eyes burned as he turned and ran.
Straight toward the center of the city.
Toward where his father and mother had fought the leader of the demons.
They had to know.
Tears streamed down his face. He wiped them away and ran faster.
Then he reached the clearing.
And froze.
Lying several meters away was his mother.
He collapsed beside her.
No.
No no no.
Her chest did not rise.
She was gone too..
Why?
Why was this happening?
His mind spiraled. His heart throbbed painfully, beating out of rhythm as if it might tear itself apart.
Why did this have to happen tonight?
On his birthday.
Footsteps echoed.
Gazel looked up, hope clawing its way out of despair.
Dad.
The hope shattered instantly.
The figure approaching him was not his father.
It was the man dressed in white.
No. Not a man.
The Devil.
In his hand was his father's white odachi.
Fear seized Gazel first.
Then hatred drowned it.
Rage followed close behind.
He gently laid Trent down and stood.
The knife his father had given him trembled in his grip.
If he were thinking clearly, he would have known this was suicide.
But he was not thinking.
There was only one thought left in his mind.
It was him.
This was his fault.
He had to kill him.
He charged.
The Devil's red eye turned toward him.
Fear crushed Gazel's chest.
He pushed forward anyway.
An invisible force slammed him into the ground.
The world blurred.
Blood spilled from his mouth.
The Devil looked at him briefly, then stepped over him without a second glance.
He walked toward the small figure lying beside Olivia's corpse.
He raised an eyebrow.
Then he lifted the baby.
Dark red energy swirled around the child's head. Whatever held him in unnatural sleep unraveled and vanished.
The baby stirred.
His eyes snapped open.
Icy blue.
Calm. Too calm.
The Devil stared at him.
The child stared back without fear.
After a moment, the Devil lowered his head. His cloak shadowed his face, but the smile that spread beneath it was impossible to hide.
"Seems all is not lost after all," he murmured.
"Sorial may be dead."
"But he left me a very good gift."
His gaze lingered.
Such a pure bloodline of the Trystan.
For a moment, the Devil almost felt as if he was looking at a reincarnation. But Sorial was not dead long enough for that. No.
Reincarnation was impossible.
This child was something else.
Sent by fate. Or perhaps by something even higher.
Carrying Trent in his arms, the Devil turned to leave.
One step.
Then another.
He stopped.
His gaze dropped to the ground.
White and black hair.
Small hands gripping his leg with everything they had.
Gazel.
"Leave him alone," Gazel said, his breath shaking violently.
The Devil looked down at him, red eyes empty, unreadable. For a moment, it seemed he would simply walk away.
But Gazel did not let go.
Even as he was dragged across the ground, his fingers refused to loosen.
The Devil stopped.
He bent slightly, his gaze locking onto the boy. Primal fear surged through Gazel's body. His muscles locked. His mind screamed at him to stay silent, to let go, to live.
He spoke anyway.
"Leave him alone," he repeated, trembling, staring at his brother in the Devil's grip.
The Devil studied him.
"Killing you would be pointless," he said calmly. "So I will give you a chance to survive."
He raised a finger.
It sharpened, turning razor thin.
"If you survive, you will receive my blessing and walk as my follower. If you fail, then your fate was always death."
Gazel had no time to protest.
The finger plunged into his head.
Dark blood poured into him, spreading instantly through his body.
"What did you do to me?" Gazel cried, his voice breaking as something foreign overwhelmed him.
It invaded everything.
His nerves.
His veins.
His organs.
Then it reached his heart.
Pain exploded beyond comprehension.
An agonized scream tore from his throat as he writhed on the ground, clutching his chest.
His body convulsed violently, veins bulging, eyes wide with unbearable agony.
The Devil watched silently.
Then Gazel's heart stopped.
His body went limp.
Lifeless.
The Devil stared at him for a moment, then shook his head.
"Another useless Trystan," he said. "It seems your fate was death after all."
He turned and left.
Rain began to fall once more, drenching the ruined city.
It splashed against Gazel's unmoving body.
Not far away, a demon emerged into the clearing. One head. Two mouths. Both grinning in unison.
"What a feast," he thought happily. "Almost every demon is dead. Just me left."
He gaze shifted between Gazel and his mother.
"Which first?"
After a moment, it decided.
The smaller one.
It stepped forward, looming over Gazel. Its crooked smile widened as it raised its hand.
The rain struck the ground hard.
Something changed.
Gazel's heart beat.
Once.
Twice.
His hand shot up and caught the demon's wrist.
With a brutal twist, he crushed it and ripped it off.
Before the demon could scream, Gazel lunged.
His hand had changed. Clawed. Twisted. Inhuman.
He tore the demon's throat out.
The head fell.
The body collapsed.
Silence returned.
Gazel rose slowly.
His body twisted, shifting unnaturally. His hair lightened. Veins pulsed dark beneath his skin. A single ashen horn pushed out from his forehead.
His eyes snapped open.
Glowing red.
Illuminated by pale moonlight.
He opened his mouth.
And an eerie voice echoed across the ruined city. Not one voice, but thousands layered into one.
"DEATH."
"Death will consume all."
"DEATH."
"Death will consume all."
TO BE CONTINUED.