Chapter 25
When he closed the distance, Gazel slid low and kicked.
His heel slammed into the demon's left leg with everything he had. The limb was already mangled. The impact crushed it inward. Bone buckled. The demon's weight folded on itself, and the second leg followed.
It crashed into the ground.
Gazel was already moving.
He lunged forward, seized the one remaining arm that still functioned, and twisted.
A sickening crunch echoed.
The demon shrieked, but Gazel did not listen.
He wrapped his arms around its head and drove it down, smashing its face into the street. Dirt and blood splattered. This was the moment he had been carving toward since the start.
Strategy. Positioning. Manipulation.
Every movement. Every reaction. All of it had been laid out for this exact instant.
Years of battles. Years of barely surviving.
He had learned to see ahead. To steer the fight. To force his enemy into the shape he needed.
Now.
"Last part," Gazel muttered.
He raised his hand.
The obsidian ring glinted.
From beneath piles of trash several meters away, the knife ripped free and flew straight into his grip.
The demon's eyes widened. It struggled weakly, trying to break free.
Gazel held it down without effort.
He shook his head and spoke calmly.
"Don't struggle. Rest now. Your suffering ends here."
He brought the knife down.
The unnaturally sharp blade sliced cleanly through flesh and bone in a single, perfect motion.
The head hit the ground with a dull thud.
The body went limp instantly, collapsing under its own weight.
Gazel finally dropped onto his back, then rolled to sit. His chest rose and fell in sharp, ragged bursts.
He did it.
Another demon dead.
Was this his twentieth? Thirtieth?
He could not remember.
What he knew was this. Out of all his fights, this one had cost him the least.
That did not mean he was fine.
Blood no longer dripped, but his wounds were open. Fresh. Burning.
Even after years of this, he never got used to almost dying.
He stood slowly.
The demon's corpse crumbled, dissolving into ash. Gazel watched it in silence, his expression solemn, almost mournful, despite being the one who killed it.
Then his eyes snapped to something in the pile of ash.
A white gem.
"I found it."
His lips curled into a smile.
Not for the demon. Never for the demon.
For the prize.
He picked up the gem, its glow bright in his bloodstained hand. His smile widened slightly.
This demon had been more than it appeared.
It had fully accepted its demonic self. It had begun synchronizing with the essences it consumed. It was on the verge of evolving into a mid-rank monster.
If that had happened, Gazel would not be standing.
Cold sweat ran down his back as he realized how close he had been to absolute death.
He inhaled slowly, then focused on the gem.
"Time to claim it," he whispered.
"Consume."
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then cracks spread across the gem's surface.
White energy burst out violently. Before it could disperse, tendrils of dark substance erupted from Gazel's body, wrapping around the essence and devouring it completely.
The energy flooded into him.
Heat surged through his veins.
Strength. Speed. Endurance.
Everything rose. Sharply. Power he could feel, unmistakable and intoxicating.
A grin flashed across his face.
The excitement vanished as quickly as it came.
Gazel raised a hand and touched his head.
The wound was gone.
Just like that. Erased. Healed in the same unnatural way demons healed.
He sighed.
Of course.
He knew it now more than ever. He was not human anymore. Not after what the devil had done to him back in Bladsyo City. His body healed faster. It adapted. It endured far more than it should.
Not to the level of demons. Not yet.
Maybe it was because he had not crossed that final line.
He had never consumed human flesh.
Being a cursed human was not something Gazel appreciated. Every time he realized what he had become, disgust twisted in his chest. A half thing. A partial demon. A minion of that detestable creature.
The devil.
Gazel wanted him dead.
The thought alone made him groan. Pressure slammed into his mind instantly, sharp and merciless.
"Tch. Damn it."
Even wishing for the devil's death carried a price.
His mood was ruined, as always, after a hunt.
His stomach growled.
Gazel found a quiet spot and dropped down, pulling out the roasted meat he had wrapped earlier. He ate calmly, forcing his thoughts away from demons, curses, and the devil himself.
When he finished, a bright smile spread across his face.
He looked toward the direction of the Trystan Manor.
"I guess it's time to go home," he muttered. "They'll be expecting me."
Minutes later, Gazel reached the manor hidden deep within the forest, perched against the cliffs behind Deodor City.
He walked inside calmly, steps unhurried.
The moment he opened the door, noise crashed into him.
Voices. Laughter. Life.
Gazel paused, then looked around.
Several people sat around a table. An older man in his mid-thirties with white hair streaked faintly with black was patting a boy of about ten on the head. The boy looked just like him. Pure white hair. Bright blue eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Teach me that trick next time," the man said with a grin.
The boy nodded, his smile hiding something sharp and clever.
"Hey," the man said suddenly. "Look who's home."
He lifted his head and met Gazel's eyes.
"How was the hunt? Another one fall to your blade?"
Gazel nodded.
"You bet. Took it down without much trouble."
The boy shot to his feet.
"Hey, what's so special about hunting demons? I could do that endlessly without breaking a sweat," he declared, chin raised proudly.
Gazel chuckled, shaking his head.
Before he could respond, a gentle female voice spoke.
"Look. My cute child is home already."
Gazel turned.
A woman stood there holding a baby in her arms. The infant opened his mouth, babbling incoherently, tiny hands reaching out.
The meaning was clear.
Welcome back.
Gazel smiled softly.
"How've you been, Trent?" he said. "It's good to be back."
To be continued.