Rearing Demons
Chapter 120: Mastering the Basics

Chapter 120: Mastering the Basics

"So, this is what Mal wants from me?" Yur’s eyes snapped open, simmering with anger. "I’m just a tool to him?"

[Warning!]

[Insanity Increasing!]

You killed us!

We will kill you!

My child—my precious child!

As anger surged inside him, tormented whispers invaded Yur’s ears, echoing endlessly, as if the ghosts of millions screamed directly beside him.

"SHUT UP!"

But the voices grew louder still, overwhelming, consuming every thought.

Murderer!

Bastard!

Monster!

Yur covered his ears, grinding his teeth. Yet the voices didn’t come from the outside; they echoed from within him. His pulse raced; his breathing quickened. Rage consumed him, and with it, the voices only intensified.

[Warning! Warning!]

[If Host becomes completely insane, Host will lose all control and never recover!]

[Host must calm down immediately!]

Zul, I’m fucking trying! Yur screamed inwardly, his consciousness violently pulled back into his Cyralim.

Chaos reigned within. Countless ghostly figures filled every corner of his Cyralim, a sea of tormented spirits wailing in agony, grief, and hatred. The chains rattled uncontrollably, the Ashen Veil churned and boiled violently, and the pale moon trembled as though about to shatter apart.

Glaring fiercely, Yur slammed his hand onto the Cyralim’s trembling floor.

Ritual of Profane Covenant!

Instantly, thousands upon thousands of powerful spectres erupted from the swirling, turbulent Ashen Veil. Their ghostly bodies radiated strength, obediently awaiting Yur’s command.

"Kill these damned ghosts!" Yur roared furiously.

Immediately, the spectres surged forward, clashing against the sea of enraged souls. Yet, the damned spirits were far from ordinary. Empowered by Yur’s own Cyralim, every time one was destroyed, it instantly reformed—stronger, louder, more infuriating.

Every slain ghost gave birth to a dozen more screams.

Seeing this futility, Yur snapped his fingers, instantly dismissing the spectres. He staggered, breathing heavily, exhausted by the sudden drain of his essence.

Murderer!

Demon! You monster!

Why did you kill us?

Yur grimaced, frustration etched deeply into his expression.

Zul, what can I do?!

[Host must calm down immediately. This is the price for rushing the Rite of the Hollow. The damned souls are now permanently bound to Host!]

The revelation only ignited Yur’s fury further, sending the Ashen Veil into a violent storm. But realizing anger would only worsen things, Yur forcibly closed his eyes, shutting out everything external, and took slow, deep breaths.

Gradually, his heartbeat steadied. The screaming souls quieted into whispers, still irritating, yet manageable. Eventually, his eyes opened, finding himself back outside the Cyralim.

The whispers lingered, now a background hum of torment he’d have to endure indefinitely.

"Zul," Yur spoke aloud carefully, unwilling to invite the damned souls back into his mind. "Tell me, are you loyal to me or Mal?"

Mal’s intentions infuriated Yur. The thought of being used—nothing more than a pawn—left a bitter taste in his mouth. Mal’s memories haunted him vividly; Yur knew exactly how terrifyingly powerful Mal had been.

He doubted Mal was truly dead. Could anyone other than Demon Lord Krinli himself have killed him?

[I am one and the same with Host. Host’s desires are my own.]

Yur exhaled slowly, accepting the system’s reassurance.

Despite his suspicions, Zul had never betrayed him. Yet, the recent memory sparked troubling questions. Mal and Krinli clearly shared heritage with him. Yur wondered how vastly different their paths had become compared to his own.

"Fine," Yur said decisively, regaining composure. "I think I know what I must do first."

With a wave of his hand, an ancient tome appeared from his Cyralim, battered and worn but radiating profound, ancient power.

Yur carefully opened its pages, whispering softly, "I need to learn the language—the Kha’Zaruun tongue. If I master this, I can create rituals of my own."

Amidst the shattered trees and crushed foliage, Yur settled down, immersing himself deeply in study. Each page revealed intricate symbols and powerful words, teaching him their precise pronunciations, nuances, and meanings.

He began to understand how each subtle variation altered the power of a ritual.

Slowly, Glythari began appearing. At first, only a few curious creatures hovered nearby. Soon, thousands gathered, their gentle lights forming a mesmerizing halo around Yur.

Engrossed in his studies, Yur paid no heed as the spectacle expanded, millions of Glythari now swirled in graceful spirals around him, illuminating the island in ethereal hues.

Above, colossal entities drifted silently across Glythoria’s eternal sky, their vast forms eclipsing the world below. Resembling whales of unimaginable scale, these great creatures were drawn by Yur’s powerful aura, peacefully orbiting the tiny floating island he had made his sanctuary.

Time flowed strangely in Glythoria, the static sky offering no indication of its passage.

Days blurred into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, yet Yur noticed none of it. Lost within the profound mysteries of the ancient tongue, Yur was completely absorbed, oblivious to the passage of time.

As he delved deeper, the island became an epicenter of life. Diverse Glythari surrounded Yur, their lights mingling into a hypnotic symphony of colors—vibrant yellows, shimmering greens, glowing purples, and flickering blues—creating an otherworldly spectacle.

Great creatures of all forms descended, finding peace in Yur’s presence. They slumbered quietly on the ground, curled within branches, or gently floating through the air above, all drawn inexplicably toward Yur’s potent aura.

[Congratulations!]

[Host has Mastered Basic Rituals!]

[Reward: 50,000 Demon Points!]

Yur’s eyes opened slowly, startled by the notification. He blinked, shocked by the immense reward and momentarily disoriented by his changed appearance. His ashen hair had grown significantly, cascading smoothly down to his hips.

Around him hovered a dense swarm of Glythari, millions upon millions, so thick that he couldn’t see beyond their gentle glow.

"Zul..." Yur’s voice emerged hoarsely, unfamiliar even to his own ears. Clearing his throat, he spoke again. "How long has it been?"

[Time Elapsed: 3 Years, Five Months (Zulmasharr Time!)]

The realization shook him. For over three years, he’d sat in deep meditation, utterly absorbed in study. He rose slowly, feeling his limbs creak from disuse, muscles stiff from inactivity. He gazed thoughtfully at the glowing life surrounding him, astonished by the magnitude of his aura’s attraction.

Yet, as Yur marvelled at the serene beauty he’d unconsciously created, he remained unaware of an ominous presence lurking at the edges of his perception—waiting, watching.

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