Rearing Demons
Chapter 123: The Demon Lord

Chapter 123: The Demon Lord

Debris floated around Yur as he lay flat, the overwhelming pressure crushing him into the fractured earth beneath.

"Fuck!" Yur growled, his voice strained with rage.

You deserve this!

Suffer!

Die, demon!

"Fuck off!" Yur shouted furiously.

[Warning!]

[Insanity Rising!]

Blood seeped from Yur’s mouth and eyes, not from the crash, but from the vicious whispers stabbing at his mind. Veins bulged on his forehead, his expression contorted in uncontrollable fury.

Die!

Die!

Just die already!

Yur’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened, nails piercing his palms.

[Sanity: 89/100 (>50 = Insanity!)]

[Insanity Entering Dangerous Level!]

Still pinned helplessly to the ground, Yur’s breathing became increasingly ragged. Inside his Cyralim, chaos reigned—the Moon of Freed Slaves trembled, web-like cracks spreading across its luminous surface.

The Ashen Veil boiled violently, sending torrents of essence outward, ripping through his inner world.

You murderer!

You deserve death!

Die, demon!

[Host will die if Insanity gets to 100!]

Biting down hard on his tongue, Yur desperately tried to suppress his rising madness, but felt nothing. Without pain, there was no relief from the mental onslaught.

Zul! What can I do?! he shouted inwardly, panicking.

No matter what Yur tried, the anger refused to subside. He was trapped, spiraling deeper into rage and madness with every passing second.

[Sanity: 90/100 (>50 = Insanity!)]

[DANGER! DANGER!]

Suddenly, Yur felt himself floating, weightless, drifting free of the agony. He looked down and saw his physical body lying motionless, convulsing helplessly in the dirt.

"What’s happening?" Yur muttered in shock. In this ghostly, specter-like form, he felt strangely calm. The rage vanished entirely, replaced by quiet worry for his physical form below.

Is this the side effect of the ritual? he wondered, feeling a sense of helplessness as he watched his own body struggle on the ground.

He saw his Insanity stabilize momentarily at ninety, though he knew it wouldn’t remain there. He needed answers quickly.

Zul, what can I do? he repeated anxiously.

[I am not sure!]

Yur sighed in frustration. If even Zul had no solutions, what could he possibly do?

Floating forward, Yur tried to re-enter his physical body, only to feel intense resistance. It was as if his body rejected him outright. He was powerless.

What the hell is this?!

He watched helplessly as tiny, ghost-like entities swirled around his body, whispering dark curses directly into his physical form.

You killed us!

Monster!

Murderer!

With each hateful whisper, his physical body shuddered violently.

"These damned souls..." Yur muttered bitterly, understanding finally dawning upon him.

Suddenly, a voice echoed clearly through the eerie silence.

"Well, what do we have here?"

Yur’s spectral form trembled violently. Turning slowly, he froze in utter shock and fear.

Standing calmly in mid-air, observing him with indifferent amusement, was someone Yur had never expected to encounter, someone he feared deeply, from memories not his own.

Demon Lord Krinli!

Yur’s spirit form and his physical body shuddered simultaneously. Fear—a primal, overwhelming dread—consumed him instantly.

"So," Krinli began, floating downward elegantly, his voice smooth yet chilling, "Mal’s chosen successor is truly this pitiful?"

Yur’s specter-form shook uncontrollably, rooted in place by absolute terror. He opened his mouth, desperate to speak, yet found himself utterly unable to utter a single word. There was no restraint, no spell—but he simply couldn’t speak.

Every ambition he held—his plans to surpass Mal, to challenge Krinli—all collapsed instantly before this demon’s mere presence. Yur couldn’t even think clearly; his consciousness seemed to halt in Krinli’s presence.

"Tsk tsk," Krinli clicked his tongue mockingly, landing beside Yur’s twitching physical form. "Mal’s successor, yet so weak."

He shook his head slowly, genuine disappointment written clearly on his perfect yet terrifying features.

"I assumed," Krinli continued softly, "that since you found your way to this realm, you would possess at least a shred of competence. Clearly, I expected too much."

A colossal throne materialized behind Krinli, hovering effortlessly. Around them, the fearless Glythari froze, trembling silently. Even the whispers of the damned ceased entirely. Everything became still and silent, frozen under Krinli’s indifferent gaze.

"Oh, how far the demons have fallen," Krinli lamented quietly. "You remind me of ancient, primitive demons, uncontrolled, pathetic, insignificant."

He turned back to Yur, cold eyes piercing through him. "How could you possibly challenge Zane?"

Yur tried once more to speak, yet his spirit remained utterly silent and powerless. Krinli casually reached forward, grabbing Yur’s physical body by the throat like a limp rag doll.

"Allow me to lend you some assistance," Krinli said, his smile turning unsettlingly playful. "If Zane kills you too quickly, it won’t be entertaining, would it?"

[Sanity has reached normal levels!]

Suddenly, Krinli’s hand snatched Yur’s spectral form, effortlessly forcing it back into his physical body.

Yur gasped deeply, regaining control, yet remaining helpless within Krinli’s firm grasp.

"Hm, Mal tried something similar?" Krinli murmured thoughtfully, examining Yur. "Combining a human and demon bloodline... interesting, but ultimately flawed. A pure human is far more intriguing."

"Wh—" Yur began, but Krinli cut him off.

"Silence."

Krinli’s simple command resonated powerfully through Yur’s entire being, instantly sealing his lips shut. Yur desperately tried reopening them, but he found it utterly impossible, he was no longer in control. His body obeyed only Krinli’s will now.

Then, suddenly, Yur felt a forgotten sensation return: searing, agonizing pain.

"Agh!" he groaned, muscles spasming uncontrollably. Pain... Why now?!

"Silence," Krinli commanded once more, and even Yur’s thoughts obediently stilled. All he could do was helplessly endure, unable even to think or beg for mercy.

"Zane is far superior to you," Krinli continued conversationally, his voice casual despite Yur’s torment. "Did you know, he has never cultivated yet already contends evenly against what you label as Rank Seven cultivators?"

Shock jolted through Yur’s mind, yet he could neither respond nor process fully, trapped in agony.

"Meanwhile, you struggle in this insignificant realm," Krinli mocked gently. "You’re supposed to be Mal’s heir—heir to Zulmasharr, one of the first demon worlds, albeit a weak one. Yet, conquering even that insignificant place proves too difficult for you?"

Suddenly, Yur’s blood boiled furiously, flames scorching his insides. Pain surged to excruciating heights, making him convulse violently.

"Allow me to grant you a gift," Krinli remarked coldly. Blood poured from Yur’s body, suspended mid-air as strange runes appeared within. Then, as abruptly as it left, the blood returned to Yur’s body—now altered and burning fiercely.

[Warning!]

[Unknown energy!]

Turning away, Krinli addressed Yur directly with eerie calmness, "That voice inside you—I’ve left something special for it. You’ll discover its use in time."

He carelessly tossed Yur back onto the ground, his body slamming painfully.

"Don’t die too early, Mal’s heir," Krinli warned lightly, ascending back toward the heavens. "I have certain expectations. Weak as you are, I remain curious to see what Mal’s creation can achieve."

With those final, cryptic words, Demon Lord Krinli vanished instantly, leaving no trace of his overwhelming presence behind.

Yur lay gasping desperately on the broken ground, sweat soaking his trembling body.

Fear.

Raw and overwhelming, gripped his very soul. Never before had he felt so helpless, so entirely controlled.

In that brief, terrifying moment, he’d been reduced to a mere puppet once again, a slave without autonomy or freedom.

His fist slammed weakly into the dirt as hot tears welled in his eyes, filled with shame, helpless rage, and anguish.

For how long must I remain a slave? Yur thought bitterly, gritting his teeth. When will I ever taste freedom?

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