Rearing Demons
Chapter 41: Demonic Holy Land; Betrayal

Chapter 41: Demonic Holy Land; Betrayal

"So, you really plan on going?" Within a spacious hall of a large sect, Damon stood in silence, methodically fastening a blade at his waist. The air around him crackled faintly with black lightning, betraying the turmoil in his heart.

"Jillian, I have to," he exhaled, carefully sliding healing pills into his spatial ring. "I can’t shake the feeling that Sect Leader Olmi died because of me."

Jillian’s expression wavered between worry and guilt. "Then let me come with you!" She practically pleaded, stepping closer. "I was the reason you rushed in that day, wasn’t I?"

Damon turned, meeting her eyes with a long, regretful look. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pressing his forehead gently against hers. The moment felt heavy, charged by unspoken feelings.

"My little love..." he said softly, "I pulled you out of harm once—do you really think I’d put you back into it?" Though his tone was warm, his face remained etched with pain.

"Then you shouldn’t go either," she whispered, hugging him fiercely. Her entire body trembled against his, unwilling to let him go.

"It’s different for me," he replied, voice dipping to a near murmur. "Even though I left his sect, Sect Leader Olmi was the first to take me in. He might not have been my master, but to me...he was like one."

Brushing a tender kiss to her brow, he let his fingers linger on her cheek. "I’m sorry." Then, without another word, he moved away, heading for the exit. He didn’t look back or speak again—only vanished into a streak of black lightning.

Left behind, Jillian drifted to the open doorway and stared at the sky, her heart pounding with uncertainty. A tightness clutched her chest as she wondered what awaited Damon.

————————————————————————

High above the land, Damon flew at an incredible speed, black lightning arcing behind him. A deep scowl marred his face as he surveyed the ravaged countryside. His goal was the same portal Demon King Yukinly once emerged from—where he had saved Jillian.

Blazing across the sky, his gaze fell upon ruined mortal cities below. Homes reduced to charred remains, entire blocks flattened, and weeping survivors trudging through debris. Some knelt by makeshift graves, others roamed aimlessly, their eyes hollow with despair.

The sight fueled his fury, black lightning intensifying around him in ominous flickers. "I’ll kill every last one of those demons," he vowed, rage vibrating in his tone.

At one point, he landed on a stretch of cracked road where a large group of refugees migrated in a ragged column. Approaching a young man trailing at the rear, Damon asked gently, "Where are you all going?" But the youth only stared blankly, too numb to respond.

His clothes were tattered, face caked in dust, an empty bag slung over his shoulder. Damon’s chest tightened at the man’s hopeless eyes—another victim left adrift.

He moved on, spotting a second wanderer who seemed slightly more alert. "Do you have a destination?" he pressed.

A woman turned her weary eyes on him. "I don’t know," she admitted, voice trembling. "I’m just following the crowd."

Confused, Damon leapt into the air, scanning the huge caravan from above. He found their leader at the front, an elderly man limping along. Landing in front of him, Damon inquired, "Where are you headed? You know this path leads to the demons’ portal, right?"

The old man’s gaze was vacant. "We lost everything in the war: homes, families—our entire world." His voice grew louder, drawing the crowd’s notice. "We have nowhere left."

"We have nothing!" several voices echoed in unison, bitterness saturating their words.

"So, we’ll go seek our fortunes in what they call a ’holy land,’" the elder explained.

Damon’s brow furrowed. "But that’s the demon land. You said it yourself—why would you go there?"

"Yes, the place belongs to the demons, but apparently the demonic cultivators are offering us protection!" the man retorted, a note of exasperation in his voice. "They claim they can negotiate with demons better than you cultivators. If you were wise, you’d follow along!"

"Demonic cultivators...?" Damon echoed under his breath, recalling the horrific rumors and historical atrocities attributed to them. They were humanity’s second-greatest scourge—beings who harnessed demonic energy, often committing genocide and other cruel acts.

He said no more to the elder, deciding it was pointless to argue. Sighing, he set off for the portal himself, wanting to see firsthand what these so-called "demonic cultivators" had done.

As he neared the portal, a stench of blood assaulted his senses. Buildings that hadn’t existed before now lined the path to the portal—like a new city built in record time. Jagged walls rose around it, demon heads impaled at intervals, each dripping gore.

Landing outside the city gates, Damon sensed several auras no weaker than his own. The gates themselves were guarded by two hulking men with obvious demonic traits: horns, scaly wings, and an unsettling energy.

Damon’s eyes narrowed, black lightning flickering around his body. "What the hell is going on here?" he roared, voice dripping with contempt. Letting his aura erupt, he strode toward them.

Even though they seemed strong, the two guards paled beneath his oppressive aura. Their knees buckled; a foul liquid spread at their feet.

"S-sen—" One tried to speak, but black lightning surged from Damon’s fingers, snaking into the demon-man’s mouth. The guard’s eyes bulged before his head exploded in a wet splash. The second guard met the same fate, dissolving in shrieking gore.

"Who let these rats crawl out of the sewers?" Damon spat, stepping unchallenged into the city walls. Screams tore through the air as onlookers realized the massacre unfolding at the gates.

Anyone he sensed bearing signs of demonic cultivation was swiftly executed with arcs of black lightning. Red cracks forked along the ground each time he struck, leaving bodies sprawled in his wake.

Suddenly, a dense aura erupted from the city’s center—another Rank Seven Aetherial Soul flaring to life. "Who dares slaughter so many within the Holy Land?!" a furious voice bellowed.

Glancing up, Damon saw a middle-aged man descending from the sky, scarlet energy swirling around him in a chilling glow. Bat-like wings jutted from his back, and a metallic stench of old blood clung to him. He truly reeked of demonic energy.

Damon met the man’s glare. He whispered something under his breath: "Ruin Current."

Black lightning coiled around the demonic cultivator, not striking him but sinking into the ground below. In seconds, the man’s red aura was siphoned away, streaming into the ebony arcs Damon controlled.

"W-what are you doing?!" the man demanded, panic fueling his shriek. He felt his very life being pulled into the lightning’s grasp—his flesh and blood corroding.

It all happened in moments. Before the cultivator could rally any defense, he disintegrated with a final, desperate wail.

"Time to purge this disgusting pit..." Damon muttered, molten fury in his gaze. He strode deeper into the city of demonic cultivators, black lightning raging behind each unstoppable footstep.

With every step Damon took, more demonic cultivators fell. Any hint of demonic essence in their aura meant instant death, delivered by black lightning that crackled around him like a living storm. Innocent bystanders, those without any sign of demon power, he spared—but he showed no hesitation toward anyone who reeked of dark energy.

His focus never wavered. Damon seemed to care for nothing except killing every last demonic cultivator in his path, his vengeance burning as fiercely as the lightning arcing from his fingertips.

————————————————————————

"Fyr, what do we do?" The duo hurried through the Land of the Mother, overwhelmed by confusion and fear.

"I don’t know. The Barren Canyon should’ve been here, but it’s gone or something..." Fyr was panicking as he led them through the lush yet repulsive forest.

They’d been running for a while, encountering multiple Kyrrath patrols. Though Fyr barely managed to fend them off, each escape felt more desperate than the last.

Even in their demon forms, it made little difference—somehow the patrols already knew who they were.

"Fyr, a Valgath is definitely going to appear soon!" hissed the other disciple.

They had run into five Kyrrath forces so far, losing another companion. Only Fyr and Jule remained.

"I can sense it too," Fyr replied, out of breath. "It’s...following us, but it won’t move in for a kill."

Why a Valgath demon would stalk rather than strike baffled them both. In normal circumstances, it would have ended them easily.

"Why is it doing that?"

"I don’t know."

With no way to escape and the constant threat looming, the tension was suffocating. Celis was nowhere in sight, and a Valgath shadowing them meant danger was imminent.

"Jule," Fyr suddenly said, his voice subdued, breathing ragged. "Only one of us is getting out of this place."

He came to an abrupt stop, resigned.

Jule looked at him in shock. "I’m not leaving you behind too!" His words quivered—he was missing an arm, one eye mangled. They had endured so much together; abandoning Fyr felt unthinkable.

Fyr shook his head. "I’ll be the one leaving." Taking a small pendant from his spatial ring, he stared at Jule with regret. "I’m sorry."

Under Jule’s stunned gaze, Fyr crushed the pendant—and in a flash of energy, he vanished, leaving the wounded disciple alone in the hostile forest.