Rearing Demons
Chapter 43: Scattered

Chapter 43: Scattered

Watching Ris flee, Velmira kept a radiant smile on her unnervingly beautiful face. Even her eyes glimmered with mirth, though there was no clear reason for such delight.

Karo, meanwhile, did not hesitate—he charged Velmira head-on, appearing outwardly furious but maintaining a razor-focused mind beneath.

"All of you, run!" he bellowed as he closed in. He wanted to buy the others enough time to escape, no matter how little.

"What a noble man you are," Velmira mused, her tone dripping with fascination. "So...beautiful," she added, smiling as though enthralled by some spectacle. Yet Karo sensed a malice in that perfect grin. It was too flawless—almost inhuman.

For a moment, it felt as if time slowed around him, not in any romantic sense, but literally froze. He saw dozens of different faces flicker across her features, each one smiling and then merging back into her own. The effect rattled his senses.

The Smile that Weeps, Velmira whispered, her voice soft yet echoing in Karo’s ears. He felt the world tilt. A numbing calm overcame him. In just an instant, his eyes dulled and he collapsed into a forced slumber.

She stepped forward smoothly, catching him by the shoulders as he fell. "Such a lovely person...another beautiful one," she murmured with quiet glee. Then her gaze flicked toward the panicked disciples scrambling away in the distance. "What an ugly bunch, though, compared to this wonderful specimen."

Cradling Karo like a prized treasure, Velmira walked back toward the cave—though her eyes drifted to where Brune lay unmoving. "You, however, are the ugliest of them all," she declared coldly.

With a single touch of her fingertip on the unconscious Brune’s forehead, his eyes flung wide in silent horror. "ARGHH!!" A tortured scream ripped from him as his eyeballs burst, his bones sliding free from his melting flesh.

His body liquefied into a bloody puddle. "Disgusting—you’ve soiled my pristine feet," Velmira muttered, leaping gracefully over the red mire. "At least serve as a little pet to keep intruders away. It’s the least you can do."

She paid no further attention to Brune’s howls, leaving him to continue dissolving into a twisted mound of gore. From that flesh a demon began to form—an abomination whose power would soon rival even Fyr—all born from the beautiful, cruel artistry of Velmira.

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In a remote region of Zulmasharr, sparkles of light began to gather in the darkness, forming a vague human silhouette. Within seconds, the lights intensified, finalizing into a solid figure—a teleportation arrival.

A man materialized, then promptly collapsed to the coarse ground with a sharp gasp. "Fuck!" he cursed, knees hitting the dirt as he panted heavily. This was Fyr.

"I nearly died," he muttered between ragged breaths, recalling his narrow escape. When he’d crushed the pendant, the Valgath that had been tailing them decided to strike at that exact moment. If he’d been a mere second slower, he would’ve died like the rest.

His final image was of Jule—and the guilt twisted in Fyr’s stomach. At least no one can blame me for running, he thought grimly.

As he looked around, he realized the area was pitch-black, save for demonic eyes glimmering in the distance. "This is a safe zone?" he wondered, noticing the Vashra and Morruk demons around him. Despite their numbers, they posed little threat to him.

Closing his eyes, Fyr worked to absorb human essence, struggling to regain enough energy to move his arms and retrieve medicine from his ring. Each shaky breath let him draw in a fraction of power until, at last, he could sit up.

The ground beneath him felt coarse and jagged. A rancid smell of rot hung in the air, as if countless corpses once lay here. Wincing, Fyr retrieved a golden pill from his spatial ring and swallowed it swiftly. I need to figure out exactly where I ended up.

The pill coursed through his system, healing him—but also canceling the demon form that he’d been relying on. That might be troublesome later, yet at least he’d be fully restored. Within minutes, his injuries had knitted together, returning him to about half his normal strength, though now in pure human form.

Seeing his uninvited intruders preparing to pounce, Fyr reacted with a casual wave of his hand. A sudden gust of killing wind obliterated the pack of lesser demons, reducing them to lumps of gore. Standing up, he found the stench even more overpowering.

He stepped into the air, drifting upward and pulled out a map from his ring. Narrowing his eyes, he took in the mountainous horizon and tried matching the features to those on the scroll. Realization struck him with a jolt:

"So this is the territory of the Incandescent Caves... The Guardian Sect in the East? Must be the Festering Vale region."

He’d ended up far across Zulmasharr, nowhere near his own Fiend Devouring Sect’s domain. It rankled him that he’d have to deal with another Guardian Sect to find a portal home.

Fyr recalled the overall disciple rankings among the Guardian Sects: Celis stood unmatched at first, he was third, and Ris held fourth place. The second rank was taken by a disciple from the Incandescent Caves, and the fifth by someone from another Guardian Sect. Now I have to face those guys if I want a safe path back...

With no better option, he sighed and set off in the correct direction. Along the way, he casually dispatched many lesser demons, racking up small increments of points on his identity badge. Celis had already helped him gather enough kills to secure a decent overall gain.

"Master will be pleased that I can handle Kyrrath-level demons now," he mused. Thanks to Celis’s training sessions, Fyr had learned to fight above his rank, though not seamlessly. It would, at least, solidify his standing in future.

Eventually, he spotted a group of disciples—clearly from the Incandescent Caves, based on their robes and the insignias he recognized. Strangely, they were only rank two at best, Seeker of Embers realm, far below what he’d expect in such a dangerous region.

Confused, he watched them struggle against a pack of Morruk demons. Strolling forward, Fyr called, "Hey!"—and in that same instant, his aura pulsed, killing the Morruks outright.

One of the robed figures gaped at him. "Who the fuck are you?!" the disciple spat. "We had an agreement with the local demons to stay out of each other’s way—"

"And my demon died, too—" another disciple snapped, glaring at the corpses. "The fuck was that?!"

Then they noticed Fyr, standing with a sheepish but unimpressed look on his face. Inside, he felt only disdain for these lower cultivators. I hate dealing with these sorts, he thought, exasperated.

————————————————————————

"Stop resisting so much!" Within Aglazeth’s castle, Celis hung from iron chains bolted to a wall, azure flames erupting sporadically from his battered body.

A trail of demon corpses lay scattered across the floor, including one Valgath. Nearby, a crushed eye, a few severed fingers, and other gore—most of it belonging to Celis—painted a grim picture of the inhumane torture he had endured.

Aglazeth stood a short distance away, rubbing his forehead in mild exasperation. Even after such brutal torment, Celis refused to surrender, staying awake through agony.

On the floor, beyond the dead demons, the broken man still hissed defiance.

"Just wait..." Celis slurred, bloodied lips cracking around every syllable. Lacking a tongue and with a shattered jaw, his words were nearly unintelligible—yet his eyes blazed in fierce challenge. "I’ll—kill you—Little Prince!"

"Yes, yes." The Prince waved him off, turning to the slimy demon nearby. "You mentioned one of his friends escaped?"

"Y-yes," the demon replied, trembling. "He used some kind of pendant—teleported out before we could stop him."

"I see." Aglazeth scratched his chin in lazy thought, resting it against his knuckles. "Forget him, for now. Focus on the Heir. Keep the Land of the Mother fully sealed, and extend our search into the Eyes of Dripping Blood."

The slimy demon’s expression darkened with worry. "Prince, it appears the Mother of Pus has...evolved. She’s nearly reached the rank of ’Princess.’"

"A Demon Princess," Aglazeth muttered with evident distaste. Unlike a Prince, a Princess could follow a slightly different path, but her power would be no less formidable.

"Bring her here."

"We don’t have the strength," the demon admitted, quivering under Aglazeth’s gaze. "Even though she’s still Kyrrath, her power already surpasses typical Valgaths."

"Always something new." Aglazeth rose from his throne and strode toward Celis, staring into the single eye he had left. "You’re lucky—I’ll deal with you later. Don’t die before I return."

With that, Aglazeth vanished from sight, leaving Celis gasping against the cold stone wall, his blue flames still flickering defiantly.

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