CHAPTER 491: DEVIL (1)

‘What the hell is going on?!’ Deimos couldn’t help but ask himself, halting his barrage upon realizing that his spells weren’t going to get through the cyclone, a bad premonition forming at the corner of his mind.

The Red-born hadn’t moved a single step, to the point that it wasn’t even clear whether he was still conscious in there. The grey maelstrom protecting him was weird enough, but Deimos was more perplexed by the strange melody permeating the battlefield. Leaving aside the fact that he couldn’t even pinpoint where the crows were cawing from, he knew that nothing should have been audible inside his domain without his explicit permission!

Peering past the dark gales spiralling around his opponent, he tried to make sense of the changes. Torrents of mana rushed to fuel the enchantments on Percy’s equipment, his cloak appearing to have reached a new equilibrium.

Two distinct mana types seemed to be at play – the same ones that the human and his pet had wielded separately – though they now flowed in perfect sync, like two parts of a greater whole. Deimos couldn’t name either of them, though one most closely resembled ice mana – if he ignored how freely it shifted between solid, liquid and gas. This affinity appeared to have a destructive effect on the construct, constantly distorting its weave as its sibling – some variant of soul mana, surely – fought to preserve the cloak’s shape.

The cloth coiling around Percy resembled a beggar’s rags more than anything a noble would wear. The cloak was longer than before, covering almost every square centimetre of the Red-born’s body, its ends fluttering wildly in the wind. The occasional strip of silk tore itself off to join the blizzard, as more fabric grew to replace it. At this point, it was honestly difficult to tell where the construct ended and the frigid storm began.

Regardless, Percy had remained perfectly still, making Deimos question whether the young man was even alive.

‘The fool! Did he freeze himself to death with his own spell?’ he wondered with a faint smirk, finding the notion amusing.

Still, he knew he couldn’t leave this place without making sure. It would only bring him trouble later. Walking closer to the edge of the cyclone, Deimos looked deep into the dark depths of his opponent’s hood – the one spot on his body that wasn’t entirely covered. He was trying to discern whether there was any flesh left on the Red-born’s face, when something happened that made him leap back in fright.

Two pale orbs looked right back at Deimos, their piercing gaze stabbing into his very soul!

The maelstrom exploded outwards in a tide of cold air, forcing Deimos to shield himself with a layer of willpower. The chill sent a tingle down his spine, the frigid wind licking his skin like a devil’s tongue. Swallowing hard, he scarcely noticed that all the colourful motes for hundreds of metres had suddenly turned grey, gathering around the cloaked figure like a swarm of forsaken fireflies!

The Red-born raised his one remaining arm, a small shard shooting toward his palm from the ground nearby, growing into a complete scythe by the time it landed in his grip. The sight made Deimos’s heart race with terror, though he forced himself to calm down.

“I’ve no idea how you managed to create a barrier powerful enough to block my magic, but you should have kept playing dead inside your little cyclone until I grew bored and left!” he shouted, aiming his palm at his opponent and firing a dozen powerful blasts. This time, he was going to make sure the bastard died, to prevent any nasty surprises down the line.

His eyes widened the very next instant, however, as the Red-born’s hand moved with such speed that his weapon turned into a blur, slicing and smashing through each of the deadly projectiles with chilling ease.

‘Impossible!’ Deimos thought.

Seeing and reacting to the rapid barrage would have been shocking enough, but those feats admittedly fell within the realm of Percy’s known abilities. What was far less believable was that a single one of his constructs could withstand so much force without breaking.

During their earlier battle, the Red-born had struggled to stop his spells. Of course, Deimos still had no clue what had happened to his opponent, but Percy’s grade hadn’t really changed. Even though he was somehow wielding his crow’s cores, his constructs were still mostly permeated by dense, Yellow mana, except for a few Green lines branching out inside his cloak. And those didn’t even extend to the weapons in the first place. Clearly, Percy hadn’t had the chance to upgrade the enchantments on the scythe either, so it just didn’t make sense that it could bear the strain.

Racking his brain, Deimos could only think of a single explanation, though it wasn’t that much easier to accept. Then again, it would also explain how the strange melody had pierced through his willpower, its eerie tune echoing through the battlefield.

‘A domain?!’

If the Red-born had truly awakened one, it wasn’t the entry-level domain that Blues acquired upon advancing either. This one was clearly no weaker than Deimos’s own! ⱤãƝ∅𐌱ÊŚ

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Realizing that things had just taken a turn for the worse, Deimos unleashed a lot more mana, pelting the Red-born with a hail of transparent projectiles, each deadlier than the last. The scythe continued to hold, though its wielder finally got pushed back by the relentless barrage, allowing Deimos to exhale in relief. Evidently, his opponent’s unexpected power-up wasn’t without its limits.

Sadly, his joy was short-lived. The cloaked figure moved again, lifting what was left of his severed arm, a rush of gloomy motes sinking into the empty sleeve. Bursting out of the opening, a skeletal hand shimmering in a grey light emerged, a layer of frost filling the gaps between the bones with artificial flesh.

Before Deimos even registered what was happening, another shard shot toward the Red-born, a second scythe settling into his grip. The cloaked figure danced with eerie grace, stepping, pivoting and spinning atop the frozen ground as he steadily advanced.

Gritting his teeth, Deimos backtracked to give himself more space, pumping mana out of his channels until his arms hurt, desperately trying to keep his inhuman opponent at bay.

The Red-born wasn’t nearly done yet, it seemed. Each of his sleeves split in two, the top halves soon regenerating as the lower halves coiled around a new pair of crystalline arms holding just as many scythes.

The cloaked figure darted toward Deimos, the missiles of compressed sound barely slowing him down. Shafts rolled freely along the Red-born’s now-four limbs, pivoting around his elbows, a flurry of grey crescents shredding through every projectile heading his way.

Deimos keenly noticed that his opponent’s skill had shot through the roof the moment his new arms took shape. The difference this time had been more than quantitative – it felt as if the Red-born’s fighting style had always been meant for a person with four-hands!

Either way, Deimos didn’t have time to worry about that.

Seeing that his opponent’s scythes were mere metres away from slicing through his very soul, he gritted his teeth, expending his mana lavishly to shoot dozens of blasts at once, hoping for an opening. No matter how impregnable the Red-born’s defences seemed, Deimos knew that a single hit would be enough to turn the bastard’s fragile body into a pile of goo!

Sure enough, the cloaked figure managed to parry most of the blows, but his scythes could only be in so many places at once. Deimos grinned as he watched one of the projectiles fly past the constructs, about to dig into Percy’s hood, to burst his skull open like a rotten watermelon!

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as something unexpected happened.

At the last moment, the fabric at the top and bottom of the Red-born’s hood shifted. Almost as if it had a mind of its own, it turned into a pair of pointed tips, clamping down on the missile like an elongated beak, scattering it into a bunch of harmless motes!

The smile froze on Deimos’s face as he finally accepted that he wasn’t going to win the brawl. Stomping hard, he released another hefty chunk of mana, propelling himself upwards. The next moment, he found himself hovering hundreds of metres off the ground, looking down at his opponent.

“I admit that I don’t stand a chance on solid ground!” he yelled, projecting his voice through his domain – as much of it as was left, anyway, since the massive bubble of willpower had shrunk greatly, gnawed down to a mere fraction of its size by the raging blizzard. Regardless, Deimos wasn’t one to give up so easily. “I can’t help but wonder whether you can move this well without proper footing!”

Silently accepting his challenge, the cloaked figure jumped after him, opening his beak wide. Torrents of ambient mana spiralled into his dark throat, causing his shape to swell. Grey silk expanded over his frame, rippling over his arms like a river to form a pair of giant wings.

Before long, the Red-born was no smaller than an elephant, resembling a crow more than he did a human. In fact, he looked just like his dead pet, save for the different texture and colour of his body.

But it didn’t seem like he was done yet!

The cloak continued to expand, soon reaching the size of a small house. The sight reminded Deimos of the Blue wasps he’d seen on the fifth level of the Fungal Spire, though the Red-born only kept growing. He didn’t stop until he was as large as what Deimos could only describe as a Violet beast – though he’d obviously never actually seen one!

Flapping its humongous wings, the monstrous crow crossed the gap in an instant, its beak opening wide around him, large enough to swallow a man whole!

Deimos ignored the horrid sight of its cavernous throat, and the rows upon rows of curved fangs pointing at him – each as big as a scythe’s blade. He barely managed to escape to the side as the beak clamped shut with enough force to send a ripple down the bird’s silken flesh, broken fangs shooting in every direction. Deimos hadn’t escaped unscathed, however.

Glancing down, he saw that his left leg had been severed just above the ankle, a layer of grey frost sealing the wound as it slowly spread toward his knee, a wave of numbness reaching all the way to his thigh.

Still, Deimos ignored the discomfort, seizing the opportunity to land a devastating blow on his opponent. Rolling and sliding down the abomination’s body, he clung to one of the creases near its chest to arrest his momentum, shooting a new barrage of powerful missiles.

He aimed them at the Green star thrumming somewhere in the construct’s depths. The three Yellow cores were impossible to locate amidst the ocean of same-coloured mana, but this one constantly betrayed its location. As long as he shattered it, the Red-born’s spell was bound to come undone!

Things didn’t go to plan. At first, the blows barely left a dent on the cloth, forcing Deimos to put more effort behind each one. Eventually, he managed to tear a few holes into the silk, but the substance was regenerating too fast for him to ever reach his target. And it appeared he was out of time already.

The giant crow rolled once through the air, shaking him off. A colossal wing wider than a building slammed into Deimos like a meteor, snapping most of his ribs in half and causing his right arm to bend the wrong way.

A mouthful of red snow escaped his lips, and then another as he collided against something hard, leaving several deep craters covered in cracks while skidding across the ground.

By the time Deimos came to a halt, his whole body was a mess, though it didn’t look like his opponent had any intention of letting him catch his breath. Lifting his gaze, he watched the colossal crow dive toward him, the tips of its sharp talons glinting with fury!