[END OF BOOK 4] CHAPTER 492: DEVIL (2)

Deimos rolled to the side just in time to avoid getting flattened like a bug beneath the giant talon, thick plates of stone flipping as the earth split under the crow’s bulk. A second talon descended almost immediately after, though he luckily managed to avoid it too, the shockwave sending him flying away.

Opening its beak wide, the bird drew even more ambient mana. Its body couldn’t grow any larger, so it swelled into a sphere instead, before exploding. A murder of regular-sized crows emerged from within, flying furiously toward Deimos.

Pushing himself to his remaining foot, he used his domain to force his bones back in place, wincing through the pain as he braced himself for the incoming flock. Firing countless projectiles, he destroyed as many of the artificial creatures as he could, the rest dodging the blasts as they prepared for a second attack.

A few lodged themselves into the ground, their figures bursting open to reveal a series of cylindrical shafts. The constructs grew into full-sized scythes as the silk flowed around them, rolling into humanoid shapes that promptly lifted their weapons off the ground.

The cloaked phantoms danced around Deimos, their shrill cries grating at his ears as the crows above shadowed their movements, surrounding him. His domain shrunk further as the savage tune intensified, his very willpower turning brittle and shattering like cheap glass.

Not caring about the domain, Deimos focused on the countless constructs about to rip his soul to shreds. He knew he couldn’t possibly stop or dodge each of them separately – especially since they appeared far sturdier than they had during his earlier battle with Percy.

Left with no other choice, he clapped his hands together, emptying more than half of his reserves, a powerful shockwave expanding outwards like thunder to rip the phantoms apart.

His troubles had only just begun, however.

The shards flew toward the last of the cloaked figures – who Deimos could only assume was their master. The Red-born lifted his one good arm, the storm converging into his hand.

The pieces attached themselves to one another, held in place by frost and enchanted silk, a new construct slowly taking shape. It was a massive weapon, its shaft thicker than a tree’s trunk, stretching out for over a hundred metres.

Unable to hold it in his hand, the Red-born wrapped his elbow around it, a series of long blades sprouting along its length. He’d probably intended them to curve into neat crescents, but their actual shape ended up jagged. Each resembled a rough shard of ice more than a scythe’s blade, though there was no doubt as to their sharpness, making the whole structure look like an oversized cleaver.

An outside observer might have burst out laughing at the comical sight of the regular-sized human trying to wield what could only be described as the ugliest pole on Remior.

Deimos swallowed hard, knowing better.

Without warning, the Red-born swung his deceptively practical weapon, the construct appearing entirely weightless as it completed its arc in half a heartbeat.

Deimos barely managed to hop high enough to avoid getting cleanly bisected, though a grey crescent still sliced through his knees before expanding outwards, the grey motes parting as a new layer of frost rippled across the battlefield.

Not a drop of blood leaked from his stumps, chips of brittle flesh flaking off one after the other. Deimos wasn’t given the chance to so much as study his debilitating injury, the Red-born already swinging his monstrous weapon again, this time vertically.

Unlike before, Deimos managed to avoid getting hit, watching with horror as the cleaver sliced the ground open into a deep ravine, revealing countless tunnels covered in colourful crystals. Like withering flowers, the vibrant minerals soon lost their hues, a gloomy layer of grey sealing the caverns as waterfalls of hissing mist poured down the bottomless chasm.

Realizing that his opponent was about to attack a third time, Deimos unleashed every drop of mana he had left, parrying the blow at the last instant. Surviving the execution by the skin of his teeth, he was sent sliding backwards, digging a deep trench in the process.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The collision had thankfully damaged the cleaver too, though its wielder didn’t appear very concerned. Tossing the broken weapon aside, the cloaked figure formed another in his hand – just a regular scythe this time.

Walking toward Deimos, the Red-born dragged its tip along the ground, the grating noise causing Deimos’s hair to stand on end. The pale orbs within the hood still shone brightly, their frigid gaze never peeling off Deimos’s frame for even a second as he finally realized that he was going to die here.

As strange as it seemed, this was the one outcome that he hadn’t really considered over the past few years. He understood that Percy was growing at a ridiculous pace, of course, and that the gods were probably deeply invested in his development. Even so, none of that had mattered to him that much.

Ever since his advancement to Violet, he thought that he still had decades – if not centuries – before the Red-born caught up to him. By then, the situation would certainly be settled – one way or another. Deimos hadn’t been that worried about the gods’ retaliation either. After all, he hadn’t broken any rules.

He was under no obligation to disclose his new grade to anyone, and it wasn’t his fault that his superiors wanted to throw Blues at Percy by the dozens to foster his growth, without so much as informing them of the boy’s importance.

If there had been a few things that had kept him awake at night, they had nothing to do with his survival. He’d stressed over whether Percy would foolishly return to the Guild and fall into his trap, whether Orin would spill the beans on the Aurora Dew and give him the means to attain divinity, and whether Hermes would finally acknowledge his talent after he personally defeated Remior’s reigning prodigy.

As for his safety?

Until this moment, Deimos had never even bothered to question it.

Yet, watching the very face of death approach, his eyes widened with horror as he finally came to terms with what he’d done.

He’d driven Percy out of the Alchemists’ Guild and his family’s mansion… dragged his name through the mud… sent countless bounty hunters after his head… captured his grandfather and locked him up in a cell… stripped his mentor’s status and humiliated him publicly… threatened his loved ones… mocked him… and even killed his beloved crow in front of his eyes, all the while laughing and joking about it! ℞𝒶ΝồβÊⱾ

Beads of sweat froze on Deimos’s forehead as his executioner stopped just a step away, looming over him like the grim reaper. Not a hint of mercy could be found in his cold gaze – and why would it?

Deimos had slapped the devil’s cheek time after time, spat into his eyes and then had the gall to invite him over for tea! And now… said devil was here to extract his payment!

Swinging his scythe, the Red-born allowed the crescent blade to phase through the ground, stabbing through Deimos’s chest from behind. A curved edge tore through his flesh and soul both, lifting him a few centimetres off the ground as an indescribable chill spread out from the wound.

There was no pain – just numbness – darkness seeping through the corners of his vision. He scarcely registered his core falling apart, its pieces hungrily devoured by the blade. A layer of grey frost encased it, reshaping the construct into a tall stalagmite.

***

Tearing the shaft off the impaled corpse, they left Deimos’s lifeless body on display. A warning, to anyone foolish enough to provoke somebody they shouldn’t…

A deep rumble shook the earth, as the Status finally broke its silence.

[Congratulations! Your spells have merged: Secret Art: Soul Symphony – Masterful + Secret Art: Soul-crushing Needle – Masterful + Spectral Art: Phantomwoven Cloak – Masterful + Wild Art: Carnival of the Savage Gods – Masterful + Wild Art: Symbel of the Savage Gods – Masterful - …]

[…Ultimate Art: Symphony of a Dead Winter – Extreme!]

Falling to their knees, they couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, though they were unfortunately way too tired to make sense of the message right now. Besides, the Status wasn’t even done.

[Error! Unable to identify user! Calibrating Phoebe’s Decree…]

At the same time, the tremor intensified, countless shapes seemingly moving underground. Much of the noise appeared to emanate from the bottomless ravine a few dozen metres away, cracking sounds permeating the area – almost as if an entire army of monsters was crawling over the crystalline walls, rapidly climbing to the surface.

Wholly uninterested in their predicament, Phoebe’s Decree continued.

[Calibration complete.]

[Congratulations! You have acquired a new aspect: Percival!]

[Congratulations! You have acquired a new aspect: Mictlantecuhtli!]

They felt something worm its way to their chest, ripping itself from the tattered robe. A dark object landed on the frozen ground with a crisp ting. It was a bird. Whether it was its size or colour, it looked no different from a mundane crow. However, its grey body was clearly still made of ice – a Green and a Yellow core pulsing inside its tiny frame.

More notifications flashed.

[Congratulations! Your mutations have merged…]

[Congratulations! Your domain has…]

They couldn’t focus on the text long enough to read, collapsing onto the ground as the last dregs of power left their muscles. Their eyelids drooped as the marching sounds drew nearer. They knew they had to get the hell out of here before it was too late, but they couldn’t even stand.

The last thing they registered before their eyes fell shut was the sight of countless figures surrounding them. A forest of antennas, carapaces, mandibles and membranous wings of all shapes and sizes enveloped their bodies, dragging them away…

[END OF BOOK 4: LEGEND OF THE THIRD HERO]

[END OF THE WINTER SAGA]