Chapter 104: Learning of Hospitality Home

Meanwhile.

Below, in what could be construed as a deep, dark pit was a flickering fire. The flame was green and gave off a fiendish vibe as it licked at the walls, casting the underground area in a dark virescent glow as it fingered at the smooth, olden stone.

Occasionally, the sounds of footsteps could be heard with much intensity. Today had the greatest activity the rune etched walls had ever seen, a creature shuffled out of a shadowed doorway just to be illuminated by the fire's light.

It was a humanoid with grey skin, and its head was covered by a veil that fell into rectangular strips woven from light green cloth. Beneath the veil was an odd face that lacked all but a pair of serrated teeth and a mangled nose. It wore a mix of soldier and cultist apparel, an ornamental script engraved on a dim bronze Egyptian style chest plate and a set of iron-colored robes.

Strips of cloth were hung on its body, most notably wrapped around its left arm, which was its horn. It emitted dense tendrils of wispy smoke that constantly rose from its body.

The shuffling demon was known as a Cultist of the Morgue, a caliber of demons that inspired great fear in the populace of Morris. They were skilled combatants, but even more potent shapeshifters. They served as a guard for a fearsome child of Gant, one that was thought to have already been killed by the efforts of the Red Angels...

The cultist demon turned down the hallway, and torches lit up with green sparks as it walked by. Cultists with darker stripped veils stood to attention as the demon passed, bowing their heads in submission as the light green ranked cultist kept up his stride.

Arriving before one of the few doorways that lacked the cultist demons, it turned to the right and descended a lengthy staircase. As it moved lower and lower, there was the occasional doorway that led to another floor. Yet it was obvious to see that this wasn't the demon's destination, the creature in question wordlessly embarking to the depths for a total of thirty minutes.

It arrived on the second to last floor, footsteps tinged with stalwart purpose. The sleeves of its robe fluttered as it pushed open the light green door, exerting all the might it could muster as the text on its chest plate shone.

Through the doorway and to the left, there were numerous coffins. The lids of which were opened, revealing the empty contents inside...all but one. The coffin had a nameplate, the likes of which would cause great anger in two notable demon hunters if they were there to see it.

"Fallen...hunter...Isalde. You will be the host...for my lord...!" The demon's voice was raspy, and yet undeniably regal. In the middle of its utterances, its voice faltered as its throat wriggled, and suddenly it emitted a serene, masculine voice.

The wisps on his body were dyed pale green as demonic energy gathered on his ridged left arm. Performing strange contortions while uttering odd mantras, the coffin's lid swung open as the wisps entered the corpse of a woman that could be equated as an artist's life work, one that they had put their soul and heart into.

The eyelids on the pristine corpse fluttered open, revealing a leafy glow. The skin was cobalt blue, and the hair was like the pitch of night. An elegant, mature beauty permeated both her face and body, the beauty mark near her lips a distinct shape. With stiff, ridged movements, it shot up two arms that clutched at the sides of the high-quality coffin, struggling to get on its feet.

"The host is ready...and there is no more remnant will! Good, good. That means that this resurrection will have a chance of success greater than ever before!" The demon shivered in delight as he poked and prodded at the still, standing corpse. Cooing in delight as he realized it no longer attempted to resist, he controlled the wisps he had injected inside of it to follow him further in the room.

And now, there was a looming door eight meters tall and five meters wide. It was constructed out of Gantrian Night Jade, a precious stone the shade of phthalo green that only appeared in areas with low amounts of light. After bathing in demonic energy for tens of years, it was reborn with properties that fit the demons of Morris to a T, making the perfect "burial room" for the cultist's master.

Fiendish faces flickered on the jade and spiritual wisps condensed to form a hand that coalesced before the doorway. It beckoned as if telling the demon before it to give it something, which elicited aggrieved grumbles from the cultist as his appearance fluctuated.

His face morphed as smoke spewed out of his countenance, and before long, he lifted his veil. Instead of the odd morphed nose, there was a nose like a thin line beneath two piercing eyes that held deep pools of neon green and vertical pupils. The cheeks were lean and suave, and a piercing jawbone struck out beneath two cherry lips. A head full of blonde hair fell past his shoulders, the pointing locks near his neck pointing towards his fierce expression on his ivory skinned face.

"You would require verification from this lord? The first of my lady The Tarnished Text's servants?!" The green tinged wisps materialized a ruined coin that was soon grasped in a grey hand with light green fingernails. Foisting the coin before the now trembling hand, the faces materializing on the Gantrian Night Jade doors revealed obsequious faces as the hand pulled back into the shimmering precious stone.

"Precocious. An artificial demon dares not to recognize the light green strip. My true form takes too much energy...but it'll be annoying if I shift back again, and I only have seven Gant's Heart Coins left."

Shouldering the draining sensation that began to nag at his consciousness, he infused his hands with light green demonic energy as he pushed against the door. A suctioning force absorbed the offered energy like sand to rainwater, and a minute passed before the doorway moved inwards.

A dark breeze surged from the opening; the gust composed out of runic blackened characters. When looking at it, one could feel a sense of corruption and forbidden knowledge that was often traded between nobles. The handsome cultist basked in it as the strips of his veil were lit ablaze with light green rays. His neon green eyes shone in anticipation as his black vertical pupils began to be filled with dark green radiance, and a twisted halo made out of gnarled priest heads appeared above him.

"The ceremony, the ceremony, the ceremony...quick! Gantrian Induction Puppetry Qi!" Energy fluctuations arose from the corpse as the cultist willed it to walk into the room, the man himself bowing before the slightly ajar doorway as he began chanting.

Scrawled text leaked out of his eyes as he repeated a villainous hymn five times over. Hands clasped to each other, he pulled at the black breeze and spat liquid drops of his qi as the ragged cloth shouted a soundless roar. Air pushed at his hair, making it face the entry point of the "morgue" as he joined and retracted his palms in an endless rhythm, the sound of clanking ringing in the demon's ears.

He was determined to go about this for hours and repeated it over and over. Inside of the room where the corpse stood, great changes began to occur...