CH: 21: The Science of Destruction

{Chapter: 21: The Science of Destruction}

But to his irritation, the plants in the Abyss were not so easily consumed. Some were resistant to flames, others fed on them, and a few even regenerated faster than they could burn. Blood Flame, which should have been the ultimate tool of destruction, was met with stubborn resistance at every turn.

This world, however, was different.

Here, destruction required no effort.

The trees, the grass, the very earth itself—none of it possessed the unnatural resilience of the Abyss. Blood Flame spread with terrifying ease. It consumed everything in its path, unchecked, unstoppable.

His blood flames were not just ordinary fire. They burned hotter than mortal blazes, capable of reducing evan stone and soil to ash. The mere thought of it sent a shiver of satisfaction down his spine.

If he wanted to, he could reduce the entire Principality of Madon to a smoldering ruin.

But he did not.

Not yet.

Blatant destruction had its drawbacks. A world had its own form of sentience—its own 'will.' To attract too much attention too soon would be dangerous. Even he could not afford to be reckless.

So he chose a quieter method. A slower, more insidious path.

Plagues.

Diseases had existed in every world he had encountered. They were natural forces of entropy, spreading silently, claiming victims without the need for blades or fire. Yet their destructive potential was immeasurable.

And unlike flames, they did not immediately alert the prey to danger.

He had spent long hours contemplating his approach before settling on a solution. The key was control. A disease that was too aggressive would burn out before it could spread. One that was too weak would be ineffective. There needed to be a perfect balance.

Thus, he used his evolution system to develop a new ability.

[Source of Death Plague].

This, he decided, would be his primary tool for reaping the weak.

Blood flames were too direct. Spells had their uses but required too much effort. But a well-crafted disease? That was perfection.

With the right balance, it could sweep through entire populations without them even realizing what was happening until it was too late.

His first test subjects?

Hank and his companions.

Dex was meticulous in his approach.

Every aspect of the plague needed to be adjusted in real time. He had to record their reactions, analyze the symptoms, and modify the disease accordingly. It needed to spread fast enough to infect a large population but slow enough to remain unnoticed.

It could not kill too quickly, or the infected would die before they could pass it on.

It could not take too long to manifest, or its impact would be too gradual to be effective.

The initial stages needed to be subtle—mild enough that the infected remained active, interacting with others, spreading the disease without realizing it.

Each race, each individual, would react differently.

Humans were fragile but adaptable.

Elves possessed natural resistances but were highly interconnected.

Dwarves had robust constitutions, but once infected, their close-knit communities would make them easy prey.

Every factor had to be accounted for.

This was no simple act of mindless destruction.

It was scientific.

And that irritated him.

Dex had never particularly enjoyed research. He was a being of action, of dominance. But even he had to acknowledge that knowledge was power. If he wanted to wield this weapon effectively, he needed to approach it with precision.

Thankfully, he had an advantage.

[Overclocked Brain].

Without this ability, attempting to design such an intricate and evolving plague would have been impossible. His mind processed data at an accelerated rate, allowing him to observe, analyze, and adapt in real time.

Still, it was tedious work.

In the Abyss, plagues were less about refinement and more about overwhelming force. There was no need for strategy, for carefully balanced infection rates. But here?

Here, he was climbing the viral technology tree alone.

If he had a proper research team, this process would have been much easier. He could have bounced ideas off other minds, tested variables at a faster rate, perfected his approach with less trial and error.

But he had no such luxury.

So he would adapt.

Dex's golden eyes gleamed with cold amusement as he observed the first signs of infection taking root.

Fortunately, Dex possessed the evolutionary system, a unique advantage that granted him an edge in areas others wouldn't even dare to explore. Without it, the mere thought of delving into such intricate research would never have crossed his mind.

As he strolled beside the manor's grand pool, his bare feet making no sound against the cool stone tiles, he focused on a different form of discipline. The moon cast a silver sheen over the rippling water as he engaged in rigorous training, utilizing techniques borrowed from both the monk and fighter professions.

With each deliberate motion, he fine-tuned the intricate control of his muscles, pushing his body to its limits. Every breath, every subtle shift of weight, was a lesson in mastery—both physical and mental.

But even as he trained, his mind never rested.

'I can't afford to waste time simply observing the virus,' he mused, his movements precise and controlled. 'I need to deepen my understanding of spell models, study the fundamental applications of magic energy in low-level spells. My current magic energy manipulation is still too crude.'

His mind was a battlefield of knowledge and experimentation, and though destruction came easily to him, refinement was a challenge he begrudgingly embraced.

---

Two Months Later

The midnight sky loomed overhead, its darkness pierced by a faint, ghostly moonlight. Inside the manor, dim candlelight flickered, casting wavering shadows against the walls.

In the silent chamber, Dex sat comfortably, fingers lazily tracing the rim of a delicate porcelain teacup. His gaze, golden and unreadable, settled on the man kneeling before him.

James.

The man's head was bowed deeply, his posture respectful yet tense. The heavy air of the room pressed down upon him, making the act of breathing feel strangely burdensome.

Dex stroked his chin thoughtfully before breaking the silence.

"You want me to help the Principality of Marton defeat the Principality of Yar and secure victory in this war?" His voice was calm, neither rejecting nor agreeing, merely confirming.

James inhaled sharply and nodded, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment.

"Yes, sir."

Dex studied him for a long moment, his amusement barely concealed. The world of mortals played its endless game of war, bloodshed, and ambition, never realizing how insignificant their struggles were in the grand scheme of things.

But he was not opposed to playing along.

He leaned back slightly, fingers tapping against the wooden table. "And what's the price? What are you prepared to offer in exchange?"

Though he had little desire to personally dirty his hands with mortal conflicts, aiding them was another matter entirely. Achieving the desired outcome was laughably simple. A whisper of power, a flick of his fingers, and entire armies could be wiped from existence.

For a demon of his caliber, turning the tides of war was not a challenge—it was entertainment.

James hesitated for only a brief second before delivering the offer he had painstakingly prepared.

"If we win this war, we will exile all captured soldiers to a remote, deserted island by the sea. It will become your domain—your sacrificial site. No one will interfere. You may do with them as you please."

The words carried weight, but James spoke them with practiced ease.

Over the past few months, he had observed the demon before him, carefully studying his nature. The creature's cruelty and cunning exceeded even the records written about his kind. Yet, there was something oddly contradictory about him.

By all accounts, demons were creatures of chaos and indulgence. They thrived on slaughter, drank deep from the ecstasy of soul-stealing, and indulged in their most depraved desires without restraint. For them, carnal domination was as natural as breathing.

And yet…

Dex was different.

James had been prepared for madness—an uncontrollable rampage that would shake the capital to its core. He had even arranged for certain "sacrificial" servants to be placed in the demon's path, expecting them to be devoured, defiled, or otherwise destroyed.

But nothing happened.

Not a single accident.

Not a single outburst of violence or unrestrained hunger.

It was baffling.

'There must be some kind of limitation on his behavior…' James thought warily.

Was it self-control? An unknown restriction? A hidden agenda?

The uncertainty gnawed at him.

Dex neither accepted nor rejected the offer immediately. Instead, he took a slow sip of his tea, the soft clink of porcelain breaking the silence. His expression remained unreadable, his golden eyes half-lidded in thought.

James felt his pulse quicken. The longer the silence stretched, the more uncertain the outcome became. His body stiffened as he lowered his head further, focusing on the minute details of the wooden floor, counting each speck of dust to keep his nerves from betraying him.

The weight of time pressed down upon them.

Finally, when James was certain his proposal was about to be dismissed, Dex spoke.

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.

"Consider yourself lucky," he murmured, setting his teacup down with deliberate ease. "I accept your request."

The words were simple, yet they sent a shiver down James's spine.

The deal was sealed.

And somewhere, in the vast abyss of fate, the wheels of something far greater had begun to turn.

*****

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