Daemon Sinners vs Gustav (6)

The air in the marketplace reeked of sulfur and spilled blood, a metallic tang that clung to the back of the throat like bitter ale

Gustav stood amidst the carnage, his bare chest heaving with exertion, pink hair matted with sweat and gore.

The demon's lips curled into a predatory smile as he watched the medic, a frail man whose hands had been steady enough to tend wounds but now trembled like autumn leaves rush toward the injured survivor.

The medic's weathered face showed the kind of determination that came from years of saving lives, even in the face of certain death.

"No," Gustav whispered, his voice carrying across the marketplace like a death knell. "I don't think so."

The demon's attention shifted from Marcus, who had been pressing his attack with desperate fury, to the two vulnerable figures near the overturned merchant cart.

Time seemed to slow as Gustav's consciousness touched the system that bound him. The words formed in his mind like a prayer.

System Peak. Level 24. External Energy. Decapitate

The command rolled off his tongue with practiced ease, each syllable dripping with malevolent intent.

At the same moment, Marcus's voice rose in panic. He said Daemon began to move, their bodies propelled by supernatural force toward the medic and the wounded man.

The medic's eyes widened, but there was no surprise in them, only the quiet resignation of a man who had seen too much death to fear his own.

The injured survivor, however, let out a strangled cry of terror, his pupils dilating as he stared at the approaching executioners.

Daemon caught a glimpse of Gustav's expression in that moment.

The demon's face twisted with cruel satisfaction, golden eyes blazing with the joy of impending slaughter.

Gustav's hand closed around a fallen lance, its wooden shaft still warm from its previous owner's grip.

With fluid precision, he drew back his arm and hurled the weapon toward Marcus, but Daemon's instincts kicked in.

He threw himself sideways, tackling Marcus to the ground just as the lance whistled past them.

The projectile struck a nearby stall with devastating force, reducing the sturdy Nordic woodwork to splinters and kindling.

A heartbeat later, the air filled with the wet sound of bodies hitting stone.

The medic and the injured man stood motionless for a moment, their heads rolling away from their shoulders.

Their bodies crumpled to the cobblestones with sickening thuds, adding to the growing pile of corpses that littered the marketplace.

Marcus scrambled to his feet, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. "Shit," he breathed, his voice shaking with a mixture of rage and gratitude. "I owe you one, kid."

Daemon said nothing, his dark eyes fixed on Gustav's imposing form.

The demon had straightened to his full height, rolling his shoulders and cracking his jaw like a prizefighter preparing for the main event.

His arms crossed over his chest, and for a moment, he looked almost bored.

"Is that it?" Gustav asked, his voice carrying the lazy confidence of a predator toying with wounded prey. "I was expecting more of a challenge."

Daemon moved without warning, sprinting toward the lance that Gustav had thrown.

His boots slipped on the blood-slick stones, but he maintained his balance, driven by desperate determination.

With both hands, he hefted the weapon and channeled every ounce of strength he possessed into the throw.

The lance flew true, but Gustav barely acknowledged its existence.

His hand came up almost casually, deflecting the projectile with a backhand that sent it spinning into a nearby wall.

Stone cracked and crumbled where it struck.

But Daemon was already moving again, his strategic mind working even as his body screamed in protest.

He grabbed the injured man's lance, still warm with the blood of its former owner and charged Gustav directly.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Marcus squeeze his eyes shut, his lips moving in what might have been prayer or curse.

Why would anyone pray in hell?Daemon thought fleetingly. Or maybe he's already dead.

The thought was cut short as Daemon reached Gustav's position.

He feinted high, aiming for the demon's throat, then pivoted on his heel and drove the lance toward Gustav's ribs.

It was a move that had served him well in countless fights, a technique honed through years of street combat.

Gustav's response was inhuman in its speed.

One moment he was standing directly in front of Daemon, the next he was behind him, his leg already in motion.

The kick caught Daemon in the side with bone-crushing force, launching him through the air like a ragdoll.

As he flew, Daemon twisted his body and drove the lance into the ground, using it as a pivot to break his fall.

He landed hard on one knee, feeling the familiar warmth of reopened wounds spreading across his torso.

The pain was sharp and immediate, but it was nothing compared to the voice that suddenly filled his head.

Surrender, it whispered, silky and seductive. Surrender to the System

In his mind's eye, Daemon saw a black-armored hand reaching toward him, fingers extended in false comfort.

"No," he snarled, shaking his head violently.

He forced himself to his feet and charged again, but Gustav was already there, moving with the fluid grace of a born killer.

Time seemed to stretch and distort as the demon's fists began to move, each punch delivered with surgical precision.

The first blow caught Daemon in the solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs.

The second shattered his guard, sending numbing pain through his forearms.

The third, fourth, and fifth landed in rapid succession, each strike accompanied by the sound of Gustav's knuckles meeting flesh and bone.

By the time the fifty-second punch connected, Daemon's vision had begun to blur.

Gustav's golden eyes blazed with savage amusement as he delivered the final blow, his voice carrying clearly over the sound of impact.

"You are one thousand years too young to threaten me, boy."

Daemon's body flew backward, striking the marketplace wall with enough force to crack the ancient stone.

He felt his ribs bend and nearly break, felt the copper taste of blood fill his mouth as he slumped to the ground.

Every breath was agony, every heartbeat a reminder that he might die.

Through the haze of pain, he heard Marcus's voice, surprisingly steady despite the circumstances.

"Thanks for the distraction, kid."

The words were followed by another system activation, Marcus's voice rising with desperate hope.

System Peak. Level 12. Internal Energy. Crush.

Gustav's left hand simply ceased to exist.

One moment it was there, whole and threatening, the next it was nothing but a spray of blood, bone fragments, and torn flesh.

The demon's scream of pain echoed off the marketplace walls, a sound that spoke of genuine surprise and agony.

The pink-haired demon collapsed backward, his golden eyes wide with shock as he stared at the ragged stump where his hand had been.

Blood poured from the wound in thick, steady streams, painting the cobblestones in fresh crimson.

"I bet you haven't felt pain like that before," Marcus said, his voice tight with grim satisfaction.

Gustav's response was not what either of them expected.

Instead of rage or despair, the demon began to laugh, a sound that started as a low chuckle and built into full-throated hysteria.

His shoulders shook with mirth, and tears of amusement streamed down his bloodied cheeks.

"Are you going delusional?" Marcus asked, his confidence faltering.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

Gustav's stump began to twitch, and slowly, impossibly, new flesh began to grow. Bone formed first, white and gleaming, followed by muscle, sinew, and finally skin. The process was nauseating to watch, like witnessing creation in reverse.

System Peak. Level 22. Internal Energy. Reform

The words carried a weight of power that made the air itself seem to thicken.

Within moments, Gustav's hand was whole again, his fingers flexing experimentally as he examined his work.

Marcus didn't wait to see the full regeneration.

He launched himself forward, his lance aimed at Gustav's heart, but the demon was already moving.

His feet left the ground with such force that the cobblestones cracked beneath him, creating a small crater in the ancient marketplace floor.

His newly reformed hand closed around Marcus's face like a vice, lifting the human warrior off the ground with contemptuous ease.

Marcus's legs kicked frantically, his lance clattering to the stones as he clawed at Gustav's iron grip.

"Impressive," Gustav said, his voice conversational despite the violence of the moment. "A human with a system. How... quaint."

Marcus's breathing became labored, his face turning purple beneath Gustav's fingers.

"But you should not forget your place, little human. You are an inferior being, and I am granting you the greatest honor of your pathetic existence." Gustav's golden eyes blazed with fanatic fervor. "You will die at the hands of a superior being. Bask in that glory."

Marcus's response was a desperate series of scratches and claws, his fingernails leaving bloody furrows on Gustav's wrist. The demon merely tsked in disapproval.

"Poor thing."

The sound of Marcus's skull striking the cobblestones was like a melon dropped from a great height.

His body went limp instantly, his head crushed beyond recognition, blood and brain matter spreading in a growing pool beneath him.

Gustav yawned, flexing his restored hand and cracking his knuckles with evident satisfaction. "And you," he said, turning his attention to Daemon's unconscious form.

But something was wrong.

Black smoke was beginning to rise from Daemon's body, thin tendrils at first, then thicker columns that twisted and writhed like living things.

The smoke carried with it an aura of such profound cold that even Gustav, creature of hellish power, felt his breath mist in the suddenly frigid air.

Fear. Real, primal fear flooded through the demon's consciousness.

He pissed on himself, the warm wetness spreading down his legs which were beginning to shake violently.