Chapter 28: Cooked

Figures split from Jaden and attacked the retreating unit. The Crimson Dome lunged forward to shield the maintenance unit, but it was too late—Jaden's clone had already captured two of them and vanished into the darkness.

The last figure of Jaden stopped his maniacal laughter, locked eyes with his captain, and vanished.

Once again, Silia had failed to protect her people. It was heartbreaking, but she knew she had to stay strong. This was not the time to give up.

Silia gritted her teeth and commanded, "Stay together, form a circle, and move out now."

The maintenance unit nodded, forming a tight circle as they quickly retreated to their base. The hallway was far too dangerous—who knew what horrors might be lurking there? There was no time to mourn their fallen comrade.

........

The white walls lay in ruins, shattered, while the roof has collapsed onto the floor, leaving no trace of its wreckers. From the debris, a lone dark demonic knight emerges, an abyssal flame swirling around his horn. The ominous halo atop his head radiates, rejuvenating the creature with pure, unearthly energy. A crimson wave of fog rises from the rubble, swallowing the remnants of the ruins.

Slowly, they merged into a grotesque, imp-like creature that resembled a devil fresh from the womb.

It was small—smaller than a man, even smaller than Malo had been in life. At best, it stood knee-high, crouching low to the ground with limbs splayed at unnatural angles, like a crushed spider struggling to rise.

Its ashen-gray skin, tinged with faint purple undertones, was stretched too tightly over its frail frame, twitching in patches as if something beneath still writhed. Along its spine, jagged ridges of hardened flesh formed a raw, bony path—like scar tissue scraped over bone.

Its arms were disproportionately long, ending in thick, black claws that were chipped and rusted at the edges. As it shifted, its claws dragged softly along the ground, creating a faint, constant scratching sound—not deliberate, just an eerie byproduct of its existence.

The head was bulbous and oversized, with thin strands of black hair clinging like spider silk to the scalp. Its face bore a distorted hint of human features—high cheekbones and a narrow chin—but everything seemed wrong. The skin around its eyes sagged like wet cloth, and its shriveled lips exposed a mouthful of crooked, glassy teeth—small like a rodent's but unnervingly numerous, packed tightly in a shattered porcelain grin.

Its pale, unblinking eyes wandered aimlessly in their sockets, unable to settle. There was no hint of malice or anger—just an eerie calm, as though the creature was peering straight through the fabric of our reality.

A faint, unpleasant odor lingered around it, a mix of iron and damp, rotting wood—reminiscent of old blood steeped in decay. Its wheezing was subtle, more like a breeze struggling through collapsed lungs than actual breathing.

The Knight Demon was poised to lunge at the little devil, but doing so would have been a grave mistake. Luckily, the imp remained still, and the Knight Demon continued to study it like a predator.

This death stare match would be there for eternity, but the Knight demon didn't wait, he poured abysmal energy into his death sword and shot forward to the imp, ready to skew it into his swords edge. 

The imp's eye gleamed with light as he grinned at his attacker. He seized the death sword lunging toward him and used it to pull himself upward toward the Knight Demon. Clawing at the demon's helm, he grasped its abysmal horn to steady himself. With his other hand, glowing with red fog, he plunged it into the helm of the Knight Demon, then quickly stepped back, landing amidst the debris of the white wall.

The remnants of the dark flame still lingered. The imp landed on one of those smoldering spots, but as his foot touched it, the dark flame extinguished.

The knight demon raised his sword once more, but this time it transformed into a pair of knuckles, each adorned with ever-changing spikes. The space around the tips of the spikes seemed to warp and bend, as if the mere touch of one could tear open a hole inside his enemy.

The demon, clutching the abominable spike, lunged at the imp with terrifying speed. The imp, unperturbed by the demon's astonishing quickness, noted its opponent's movements, now even swifter than when it held the sword. Each swing of the spike warped the very fabric of space, yet the imp dodged every blow with the poise and agility of a skilled dancer.

Each time his swing misses, a mocking laugh echoes, taunting him for even trying. If the demon's frustration could be seen, it would show a figure seething with fury, like a kettle about to boil over.

While the demon failed to strike the imp, the imp also couldn't land a hit in return. He had only managed to hit the demon once, back when he was still wielding the sword, and that was all. Now they were locked in a stalemate, moving but making no progress. It seemed as though the fight would never end.

With each swing bending the space, a mocking laughter echoed so sharply that even a saint would feel compelled to punch the one laughing right in the face. 

But the demon couldn't stop; in the face of this mockery, he wanted to end it all, to kill the source of his anger. The halo above him, which should have been providing limitless energy, was also changing, warped by the mockery. The stillness within the circle of the halo churned with chaos, and the abyssal space that stored or connected the demon's power was shifting—for the worse. The crater in his chest, too, was reverting, and once again, a core began to form—a core of chaotic energy.

Seth's consciousness was returning. Through the blur, he could make out an imp standing before him, fueling his unquenchable desire to destroy it.

Before the demon could be completely consumed by the chaotic energy, the imp lunged at him. The whole fight looked absurd, more like a chef preparing dinner than a battle between two devils.