Chapter 28: Crown

Chapter 28: Crown

He stared at the fortress for a long time. Massive, brutal, walled and spiked with hundreds of writhing imps. It didn't take him long to settle himself. Strength determined everything, and looking at that place, he knew better than to let emotions drown out reason.

[User has arrived with seventeen hours remaining until Gate activation. Recommendation: Use time to scout area and plan infiltration.]

"That was the plan already..."

He rolled his eyes and dropped down, landing lightly before starting forward, slow and careful. From the higher ground he'd spotted patrols, groups of those wandering undead imps drifting aimlessly. He didn't need them all turning on him at once, so he went quiet, sinking into stealth, sticking to the deeper shadows.

"This is kinda exciting. Finally gonna see what a real demon looks like."

[Recommendation: User should avoid any potential contact with higher demons. Abilities and powers Unknown. Detection likely.]

"That didn't last long..."

Mumbling to himself, he felt the edge of his excitement fade. This wasn't a game. He knew it. But for someone like him, so new, so young, the idea of seeing one of those real demons was hard to kill completely.

As he crept closer, the numbers thickened. More undead imps clustered near the outer edges of the fortress. But they seemed dull, slow, only responding to simple triggers. As long as he kept his head, they weren't much of a threat.

He checked his UI.

[HP // 70/70] 

[SM // 15/15] 

[Exp // 931/949]

Eighteen points left to level. Two groups, maybe three. He might get what he needed in one go, fast and quiet, but after—

He froze on the top of a massive femur. Held his breath. Then let it out slow.

"....No. Can't risk it. Even without fighting, I'd be down to ten soulmass by the time the Gate opens. Can't risk getting into a battle right now since I can't feed."

He said it out loud, making it real. Making himself listen. Caution over greed. But even as he said it, his claws flexed. Itched. The memory of his blades splitting free from his flesh and tearing through demon meat ran hot in his mind.

 Abruptly, something caught his eye. He crouched, muscles tight, leaning forward to get a better look.

"What are they doing?"

[It appears they are carrying something.]

Curiosity flared. He dropped to all fours, letting his Wall Crawler ability take over. Slow. Silent. He crawled, moving until he was perched above them on an enormous ribcage, watching the group shuffle below.

He narrowed his eyes. Caught flashes of red between them...shifting, pulsing. The sight sent a stab of hunger through his gut.

"What is that?"

[Soul Stone.]

He blinked. A jolt hit his brain, like half-remembered lessons suddenly snapping into place. He squinted harder at it, trying to process.

"What's a Soul Stone?"

[Soul Stones are a natural resource within Hell, but can also be artificially created. Ones that form naturally can be found where souls concentrate and fester. Uses include spellcraft, forging, and apothecary. User may also consume to replenish soulmass or increase soul integrity.]

His eyes tracked the stone as it passed beneath him. Huge. At least four of the undead imps were needed to haul it. It seemed to breathe, color and shape shifting, hardening and melting in turns.

"Are they all that big?"

He didn't realize he was drooling until it dripped from his chin.

[Negative. Size depends on accumulation. Soul stone observed is high quality. Given its size, power contained would be significant.]

He watched it, hunger replaced by calculation.

"Think they're using it for the gate?"

[Probability high. A dimensional gate should require a vast power source. Especially one designed to allow passage of a higher ranked demon.]

He clenched his jaw. The urge to steal died as quickly as it had come.

'If I took it now, whoever owns that fortress would notice. And I need that gate open more than I need a soul stone.'

He turned his gaze back the way the undead had come. In the distance, he caught sight of another group. Moving the same way. Same shuffle.

Brows drawn tight, he scurried back. Keeping low, he crawled down along the ribcage, moving toward the next group in the distance. When he finally got close, he saw it again. That same pulsing red glow between them.

"Another..? System? Judging by the size and quality of those stones, what rank of demon would need that much power to cross?"

He glanced back, eyes narrowing as he picked out a third group. Then a fourth.

Gulping, he tried again.

"Make that four stones..."

[Considering the energy signatures within the stones, and assuming the Warlord is traveling alone, estimation would be A-rank.]

His blood ran cold. Skin tightened.

"A..? Hope he's bringing an army."

As the groups closed in on the fortress, he realized he needed to get closer as well. He should watch how they entered.

As he crept forward, the smell suddenly shifted. Stale rot turned sour and searing. His nose scrunched. He was used to foulness, he lived in it, but this still made him recoil, blinking as his eyes watered.

But it wasn't just the stink.

The air itself became heavy. Like a blanket soaked in blood, pressing on his skin. His breath became harder to draw in.

[Aura of higher being detected. Discomfort normal.]

He swallowed hard. Good news, barely. If it felt like this from a distance... up close wasn't something he wanted to think about.

A cracking groan split the air as the ground shook, jerking him to attention. The fortress doors moved. Black, jagged, covered in rusted spikes and screaming imps. The massive slabs ground open on ancient hinges.

That's when he noticed, when he finally realized. And a slow, vicious smile crawled across his face, even as something in him soured at the sight.

His fuel.

Lining the walls. The screaming and bleeding. The imps, they were alive. They weren't just corpses. They weren't undead like he'd assumed.

'I can level...'

His claws flexed. He breathed a little faster. A way to recover soulmass. He calmed as he watched the undead groups shuffle inside, hauling the soul stones. Creeping along, he shifted to get a better view. 

Now seeing inside, he saw no greeting party, no fanfare. Just a wide, ruined courtyard–

His heart almost crawled out his throat.

The Gate.

Large. Black. An oval of cracked stone that seemed to drink the dim light around it. He didn't want to admit it, but a small part of him had doubted Charon's visions. Thought it was all possibly a lie.

But seeing it there, relief hit like a blade–

Only for it to immediately drain from him like blood from a thousand cuts.

His body stiffened. He nearly fell back, nearly turned to flee. But even if he'd tried, he wouldn't have been able to move.

He was frozen. Locked in fear.

Only for a heartbeat, maybe two.

And when he finally forced himself to move, all he could manage was to crouch. No more. No less. Muscles taut, ready to snap...but he couldn't bolt. Every fiber of him screamed to hide. To vanish.

But he didn't.

He couldn't let that thing leave his sight.

It stepped into view, if you could call it stepping. A Thirty-foot tall nightmare.

Memories flashed unbidden: that human baby, wailing in the first dream the system showed him. The thought turned his insides. This thing looked like that. A massive infant's bloated form, fat limbs, rolls of flesh sagging and shifting.

But that was the simplest part.

Its skin was wrong. All of it, patchwork. Sewn together with black cord, stitched tight and ragged. Hundreds of pieces. Each one pale. Each one unmistakable. Imp skin. Every inch he could see was a grotesque quilt of his own kind.

Except for the face.

Just bare bone, from chin to forehead, ear to ear. Lidless eyes bulging, red-veined and wet. The jaw lined in layered, socketed teeth, like an actual human newborns skull, only twisted, like its grin stretched forever.

On top of its head, two black horns jutted wide, curving up to cradle a floating black crown with six spikes along its front. That crown dripped. Constant. Endless. A black oil that ran down the demon's face, oozing down its fat chest.

All of it streamed into a cauldron, one the massive demon sat within.

Made of an ornate black metal, covered in burning red runes, hissing and igniting in demonic script. He could have stopped there. Most would of wished they'd had. Because beneath all that, what gave it movement, was its own nightmare.

Humans. Or what he assumed looked like them.

Naked men and women, dozens of them. The first he'd ever seen with his own eyes, fused together in a single mass of living meat.

He'd never seen one in person, didn't know for sure what they were supposed to look like whole. But he knew they weren't supposed to look like this.

 Arms straining, eyes bulging in silent screams. Skin cracked and burned where it pressed against the cauldron's runes and where the black sunstance overflowed. They were its legs. Forced to crawl, to suffer, to carry. Their faces twisted in agony, melted together into one unholy support.

Grotesque. Will-shattering. The demonic monstrosity held his attention like a moth to a flame, he couldn't breathe, his body couldn't move. It refused. He watched as the last group of undead shuffled through the fortress gates. Watched as the massive doors ground closed.

And as the demon's head turned.

Slow. Deliberate.

Those red-veined eyes swept the field.

Stopped.

Met his.

And held.