Ukobathan slammed into a jagged rock structure, the impact collapsing it into rubble. Dust and stone rained down as he clawed his way out, body bloodied and bruised, his left arm twisted and broken. Each breath was heavy, ragged, his chest heaving as he struggled to rise.
A deafening roar shook the ground, forcing him to flinch. He turned toward the source — a demon astride a monstrous crocodile. The beast was the size of a bus, its body wide as three, its maw gaping with rows of jagged teeth. The rider's long black hair flowed beneath a bronze crown, his presence radiating menace.
"You cannot be hurt from that. I've barely touched you," the demon mocked, his voice sharp and taunting. Ukobathan's frustration boiled, his aura darkening.
"COME AT ME, UKOBATHAN! SHOW ME WHY WRATH CHOSE YOU BUT REJECTED US ARS GOETIA!" the rider bellowed, drawing a massive sword from his back.
Ukobathan charged, his aura erupting into a storm of shadow. His demonic features sharpened, his broken arm snapping back into place as regeneration surged through him. The crocodile lunged, its cavernous jaws snapping shut to swallow him whole. At the last instant, Ukobathan vanished, reappearing above the beast, fist cocked back, aimed at the rider.
"Not bad," the demon said coolly, raising his blade.
"Demon Arts: Thrusting Hurricane," he uttered.
In an instant, a storm of sword thrusts exploded outward, slicing through the air in a fifty-meter radius. The strikes shredded Ukobathan's body, puncturing him with dozens of holes. Blood sprayed violently, chunks of flesh torn away. The top-left portion of his skull was obliterated, bone fragments scattering as he was hurled backward.
Ukobathan hit the ground, coughing blood, his body mangled yet still clinging to life.
The rider dismounted, boots crunching against the dirt as he approached. Seeing the boy still breathing, barely, he laughed — a deep, guttural sound.
"You are truly something special," he said. "You have my respect — the respect of Ars Goetia Sallos, right hand of Satan. Now let us get you the medical aid you require before death claims you." He lifted Ukobathan's broken body with ease.
Elsewhere, Lucifer stood over a vast map of Tarth, the city built as a perimeter around the Eternal Spring. Behind him, Barbatos — his left hand — watched silently.
"My lord, what do you seek?" Barbatos asked.
"I seek nothing," Lucifer replied, shaking his head. "I was searching for a way to reach the Spring without clashing with the Zarim people."
"Why the Spring? Are we not here to confront Lilith?" Barbatos pressed.
"She is there for the Spring. Bound within the boy, her power is suppressed. The Spring will amplify her strength. We must reach it before she does, even if it means cutting through the Zarim. Order the legions to gather. I will address them." Lucifer's voice was cold, decisive.
"Yes, my lord," Barbatos answered.
Within the cathedral, Father Cranel dressed in his simple clergy shirt and black leather pants. As he fastened his collar, the elder nun entered.
"Oh, Father, I heard you were looking for me," she said, averting her gaze.
"Sister Mary. The boys and I will depart soon. We may not return, but fear not — we go to do God's work. If a month passes without word, inform the Capital another priest must take this post," Cranel said softly.
"Father… why a month?" she asked, voice trembling.
"Because if I do not communicate for a month, it means I, along with both boys, have died," Cranel replied. The words left her shaken.
"Yes, Father. Anything more?" she whispered.
"Ensure the boys are ready. Tell them we leave at noon," Cranel said, fastening his white collar.
"Yes, sir," Sister Mary answered, departing quickly.
Cranel bowed his head. "Our Father, who art in heaven… hallowed be thy name," he prayed.
In another chamber, Raymond stood before a table. His blades lay across it, runes carved deep into their steel. Beside them, daggers and vials of holy water gleamed faintly. As he strapped on his light armor, memories of the forest night assaulted him — the overwhelming power of demons, the hopelessness he felt when Ukobathan rose from death.
I am nowhere near strong enough to face such monsters. I must be prepared. In Tarth, my mission is eradication — the cleansing of demon forces, Raymond thought grimly, gripping his blades.
On the sanctuary steps, Jeremiah sat silently, hair grown to his shoulders, eyes cold and distant. Dressed in his white cassock with black trim, he held a half-eaten apple loosely in his hand.
"Jeremiah, you seem ready. Shall we make our leave?" Father Cranel's voice came from behind.
"Yes, Father," Jeremiah replied, rising.
"Don't tell me you two forgot about me," Raymond said, entering the room. Cranel grinned at the sight of his two disciples prepared.
"Let the hunt begin, my monsters," Cranel declared.
Beyond the town, Elliot rode alone on horseback. His supplies were minimal, his leather attire worn but sturdy. His face was cold, focused, eyes fixed on the horizon.
"The demon lords shall bear witness in Tarth," Elliot muttered, his voice low and resolute.