An Assistant message materialized before Arthur, but he couldn't perceive it—didn't even know it existed. His consciousness had vanished into a dark abyss. A smile spread across his face as he gazed up at Mary, his mother, and rose from the bed with unnatural grace. His pitch-black eyes somehow darkened further, though they had already reached the deepest shade possible—as if the void itself had taken residence behind them.
*User has used void energy while the system was offline, attempting to fight a threat to the system's prepared planning for the host. While the system was fighting off this being, the host attempted to use void energy. Side effects have been activated: host will be insane for one hour.*
The black skull marking on Arthur's chest pulsed with malevolent energy, sending tentacles rippling throughout his torso like living shadows. They branched outward from the skull, once, then twice, until the tentacles began spreading across his entire body in a grotesque web. Arthur's manic, crazed smile was terrifying beyond measure—the expression of a child twisted into something monstrous. Eventually, a full set of pitch-black armor encased his seven-year-old frame, transforming him into a nightmare made flesh.
Before Arthur could make his insane—likely psychopathic—move, black and purple mist began leaking from the skull marking like smoke from a funeral pyre. The purple vapor coalesced into a familiar shape: a pitch-black robe, a skeletal face, black bony fingers that seemed to absorb the light around them. Jack materialized, his hollow eye sockets fixed on the corrupted form of his son. He stared at Arthur with an intensity born of ancient instinct, then lifted one bony black finger. Purple energy crackled at his fingertip as he aimed it directly at the boy, the threat unmistakable—if Arthur moved, that purple beam would pierce straight through his chest. Even with his low intelligence as a void monster, Jack recognized that this wasn't truly Arthur. The boy's essence, his soul, had been buried beneath layers of void corruption.
After all, Jack was Arthur's father, and his distant but primal paternal instincts surged to life in that moment. Something deep within his skeletal form remembered what it meant to protect one's offspring.
Arthur, however, showed no concern for the threat before him. His corrupted mind registered Jack only as an obstacle, not as family. Instead, he raised one finger as black energy engulfed it, sharpening into a pitch-black claw that gleamed with deadly promise. He repeated the transformation with his other nine fingers until all bore razor-sharp points, each one capable of tearing through flesh and bone.
Arthur laughed—a sound that should have been young and innocent, perhaps even delightful. But this laughter struck fear deep into Mary's heart, freezing the blood in her veins. The sound was wrong, twisted, as if something ancient and malevolent had stolen her son's voice. She stumbled backward, her maternal instincts screaming at her to flee, positioning herself behind Jack. He kept the purple orb at his bony fingertip ready to fire, planning only to injure Arthur enough to shatter this insane state—not to truly harm him. The thought of hurting his son tore at whatever remained of Jack's consciousness.
Arthur lunged forward with inhuman speed, swiping his left hand. The blackened, sharpened fingers sliced through the air with a whistle. At that precise moment, Jack released the beam, his skeletal hand trembling with the weight of what he was doing. The orb shot toward Arthur like a violet comet. He dodged with unnatural agility and tried to grab it, but the sphere tore through his blackened fingers, shattering them into fragments of dark energy. Fortunately for Arthur, the black coating was merely armor—his actual fingers remained undamaged beneath, as though nothing had happened.
Arthur regenerated the same black coating on the fingers that had nearly shattered, the void energy responding to his corrupted will. His other hand remained perfectly intact with its sharpened coating still in place, rendering Jack's attack useless. The boy tilted his head, studying Jack with those bottomless black eyes, calculating his next move.
Deep within a forest, multiple men stood in a circle around a fire that cast dancing shadows on their faces. All wore black clothing that seemed to drink in the firelight. All looked worried, their expressions tight with tension. One man shifted his weight nervously, then turned toward the figure standing closest to the flames. "Sir," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The man towered over the others, his features sharper and more deadly, as if carved from stone by an unforgiving hand. He exuded a powerful aura, though the men seemed unaffected by it—they had grown accustomed to their leader's presence. "What is it?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the crackling of the fire.
The first speaker looked at his leader with a worried, nearly terrified expression. His hands clenched at his sides. "It seems our anomaly—the one we were trying to recruit for our team of the magicless—something has happened."
The leader's gaze hardened, his jaw tightening. "What do you mean, 'something happened'?"
The man swallowed hard, his throat working visibly. "It seems he went crazy somehow. Lost control completely."
"'He went crazy somehow' isn't much of an explanation, is it?" The leader stepped forward, his aura intensifying until the air itself seemed to thicken. The other men took involuntary steps backward. "No, sir, but that's all the information I have," the messenger stammered. "Nothing else. Our scouts couldn't get close enough to—"
"That's all you have?" The leader's voice dropped to a menacing growl that promised violence. "Then find more information. Do whatever you must, because I don't want to be dead. Do *you* want to be dead?"
"No, sir." The man's voice shook.
"Exactly. Our relationship with him is mutually beneficial, and we cannot afford to lose that advantage." The leader began to pace, his boots crushing the undergrowth. "He drains people's magic to reclaim his own, and we gain new recruits for our army. But if we fail in our task, he'll eliminate us and handle it himself. Last I checked, he's tracking down the Shadow Wall—the artifact used to drain people's energy in the first place. Once he's finished with that, we're next on his list. Don't be a fool. Get more information, or we're all dead. Do you hear me?"
The man gulped, nodding rapidly. "Yes, sir. I'll send out more scouts immediately."
The leader turned to the rest of the group, his eyes scanning each face with cold assessment. "All of you, too. The same applies to everyone. Get more information. I want to know everything—what triggered this madness, how long it will last, and whether our plans are compromised."
"Yes, sir," they responded in unison, their voices echoing through the dark forest.
Back inside the house, Arthur stood with his sharpened dark fingers raised like weapons. His corrupted mind focused solely on destruction. He lifted one hand and brought it down in a vicious arc toward Jack, aiming for the skeletal being's neck. Jack teleported behind Arthur in a flash of purple energy and seized him by the neck with his bony black fingers—nearly a repeat of what he'd done to Laid. Laid had been grabbed by the neck and died, his life extinguished in seconds. This time, the only difference was that Arthur would not be killed. Jack gripped Arthur's neck and squeezed, his sharp bony fingers stabbing into the boy's flesh, drawing droplets of blood that ran down his pale skin like crimson tears.
The instant he did, Arthur's body went limp, the void corruption losing its hold. Another system message appeared before him—one he likely couldn't see through his unconscious state.
*Void hour timer has ended. The effects of using void magic while the system was offline have ceased. The system is still fighting the being who has disrupted the system's plans for the host. The host will remain in an unconscious state until the system completes its task.*
*The system will keep the host's body alive until the battle is won. Good luck, host. You will need it.*
Inside the demon realm, a man with white hair, a blade strapped to his back, and nearly all white clothing appeared in a flash of light. He materialized in the deep outskirts of the demon settlement, far from the civilized areas. "Floyd," the man said, his voice carrying across the barren landscape. His name was Deal, and he had come to this particular place because something was disturbing him—a disturbance in the natural order that he couldn't ignore. He looked around, his sharp eyes scanning the crimson terrain, but the man who was called Floyd was nowhere to be seen.
Deal's jaw tightened with frustration. "Floyd, are you there? I know it's you causing this trouble." His hand moved to the hilt of his blade, ready for confrontation.
Then Deal saw him. A man with red wings and two blades that he held in his hands was flying toward a demon who was stealing demon stones—crystals that cost a fortune in the demon economy. Floyd's bloodlust was clearly visible, radiating from him like heat from a forge. His eyes burned with savage intensity as he threw his blades toward the thief with deadly precision. The man didn't have any time to react, and both blades impaled him, knocking him down onto the ground with brutal force. The man's body twitched for a few seconds, blood pooling beneath him, then it went still. Death had claimed another victim of Floyd's justice.
Floyd dropped down and grabbed the crystals with casual indifference to the corpse at his feet. He put the demon stones inside pockets hidden within his wings—air pockets that served as storage. They were not too small but not too big enough to limit his flight. He stuffed the demon stones into these air pockets with practiced efficiency, then spread his wings to fly off.
But as soon as he began to float in the air, Deal was right in front of him, blocking his path. Deal held up a white blade that gleamed with holy light. "You can't keep doing this, Floyd," Deal said, exuding a deadly and powerful aura—the same aura that Lane and Wolf and his pack had felt back in the outskirts. But unlike Lane, who could barely lift his arm under the pressure of that overwhelming presence, Floyd just stood there completely unharmed. His resistance to such power was absolute.
Floyd began to exude a powerful aura that was filled with bloodlust and raw power, meeting Deal's energy with his own. "Get out of my way," Floyd said, his voice cold and unyielding.
"I will give you a quick warning," Deal said, his expression grave. "If you ever kill someone again, whether it's for good reason or not, you will be killed on the spot. This is not a threat—it's a promise."
"Well, what do you want me to do then?" Floyd's black eyes flashed with anger. "Leave them be? Let demons steal what they're not supposed to have? You want me to sit there and let it all happen? Why would I do such a thing? Plus, it's the perfect situation for me—I can get my bloodlust satisfied, and I get to kill criminals. After all, it's the best way of doing things. If I'm clearly not allowed to just hurt innocent demons, I don't see the big deal about it. Now move."
Deal stood his ground, his blade unwavering. "I get what you're saying, Floyd, but this is not the right way to go about things. Justice and vengeance are not the same."
"And how would you know what the right way to go about things is?" Floyd said, his voice rising with indignation. "You think because you are some nearly godly being that you can have control over me? I am my own person. I am a slave to no one or nothing. So move it."
But Deal did not move. "You're a slave to no one and nobody, but—"
Before Deal could finish, Floyd lunged forward and grabbed him by the neck. Floyd lifted Deal up in the air, his wings flapping as he moved up in altitude, carrying them both higher above the crimson landscape. "If you think I'm going to be a slave for you, then you are mad," Floyd snarled, his grip tightening. "I'd rather die than become a slave to anyone. And you know what? My bloodlust isn't exactly filled yet, so how about I take it out on you instead?"
Floyd's aura pulsed violently as Deal could see small red shock waves emanating from him, rippling through the air like waves of pure aggression.
"Fine, fine," Deal said, his voice strained but calm. He recognized the futility of this confrontation.
Floyd released Deal, who fell to the ground and hit the reddened grass with a soft thud. Floyd floated toward the ground and picked up his blades that had impaled the man who had taken the demon stones. He wiped the blood from them with deliberate slowness. "Now I'll be on my way," Floyd said as he flew off into the distance, leaving Deal to contemplate the encounter.
Inside the outskirts, Lane stood in the middle of multiple bodies, his expression one of cold satisfaction. Wolf and his entire wolf pack lay dead around him, their blood staining the earth. Of course, Lane wouldn't dare to kill them while they were on guard—he wasn't foolish enough for a direct confrontation. So he had done it while they didn't notice anything was going on, striking from the shadows like the coward he was. They had known that he was here, and they had known how far he would go for a little bit of power. The siphoning blade was his only weapon and technically his only strength—well, that wouldn't entirely be the case, because even if he did not have the blade, strength would still be inside him from all the people that he had killed. And now he had just gained a bundle of strength from Wolf's pack.
Lane laughed into the air, the sound echoing across the desolate landscape. "Yes! My plan is finally in motion. I can be the absolute strongest, and no one will stop me!" His eyes gleamed with manic ambition.
The Black Knight was gone—Lane had secretly given the Black Knight a fake copy of the siphoning blade, a clever deception. The Black Knight, who always protected the outer areas of the demon city, had been fooled completely. What a fool, Lane thought with contempt. Now, if I just kill a few more demons, I can finally beat the Black Knight. Then I'll gain so much power that no one will dare challenge me.
Lane smiled, his plan finally going into motion. He would be the strongest being ever in the demon realm, and nothing—no one—would stop him. The bodies at his feet were just the beginning of his ascension to absolute power.