Chapter 617 - The Hunt (7)
Zharokath's claws were inches away from the human's chest when it happened—an unfamiliar, unsettling sensation rippled through his body.
–THUMP!–
A strange thump, like the beat of a heart, echoed in his ears. It reverberated through his skull, and with it came a wave of weakness that spread from his core, stealing the strength from his limbs.
'What... is this?' Zharokath's mind raced as his body began to falter. He could feel it—his power was slipping away. The void energy that surged through his veins, the raw strength that had carried him through countless battles, was suddenly vanishing, leaving him hollow.
Or was it vanishing?
It was a sensation that he had never experienced.
His vision blurred, the once razor-sharp focus clouded by an overwhelming sense of 'fatigue.' He tried to push through it, to summon the last reserves of his demonic energy, but nothing responded.
His body refused to obey. His legs buckled beneath him, and he stumbled forward, his claws missing their mark by a wide margin.
–THUD!–
Zharokath collapsed to the ground, gasping as he tried to understand what had just happened. His eyes, wide with disbelief, scanned the space around him. How could this be? His power, his very essence…..
And it was happening so quickly, so completely, that he couldn't fathom what had caused it.
He forced his gaze upward to lay eyes on his opponent. The human was standing still, his posture calm, his expression unreadable.
Zharokath's head pounded with the sound of that strange heartbeat, growing louder and louder, but something else caught his attention.
The human's mask—a simple facade that had concealed his face throughout their fight—was no longer there.
'Huh?'
Zharokath's breath hitched as his gaze locked onto the face beneath the mask. His eyes widened in shock, the burning anger momentarily replaced by confusion and, for the first time in this battle, fear.
The human was…..
'What?'
Smiling.
A smile that felt like it was mocking him.
THUD!
And then Zharokath's body hit the ground hard, his muscles stiffening as if every fiber of his being was rebelling against him. The smile on the young man's face still haunted him, mocking his arrogance, mocking his defeat. The moment his body collapsed, a sharp, searing pain exploded in his gut, spreading like wildfire through his veins.
THUD!
'What… what is this?' Zharokath's thoughts scrambled as his body convulsed uncontrollably. His stomach churned violently, the burning sensation growing with every passing second. The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced—it was deep, corrosive, as though something was eating away at him from the inside out.
His heartbeat grew louder, pounding in his ears with terrifying intensity.
THUMP! THUMP!
The rhythm was erratic, racing faster and faster, each pulse sending shockwaves of agony through his body. His breath grew shallow, his vision blurring at the edges as his body trembled. The sensation was unmistakable now—he had been poisoned. And not just with any ordinary toxin.
'How... How is this possible?' Zharokath's mind screamed as he struggled to regain control of his body. Demons were naturally resistant to poisons. Their mana, infused with corrosive, dark energy, made them almost immune to the toxins that would kill others. Demons frequently used poison themselves, and over time, they had developed an extraordinary tolerance to it.
But this… this poison was different.
His void energy, which should have been combating the effects, seemed to do nothing. The more he tried to summon it, the more his body rejected the command. The burning in his muscles intensified, his veins feeling like they were being scorched from within.
His vision blurred, but he forced his gaze up to the young man who still stood there, watching him, unmoving.
But there was something inside his eyes.
And that human also felt familiar, like he had just recently seen him. But at that moment, he did not have the mind to recall who it was.
Zharokath's eyes widened in disbelief. 'How could a human... poison me?' He growled, the sound weak and guttural, filled with both rage and fear. His mind reeled as he fought against the poison's grip, trying to piece together how this was even possible. No mere human could craft a toxin capable of grounding a demon of his caliber.
But this human wasn't mere.
In that smile, in those purple eyes.
There was something eerie….
Something...
Zharokath could feel it now, something dark and unnerving emanating from him.
'I am feeling fear?'
His heart continued to pound erratically in his chest, each beat sending a new wave of agony through him. His limbs convulsed, his muscles burning, and yet, despite the overwhelming pain, Zharokath forced his body to move.
'No way!'
With immense effort, he managed to lift himself slightly off the ground. His vision swam, the world around him tilting as if reality itself was slipping away. But he couldn't afford to give in. Not yet.
'If I can still move... then there's time,' Zharokath told himself, clenching his teeth against the pain. He had to act fast.
'Antidote.'
Zharokath's eyes narrowed as he fought through the searing pain tearing through his body. His muscles spasmed, and the poison felt like fire coursing through his veins, but there was no panic in his mind. Not anymore.
'This... this is nothing but poison,' Zharokath reminded himself, a grim smirk forming on his lips despite the agony. His body may have been reeling from the attack, but he wasn't unfamiliar with poisons.
Demons, especially those of his rank, had encountered all manner of toxins in their lives, each more dangerous than the last. And no matter how strange or potent this one seemed, it was still an external threat—something he could counter.
"Even if you've played your tricks, human," Zharokath growled through gritted teeth, his voice laced with a venomous arrogance, "you're still nothing more than that... a mere human. What can you truly do against me?"
His smirk widened, even as the poison continued its assault on his body. The young man was standing still, unmoving, which could only mean one thing—he was still trapped in the confines of Void Cage. Zharokath's technique had rendered him immobile, buying him the precious moments he needed to rid himself of this cursed poison.
"When I get rid of this poison, I will personally make you food for dogs."
With a grunt of effort, Zharokath reached toward his waist, his fingers twitching as he called upon his spatial storage. His vast collection of artifacts, gathered from across countless realms, contained the answer to every problem he had ever faced, and this situation would be no different.
'Antidote… I just need the artifact,' Zharokath thought, his smirk growing as he searched through the spatial void for the item he needed. The pressure in his chest, the burning in his veins, all of it would soon be purged once he found it.
As he focused on his storage, his mind swirled with confidence. The human, despite his tricks and this strange poison, was still powerless. Void Cage had trapped him, and Zharokath had the upper hand. He still had time. He could cleanse himself, recover, and crush this insolent fool beneath his heel.
Finally, his hand closed around the familiar shape of the artifact. A twisted, black amulet with a glowing red gem in the center—an ancient relic capable of cleansing any poison or foreign substance from his body. He pulled it from the spatial void, his eyes glinting with satisfaction.
"Did you truly think you could defeat me, human?" Zharokath muttered, his voice dripping with contempt as he prepared to activate the artifact. "You've underestimated—"
SWOOSH!
Zharokath barely had time to react before something sharp sliced through the air. His fingers, which had been tightly clutching the amulet, were suddenly severed cleanly at the knuckles.
"ARGHHH!" Zharokath howled in agony, his eyes widening in shock as the twisted, black amulet slipped from his now-maimed hand and fell to the ground, clattering against the stone floor. His heart raced, panic flooding his senses as he stared at his bleeding fingers, unable to comprehend what had just happened.
But before he could process the pain or the loss of the artifact, another sharp whistling filled the air.
SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!
Countless chakrams, swirling with grey mana, flew from all directions, slicing into his body with terrifying precision. Each spinning blade cut deep, leaving trails of crimson blood in their wake. Zharokath's body convulsed as the pain surged through him, his demonic form struggling to withstand the onslaught.
His heartbeat roared in his ears, a frantic rhythm that seemed to mock him with every thud. The poison, still coursing through his veins, combined with the relentless slashes from the chakrams, was too much for even his hardened body to endure.
More blood splattered across the ground, and Zharokath fell to his knees, gasping for breath. His once-commanding form now reduced to a trembling, broken mess. He coughed violently, blood spraying from his mouth as he tried to rise, only to find his strength slipping away.
Through the haze of pain and the crimson mist clouding his vision, Zharokath's gaze fell on the young man.
Still unmoving. Still in the same position.
The young man hadn't done anything—at least, not visibly. But Zharokath's eyes, wild with confusion and pain, shifted to the young man's fingers.
It was there he saw it.
The subtle flicker of movement. A quiet, controlled motion.
'No…' Zharokath's mind screamed, but his body betrayed him, sinking lower as the poison and wounds drained the last of his energy. He had been watching all this time, confident that his Void Cage had rendered the human powerless, but the truth was far more horrifying.
The young man had been waiting. Not trapped. Not helpless.
He had been in control all along.
Zharokath's breath came in ragged gasps, the taste of blood thick in his throat. His vision began to blur, darkness creeping in from the edges as the weight of his injuries pulled him down.
His pride, his arrogance, had led him to this moment.
"How...?" Zharokath choked out, his voice barely a whisper, filled with disbelief and fear. His eyes remained locked on the young man, who stood calmly, his gaze unwavering.
And at that moment, the young man finally turned his head to his face, his purple eyes meeting his.
"What do you mean how? You are just inferior."
Chapter 618 - The Hunt (8)
What does it mean to have your vengeance? Why do some of us, after everything has been taken, chase after it like it's the only thing keeping us alive?
For those who have never lost anyone, revenge might seem like an obsession born out of selfishness. A futile pursuit. They see someone consumed by anger and destruction, and they shake their heads, wondering why anyone would sacrifice so much for something as intangible as vengeance. But they don't understand.
For those who have never tasted that particular brand of agony—of having your world torn apart—vengeance seems pointless. An act born from pride or ego, maybe. A pursuit for closure, when closure doesn't exist. They are the ones who can walk away, the ones who can turn their backs and say it's over.
'But it feels so good…..'
I looked down at Zharokath, wriggling beneath my foot, his once imposing form now reduced to a pathetic, broken shell. His void energy, once so oppressive, flickered weakly around him.
My breathing was steady, but my heart?
My heart was pounding with fury, a fury that had been burning inside me for as long as I could remember.
Or was it fury?
No, it was not.
'Filth. That's all you demons are…'
It was something else.
Something different.
'Ecstasy.'
As I stared down at Zharokath, the demon who had once stood so arrogantly, so confident in his power, I felt an overwhelming surge of ecstasy.
'Filth. That's all you demons are…'
I could feel a smile tugging at my lips, the corners curling as the realization settled over me. This moment, seeing a demon writhing under my boot, helpless, was something that could never be replicated.
It wasn't just satisfaction; it was rapture. It was the culmination of years of hatred, of burning, seething rage that had festered within me.
This was the same breed of creature that had taken everything from me. The same demons that had brought death to my sister. And now, here I was, towering over one of them, watching as he struggled, as he looked at me with wide, desperate eyes.
'Look at you. You feel like a worm, don't you?'
I felt my smile widen as I pressed down harder with my boot. Zharokath let out a strangled gasp, his body jerking in pain as I applied pressure. His eyes, once filled with fury, now reflected only terror. The fear of death. The fear of knowing that he was completely at my mercy.
"You are just… inferior," I whispered, my voice dripping with satisfaction. The words felt perfect, rolling off my tongue as if they had been waiting for this moment. Zharokath's body twitched at the sound, his panic growing, but there was nothing he could do. He was mine now.
I bent down, bringing my face closer to his, just enough to watch the flicker of despair grow in his eyes. "Do you know why?" I asked, my tone almost mockingly soft. "Do you know why you're so beneath me?"
He tried to speak, his lips quivering, but nothing came out except a ragged gasp. His body was broken, his strength gone. He had nothing left but the pathetic shell of what once was.
I couldn't hold my laugh while gripping Celestalith tighter.
"I'll tell you why," I said, lifting the blade and driving it into his leg with a slow, deliberate motion.
"AAAAAAARGH!"
Zharokath screamed, his body convulsing under the pain, but I only leaned in closer, reveling in it. The sound of his suffering was music, and I drank it in, feeling it pulse through me like a drug.
"You," I continued, my voice calm and steady despite the cruelty of my actions, "you thought your void made you powerful. That it gave you some right to take whatever you want, to destroy whoever you please." I twisted the blade, watching his eyes roll back in his head, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"But you were wrong," I whispered, pulling the blade free and slashing it across his other leg, severing the tendons. He howled in agony, his body jerking, but there was no escape. Not from this.
'But you will believe.'
For starters….The thing before me is a demon.
Something who does things like this thinks like this.
In this situation, when I have yet to kill it when I am looking down on it like this, it will believe.
Its cunning mind will continue working, its gears spinning.
Survival instinct will take its place, its innate nature revealing itself.
The desire to survive.
Every sentient being has it imprinted on their minds.
And the thing before me is no different.
I yanked the blade free from Zharokath's leg, the blood spurting from the fresh wound as its body convulsed beneath me. The way it screamed, the way its form writhed in agony—it was a sight I couldn't help but savor.
Its pain, its suffering, was intoxicating, sending waves of pleasure through me. This thing—this creature—was at my mercy, and the ecstasy of it all was overwhelming.
I smirked, looking down at it, my fingers tightening around the hilt of Celestalith. "Do you know why?" I asked. "Do you know why you were wrong?"
Without waiting for an answer, I knelt down, gripping one of its hands. Its claws twitched weakly, coated with its own blood.
I lifted the blade, holding its hand firmly as I positioned the sharp edge just beneath its claws. "Let me show you why," I whispered, my eyes locking onto its gaze, drinking in the terror reflected there.
Then, with slow, deliberate pressure, I pushed the blade forward, stabbing it directly under its claws, piercing the quicks. The response was instant.
"AAAAAHHHH!" It shrieked, its body thrashing violently as the blade dug deeper, tearing through sensitive nerves and sending waves of excruciating pain through its form. I could see its eyes rolling back, its chest heaving, its breath coming in desperate gasps.
But I didn't stop. I pressed harder, twisting the blade under its claws, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone and tendon giving way.
"You were wrong," I hissed, leaning in closer. "Because you thought that your disguise was perfect. Because you could just come into the human domain and infiltrate this place. You think you can restore your 'Void Clan' to its former glory."
The moment I spoke those words, I felt it. The thing beneath me—Zharokath—shuddered. Its entire body trembled violently, as if the weight of those revelations hit it like a physical blow. I looked down, my eyes narrowing, and there it was—pure, unadulterated terror gleaming in its widened eyes.
It knew that I knew.
For the first time in this entire battle, it wasn't just fear of death that filled its gaze. No, it was something much deeper. Panic. Desperation. The last shred of hope it had clung to had been ripped away.
Zharokath's lips quivered, its breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. The once-mighty demon, now broken and writhing under my boot, struggled to speak. Finally, it managed to choke out the words, barely audible through its gasps of pain.
"H-how… how can you… know?" It breathed heavily, its voice filled with disbelief, the weight of the truth crashing down on it. "How do you know about…?"
I felt a slow grin spread across my face, savoring the look of sheer horror in its eyes. My smirk widened, and I leaned in closer, driving the blade just a fraction deeper under its claws, eliciting another choked cry of agony.
"I know everything," I whispered, my voice cold and dripping with satisfaction. "Everything about you… and everything about your pathetic clan."
Zharokath's body jerked, the pain surging through it, but its eyes—those wide, terrified eyes—never left mine. I could see the desperation growing as I continued, my words slicing through it like the blade in its hand.
"You thought you could rebuild your clan? That you could restore the 'Void Clan' to its former glory? After you lost the Primordial of Void?"
Zharokath's body tensed at the mention of the Primordial, a look of disbelief flashing in its eyes. I could see it now—the cracks forming, the last pieces of its arrogance crumbling away.
"Oh, yes," I said, my voice filled with dark amusement. "I know how your clan scattered like rats after that defeat. How you've been hiding in the shadows, clinging to whatever scraps of power you could find, feeding on whatever remains of your former strength."
Zharokath's breath hitched, the weight of my words sinking deeper with every passing second. I could feel it—the sheer panic that gripped it now. It knew there was no escaping this. No denying what was about to happen.
"And you," I continued, pressing the blade a little harder under its claws, twisting it ever so slightly, "you've been working under the shadows, haven't you? Sending countless humans as sacrifices… as meals… to feed the Primordial."
I leaned in closer, my voice barely a whisper, but the weight of my words was deafening. "All to make it reborn."
Zharokath's body convulsed beneath me, its eyes wide with horror as the truth spilled out. Its breath came in ragged gasps, but it couldn't speak.
But at the same time, I could also feel something else underneath.
'Heh…..Now you are doing it….'
A small current of mana, subtle and carefully controlled, was flowing through Zharokath's body, pooling into something just beneath the surface. Even in his broken, helpless state, this thing still had the gall to try and pull off a last-ditch effort. A final act of desperation.
I almost laughed. It was pathetic, really.
Zharokath's body trembled beneath me, and as I caught sight of the faint glow of mana, the demon began to speak again, his voice weak and broken, but deliberate. "You… you can't understand," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "We… we're… destined for greatness… the Void Clan… we… we will rise again."
I eased my grip on the blade just a little.
"Destined for greatness?" I mused, my voice low and taunting. "Is that what you believe? That your scattered clan, hiding like rats, can ever regain what it's lost?"
Zharokath gasped, his body twitching as he tried to summon more of his strength. "You… don't understand… we have… we have plans… the Primordial… it will rise… and when it does… nothing will stop us…"
I leaned in closer, my smirk widening. "Go on," I whispered. "Tell me all about it."
Zharokath's breaths were ragged, and his voice grew weaker with every word. "You can't stop it… no one can… we've been working… for centuries… for this moment… the sacrifices… all of them… for the Primordial's return…"
"And then what?" I asked, my tone mocking. "You'll rule again? You'll destroy everything and rise from the ashes?"
Zharokath's lips quivered, its eyes darting between me and the artifact, the panic barely concealed beneath his strained expression. "Yes…" he breathed. "Yes… we will… and you… you won't stop it…"
But then.
'There it is.'
The room flashed in a sudden burst of light. For a split second, the air around us crackled with energy, and then, with a sharp hiss, Zharokath's form flickered, and in an instant—
WHOOSH!
It was gone.
Or was it?
I stood there for a moment, the space where he had been lying now empty, the faint traces of its mana still lingering in the air. And then, slowly, I began to laugh.
'Pathetic.'
And then clenched my hand.
–Umbralith.
Following that, [Celestalith] gleamed purple with the rings forming a sphere of gravity right in my hand.
And then….
'Bam!'
–BOOM!
Here it was.
Returned.
"Huh?"
The face of surprise that he had just made.
It was pure delight.
Chapter 619 - The Hunt (9)
Zharokath's vision blurred as he struggled to focus. Pain coursed through his body, but it was nothing compared to the crushing realization settling in his mind. His plan, his entire existence, had been played. The human before him hadn't been trapped in the Void Cage; no, he had been waiting. Watching. All along, Zharokath had been the one dancing to the human's tune, thinking he was in control.
'How…?' Zharokath's mind screamed, his body trembling with both pain and disbelief. He had seen countless humans in his time—arrogant, naive, and inferior. They all died the same, broken and powerless beneath his might. But this one…
As the human's voice echoed in his ears, the truth hit him like a hammer. This wasn't just any human. This was someone who knew everything.
The words stung. "Do you know why you're so beneath me?"
Zharokath's pride, the one thing that had sustained him through centuries of existence, cracked and shattered with every mocking word. The young man didn't just know his name. He knew about the Void Clan, the Primordial of Void, the sacrifices, the carefully orchestrated plans that had spanned centuries. Every dark secret Zharokath had sworn to protect lay bare before this human like an open wound.
'No... this can't be,' Zharokath thought, his mind racing as he felt the last threads of control slipping from his grasp. He tried to rise, to muster the last dregs of his strength, but his limbs refused to respond. The poison, combined with the damage inflicted by the chakrams, rendered his body useless.
The human's voice continued, every syllable dripping with venomous satisfaction. Zharokath winced as the blade twisted under his claws, sending another wave of excruciating pain through his form. But the physical torment was nothing compared to the psychological one.
'He knows… about the Primordial… about everything...'
Zharokath had been careful. Meticulous. He had spent years operating in the shadows, building alliances, gathering sacrifices, and feeding the Primordial in secret. His entire existence had revolved around reviving the glory of the Void Clan, preparing for the day when they would reclaim their rightful place in the realms.
He had manipulated humans, bending them to his will, making them puppets in his grand scheme.
But this human… this boy... how could he really?
'I need to escape here. I can't afford to waste any time….I need to leave.'
The mission that had been left to him, he needed to complete that. He could not afford to waste any second.
Zharokath's vision swam, his body aching with the cuts and the relentless poison coursing through him. The shock of the human's knowledge had rattled him, but as his mind fought to clear through the haze of agony, something else stirred within him—a twisted, desperate resolve.
'No… not fear,' he thought. He was a demon of the Void Clan, destined for greatness, a demon who had manipulated, bent, and broken countless beings. This human… this boy... no matter how clever, was still beneath him. There was still a way out of this, a way to turn this to his advantage. After all, humans were driven by emotion—hatred, vengeance, and arrogance.
And he had seen all of it in this boy's eyes.
'You think you've won?' Zharokath's thoughts churned with scorn, even as his body continued to tremble. 'I've dealt with your kind before. You're consumed by your emotions. You're no different from the others.'
The human's smile, cruel and confident, only confirmed Zharokath's suspicion. He could see it—the hatred burning behind that mask of composure. It was a weakness, one Zharokath could still exploit.
"You... you can't understand..." Zharokath rasped, letting his voice tremble with just the right amount of desperation. "We… we're destined for greatness... the Void Clan..."
It was a lie, but a calculated one. Zharokath had always been a master of manipulation. He needed the human to believe that he was broken, that he had given up. This boy, for all his knowledge, was still arrogant, still emotional. Zharokath could see the human's desire for vengeance, the personal satisfaction in watching him suffer. And that was his opening.
If the boy believed he had already won, that Zharokath was on the brink of submission, he would let his guard down. Just for a moment.
'That's all I need,' Zharokath thought, his mind racing even as his body burned with pain. 'A single opening, and I'll turn this around.'
The human leaned closer, mocking him, feeding his own ego. "Greatness? Your clan lost everything when the Primordial fell. You've been hiding like rats ever since."
Zharokath's breath hitched, but not from fear. The boy's arrogance was palpable now, and Zharokath could practically taste the rage that fueled him. It was intoxicating. The demon's lips twitched in the faintest ghost of a smile, hidden beneath the mask of pain he wore.
'Yes… keep underestimating me. Keep believing you've already won.'
He would play along, let the human believe he had the upper hand. But deep within, Zharokath's mind was working. His fingers twitched as they neared his artifact, the one hidden deep within his spatial storage, the one that could cleanse this accursed poison. If he could just get his hands on it...
The human's blade twisted deeper into his leg, and Zharokath let out a strangled gasp. But inside, he was already plotting. His mana flickered weakly, pooling into the artifact. He would escape. He would recover. He would tear this arrogant fool apart piece by piece.
Summoning the last of his strength, Zharokath activated the teleportation spell within the artifact, his body flickering as it phased out of existence.
For a brief, glorious moment, hope surged through him.
'I'll kill him. I'll show him what it means to cross the Void Clan.'
Zharokath's heart pounded with hatred, his every thought consumed by the desire for vengeance. The human had pushed him to the brink, humiliated him, but that would all change soon. Once free, Zharokath would rip him apart—piece by piece. His mind raced with thoughts of how he would break him.
'I'll crush every bone in his body,' Zharokath seethed. 'I'll tear his muscles apart, inch by inch. I'll rip his fingernails from his hands one by one and stab him until he begs for death. I'll pluck his eyes out and watch him suffer in the dark.'
His hatred burned hotter with every passing second. The image of the boy's smug face as he suffered filled his mind, fueling the dark fire of his vengeance.
But just as the teleportation spell took hold, something shifted. Zharokath felt the familiar pull of the void energy lifting him from the room, the sensation of being transported away, the relief of escape beginning to wash over him.
And then it all stopped.
Time seemed to slow, the world around him warping, bending in ways it should not. Zharokath's breath hitched, his body still mid-transit, but something was wrong—terribly wrong.
He felt it.
A pull. A drag, as though the very fabric of space and time was reversing. His body was yanked violently backward, the sensation jarring, unnatural. His vision blurred, the edges of reality distorting as the world around him twisted and pulled him back toward the room he had just left. It was as if the universe itself was refusing to let him go.
'What…?' Zharokath's eyes widened in disbelief as the familiar surroundings of the room—the cold stone floor, the dim lighting—came rushing back into view.
No.
The room spun, snapping back into place with a sickening jolt, and before Zharokath could comprehend what had happened, he was back where he started—lying on the ground, broken and bleeding.
He gasped, his body convulsing as he struggled to process the impossibility of what had just occurred. His mind, sharp and calculating, raced to understand. Had the human… reversed time? No, that wasn't possible. Was it? How could this be?
He was supposed to be free, supposed to be away, recovering, plotting his revenge. And yet, here he was—right back in the clutches of the one he hated most.
The human stood before him, completely still, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He hadn't moved, hadn't done anything, but Zharokath felt the overwhelming weight of control emanating from him. This boy, this human, had somehow bent reality to his will, undone Zharokath's escape as if it were a mere inconvenience.
'What… what kind of power is this?' Zharokath thought, his mind reeling.
Panic, for the first time in centuries, began to creep into his chest, but he refused to give in to it. He would not let this human see him break.
'No... no, this isn't over.' Zharokath forced himself to focus, to think. 'I can still escape. I can still turn this around.'
Zharokath's mind screamed for survival. He could feel the poison coursing through his veins, the pain lancing through his body, but his will refused to yield. His hatred for the human standing before him burned brighter than the agony, fueling his desperate need to escape.
'This isn't over. I won't fall here,' he told himself, his mind racing as he activated the artifact once again. His body convulsed with the last dregs of his mana, pouring everything he had into it, focusing on the one goal—to escape.
The artifact pulsed in his hand, responding weakly at first. His reserves of demonic energy were running dangerously low, and he knew it wouldn't be enough. His eyes flicked toward the human, whose expression remained infuriatingly calm.
'I just need more power. Just enough to get away,' Zharokath thought, his desperation rising.
Without hesitation, Zharokath made the decision to sacrifice part of his core. A dangerous gamble, one that would weaken him significantly, but survival was all that mattered. If he lived, he could recover. He could rebuild. But for that, he needed to escape.
His core, the very essence of his being, began to crack as he siphoned energy from it. The sharp pain that followed was nearly unbearable, but Zharokath pushed through it, his thoughts singularly focused. The artifact flared to life, glowing brighter with the stolen energy, and he felt the familiar pull of the void beginning to surround him once more.
'Yes… this will work. He can't stop me twice,' Zharokath thought with renewed confidence. His body began to phase out of reality, the edges of his form blurring as the void energy enveloped him.
But then, just as the pull of the void reached its peak, something went wrong.
The room didn't disappear. His body didn't dissolve into the ether. Instead, the sickening sensation of being dragged backward hit him again—harder this time. His form, already halfway into the void, was violently yanked back into the physical world. The backlash of the failed teleportation hit him like a hammer, sending waves of excruciating pain ripping through his already broken body.
Zharokath's eyes widened in disbelief, horror flooding his mind as he realized what had happened. He had used everything—his mana, a piece of his core—and still, it wasn't enough. He couldn't escape.
He couldn't even flee.
"AHAHAHAHAHA!"
And the maniacal laugh hit the final nail on the coffin.
Chapter 620 - The Hunt (10)
Everything had played out exactly as I wanted.
Zharokath's desperate attempt to escape, the way he clung to that pathetic shred of hope—it was all so predictable. These demons, for all their arrogance and cruelty, were always the same when their lives were on the line. They scrambled, they begged, they tried to run, thinking that somehow, they could slip away from the inevitable. And every time, it filled me with an intoxicating thrill.
I watched as his body began to phase out of existence, the artifact glowing with the last dregs of his demonic energy. He had given everything to power that spell. He really thought he could get away. But I had anticipated it—planned for it.
Just as he began to vanish, I activated Umbralith. The sphere of gravity formed in my hand, crackling with power, tethering him to this room. The void energy that should have carried him to safety was dragged back, collapsing in on itself. And there it was—the moment I had been waiting for.
BOOM!
Zharokath reappeared with a violent crash, his body slamming back into the cold stone floor, broken and bleeding. His eyes—those wide, terrified eyes—looked up at me, filled with disbelief, pain, and the most delicious kind of fear. He couldn't understand what had happened, how he had been ripped back from the edge of escape.
"Huh?" he muttered, confusion clouding his features. That face, that precious expression of shock—it was pure delight to me. He had no idea how much I relished it.
"AHAHAHAHAHA!" The laugh spilled out of me, manic and uncontrollable. I couldn't resist it. Watching him struggle, watching him crumble—it was intoxicating. Every single time.
They were all the same, these demons. When their power failed, when their lives were truly at risk, they all resorted to the same pathetic tricks. They always tried to escape. It didn't matter how strong they were, how mighty they thought themselves to be—when faced with death, they all broke down the same way. And I couldn't get enough of it.
'You can't resist it, can you? You always try to flee when it's too late.'
The thought surged through me as I stared down at the crumpled form of Zharokath. His body twitched weakly, his breaths ragged, his pride shattered into a thousand pieces. I could feel the desperation emanating from him—the frantic, wild hope that maybe, somehow, he could still escape.
But there was no escape.
Not from me.
I leaned in, my eyes fixed on his trembling form. "Did you really think you could get away, Zharokath?" I whispered, my voice dripping with satisfaction. "Did you think you could just vanish, disappear like all the others?"
His eyes flickered with the last glimmers of hope, but I crushed it with my next words.
"You're not going anywhere."
The despair that washed over him, the way his face twisted in realization—it was euphoric. I watched as the hope drained from his eyes, replaced by something far more satisfying. Helplessness.
I needed him to feel it. That crushing weight of knowing there was no escape. That no matter how hard he tried, no matter what power he called upon, it was useless. I needed him to understand the same helplessness that so many had felt at his hands. The same helplessness I had felt when I lost everything.
He coughed, blood splattering from his mouth as his body convulsed. "You… you can't… do this…" he muttered weakly, but there was no strength in his words. Only desperation.
I crouched down, gripping his chin and forcing him to look at me. "Oh, but I can," I said, my smile widening. "And I will. You see, Zharokath, I don't just want to kill you. No, that would be too easy. Too quick.
I want you to understand what true despair feels like. I want you to lose everything."
His eyes widened in horror as he realized what was coming. I could feel it—the crumbling of his will, the way his spirit shattered bit by bit under the weight of my words. It was intoxicating. I needed more.
'You're going to lose hope, Zharokath. You're going to feel so much pain, so much helplessness, that even if you're reincarnated, you'll never be the same. You'll never have the strength to be what you once were.
I will make sure of that.'
I let go of his chin, watching as his head slumped forward, his body trembling uncontrollably. He was breaking, and I could feel it—feel the despair sinking into him like a poison.
And I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. I needed to see him crumble completely, to see him reduced to nothing but ashes.
"So go on," I said, standing back up. "Feel it. Let it consume you. The despair. The helplessness. The understanding that no matter what you do, you will never escape this."
I smiled as I watched him writhe on the ground, his body too broken to fight back, his mind too shattered to hold onto any shred of hope.
This was what I needed. This was what I lived for.
And it felt like ecstasy.
I smiled as Zharokath lay trembling at my feet, his body broken, his will shattered. His silence was almost amusing now, the way he tried to glare at me with what little defiance he had left. But I knew better. The hatred, the desperation—it was all a mask for the sheer helplessness he felt inside.
I crouched down again, tilting my head as I looked at him. "Tell me, Zharokath," I said, my voice almost playful. "For what reason do you live now?"
His only response was a venomous glare, his eyes burning with hatred. I chuckled, watching him try to muster even a fraction of the strength he once had. But he didn't speak. He couldn't. There was nothing left for him to say.
'Still holding on, huh? Even when you know it's over.'
I straightened up, my hand slowly reaching into my cloak. "You know," I continued, "I've been preparing for this moment for quite some time. And I made something special. Just for you."
His eyes flickered with confusion, a brief flash of uncertainty breaking through the hatred. I pulled out a small, rolled-up parchment, and as I unfurled it, the illustration came into view. It was a dragon, its massive wings stretched wide, its scales gleaming in dark, almost otherworldly hues. A long, sinuous tail coiled beneath it, its eyes burning with a cold, ancient power.
For most people in this world, it was just a legend, a mythical beast whispered about in old tales. But I knew what it truly was. And more importantly, I knew he would recognize it.
Zharokath's eyes widened as they locked onto the illustration. His breath hitched, his body momentarily freezing as the realization sank in. "Huh…?" he whispered, his voice weak, trembling with shock.
I grinned, holding the drawing up so he could see it more clearly. "What do you think?" I asked, my voice soft and taunting. "Isn't it magnificent? I spent quite a bit of time learning how to draw this, how to model it exactly as it once was… just so I could show you."
When I see something for once, I never forget it. This was something both a curse and a blessing all the time.
When I saw the primordial in the game, the Void Dragon, I never forgot it either. I remembered, and I had prepared for this very moment.
Zharokath's gaze was fixed on the dragon, his body still trembling, but now for a different reason. His eyes darted from the wings to the scales, to the sharp, predatory eyes of the beast. The realization hit him harder than any blade ever could.
This wasn't just any dragon. This was it. The Primordial. The creature he had devoted centuries to reviving. The being whose return would supposedly restore the Void Clan to their former glory.
"You recognize it, don't you?" I asked, my smirk widening. "Of course you do. The Primordial of Void… when it was at its peak."
His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. The shock, the fear—it was all etched into his face.
And it was perfect.
"How is it? Was it worth it?" I asked, my voice dripping with satisfaction. "All that time, all that effort, just for this moment. For you to see it up close. For you to realize just how far you've fallen."
Zharokath's eyes flickered between the drawing and me, his breathing ragged, his mind clearly struggling to comprehend what was happening. The dragon—the Primordial he had sacrificed so much for—was now nothing more than an illustration in my hand. A mockery of everything he had worked for.
"I wanted you to see it," I whispered. "I wanted you to know that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many lives you sacrifice, it will never return. Your efforts are meaningless."
Zharokath's body shook with rage, his eyes burning with fury, but there was nothing he could do. He had lost. And I had made sure he understood that, down to the very last detail.
I rolled the parchment back up, tucking it away, but the image lingered in his mind. I could see it—the horror, the helplessness. It was all sinking in now.
"Tell me," I said, leaning down once more, my voice barely above a whisper. "Was it worth it?"
His silence was all the answer I needed.
Chapter 621 - The Hunt (11)
"Tell me. Was it worth it?"
I raised my hand slowly, watching Zharokath's broken form with a smile creeping across my face. The shadows around me began to stir, swirling as if they were alive, forming a small, protective shield that wrapped itself around my outstretched hand. The darkness pulsed with power, responding to my will as if it had always been mine to command.
"But still…" I said, my voice laced with amusement. "You know, it's quite ironic."
Zharokath's eyes followed the movement of my hand, and for a moment, confusion flickered across his face. I watched him carefully, waiting for the moment he'd realize. And when I saw that spark of recognition, I couldn't help but grin wider.
"Do these shadows feel familiar to you?" I asked, my voice soft, taunting. The words hung in the air, and I could see it—his body tensing, his eyes widening as the reality dawned on him.
"This…" Zharokath muttered, his voice weak, but filled with disbelief. His gaze locked onto the swirling shadows, and I could feel his shock, his fear growing.
I leaned in, letting the shadows wrap tighter around me, their presence palpable. "Indeed," I said, my smile widening. "It is the power of the Primordial of Shadows."
Zharokath's expression was priceless—the way his face twisted with horror, the way his mind tried to process what he was seeing. He had lost everything, and now, here I was, wielding the very power of a Primordial in front of him.
"But there's something special about me," I continued, my tone filled with satisfaction. "You see, I have the ability to absorb the power of demons. And what you see now… is just one of the many gifts I've taken from your kind."
His body trembled as he looked at me, disbelief flooding his face. "No…" he muttered, his voice shaky. "That's… impossible."
I laughed, low and cold, watching the despair deepen in his eyes. "Oh, it's very possible," I whispered. "I've taken the power of the Primordial of Shadows for myself, just like I will take yours."
The realization hit him like a hammer. Zharokath had spent centuries working to revive the Primordial of Void, pouring everything into a desperate attempt to restore his clan's glory.
"And then, I will use this power of yours to get rid of the primordial of Void."
Now, here I was, wielding the power of another Primordial as if it were nothing, reducing all of his efforts to dust.
"Do you understand now?" I asked, my voice filled with dark amusement. "You will be the one contributing to the death of your own ancestor. No matter what you do, no matter how much power you think you have… I will always be one step ahead of you."
The horror in his eyes was all the confirmation I needed. He knew, deep down, that his time was over. And that everything he had sacrificed would amount to nothing.
I let the shadows swirl around me for a moment longer, savoring the look of despair on his face. "And now," I said, stepping closer, "I'll make sure you never forget this feeling. Even if you're reborn, even if you come back, you will never be the same. You'll always remember what happened here, what you lost."
Zharokath's breath came in shallow gasps, his mind barely able to process the gravity of his defeat. I smiled again, satisfied, knowing that this moment would haunt him for the rest of his existence—however short that might be.
The shadows pulsed around me, a reminder of the power I had taken. And as I stood over him, watching him crumble, I knew that this was exactly what I had been waiting for.
Complete and utter destruction.
And it felt glorious.
Zharokath's body shook violently, his eyes wide, his lips quivering as the horror of his situation sank in. The once-proud demon, the being who had spent centuries crafting his plans, was now reduced to a trembling wreck at my feet. His mind was shattering, the realization of his failure hitting him with the force of a tidal wave.
"No… no… no…" he muttered, his voice barely a whisper, but the fear and disbelief in it were undeniable. His body convulsed, his muscles twitching uncontrollably as if trying to reject the truth.
I stood over him, watching with satisfaction as he crumbled. His breaths came in shallow, rapid gasps, his gaze unfocused, his mind spiraling into hysteria.
"No… that can't be… this can't be…" Zharokath repeated, his voice growing more frantic, more desperate. He shook his head violently, as if denying the reality would somehow change it. "No… no… the Primordial… it can't… be…"
I watched, smiling as his mind unraveled, his once ironclad will reduced to a fragile, broken thing. Every second of his denial only deepened my satisfaction. This was the true power I held over him—not just physical dominance, but the complete destruction of his spirit.
"It is," I said softly, my voice cutting through his muttering like a knife. "This is the end, Zharokath. Everything you've worked for… all the sacrifices… all for nothing."
He flinched at my words, his body trembling violently. "No… no… it can't… it can't end like this… the Primordial… it has to return… it has to…"
I crouched down, bringing my face close to his, so close that he couldn't avoid the reality I was presenting to him. "It won't," I whispered. "Because you will never live to see it. And even if you did… you would be powerless to stop what's coming."
Zharokath's eyes were wide with terror, his pupils dilated as his mind raced to make sense of his unraveling world. His body shook harder, his claws scraping weakly against the floor as if trying to pull himself away from this nightmare. But there was no escape. Not from me.
"Everything you are," I continued, my voice cold and merciless, "will contribute to the destruction of the very thing you sought to revive. You will be the one to kill the Primordial of Void, Zharokath. You will be the reason your clan never rises again."
The words hit him like a final blow. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, his body went rigid, his mind too overwhelmed to process what I had said. But then, slowly, the trembling started again, worse than before. His entire body shook with uncontrollable spasms as the weight of his defeat crushed him from the inside out.
"No… no… no…" His voice cracked, barely above a whimper. "That can't be… that can't be…"
'Ah…..he is broken now….'
I stared down at Zharokath, his body convulsing, his voice a pitiful whisper as he muttered denials over and over. The trembling grew worse, and his eyes—those once-burning, defiant eyes—were now hollow, devoid of any life. There was nothing left inside him.
The ecstasy, the thrill that had surged through me moments before, began to fade. The pleasure I had drawn from watching his despair, from seeing him crumble piece by piece, vanished. And as I looked into those empty, broken eyes, the coldness returned.
It was over.
Just like every moment of elation, every high I had ever chased, this one had come to an end. The agony in his gaze no longer affected me. The satisfaction that had filled me to the brim had drained away, leaving behind… nothing. An empty void where the exhilaration had once been.
I stood there, watching him tremble, and all I felt was a growing sense of cold emptiness. The game was finished. Zharokath was no longer a challenge, no longer something to torment. His spirit was shattered beyond repair. And now… there was nothing.
The silence stretched between us, the only sound his ragged, broken breaths. The room felt still, lifeless, just like him.
I reached into my cloak, pulling out a dagger. Its cold steel caught the dim light of the room as I turned it in my hand.
CLANK!
Without a word, I tossed it toward him, watching as it clattered across the stone floor, stopping just inches from his trembling hand.
"Kill yourself."
Zharokath's eyes flickered weakly to the blade, but there was no recognition in them. No fight, no resistance. Just emptiness.
I felt the cold settle deeper in my chest. The thrill was gone, and what remained was nothing.
"Ah….."
Zharokath's eyes flickered to the dagger lying in front of him, his gaze wide and unfocused. His trembling hands twitched, inching toward the blade, but hesitation rippled through his body. I could see it—the battle raging inside him, the primal instinct to live clashing with the overwhelming weight of defeat.
"No… no… no… I can't… I can't…" he muttered, his voice shaky and filled with desperation. His fingers hovered over the dagger's hilt, but he couldn't bring himself to grasp it. The fear of death, the fear of losing everything, still gripped him tightly, despite everything.
I watched silently, my mind strangely detached as I observed his struggle. It was a curious thing, really—how hard it was to break someone's will to live. No matter how much suffering they endured, no matter how much they had lost, that instinct to survive clung to them, even when all hope was gone.
'Every being with a sense of identity fights to stay alive,' I thought, watching Zharokath's trembling hands. 'No matter how broken, how defeated, they always want to keep existing.'
But there was something deeper at play here. What if that self-identity—everything that made someone who they were—was shattered beyond recognition? What would happen when they no longer saw themselves as worth saving? When they no longer believed in their own existence?
The answer was unfolding before me.
Zharokath's eyes darted between the dagger and the floor, his breath ragged, his body twitching with the effort of fighting the inevitable. He whispered to himself again, "I can't… I can't…" His mind was still clinging to the desire to live, but it was a fragile, flickering thing. The cracks in his resolve had deepened.
And then, slowly, it began to change.
The trembling of his hands grew worse, but not from fear this time. It was something else. Something more insidious. His eyes, wide with terror moments ago, began to dull, the light in them fading as the weight of his defeat truly sank in.
'I can see it now…' I thought, watching with detached fascination. 'He's losing the fight with himself.'
Zharokath's breath hitched, his hands slowly curling into weak fists. "Maybe…" he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if speaking only to himself. "Maybe it's better… to just end it… to forget…"
His gaze flickered back to the dagger, and this time, there was no hesitation. The fear of death was still there, but it had begun to wither, overtaken by a greater force—the desire to escape. To be rid of the pain, the shame, the endless torment that had become his existence.
His lips quivered, his body slumped forward as the last threads of resistance slipped away. "I… I don't want to remember anymore…"
And just like that, the battle was over.
Zharokath reached out, his fingers trembling as they curled around the hilt of the dagger. His eyes were distant, hollow. The fear was gone. The fight was gone. All that remained was the broken shell of what he had once been.
He was no longer fighting to live.
SPURT!
He just wished to disappear.
Chapter 622 - The Hunt [Interlude] (12)
The moment Zharokath's trembling hand drove the dagger into his chest, a sickening spurting sound filled the air as blood erupted from the wound, dark and viscous, staining the floor beneath him. His body jerked violently for a split second, and then, as if all the life had been drained from him in an instant, he collapsed.
The blade had pierced his heart. His eyes, once filled with terror, now stared lifelessly ahead, dull and empty, like glass marbles that had lost their luster. His body lay motionless, a grotesque reminder of his final, pitiful act of surrender.
I stood over him, watching as his blood spread across the stone floor in slow, creeping tendrils. The sound of his labored, fading breath echoed faintly in the room.
"Hrrrr...Hrrr..."
His breath, filled with a hurling sound echoed.
Zharokath's body twitched as he lay in a growing pool of his own blood, his breath coming out in ragged, wheezing gasps. His eyes—glassy and empty—stared up at me, his life slowly ebbing away. But even in this final moment, he clung to a sliver of existence, his broken body refusing to give in completely.
"Hrrrr… Hrrr…" the hurling sound echoed in the chamber, his chest heaving weakly with each shallow breath.
I watched him, my mind eerily calm, detached even, as I observed the once-proud demon's final moments. There was no victory here, no triumph in watching him suffer—just a slow, inevitable end. The same end that awaited all creatures who overreached, who believed they were above fate.
But it doesn't end here, I thought to myself, my gaze drifting to the faint glow pulsing beneath Zharokath's chest. His Demonic Core. The true source of his power. The heart of his existence.
For a moment, I stood still, letting the weight of this moment sink in. Then, without a word, I began to channel mana into my hands, the energy swirling around my fingers, amplifying with each passing second. The shadows around me pulsed in response, a reflection of the power I had claimed.
I stepped closer, standing over Zharokath's barely living form. With my enhanced vision, I could see it clearly now—the glowing core hidden within his chest, pulsing weakly with the remnants of his demonic energy. It was fragile, flickering like a dying flame, but it still held the last of his essence.
I knelt beside him, my fingers crackling with energy. I didn't bother with words or explanations; there was no need. Zharokath was beyond hearing, beyond understanding. He was nothing now, just a shell of what he had once been.
With precision, I thrust my hand into his chest, feeling the resistance of his body for only a moment before my fingers wrapped around the Demonic Core. It was cold, pulsating weakly against my hand, its once immense power reduced to a faint flicker.
Zharokath's body jerked at the intrusion, his breath hitching, but there was no fight left in him. His eyes fluttered, unfocused, barely aware of what was happening.
I tightened my grip around the core, feeling the raw, corrupted energy coursing through it. It was weak now, but I could still feel the immense potential it once held—the power that had driven him, the strength he had relied on.
With a cold finality, I crushed the core in my hand.
CRACK.
The core shattered, and for a split second, Zharokath's body convulsed violently, his eyes widening in shock. Then, with one last gasp, his form went limp, the remnants of his demonic energy exploding outward in a burst of dark light before dissipating into nothingness.
It was over.
I stood up slowly, watching as the last traces of Zharokath's essence faded into the air, leaving only his lifeless body behind. His Demonic Core, the source of his power, was gone. And with it, the last vestiges of his life.
'This…."
But then, just as he had died, following that, a sudden rush of energy, dark and twisted, surged into me.
My body tensed as I felt the demonic energy seep into my veins. It was faint at first, but quickly intensified, spreading through me like wildfire. My breath hitched as the power coiled within me, merging with my own mana, integrating itself into every fiber of my being.
I instinctively activated my [Eyes], and in an instant, I saw it—the demonic energy, swirling inside me, flowing into my core and melding with the essence that already resided there. It was different from anything I had felt before—dark, raw, yet somehow… invigorating.
'So, this is how [Vengeful Bane] feels when a real demon is killed,' I mused, feeling the power settle within me. It wasn't just energy. It was more than that. My entire body felt stronger, and sharper. My senses heightened as if my muscles had been reinforced, my bones tougher, my vitality surging with newfound strength.
I clenched my fists experimentally, feeling the ripple of power just beneath the surface of my skin. Every movement was more fluid, and more responsive, as if my body had been revitalized from the inside out. And beyond that, there was a strange clarity, a heightened awareness that accompanied this demonic energy now woven into me.
'Killing a fully-fledged demon…'
The nature of [Vengeful Bane]—to absorb the strength of demons upon their death—was something I had known, but experiencing it firsthand was something that had not happened.
Previously, all the times that I had killed a demon, either MistWraith, the Primordial of Shadows, the Vampire, or Belthazor, I fell unconscious following that.
But this time I was fully conscious of everything that had happened here.
'This power… it's intoxicating,' I thought, feeling the pulse of energy in my body. But I pushed down the sensation, forcing myself to remain composed.
The surge of power coursing through me was undeniable, but it wasn't the reason I had come here. My true purpose remained. Zharokath had been nothing more than a stepping stone, a necessary piece in a much larger game.
As the last remnants of his demonic essence faded, my gaze shifted to his neck. There, barely visible in the dim light, was a necklace—a thin chain that had gone unnoticed until now. It pulsed faintly, the glow almost imperceptible, but to my [Eyes], it was clear. This was no ordinary trinket.
'So, there it is…' I thought, narrowing my gaze. The faint shine emanating from the necklace was the key to something far greater than Zharokath. The entrance to the location of the Primordial Demon of the Void Clan—the Void Dragon itself.
The Void Dragon, is a creature of legend, a being of immense power tied to the Void Clan. Zharokath had been working toward its revival for centuries, but all that time, the path had been hidden. Now, as I stared at the glowing necklace, I knew it was within my grasp.
I knelt down, careful not to disturb Zharokath's limp form any more than necessary, and reached for the necklace. As my fingers brushed against the chain, I felt a surge of energy, different from the demonic power that had just been absorbed. It was… colder. Darker. A void, much like the entity it was linked to.
'This is the key to the entrance,' I thought. 'The gateway to where the Void Dragon sleeps.'
That was indeed the case.
The entrance to the gateway where the Void Dragon slept.
I pulled the necklace from his neck, and as it left Zharokath's body, the faint glow grew stronger. The air around me seemed to shift, a subtle disturbance in the mana as if the space itself was reacting to the presence of the necklace.
Holding it in my hand, I could feel the immense power tied to it. This was no ordinary artifact. It was a key—a key that would lead me to the heart of the Void Clan's legacy, the place where the Primordial of Void, the Void Dragon, awaited.
The weight of the task ahead settled on me, but I remained composed. There was no room for hesitation. This was the next step, the next challenge in a journey that had already taken me further than I could have imagined.
With the necklace secured, I stood up, glancing once more at Zharokath's lifeless body. His defeat was only a prelude. The real battle was yet to come.
CREAK!
Just at that moment, I sensed a small movement from the side.
That faint sound of movement caught my attention, pulling me from the dark thoughts swirling around the Void Dragon and the legacy of the Void Clan. I turned my head sharply toward the source, my [Eyes] already focusing, instincts honed from years of battles kicking in.
There, emerging from the shadows at the far end of the chamber, was the same young child I had seen when I first entered this place. The one Zharokath had been about to devour. His small frame trembled, his eyes wide and filled with a mix of fear and confusion.
I had almost forgotten about him in the chaos of the battle.
At that time, Zharokath had been distracted, giving me the opening I needed to strike. The boy had served as an unintentional shield.
'But…'
But, even then, there was nothing in that kid's eyes.
Pure emptiness, devoid of anything.
'It is familiar.'
The gaze of someone who had lost everything and had no reason to live.
The gaze of someone who was tormented for just living by.
The boy's eyes—those hollow, empty eyes—stared at me, trembling but unresponsive. There was no spark of life in them, no flicker of hope.
Just a void.
A gaze I knew all too well.
He was just like me.