Jalel raised an eyebrow from where he pretended to be dead, cocooned on the hellscape floor in so rather pathetic bindings while a lowly harpy ate his entrails. They had made it through the poorly executed “bad guy” with only slight amounts of smirking whenever the inexperienced warlock wasn’t looking. Even if Jalel did secretly hope for Riven’s demise and actually kind of was the bad guy, so to speak. He’d faked death pretty well, even if it’d been soone his own level witnessing it, but the fun was now over. He’d give his report back to the queen as instructed, and he’d tag Riven’s soul for when the barriers on the newly integrated world faltered in years to co, but the report wouldn’t be anything worth ntioning. Not in Jalel’s opinion. Riven’s performance had been subpar.
And, of course, Jalel would completely leave out the part about Riven acquiring that shard of original sin. That was far too valuable a piece of information to give even to his matriarch, because Jalel wanted it for himself one day. How Riven had gone about acquiring it was sothing Jalel couldn’t even begin to guess at.
True, Jalel had intervened and stopped the stone from binding to his cousin—forcing the demon in the miracle stone to remain there until Jalel was done assessing the youngster. True, Jalel had also stolen mana from Riven during the last fight in order to press him harder. He’d even stopped Riven’s normal flesh regeneration so that the young man, many centuries younger than Jalel, couldn’t repair his body at a normal rate. Part of this was to truly evaluate Riven, yes, but part of it had been in hopes that Riven would simply die so he could rip the sin out and acquire it. However, the system’s warning curses had been stacking with each intervention, and the last one had been so severe that Jalel could only quiver at the thought of what would happen should he actually be responsible for Riven’s death. Jalel had pushed the system’s limits to the outer boundary, and now he was sure that any further intervention would definitely an his own death. If he let Riven die here and the system considered it Jalel’s fault, he was done for.
[System Notification—Congratulations! Azmoth has chosen to offer you his services. You have received a demonic minion contract that you may choose to accept or decline:
Azmoth’s Offers:
• Acquire Azmoth as a familiar.
• Acquire Hell’s Armor as a spell. Unlike your minion, who uses Hell’s Armor as a physical trait, your own Hell’s Armor will require significant amounts of mana to use, as it is not inherent to your species. Your own Hell’s Armor will therefore be registered as an Infernal-type spell instead of a trait. Hell’s Armor bathes you in flas, regenerating health and damaging opponents while giving you a significant defense boost. This is a very high-mana-cost spell.
Azmoth’s Demands:
• If the relationship between you two becos less than amicable, the contract will beco null and void.
• 20 Willpower requirent for initial contract.
• Freedom to co and go at will within reason; Azmoth may summon himself into the mortal realm on a whim as long as it does not directly violate your orders.
• Freedom to regularly hunt for prey.
• Freedom to apply his own stat points and choose his own evolutionary pathways.
• Do you accept this contract? Yes? No?
WARNING: If you choose to accept this contract, this will be your second demonic familiar. Your current class only allows two.]
Azmoth? That was his na? Well, the contract was very, very to the point. It didn’t have anything Riven could pick out that rang any alarm bells. There wasn’t any reason to say no. According to Athela, contracts with summoners were a way for demons to beco more powerful without any actual danger to themselves, so perhaps that’s all this really was—a win-win situation.
An irritated grunt from the darkness caused him to look back over his shoulder. He chuckled at the demon’s obvious urgency as he went over its offer…but then took a serious and hard look at the harpy back in the image. His smile faded, and his fists clenched.
“I know why you’re approaching now, of all tis—a little late, if you ask . But why would I say anything but yes? You have yourself a deal, Azmoth. It’s nice to make your acquaintance, and hopefully I’m not dead by the ti you get there.”
Riven hit the Yes for acceptance, and the purple miasma of the contract faded.
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