"Prince, we have ventured beyond and are unable to enter the Barren Canyon." In a grand hall, a towering creature sat upon a throne.
The surroundings were bleak: black walls and a floor of pale silver. The throne itself, carved from a clear crystal, glimred ominously, as if mocking any who dared approach.
Seated on that crystalline seat was a demon bearing a distinctly human shape—though far larger, and disturbingly beautiful in a predatory way. Two imposing horns jutted from his head, each exuding coils of dark smoke. His skin, black as the walls, was etched with a network of red tattoos that pulsed faintly like living veins.
"It suddenly disappeared?" The demon—Prince Aglazeth—braced his cheek against a clenched fist, brooding over this report. "Continue the search. Involve the other regional lords if needed. I suspect this is tied to the Heir."
"Of course, Prince Aglazeth." The small demon bowed hastily, its bony wings rattling as it darted away.
Left alone, Aglazeth's narrowed eyes glead with malice. So the Heir is connected to the Barren Canyon?
Whether it was Prince Aglazeth or any other high-ranking demons, all of them scoured Zulmasharr for the Heir. Their only objective was simple: murder. There was no way to extract the Heir's powers for themselves; only its death would end the threat it posed to demonkind.
"If the Heir falls to soone else," he muttered, lips curling in irritation, "they'll claim the glory. No—I must find and slay it personally." His handso features twisted with anger, a tension belied by his balled-up fists.
Zulmasharr was far more intricate than Afloria. From Rank Seven onward, demons gained titles according to strength. A Valgath of exceptional power—and an extensive army at his back—could be granted the title of Prince. That rank set them apart even from a typical Dyrmath, to the point that only a Demon King, like Yukinly, might control them.
Reaching aside, Aglazeth seized a bowl containing a handful of small imps, all squirming in blind panic. Without a hint of hesitation, he lifted one, tearing off a leg with his teeth. The imp screeched in tornt, but Aglazeth only smirked—an ugly satisfaction gleaming in his dark eyes.
One by one, he devoured the imps in a lingering, torturous fashion, reveling in their helpless pleas. Each ragged shriek seed to please him even more, as if the taste was heightened by their agony. To him, this suffering was a delicacy—and he savored every last quiver of despair.
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"Haha, dodge this!"
Back at the Antic tower, Yur and Celis were locked in a fierce fight—at least, that's how it felt to Yur. Celis kept pressing forward with relentless attacks, whether using a sword, a fist, or a kick. Everything ca flying at Yur without rcy.
Panting, Yur stayed on the defensive. Had Celis not lowered his strength to the first realm, Yur would've been dead by now.
"Co on! Use those flas!" Celis, grinning manically, launched a kick that sent Yur hurtling into the air.
Though Yur's face betrayed little emotion, his brows knit in frustration. As Celis leaped upward for another blow, Yur seized the brief mont to grab Celis's head.
Incineration!
Black flas swallowed the man as both of them plumted. Yur crash-landed on the tower floor, breathing heavily and eyeing the pillar of swirling embers.
"Good, good!" ca a sudden laugh from within the flas.
Yur watched in disbelief as Celis rose from the inferno, his body ablaze yet unscathed. He appeared unhard—no burns on his skin or tears in his clothes.
By contrast, Yur looked battered and worn.
"These flas are quite sothing." Celis lifted a blazing hand, observing it with casual curiosity. "If I weren't a bit stronger, they could've devoured ." Then, turning his gaze from the flas to Yur, he glanced at Ris. "Now I see why you're training this guy—and why you want those flas."
Ris snorted, but her attention remained fixed on the clash.
"You have strong moves," Celis said, regarding Yur with a wry grin, "but honestly, your technique is terrible. I'm surprised you even killed a Zorath."
"Yet I did," Yur retorted, wiping blood from his lip.
"That was luck." Celis shrugged. "Still, you might catch up to soday."
He blasted off the ground, blazing body streaking toward Yur so fast that Yur barely caught a blur. Celis seized Yur by the legs and hurled him into a nearby wall.
"What a battle maniac..." Fyr and the others watched grimly. "But to think soone can actually keep up with him—that's impressive."
"Keep up? He's getting destroyed," one disciple observed, frowning at the one-sided hits.
"No," Fyr countered. "Look closely: this Yur hasn't fainted or given up. Nobody else has ever lasted this long with Celis—not even ."
At that, the group studied the fight more carefully. All of them were stronger than an average Luminous Heart cultivator—especially Ris and Fyr, core mbers of their sect.
Yur smashed into the ground, rubble exploding under his feet. Blood streaked his face, bruises marring his arms, yet his expression remained strangely calm. At first, the onslaught overwheld him, but now he was moving a bit more confidently.
Zul, any suggestions? he thought, desperate for a way to counter Celis.
[Host is advised to skim through the mories of Mal!]
He'd avoided them, finding Mal's knowledge cryptic and painful to absorb. How will they help?
[Host can see Mal's experiences and possibly learn from them!]
While Celis strode closer, wearing that unsettling smile, Yur shifted his stance. "Celis, right?" he said, lifting his gaze. "Give five minutes."
"What for?" Celis paused, slightly thrown by the request.
"I need to figure out how to counter you," Yur stated bluntly. "That way, the fight will be more fun for you." He'd noticed Celis relished an adrenaline-charged battle.
"Just five minutes?" Celis confird, eyes gleaming with curiosity.
Yur nodded once.
"Fine, take it." Celis lowered his sword and aura, granting a temporary ceasefire—amusent dancing in his expression. After all, he'd started this bout impulsively; letting Yur regroup seed entertaining enough.
With that minor reprieve, Yur sank to the floor, folding his legs beneath him. He shut his eyes and opened his profile, preparing himself to dive into the mysterious mories that might hold the key to countering Celis's brutal abilities
|—————————————|
Na: Yur Ashkavaal
Age: 10
Title: Lord of Zulmasharr, Shepherd of Demons
Demon Cultivation: Vashra
Human Cultivation: Nascent Orb
Bloodline: Severed Ashkavaal
Orb: Cinerath; Severed Ashe
Demons: 0
Demon Points: 307
Human Points: 31
Sanity: 2/100 (>50 = Insanity!)
Map
Shop (New!)
mories (New!)
Demons (New!)
Quests
|—————————————|
Selecting the option for mories, he saw hundreds of new entries. The sheer number startled him, and he paused at how many recollections he could now access.
But one mory stood out. Unlike the others, it was highlighted by a black hue:
Demon Lord Arnin vs. Yawan the Beast Tar!
Its ominous label drew Yur's attention imdiately. He couldn't resist selecting it.
The mont he did, his mind went blank. A scene—sothing he never imagined possible—unfolded before his eyes.
————————————————————————
Yawan, you want revenge? You really didn't think this through, did you?
A large man stood in an open space, his surroundings filled with stars—so close they seed within reach. His figure was hazy, as though partially obscured by shimring light.
Opposite him stood a human wearing a fox's pelt around his neck and a massive tortoise shell strapped to his back.
I'm here to avenge Muc and Krus! You killed them! His voice was hoarse, raw with anger.
I grant you this chance, then. Co!
With that challenge, the man nad Yawan vanished from sight. Instantly, the stars around him and Demon Lord Arnin burst into chaos, colliding in a dazzling eruption of power.
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