NOVEL NEXT Chapter 129: The Devouts
A day before the estimated day, at the Northern Primordial World.
Dawn had only just kissed the horizon, painting the edge of the world in hues of faded gold, while the galaxy's starlight still twinkled above, an ethereal beauty that stood in stark contrast to the foreboding scene unfolding below.
Dunstan was the first to step out of the ancient cave where they had retreated for shelter. He stretched his arms high above his head, a wide yawn escaping his lips as though trying to shake free the tension coiled in his limbs. But just as the morning silence settled over him, his eyes caught something, something wrong.
A distant shadow flickered, gesturing around the colossal Primordial Metal Tree they had escaped from the night before. His brows furrowed, and his gaze narrowed into a squint, straining to bring the faint shapes into clearer focus.
"You're already awake?" Lumina's voice drifted toward him from the cave's shadowed mouth.
Dunstan spun around swiftly, placing a single finger, his left index, across his dry lips in a sharp gesture for silence.
Lumina blinked, startled by the sudden warning, her widened eyes searching his face for meaning. Before her gaze could sweep the surroundings, Dunstan gently tugged her back into the cave's embrace, tucking them just behind the entrance. Their heads peered cautiously from its edge.
With a slow nod, Dunstan pointed toward the massive metallic tree. Lumina's gaze followed the invisible thread of his finger, and then her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes, too, widened in alarm.
There, circling the base of the towering Primordial Metal Tree, were five figures. They were not like ordinary beings; their forms were draped in shadows, their skin dark as if carved from obsidian. Their eyes blazed crimson, each one marked with a piercing black vertical slit that cut through the red like a blade.
Three of the five bore twin horns, each horn no longer than two inches, curling slightly with an unnatural elegance. Of the remaining two, one had a broken right horn, snapped at the base like a memory of violence. The last figure was even stranger, possessing only a single horn, planted like a thorn dead-center on its forehead, ominous and solitary.
All five demons stood across from the celestial, now mutated and frozen into a solidified statue, close to the towering primordial metal tree, whose roots clawed deep into the ancient earth like relics of forgotten time.
"He-he-he. So we didn't hear wrong after all," the demon with his right horn broken cackled, his shadow-like hand draped over his face, as if trying to mask the wicked delight that danced in his eyes. His laughter trembled like a mocking wind.
"Yeah," another chimed in, the first demon adorned with two pairs of twisting horns. His right index and middle fingers tapped against his jaw thoughtfully, as though weighing the absurdity of what he'd just said. "Although the sound lasted only a second, it was sharp, like the cry of a dying star."
Then the second demon with matching horns burst into uncontrollable laughter, his clawed finger stretched toward the statue's parted lips, where the metallic lips froze mid-cry. "Those bastards are fools. Absolute fools! Don't they realize that in the Primordial Realm, every creation bears a sliver of awareness? There's no such thing as lifeless, not when even the trees hum with ancient memory."
"They probably don't," the demon with a single horn on his forehead offered, his voice laced with cruel amusement, "since their station sits at the very edge of the Nihilith Clan's territory, a barren land of cold mountains, mute hills, and silent stone."
"All the more reason they should understand that these forms, these landscapes, are alive," the first pairs horned demon replied, his arms flaring outward as if embracing the entire world. "Everything here bears the mark of laws within them, breathes with the pulse of cosmic energy that ripple through the air like invisible waves. Mountains, trees, rocks... nothing is truly inert." His hands rose to shoulder level, palms up as if bearing invisible truths.
The first demon with the intact horns shook his head, disagreeing gently, a sinister grin stretching his lips. "Unlike trees, which constantly emit the raw cosmic laws they're bound to, each breath, each sway, mountains and similar existences seal their power within, like hidden cores of ancient flame. Only within the primordial race Clan's inner residences, where exposure to those laws mature to dangerous heights, impossible to suppress, do they begin to emanate those energies externally. Only the wise like us, North Dark Station demons, hold such secrets."
"Whether they knew or not," the third demon cut through the conversation, stepping forward with deliberate weight, his eyes gleaming beneath the shadow of his brow, "They exposed their ignorance the moment they acted without knowledge. That alone proves their folly." His lips curled again. "He-he-he..."
He could no longer contain his dark amusement. Running his fingers along the parted jaw of the mutated celestial statue, his hands danced mockingly over the jagged metallic teeth, each tooth like a relic from a celestial war long forgotten.
The remaining four demons followed suit, their laughter rising in sync, low, dark, and bitter, echoing like the cackles of vultures circling fresh carrion, beneath the looming shadow of the primordial tree, like devils mocking the silence of the gods.
The Demon race are creations born in the shadows of discontent, creatures molded not with joy, but with a hollow ache that festers within their very souls. To erase the stain of their unhappiness, they seek fleeting pleasure in the most venomous of ways: by mocking the misfortunes of others, by driving blades into the backs of allies, and by betraying even the most timeworn bonds of trust without a flicker of remorse. Is it any wonder, then, that their social ties, whether among themselves or with other races, crumble like dry ash in the wind?
To quench their twisted thirst for satisfaction, they revel in the downfall of others, not because they are wicked by nature, but because they are not exceptional by design. They are plagued by envy, a corrosive force that devours them from within, prompting them to bring ruin upon those who possess the very happiness they cannot grasp. Misery, layered like a suffocating fog, is the gift they offer the world, as if punishing others will somehow silence the torment within.
In simple terms, the Demon race's bitter attitude toward the inhabitants of the heavens is not born of mere malice, it is the offspring of envy, matured into centuries-old hatred. They are a race scorned by fate, and in return, they scorn all that shines brighter than their own darkness.
The third demon, standing ominously close to the statue, exhaled a long sigh that echoed the residue of a mockery-laced laugh. "We should leave now and begin our final mission before the light of day reach it peak." he said, his voice now cloaked in a simmering anger, starkly contrasting the laughter that had danced from his lips moments before.
"Yes," the first demon, the one adorned with twin horns, agreed, his voice carrying the eerie cadence of a ritual chant. "Let's make our final act more beautiful than any who came before. Let our ending be painted in colors no celestial dares to erase." His words slithered into the air like an incantation, infecting the others with a haunting blend of resolve and dread. Despite their stoic postures, a bead of sweat shimmered down their shadowed cheeks, betraying their buried uncertainty, exposing the cracks in their conviction. Yet still, none turned away.
"We should make this more fun for those celestial bastards," hissed the demon with a single horn jutting from his forehead, his tone sharp and venomous, laced with a cruel anticipation. But before their twisted anticipation could stir further, "Don't move, or don't blame us if we strike!"
The warning split through the air like a blade slicing silk, echoing from the path they had just tread. All eyes snapped toward the voice.
Dunstan stood firm, fist clenched across his chest like a soldier prepared to dash into a storm. Beside him, Lumina drew her divine bow taut, her arrow kissed by celestial energy, trembling with restrained wrath. Behind them, their subordinates braced for battle, silent, unwavering, their gazes sharp as drawn blades, ready to unleash their fury at a moment's notice.
"What are you Devouts doing here, and how have you been manipulating the flaststamps?" Lumina's voice, laced with impatient steel, sliced through the air like a drawn blade. Her feet shifted ever so slightly, a whisper of motion betraying the storm brimming beneath her poised exterior.
Two worlds, two races, stood mirrored across the broken land. The wind curled between them like a curious spirit. The metallic limbs of the ancient primordial tree groaned softly in anticipation. And above all, the heavy, ever-watching eyes of the living statue rolled in eerie rhythm, prepared to bear witness to whatever would unfold next.