Heart Devil [OP Yandere Schizo Ramble LitRPG XD]

Chapter 53: Early Awakening



Central Neel, Capital City Serenis, Pantheon Grand Temple - Crucible Grounds

The sun shone down on the ancient arena, the scars and stains on the walls echoing battles long past. The large coliseum, currently empty save for the breeze and occasional chirp of birds, was host to a different kind of spectacle today. Not one of glory and triumph, but one of fury and ego.

Damien stood in the center of the dusty ring, his fist clenched as the sword in his hand trembled slightly. His jaw was set, and his eyes burned with defiance and retribution.

Across from him, serene and composed, stood the cherub.

Arden Patienson.

One of the plane's top heroes, a half-angel, bearer of the eternally humble smile.

His sword, still sheathed, hung loosely at his side. There was no tension in his posture, only a bit of curiosity.

"I don't know what you're trying to prove, Damien." Abigail, to the side, voiced out. Her words helping to calm the tension greatly.

So she assumed.

With worry etched on her face, she stood a distance outside the ring, her black robes and black hair fluttering in the breeze. She continued, sure she would get through to him. "This isn't like you. Why are you doing this?"

She was thoroughly confused; Damien wasn't one to go around challenging people to duels. None of his actions were making sense to her lately. The sneaking around, keeping secrets, the abrupt challenge. The pure and honest child she had been training transforming rapidly before her eyes.

He had changed ever since they came to the capital. So it seemed to her.

Damien didn't answer. He couldn't. He would never admit to her that every time Arden smiled in her direction, his stomach twisted and heart blazed with anger. He would never admit he could see the obvious admiration in her eyes whenever she looked at Arden. And he would never admit, even to himself, that he felt small next to that radiant, divine calm.

Even though he allowed the devil to get away, Arden had done what Damien deeply wished for, he had made the devil run. And to top it off, he had charmed his beloved teacher in a single day.

He wouldn't accept it! He couldn't. He had to prove, in some way, he wasn't below Arden.

That he was a hero too, that he was special, chosen.

Arden tilted his head slightly, sensing a subtle shift in the youth's chi. "You wish to test your strength, child?" he asked gently. "Or… is there something else behind this challenge?"

Damien gritted his teeth. "Draw your blade." was all he answered.

Still smiling, Arden sighed and unsheathed his sword in one smooth, graceful motion. The air around him seemed to slow, answering to his divine heritage preparing for battle.

High above the arena, in a luxury suite shielded by a concealment array, two figures watched the scene in silence.

One, a nobleman draped in fine attire, a golden crest shimmered on the right arm of his jacket. A sword wrapped in white flames.

The crest of House Sunblade.

The pompous-looking man leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in interest. "That's the boy she's teaching? The one that holds our blood?" He muttered.

Beside him, a priest sat leisurely. He was cloaked in white and dark blue robes lined with gold. He nodded and spoke. "Yes, the goddess stated as much. Clearly, he's reckless, but his magic pulses with potential, and his chi radiates with density far beyond his age. His grade? S rank limit. Sure, it seems his emotions… make him volatile. Dangerous. But that's just the type this House could mold."

The noble's lips curled up into a sneer. "Or break."

As they gazed down, the first clang of steel rang through the air below, neither Damien nor Arden knowing this duel was more than just a clash of swords.

It was a breakpoint, a subtle shift in the path. A power play far beyond either of them.

And Damien, for all his bravado, had just stepped into a much larger game. One where he would no longer be just a student nor a suitor.

But a pawn.

And the players had begun to move.

Down below, dust billowed beneath Damien's feet as he lunged forward like an arrow.

His blade whistled through the air, howling with intensity. There was no finesse, no restraint, only vicious and raw precision, born from the countless hours he trained in solitude, biding his time to be named the strongest.

Sparks flew as the two swords collided, over and over, each clash ringing louder than the last.

Arden accepted the strikes as calm as still water. He moved with effortless grace. His blade parried each strike like he was swatting away leaves passing in the breeze. His glowing blue eyes caught the flow of every motion, his soft, humble smile never wavering.

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Clang!

Clang!

CLANG!

The cherub lightly spun to the side, allowing Damien's sword to crash downwards into the stone platform below, leaving a shallow crack.

"You're strong." Arden spoke, his voice steady and even. "But you're fighting like someone who's already lost… Why is that, child?"

"Shut up!" The young warrior growled, jerking his sword free and turning to him for another wild assault. "Don't talk like you know me!" the boy shouted, newly enraged.

Outside the ring, Abigail watched with her hands pressed against her chest, her brows furrowed with concern. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. She called out. "Damien, I think that's enough! This isn't training anymore; you're going to hurt yourself!" She shouted tactfully.

He didn't hear her words, or perhaps…he chose not to. The only thing that mattered to him right now was wiping that tranquil expression and smug smile off Arden's face. He would make the cherub take him seriously.

Back above, in the upper seats, the nobleman leaned back lazily in his seat. The cushions below him doing nothing for the uncomfortable stone seating as he grunted and shifted.

He glanced at the scene below. "Hmph! He's fast, but wild. Not an ounce of discipline. I thought you said this one had potential." The noble grumbled.

The priest did not answer; he merely adjusted his glasses and watched silently.

And suddenly, a shift occurred.

Arden pivoted, sidestepping the young hero's forward lunge and planting a palm firmly against the youth's chest. A simple, gentle push. Not a drop of malice could be felt as he sent Damien flying backwards, outside the ring and into the dirt.

THUD

Amidst the clouds of dust, a coughing Damien groaned as he tried to rise. His sword was flung a distance away as his body shook from the force of the blow.

Arden approached, his face serene but no longer smiling. His voice cut through the air, sharp and chiding. "You fight with hatred, Damien. That is not strength. The fire you strike with is nothing but weakness cloaked in flames."

Damien clutched the dirt below him, his hands trembling.

Weakness?

His body burned. Not from the pain, but from the words of the hero in front of him. That calm, gentle tone. Those pitying eyes.

And worse still, Abigail was to the side, watching him with worry… Not admiration, nor trust, just pitying worry.

"Don't… you DARE look down on me!" He roared.

BADUMP

His heart began to race; the young warrior felt something stir within him. Something that was deep in slumber all this time… was finally awakening.

A white-hot surge tore through his veins. His blood boiled as his skin rapidly began to heat up.

Then, with a sudden burst, white flames erupted from Damien's body. They wrapped around him, licking the air with silvery-white tongues. The fire twisted upwards, quiet and beautiful, burning with holy laws and will.

Arden stepped back, his eyes widening slightly for the first time. "This is…"

Above, the nobleman shot to his feet, his hands now gripping the railing as a peculiar light danced in his eyes. "Well, well, well. Now that's interesting."

The priest beside him nodded. "The Righteous Flame… He carries the legacy after all."

Down below, Abigail's face drained of color. She took a half-step forward before stopping. She clenched her fists. "Not now… Not here…"

Damien rose, his body wrapped in a pale white glow. His eyes no longer filled with reckless emotions but something colder, something righteous.

Something dangerous.

Arden gazed at the youth before him. His smile nowhere in sight. "So…you've already awakened your bloodline." For a child merely at the age of 14 to awaken their bloodline, this was truly a rare sight.

Damien's answer was a hostile glare that could sear through weaker souls.

"I'll show you I'm not weak."

He extended his hand, and the blade, a distance from him, flew back to his grasp, drawn by the flame's command.

He stepped forward, the arena shifting in tempo once again.

~~~

Central Continent, Kradel Kingdom Border, City of Gomorrah

The audience hall of House Baphomet was a symbol of their pride and legacy. Arched ceilings lined with gold stretched overhead, chandeliers of glass and demonic cores lit the halls with a purplish hue, casting ethereal halos on the black marble below. Silk banners and tapestries hung from the walls colored in gold and purple, embroidered with the crest of a devilish goat.

The family's symbol. One of strength and virility, surefootedness and independence, perseverance and wisdom. It was a hall built to impress, to intimidate, to remind visitors within these walls that wealth and will reigned supreme.

But tonight, the air was thick, heavy with quiet tension.

Lord Ramsus Baphomet stood at the foot of his raised throne, not seated, but planted.

He was a man ready to draw steel if diplomacy failed. His hands, gloved in a satin material, were clasped behind his back, his eyes sharp and his jaw locked.

Behind him stood his retainers, former adventurers now guards of this noble house. Two demons and two humans, a steady vision of the stance and attitude this fine city held.

They were clad in plated, polished armor, halberds held upright and hands resting on blades, ready to take action when needed. But the tightness by which they clutched at their respective weapons was just enough to betray the tension they held deep inside.

Ramsus had made his decision, one they all would follow. If the inquisitor had come to brand his daughter corrupted, to call down the wrath of the pantheon's righteous laws… then there would be no need for diplomacy. Not this night.

Silence filled the air. Until…

The doors slowly opened.

Soundless and absolute, as if she were the god's will incarnate.

In stepped the inquisitor.

She was draped in robes of white and gold, trimmed with dark blue. 12 connected crowns in a circle, the mark of the pantheon, were embroidered over her heart. Her face was pale, and eyes black and empty, cold and unreadable. She carried no weapon, but behind her came four knights of the Inquisition.

They were cloaked and helmed, their armor bone white, etched with sigils and holy prayers. Each sporting a longsword on their waist, their jewel-encrusted hilts seemingly pushing back the ominous light of the dimly glowing chandeliers above.

The inquisitor stopped a short distance from Ramsus, her hands pressed together in eternal prayer. The knights formed a line behind her, stalwart and straight. The formation was clear; they would get what they came here for. A retreat was out of the question.

"My lord Ramsus," the Inquisitor began, her voice calm and gentle. "I've come with questions, and I trust… you'll give me answers."

Ramsus didn't flinch, not one inch. His voice rang out through the chamber, straightforward and unbothered.

"You may ask." He said, his eyes never leaving hers. "But know this, your next words will determine whether you leave this hall a guest… or an enemy." He would not play niceties today.

An abrupt visit late at night, the mention of his daughter for inquiry. Both parties knew the deal; neither had to stand on ceremony.

The chandelier flickered. The black marble beneath them feeling a little colder.

And somewhere, deep within the estate. A thick pink energy pulsed within a young girl, growing, changing…

Waiting.


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