Heart Devil [OP Yandere Schizo Ramble LitRPG XD]

The air inside the audience chamber of House Baphomet was suffocating. It was still, quiet, like the solemnity before a funeral. Onyx-like pillars lined the walls, each etched with the deeds of ancestors, each a monument to the house's pride and legacy.

The chandeliers flickered again, catching glints of nervous sweat on the brows of the retainers stationed behind the city lord.

At the heart of it all, Ramsus stood, a tall figure in a black coat embroidered with golden ram's horns. His eyes were sleepless yet sharp as he stared at the white-robed woman in front of him.

"Lord Baphomet." She began evenly. "Where is your daughter right now?"

"In bed, sick." He answered simply. "For what reason do you need such information?"

The Inquisitor answered his question with another. "Are you aware of her affiliation with the devils?" Her eyes empty and unemotional as she stared at the businessman, waiting for answers.

Her question to his question was shot down with a derisive snort. This zombie dare push an accusation like that beneath a 'simple inquiry'. Did she think he would answer a question like that, like a trembling commoner?

So he asked again. A flicker of something dangerous rising deep within his eyes. "For what reason…do you people need to know her status?"

For a moment, the inquisitor stayed silent. She then spoke again as voiceless and dead as before. "Lord Baphomet, we are here on order of the Sanctum. Your daughter, Corrine Baphomet, has been named as the instigator of the Arcspire district disaster."

The silence that followed was so sharp it could slice through the black marble surrounding them.

Ramsus blinked in surprise. "You'll have to explain that." He said slowly. "Carefully."

"There was an attack." The inquisitor continued. "A devil appeared in the capital, Arcspire District. Five dead, dozens wounded. Property destruction on a massive scale." She informed.

"And you think my daughter, barely fourteen, and so fevered she cannot rise from bed, did that?" He did not hear of this event, but even if his child was the culprit, he would not give these sycophants a reason to even lay eyes on her.

He would do his own investigation later. For now, he would run defense.

But the next words of the inquisitor brought him a bit of unease.

"She has been named." The dead-eyed woman said.

"By whom?"

"Hero Damien, champion and chosen of the goddess Aife."

Ramsus narrowed his eyes at the reply. A strange sense of familiarity crossed his mind. He had heard that name before, he believed. But his mind could not currently recollect where.

But he was sure of one thing: there was no current hero by the name of Damien on the grand temple's holy tablets.

He shook his head. "I don't know this Damien. And I fail to see how a stranger's word is cause for this."

The inquisitor answered immediately. "He is a new chosen champion, a fourteen-year-old spellsword, a young genius favored by the goddess. Lord Baphomet, Damien is marked by divinity. Therefore, his voice is divine. And he has named your daughter."

A maddening thought struck him at the explanation. He spoke with a hint of confusion in his voice. "Wait… you have no proof?"

The inquisitor answered without missing a beat. "The gods require no proof, Lord Baphomet. They and their champion's vision is law."

A peculiar swirl of feeling rose in the heart of the businessman. Just a word? Hearsay?

She continued on. "The Laws of Flame and Chain are clear. The practice of Hellnian warlockery, any devil pacts, is forbidden in all five provinces of Neel." the inquisitor interpreted. "The punishment is death or eternal binding. No warlocks who draw from devils may be spared from judgment."

Dazed, Ramsus spoke. "And you come here, in my home, demanding my child be taken away? To be bound or executed based on hearsay? Based on the whisperings of a teenager wet behind the ears?" His voice was sharpening, rising.

"He is not a mere teenager," she corrected. "He is the champion of goddess Aife, a hero."

The city lord clenched his teeth. "Just that. No evidence she's a warlock? That she summoned a devil? No mark? No Circle? Not even the name of the being she supposedly summoned?"

The inquisitor's face didn't change. "Her name was spoken. That is enough."

And then it came.

The laugh.

It started as a low, disbelieving snort. Then an abrupt, incredulous bark. Then full-on, unhinged laughter, loud and wild, bouncing off the floor and walls with a mad luster.

All the diplomacy, the acquiescence throughout the years, the swallowed pride, and the forgone gains. For what? Not peace, clearly. Not respect, clearly. Not even consideration.

"Hahaha! By the gods! Ahaha!" he wheezed, "You really believe this, don't you? A word from a chosen whelp is enough to burn my house to ash?"

The inquisitor's eyes turned cold. "That's twice now, Ramsus; I'd advise you to mind your words about the gods' champions."

But he didn't answer her warning; he just continued to laugh. The thoughts of all the work his family did over the years to maintain their standing and good relationships with the cities around them, taking loss after loss, barely staying afloat until he and his father's generation flourished.

All down the drain because of some teen pointing a lazy finger?

Ramsus felt something rip loose deep down as he laughed.

He didn't even try to stop it.

"Haha. Oh…oh, this truly is rich. A fevered girl groaning in her bed is named by some glowing-eyed child, and suddenly she's an enemy of the state? You expect me to bow to that? To hand her over?"

The cold eyes of the inquisitor only became chillier at that. "If you resist, you will be seen as a traitor to the Sanctum. A blasphemer."

He shook his head at the holy woman. "I'm the lord of Gomorrah." He grinned. "I've been called worse."

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The inquisitor nodded once. She would follow the gods' will then. "Then by divine decree, Corrine Baphomet is to be taken to the Sanctum's citadel. Alive or dead. You are to lay down your arms and kneel."

As she ended her words, the inquisitor pulled a talisman from her sleeve and activated it with her mana. As it changed color, the doors to the audience chamber swung open once more. 8 more white-armored knights marched in, blades unsheathed, glowing faintly with holy glyphs and humming with mortal danger.

The Baphomet guards raised their weapons in unison, their faces pale but resolute. Ramsus spread his arms out wide, welcoming the newcomers. His face twisted into a wild smile, a face no businessman should ever display.

"A shame. The Sanctum has picked the wrong house for such boldness." He said. "And the wrong father."

Ramsus then said a single phrase:

"[Obsidian Guard]"

A deep, rumbling grind of stone scraping stone fill the hall.

From behind the black marble columns, the walls, and the floor itself, seams split open with glowing sigils.

The earth began to tremble slightly.

Six towering constructs of magic metal and obsidian stone began to emerge from the hidden rooms.

Golems.

Each nearly three times the size of a man, their fists glowing with runes and eyes radiating with barely compressed energy.

The Sanctum knights, previously swaggering pridefully to the small group, took a step back.

"Holy hells…" One of them whispered.

"You know." Ramsus said, his voice now calm. " I built this house, brick by brick, rune by rune. And I would never leave my family unprotected."

The inquisitor didn't move, but her voice was now a bit tighter.

"Ramsus Baphomet. You now risk war with the pantheon and their faithful."

At this point, the city lord was unbothered; he spoke casually, unbuttoning his sleeves. His coat long since tossed to the floor.

"I don't risk war," he said. "I've already promised it."

~~~

Corrine felt like magma was flowing through her veins.

She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. Her limbs felt numb and her muscles no longer under her control.

Yet, beneath all the pain and paralysis, something else lingered.

Power.

Thick and roiling. Breathing within her. Breathing for her.

A rush of violet light pulsed behind her closed eyelids, as if igniting from within. The veins pulsed and traced throughout her body with the same light. And with every cycle, a change seemed to occur within the young girl.

And then…

Her eyes snapped open.

The previously beautiful emerald green, no longer there.

A soft, eerie violet replaced her old irises, glowing faintly in the dark room. Her sclera, once white, had turned a light, clouded grey. Her tongue, though she had yet to notice, had turned a midnight black, etched faintly with tiny sigils that pulsed when she swallowed.

Corrine lay still, staring at the ceiling of her ornate room. Sweat clung to her skin, but the fever was gone, like a lifted fog. Now that her mind was thinking clearly, she realized she was back home.

She sat up slowly, wincing at the sensation of the changes she felt within her. As a warrior, familiar with every inch of her body, she could feel it.

Everything was larger.

Like her entire body had expanded from the inside. Her chi paths glowed faintly under her skin; the violet glow was visible in the dim room. The paths that once trickled chi like a hose now flowed rapidly like a river. Her circuits, a small house to keep her minuscule mana, now bustled with activity as mana flowed freely through her, not just within her but all around her. It was no longer a small house but a functioning city.

'What…what did she do to me?'

The name burned into her mind.

Hannya.

The name whispered in her head. Reminding her of the events that transpired before she lost consciousness.

The memory of the events dazed her. But there was no time to process it.

Because her new, expanded senses heard something. A creak. A movement.

Her gaze darted across the room to the door of her balcony, slightly ajar.

A shadow moved, causing her heart to clench. She wasn't alone.

Someone stepped out from the corner, cloaked in dark steel armor with a lightless visor and an emblem of twelve connected crowns on the shoulder.

The Sanctum sign but not the colors. This was something else, something darker, something quieter.

A hoarse voice spoke beneath the helm. "Target located. Bind her. Quietly."

More shadows followed, three in total. One began drawing suppression sigils on the floor, while another reached for her arm.

Corrine recoiled, adrenaline exploding through her still-recovering body.

"Don't touch me!" She shouted.

Her chi pulsed, raw and untamed, but fast. Faster than ever before.

And dense, monstrously so.

The runes on her tongue flared, enchanting the chi that left her body as her voice followed the wave.

The warding circle shattered under the sound, breaking apart and dissipating into the air.

"What!? She's rejecting the seal!" The knight shouted.

"She's still not stabilized; contain her now!" The leader spoke.

Corrine stumbled to her feet, arms trembling and eyes burning a bright violet. Her heart was beating like a drum. She didn't understand what was happening, but her body did. It moved on instinct, creating distance from the assailants. A subtle message rang in her mind.

Fight. Survive.

Outside the window, the sky flashed, a pulse of mana from across the estate.

The sound of battle echoed faintly through the open door.

Her father was fighting.

She turned her glowing eyes to the three creeping towards her, their weapons now drawn and their spacing wide.

She understood her situation, if her father was fighting…

So would she.

The leader lunged at her.

Corrine moved, and everything changed.

When before she would have stumbled from his speed, now she pivoted with precision. Her legs launched into a slide under the man's vicious swing. As she rose to her feet, her fingers closed around the training spear propped beside her bed.

The weapon wasn't enchanted, not special in any way. But the moment her fingers gripped the shaft, her chi surged into it.

The weapon responded like it was a part of her.

A trail of dense, violet aura wrapped itself around the spear. The transparent chi she used to coat it with now shimmered and churned like liquid metal, glowing with compressed power.

She spun and lashed out.

Crack

Her spear shattered the helmet of the leader before he could recover, sending him crashing into the wall with a muffled grunt.

The others didn't wait.

One swung a blessed chain to her temple. With her vision now, she could see it clearly. She ducked under it.

But the chain only served as a cover for the third, as a dagger drove into Corrine's side.

She gasped as pain laced her ribs and purple blood sprayed to the floor.

But she didn't fall.

She swung her spear, forcing the assassin to retreat back.

She looked down at her wound and watched in wide-eyed horror as blackish-purple veins writhed and moved around the gash, sealing the flesh shut.

"W-what?" She couldn't help but voice her thoughts. This level of healing was not the normal speed of a warlock.

None she's read about.

But before she could think further, a voice echoed in her mind.

No, not a simple voice. A familiar voice. Her voice.

'Contract acknowledged.' The voice echoed. 'You are the living seal of Hannya's will. Pact magic access granted.'

'First Domain: Dread'

Knowledge poured into her mind like water down a slope. Arcane understandings, unknown sigils, and techniques she had no memory of learning but instinctively understood. Her pupils narrowed into slits as a new spell rose prominent in her thoughts.

Corrine stepped back, her breathing shallow. Though the wound on her healed, damage was still sustained.

The enemies didn't let her retreat far. They closed in, fast, efficient, trained.

She raised her hand and whispered.

"Pact Magic: [Dread Mist]"

At the words, the temperature dropped. Small black sigils appeared across her outstretched arm, and a burst of shadowy black fog billowed outward. It spread out rapidly, engulfing the room in a swirling black haze.

Within seconds, the air was thick, unnaturally so, clinging to the armored men as they ignored the smoke screen and pushed forward. They would not let her flee.

Until all three froze a few steps away from the girl.

Their muscles locked in mid-motion, their eyes wide with horror. Their limbs only twitched, and their fingers spasmed.

"Wh-what is this?" One barely choked as his body began to slowly lock further.

Corrine didn't answer.

She strode forward through the mist, her aura shimmering like a violet flame around her.

She swung her spear, cleanly cutting through the three assassins' necks.

Thud

Thud

Thud

Three heads hit the floor below in quick succession, and the fog began to dissipate.

Corrine stood before the headless flesh statues, her breathing ragged. Her side still ached, her body drenched in sweat, but she was alive.

She was victorious.

She wiped the blood from her spear and stared down at her trembling hands.

She was still not used to it. But she closed her hands into fists soon after.

No guilt.

Not yet.

She turned her head to the glass door of her balcony, where the sound of steel clashed and magic now roared.

Her father was fighting alone.

But not for long.

She strode to the door, spear in hand, as her violet eyes burned in the dark.