Mana Devourer [LitRPG/Mana Cultivation]

Ember growled.

Markus gaped.

Serena simply stared. She looked more frustrated than anything.

"I couldn't keep you gone for more than a few days? Seriously?"

Randall glanced down at himself, as if noting the lack of marks on his body. "You mean our little spat the other day? I recovered within hours." He smiled. "I do have to hand it to you, though. I haven't felt quite so tied up in decades! You've certainly been active since your fall from grace…"

"I'm happy to murder you twice as hard this time if you'd like," Serena shrugged, uncrossing her legs. "How about I bury you on a few different planets this time? See how quick you stick yourself back together then."

"Now, now," Randall tutted. He raised a finger. "I appear to have underestimated you by some substantial deviation… my, your handiwork." He motioned to the arena with a flick of his wrist, eyes glinting gold. "And you do all of that with no Divine Arm. You really are a monster."

"You said it, not me," Serena said, beginning to float upwards as she handlessly cracked her neck. "Now, shall we resolve this?"

"I simply came to—"

Randall was cut off by Serena's arm in his gut.

Markus stopped doing his best impression of an ornament and leapt back, mind still racing.

Randall sighed, walking back a few paces, his wound healing before his guts could spill.

"Ahem," he coughed, throat sounding a touch hoarse. "As I was saying, I didn't come here to kill you all."

Serena blinked; Markus stopped midair in his attempt to maybe run maybe punch the god he wasn't really sure… his attempt to something.

"You're not here to kill everyone?"

Serena said it like she didn't understand what the words even meant. Like the concept was too foreign for her to parse.

"Like I said," Randall nodded, conjuring a chair and sitting immediately. He pulled out a table next, then a plate stacked with cups and a steaming pot.

His bag of tricks almost might've felt convenient if he weren't the herald of murder, torture, evil, and scorn. What was in the pot, anyways? Boiled puppy tears?

"So, why are you here?"

Markus almost couldn't believe the words had come from his lips.

He thought he'd be too paralysed by fear, by all the memories of everything Randall had so recently done to him, put him through.

And yet he found words. He didn't quite know how.

"To talk. I wish to speak with you earnestly," Randall said. "And in private," he added, eyeing Serena a little longer than he did Markus.

He gestured to a chair at the other end of the table. "If you'd please sit."

"Swear on your virtue."

Randall blinked, looking up at Serena.

"Excuse me?"

"Swear on your virtue that you're not here to cause anyone harm, and you can talk to him, assuming Markus is willing," Serena stated. "Failing that, we can fight until one of us is dead. Your choice."

Markus paced back and forth as Randall recounted some oath upon his virtue that he would cause none of them harm during his visit. He didn't really take in the words. It seemed to satisfy Serena, though.

"Markus?" she asked him, and he jerked at the sound of his own name.

"Mmh—yeah?"

"Are you willing to talk to him?" Serena asked. "He's bound by the oath he just made. He can't hurt you while he's here."

Markus looked at Randall. He was every bit the horrific murderer he'd ever been before now. He was quite possibly the person Markus hated most in the entire world, besides maybe Elasar who seemed to have orchestrated all that had happened to him until now…

With Randall stood right in front of him, however, his transgressions were currently taking the cake. Why would he ever talk with this piece of shit?

"By all means, you may refuse, and berate me in the colourful way you often do," Randall said, a slight whimsy to his tone. "This guarantee is only good for one meeting, though. I may not be so docile on my next visit."

Fuck. That put things into perspective. Speak with him now, while it was safe, or blow him off and all but guarantee that he'd come back looking for blood next time, which could be as soon as whenever for all that Markus knew.

Markus also knew Serena was full of shit. Randall clearly couldn't gauge her power, as he'd been taken by surprise by her when he'd lost his first fight. If he wasn't concerned about her having more in the tank, he'd have killed her already, or incapacitated her at the very least, and they wouldn't be bound by terms or rules of any kind.

Markus eventually took the seat opposite Randall. If he could find a means to pacify him in this single meeting, he'd have to take it. It wasn't just his life at stake, after all. Randall had shown his disregard for mortal life, and he'd shown just how spiteful he was. If he wanted to, he could quite easily murder not only Markus, but his friends too, and it sounded like Serena was still a ways off being able to match him.

His musings were interrupted by a clasping of Randall's hands, followed by tea beginning to pour itself.

"Good! I'm glad we can handle these matters affably. I was worried you'd simply ask me to leave…"

Enchanting scents drifted across the table towards Markus, ones he couldn't quite place. Like lychee or ginseng or something he didn't know he was real shit with teas.

Smelled good, though. There was a kinda electricity to it that he couldn't quite place, too, almost feeling as if it'd singe the hair right off his cheeks.

"What do you want?" Markus asked, ignoring the scent.

As he spoke, Serena blinked out of existence. Ember was gone too.

He wasn't sure how she placed the notion in his head, but Markus felt he could have her return if he needed to. That whether she was in earshot or not, she'd know if he were in trouble.

Maybe that was a detail of his deal he didn't quite understand yet. It calmed him to be aware of it.

"What do I want?" Randall lifted the tea to his lips with a splash of golden magic, clutching it within his aura as he tilted the glass and took a small sip. "Good question! Good question. Good question…"

Markus narrowed his eyes. He was still scared of Randall. The man still unnerved him. He thought hate might've superseded fear, but it didn't. They just kinda intermingled, and at times one was more prominent than the other.

Right now, it was the fear that took centre-stage. Even knowing he apparently couldn't harm Markus here, that only felt like a timer, a transient restriction at best.

And each ticking second, each sip of tea brought that flimsy shield closer to blowing away entirely. He was captive to Randall's whims, right where he didn't want to be. He'd have to face this head on if he wanted to survive.

"What do I want?" Randall repeated.

"I don't know," Markus said.

"What do… I want?"

What was this? A game? Markus felt his skin crawl at the slow drawl lazily lilting from Randall's lips. The streets below were quiet now. Had the night grown late, or had the outside world been separated from these two entirely? It didn't seem much darker out.

Not that Markus could go and check. He was locked into his seat. He didn't feel that he could look away.

"What do I want, Markus?"

Markus looked into his eyes. Those golden opaque shining gems.

He saw himself.

"To kill me."

"Is that what you see in me?" Randall asked, tilting his head. "Bloodlust?"

Randall smiled. Markus didn't notice. He continued to stare into his own mottled reflection.

"You… yeah. You want me dead."

"I've seen you dead," Randall laughed. His voice was shrill. Markus almost expected the glassy sheen of his iris to crack from the sound. "I rather enjoyed it, I'll admit. I think I did, at least. But no. Look deeper."

Markus blinked. There was nothing new there. Just him.

"I'm not good at riddles," he finally stated, after perhaps another minute of tepid inaction. His heart hadn't slowed—his breath still came in short, sharp heaves.

His panic played contrast to the statue that stood before him. "You shouldn't be so harsh on yourself," Randall chided. "You wouldn't be here now if you weren't good at figuring things out! Perhaps you don't always… reason your way out of things, but you feel your way out all the same…"

He tapped his cane. "So yes, you are good at riddles. Now, what do I want?"

Markus flinched at the cane. Had he even been holding it a moment ago?

His memory of that thing was horrific. He wished he could say that he couldn't recall every aspect of his trip into his own mind, and while such a thing might be true for his many, many deaths, which had become quite the blur after countless repetitions… he couldn't say the same for what the Divine Arm had done to him.

That had stuck with him. Each agonising moment. Every thought or feeling or sensation, every image of it was emblazoned onto his mind, only reinforcing his old memories and traumas, supplanting them in places. It was a part of him—inexorable.

A part Randall had hated so much…

He remembered when he'd broken free of his torment. How elated he'd felt. How his moment of triumph had quickly been pushed to one of sheer gloating. It was such an ineffable feeling, a peak of peaks after the depths he'd been driven to, and…

Markus looked into Randall's eyes. He saw his reflection.

He saw…

"You want…"

Randall paused, hovering his tea cup near his lips.

"You want to… be like me?"

He almost choked on his next sip.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Ugh!" he spat, drink sizzling against the rooftop where it landed. He pulled at the top of the robes around the neck, as if they'd suddenly gotten too tight for him. "Cough—Ahem… could you rephrase that?"

Could he? Markus almost wanted to say no. Clearly, the insinuation was just so damn insulting to Randall that Markus almost wanted to reinforce it.

…then again, he was trying not to sign his own death warrant here, for once. He had others to consider. He chose against verbal violence.

"Maybe it's better you explain from here. I think anything I say will come out wrong."

"My, such maturity…" Randall smiled wide. Too wide. "I am exceedingly jealous. You seem to have grown from your experience here, somehow! Even after all that I put you through… look at you! To think that your defects could actually be corrected! That I don't have to crack a whip to make you bark for me! I'm proud, truly."

Markus had to fight the urge to growl. Even now, so determined as he was to let fear win out, to be compliant…

Randall knew how to draw that hate right out of him.

"Anyways," Randall nodded, almost as if he'd become aware of his own meandering. "You're right, I should explain."

He tapped the table. It halved in length. Markus wooshed forwards, now only sitting four or five feet from him.

"From the beginning… well, I told you enough," Randall said, his voice droll, as if he were recounting a boring old play script. "I became Benevolence, used my powers, the Divine Arm took from me, I lost my sense of self, all of it for the benefit of some higher power… fast forward to you."

He prodded a finger into Markus' chest. It was only when he looked down that he saw the hand was detached from Randall's body.

The disembodied hand pointed. "You were intriguing enough when I met you. True Mana Manipulation is so, so much more than the parlor tricks I'm capable of. Conjuration, destruction, they're all so… material. I knew I had to have you right then, but…

"If only I'd been aware of the true immensity of your powers! To be able to reject a Divine Arm in the way you did, to be able to come away from it so unscathed, to retain what makes you you even in spite of the compulsion of creation itself flowing through your body…

"That is why I need you," Randall stated, fifty fingers suddenly pointing at him from fifty different hands. "Not to be my collector. Not to pursue these petty, inane whims of my own…"

Randall sighed, taking the cane in his hand and tossing it across the table. It bounced once before it landed in Markus' lap.

"But to help me with this. Help me to become a person again, Markus."

Markus looked up at him. The man who had taken everything from him looked nothing resembling sad. He was happy. He was smiling. He was unbridled joy and vitriol and pride. That's what Randall's face told him.

But this speech said otherwise.

He wanted to be a person.

He wanted to…

"You want to change?" Markus asked.

"Yes," Randall nodded. "Before I lose the capacity to understand that I could change at all."

"Do you want to be… a better person? To stop killing and dominating people for no reason?" Markus went on to ask, almost believing it too good to be true.

Randall tutted at him. "I have the capacity for self-awareness, not what you might call conscience or even empathy. Honestly, I could not care in the slightest about the people I hurt. I scarcely even enjoy it. Perhaps once I did? I'm not sure. It's a modal behaviour. Perhaps if I regained a part of me, it might change. I might grow more caring. I might rekindle my joy for slaughter… but I would be something more than this. This wretched facsimile that clings only to image and habit rather than anything resembling substance."

"I don't believe you… I don't believe you didn't enjoy hurting me."

"I enjoyed figuring out how you work," Randall said. "You insulted me, you angered me… because you're different! Because you perplex me! Because I do not, I do not, I do notttttttttttttttttt—I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW YOU CAN DEFY THE NATURAL ORDER SO EFFORTLESSLY! I DON'T I DON'T I FUCKING DON'T!"

Markus felt his arms slip. The table around him was in pieces.

Randall sighed. "I enjoyed it," he said. "I'll continue to tell myself that I did. It helps if I tell myself that. Better than disappointment."

He snapped his fingers. New table. He placed his arms upon it. Slumped forwards.

Randall looked up at Markus with tired eyes. Well, as tired as glowing golden eyes could look. He couldn't say for sure.

"Help me. Help me find something more in this life than this. I don't want another five thousand years of this."

Markus hated Randall. If it was anyone else, he might've felt sorry for him. The pain of losing yourself to such a task as being a god of gifts, especially if Randall did once start in earnest… had he been through that same torture as Markus every time he'd given a part of himself away? Did he even recognise the things he yearned to understand about humanity now?

But it was still Randall. A true monster. A detestable and loathsome thing.

Markus would rather cut off his own arms than help Randall to feel or remember anything. The torture he felt wasn't recompense enough for the things he did to other people, that he continued to do.

But then, then there was the truth beyond that…

If he declined, where did that leave him? Randall might come back and kill him and his friends at any second. If Markus was committed to assisting him, that bought him time. Maybe even a chance to kill him eventually.

Hey, probably not, but if it was straight up impossible, he wouldn't have it as a quest, surely. Speaking of which, he still needed to talk to Serena about that. There was a lot waiting to be unpacked there.

Then, coming back to Randall, there were the infinite possibilities that changing him might bring, if it were even a thing Markus could figure out to begin with. He might indirectly save people if he could restore enough of Randall's humanity that he stop acting the way he does… he might make things far worse by all means also.

It was impossible to know or to say without getting into the meat of how such a change would even operate. Markus needed terms. He needed assurances…

If they were going to make any headroom on this conundrum, if Markus was going to ensure his own safety and at least work to ensure the safety of others from here on out…

If he was going to do what he could to fulfill the terms of his deal with Serena, if he was going to see himself out of this arena and into the world of Firrelia, if he was going to fix it and rid it of its problems, Elasar and whatever else might be waiting for him out there…

That said, Markus wasn't stupid.

Maybe once. Not anymore. At least not as stupid.

He had something that Randall needed and cared about more than anything. More than petty vengeance, even, and Randall was the angriest and pettiest creature Markus had ever met.

That gave Markus immense value. He could leverage the fuck out of that.

Still, he couldn't believe he was considering this.

He might need to make a deal here, assuming he wanted to survive.

A deal with Randall.

Holy fuck.

***

Baron Samell Toth was rather peculiar as Malari lords went. His fief was filled with serfs that respected him. His grand castle atop the hill was more akin to a point of pride amongst his workers than it was any source of resentment or anger.

They all liked him…

Lisa, however, was beginning to learn why. Working under the baron's steward and chief aide, it was her job to know.

Well, in actuality, it wasn't her job to know. Lisa was meant to know exceedingly little, and carry out her duties without question or concern. She'd deliver the gifts to the workers, schedule the private meetings between these merry villagers and the generous baron, and ferry them around once they got to the castle.

Then, at some point, her superior would take over. And every now and then… a visiting group would return one villager short.

Lisa wasn't supposed to realise that. She wasn't a part of the process after they'd all arrived, after all. She'd had no knowledge of what occurred in those strange meetings between peasant and baron that transpired maybe a few times a year at most, and, as much as those meetings might trouble her, play on her mind, she persisted in her duties with a muted aplomb.

That was until she was forced to clean up the remains of a half-eaten villager.

Lisa had made all kinds of assumptions initially. She'd thought that Baron Toth might be a cannibal, or even a vampire, but none of those descriptions seemed to fit him at all. She'd met Baron Toth. He looked completely human. Didn't seem to suffer any of the afflictions or effects that were rumoured to coincide with vampirism.

No, unless the myths were completely off-base, there was no chance that Baron Toth was a vampire…

But something was eating those peasants. There was a reason that he brought them into his fold, that he kept them happy, kept them feeling secure in his castle and welcome in roaming his halls…

Lisa didn't discover why until it was too late.

***

"I've sent one of the serving girls to provide sustenance for the creature," Steward Marley said.

Baron Toth didn't turn. He continued to look out upon his gardens. To stare down at the plants. "Was she particularly slow? Lazy? Sluggish?"

"A useful hire, my lord, but quite replaceable."

Toth looked back. His steward's head was bowed.

Baron Toth tutted. "I don't like it."

"Well, my lord, you needn't know the ins and outs of the creature's feeding habits. I assure you, I am more than willing to carry out the task without direction."

"You already are carrying it out without direction," Lord Toth snarled. He returned his gaze to the window. "The only reason I insist on supervising you is so you don't try to feed children to the damn monster."

"Children are far easier to placate around cuddly creatures," Marley started once more, as if he were only just having this thought now.

Toth rubbed the bridge of his nose. He sighed.

"We both know it'd be far easier to feed the creature whelps that know no better. Every person that reacts poorly is another meal wasted."

It didn't matter how much sense he made. It was true that they'd found the creature they'd purchased would only eat intelligent creatures, seeming to prefer bipedals, and it was true that it only seemed interested in live, oblivious prey. Once it'd smelled fear on an individual, it lost interest in eating it. It'd kill, but not eat.

Toth slammed his hand against the window. "I say we just put the thing down and be done with it. It's not worth so many lives, unmissed or not."

Marley stared at Baron Toth. He could see Marley's look through the reflection. He almost seemed to think the baron was throwing a tantrum.

He'd served Toth's father before him. A powerful man who was purported to be solid and uncompromising. Toth thought he must look rather pathetic by comparison. Still, he felt strongly about this. He wished they'd never purchased the vile thing from that demon in the first place.

"My lord, you know what is at stake here," Marley started, forever the voice of cold, inhuman, disgusting reason. "You may find this situation repulsive, and trust me, I'm not a large fan of it myself, but we did not have the money in our coffers to buy one of Elasar's more valuable creations. Other houses might be struggling to grow theirs. They might be having less trouble for all we know. It's hard to say at this point. However, giving up isn't an option. To allow the other lords of Malari to raise such fierce beasts while ours withers and dies would be to abdicate here and now. You've seen what it can do already."

The baron stared at Marley, gave him an evil glance. For a second, he thought some of his father might shine through, but he knew he lacked the conviction for that. He could only produce spite and petulence and no other solutions at all.

And it was true. The creature hadn't seemed all so impressive during its demonstration, looking more cuddly and plush than fierce and deadly, and perhaps that was the only reason Toth, one of the poorest barons with the least in liquid currency, had been able to pick it up.

But then, Elasar had assured him that this one would grow well, and it was true. The monster had evolved twice already in the span of weeks. First it'd been the claws and the ability to teleport, then its ability to regenerate and dissolve. A castle guard put a sword in the creature in self-defence, and the weapon melted inside of the monster. It seemed to turn its skin harder for a time, even.

And Marley seemed convinced it had yet more evolutions to undergo. That it would become a monster able to rival most any of the other houses' purchases, as well as capable of dispatching any D Grade creature, and perhaps even many C Grades.

Toth sighed. He understood the necessity of this. He hated it, but he understood it. The moment these weapons began to go on sale, began being bought up en masse by the elite of Malari, the need to keep up with the arms race and grow his new creature, his immense investment was far beyond the human cost. Killing a few now wouldn't just consolidate his power… it'd potentially save hundreds of lives in days to come.

"There is one other matter, my lord."

Wonderful. As if wrestling with the current matter wasn't already more than enough.

"Speak."

"The Ring of Control you were gifted along with your purchase… it appears to be somewhat defective. Our court enchanter has theorised that a 'master ring' of sorts might be interfering with the connection. At times it is… difficult to get the creature to properly respond to its commands."

"You're serious?" Baron Toth blinked, feeling as if he'd just found out a limb didn't work. He glanced down at the emerald-gemed ring glinting on Marley's finger. "Well, can a new one be crafted?"

"Elasar himself might be able to," Steward Marley said, "but it'd be beyond any magician I know of to try and emulate. That ring was forged alongside the creature as it was created. It holds an essence of the monster within."

"And you're telling me that it's possible it's controlled by another ring?" Toth asked, his face pale.

"It's possible that they all are," Marley admitted, his voice uncharacteristically low. "We can only theorise, and attempt more to strengthen the current ring's hold without damaging it any further. If this tool were to break…"

He didn't need to finish his sentence. Baron Toth knew.

If that tool were to break entirely, if it were to become defective and cease to hold the monster back…

There wouldn't be anything they could do to stop it. It would escape almost immediately. Kill who it wanted. Feast upon what it liked. Devour men and women alike as they slumbered soundly in their beds…

Damn demon… just who and what had he invited into his home?