Chapter 417: That (2)
The creature was eerie and ominous, malevolent in nature.
Alphiero unknowingly clenched his fist and glared downwards.
The corridor was reminiscent of a coiled serpent as it stretched out. Shadows writhed in its heart deep within.
“.....”
Alphiero knew what 'it' was.
Three centuries ago, it had been Hamel of Extermination. He was once a human, but no longer. He was once a hero, but no longer. This was an existence that had once dedicated its very being to the great cause of defeating the Demon Kings and saving the world, but now, only vengeance driven by hatred and rage remained in its shell. It was a forsaken undead stripped of its purpose, honor, and beliefs.
But even that was long gone. Alphiero felt no remnants of an 'undead' in it anymore. It was... evolving into something beyond simple undead.
Alphiero Lasat, the age-old vampire, knew the cause of this transformation. After initially being resurrected as a Death Knight, it had lost its physical form in a prior battle. However, it did not vanish. Instead, it returned to Amelia Merwin as a soul.
Amelia Merwin provided the lingering soul with a temporary body. In addition, she imbued the soul with various enhancements for further fortification.
If Amelia had sufficient time and resources without immediate threats, she would have meticulously crafted a new body and explored diverse ways to empower the soul.
But things did not go as planned. Amelia Merwin secluded herself in Ravesta to escape the menacing foes, and the barren, desolate realm of Destruction offered her nothing of what she desired.
Thus, she was left with no choice but to experiment with what was available here.
"Incredible..." Alphiero murmured while shaking his head.
Now, ‘it’ was left with no physical form. The dense, immense coagulation of dark power had merged with its soul and obliterated the temporary body. By now, even the impurities within the soul had been wholly integrated.
'It' was a confluence of soul and dark power.
That was how it existed.
Alphiero felt his clenched fists trembling. His fingers dug into his palm and sent a sharp pain shooting through his hand. Alphiero pondered over the emotion he was feeling. He then considered whether this emotion was indeed justified.
This was... jealousy.
A bitter smile crept onto Alphiero's face at the realization.
For centuries, he had served the Demon King of Destruction.
In Ravesta, while Alphiero wasn't the most ancient among the Demon King's subjects, he was confident that among those in existence, he was the most devoted. He revered the Demon King of Destruction as humans worshiped their gods. He offered any clansmen who defied this faith as a sacrifice to the Demon King.
But the Demon King of Destruction was indifferent and heartless to his subjects. No matter how they pleaded or worshiped, he never responded. He would grant them the dark power they desired but... nothing more. Every subject of Destruction, once initiated, could attain the dark power they wished for.
In other words, the Demon King of Destruction did not regard any of his subjects differently. No one was special. It was no different from obtaining the dark power of the Demon King of Destruction. Every one of his subjects could draw from his ominous and potent power, but none were exempt from the burdens. Numerous subjects had perished after failing to endure the dark power of Destruction. It was the same for Alphiero. If he drew upon this power too much, he, too, would begin to crumble into nothingness.
‘He's not even a true servant...’ Alphiero thought bitterly.
Neither that entity nor its master, Amelia Merwin, were servants of Destruction. Amelia Merwin was a subject of the Demon King of Incarceration, and the entity had been resurrected as a Death Knight by her and the Demon King of Incarceration’s dark power.
The power of Destruction did not tolerate the power of other Demon Kings. Hence, Amelia Merwin was withering away.
...The same fate should have befallen that entity. Mere months ago, it had been dying.
But at some point, the entity had begun to change, becoming something that was both undead and yet not. A transformation had taken place as its physical form disintegrated and its soul mixed with the dark power.
...Was it adaptation? Or evolution...? One thing was certain: this entity was closer to the Demon King of Destruction than Alphiero or any other subject of Destruction. And this change was unique, something Amelia Merwin did not possess.
This realization made Alphiero seethe with jealousy. An entity that was once human, once undead, had now ascended to a status that neither he nor the other subjects could achieve....
Alphiero shook his head while giving a sigh. He couldn’t rid himself of envy but could not harbor anger against that entity. It was the will of the Demon King of Destruction for ‘it’ to transform into such an existence.
Alphiero jumped down the middle of the spiraling stairs.
The descent wasn't far, but the moments it took to reach the ground felt long and viscous. If one wasn’t a subject of Destruction, they would have disintegrated halfway down.
Landing on the dark floor, he felt a rush of potent dark power as he approached the entity.
"Are you... alive?" Alphiero couldn’t help but ask.
But then, he smirked when he realized the absurdity of his own question. How could it be alive when it was a remnant of the past, to begin with?
“.....” There was no answer.
But there was movement in the darkness. From the depths of the shadows, the entity began to show itself.
Soul and dark power, both intangible and shapeless, were mixing to form a presence, casting a distinct shade unlike the surrounding darkness. It was a nebulous hue of gray contrasting with the darkness.
"You... again..." a voice, crackling and strained, echoed from the gray mass. It sounded pained, yet there was a hint of mockery. "Have you come... to give that foolish wench... false hope?"
He was referring to Hemoria. While Alphiero felt a slight pity for the chimera creature, it was superficial at best. Moreover, he couldn't deny that Hemoria was, indeed, a fool.
"False hope, is it? You say that as if I’m mocking that poor child," responded Alphiero.
"Heh.... Heh.... No, you’re... even worse. Alphiero... Lasat... you pesky mosquito... Let me ask you plainly. What do you intend by making use... of that foolish... wench?" asked the entity.
"You misunderstand me,” Alphiero responded as he approached the phantom, once Hamel of Extermination. "Every time I come to this manor, I always encounter her."
From Alphiero's perspective, everyone in this mansion was an unwelcome guest, especially Amelia Merwin. She was beyond annoying; she was despicable.
A half-breed of man and demon. Even despite her pathetic existence, he might have willingly allied with her if she had served the Demon King of Destruction. But Amelia had left Ravesta to pursue her own desires. But when danger approached, she had immediately flipped her alignment and fled back to Ravesta.
Had the Demon King of Incarceration not been behind Amelia.... And because the Demon King of Destruction didn't refuse visitors as usual, Alphiero couldn't confront her directly.
He had to make Amelia leave of her own accord.
"Your mistress seems... to have a keen fondness for her pets. Some are left in the yard with collars, while others enjoy sweet pleasures within the comforts of the mansion,” said Alphiero.
His words were an evident provocation. Yet, the phantom didn't express displeasure at being called a pet. He had heard such jabs too many times before.
Still, that didn't mean he was indifferent. The phantom let out a dry chuckle while hiding his anger. “Sweet pleasures... is it?”
This was a torment worse than death. More so, as he had already experienced death. In life, death was the end, but now, the phantom existed beyond that finality. For him, there was no end other than annihilation.
Oblivion.
That was a fate heavier than death. And he couldn't simply wish himself into oblivion. The phantom had an irrefutable, undeniable reason to remain in this world.
He had given up everything: honor, faith, humanity. He filled the voids they left with rage, hatred, and vengeance.
Yet... he had achieved nothing.
At the very end, his comrades had betrayed him. He had been rendered useless and unable to fight. Yet, he still charged at Belial, the Staff of Incarceration. That was when Sienna had bombarded both him and Belial with her magic. Anise's miracles suddenly ceased, and his tattered body was used as a meat shield as Molon charged. And in that final moment, Vermouth's blade severed everything.
He wanted to ask them why they betrayed him. He had heard that Molon had resurfaced in the distant northern lands. He had heard that Sienna had returned after hiding out for centuries.
Before embarking on his cruel revenge, he wanted to ask them... the reason for their betrayal. He absolutely had to.
Had they only told him earlier. That he was no longer needed, that he was no help, and was instead a burden.
If only....
‘I can play the part of bait, can’t I?’
Had he heard their intention before, Hamel would have calmly replied like this in the affirmative. Without making his comrades feel uneasy, without resorting to betrayal, Hamel would have willingly met his end by playing the part of the bait.
“Ha.... Haha.” The specter laughed with a raspy chuckle.
This was the reason he could not fade away, the reason he clung to a pitiable and wretched existence. Every time he pondered over this subject, it not only caused terrifying and agonizing feelings but also reignited the depths of his emotions.
He whispered while staring intently at the faint face of Alphiero, "Are... you jealous?"
He could see Alphiero’s cheeks twitching.
"Enough with... the transparent... envy. It's... unbecoming,” said the phantom.
Crack.
Alphiero's lips curled up, and his sharp fangs were exposed. His feeling of hostility towards the phantom was evident.
The specter continued whispering with a smirk, "Well... you do... have reasons... to be envious. Your... master... the Demon King... curiously... took quite a liking... to me."
Although he loathed admitting it, it was true.
The Demon King of Destruction held the phantom with favor. This was the same Demon King who gave the same indifference to all his subjects, yet he favored a mere phantom.
A blend of destruction’s dark power and his soul? Was that even plausible? The reason the phantom endured such terrible torment and didn't fade was not solely because of his own will. Simply put, the Demon King of Destruction was not allowing him to vanish.
If he failed to endure and crumbled, all would be lost. Yet, the phantom endured. Was this true? No, this endurance was nothing less than mercy bestowed upon him by the Demon King of Destruction.
Mercy?
“.....” The phantom didn’t think so.
Alphiero ground his fangs until they threatened to break as he glared at the phantom. He was long aware of the Demon King of Destruction’s favoritism, but hearing it from a dying being who could barely speak was aggravating.
"...It's envy. I admit it,” said Alphiero after quenching his rage. It took him a moment, but he took several breaths and lowered himself towards the mass of writhing gray.
Though he tried to focus intently, the boundaries between dark power and soul remained invisible. It was a mass without any distinction. He couldn’t believe it was possible to be... so unified....
"Please, answer my question,” asked Alphiero.
He had something more pressing to inquire.
"Have you... ever heard a revelation?" continued Alphiero.
The Demon King of Destruction never once gave revelations. He had never once shown his face nor allowed his voice to be heard, not even during the formation of the pact. It didn’t matter if one was a demon born in Ravesta or the rare ones venturing from the outside.
There were no exceptions. There was an empty temple. If one went there, knelt, and prayed, a pact with the Demon King of Destruction would be forged.
That was the end of it.
“.....” The specter did not answer and remained silent.
How many times had it been?
There was a place that felt... vaguely familiar. If he had been alive, he would have dismissed it as a dream. However, dreams were no longer a concept to the current form of the phantom.
Then, that place he'd glimpsed several times, what could it have been? It was a void where nothing existed, and yet within it, there was a presence... a tingling sensation.
"No."
Souls, too, could feel pain.
The phantom suppressed a scream he yearned to release as he replied.
Could one even begin to describe that place and its existence? The phantom couldn't decipher what it had seen, but he had no intention of consulting Alphiero. Even in this state, he harbored an aversion to demons, and the last thing he wanted was to appease Alphiero, a nemesis from his previous life.
"...Is that so..." Alphiero revealed overt disappointment as he shook his head.
With a short sigh, he lifted his gaze and stared into the abyss beyond.
A corridor stretched out from where they stood. At its end was Amelia Merwin. Alphiero came to this mansion to meet Amelia Merwin, not to converse with the phantom.
"Come to think of it,” Alphiero began to speak as he walked past the phantom. "The Demon King of Fury was resurrected."
The phantom couldn't comprehend these words. The Demon King of Fury. It was the very Demon King they had slain three hundred years ago. During the most glorious moments of his human existence, he had vanquished one such Demon King with his comrades.
A fallen Demon King had resurrected? What could this mean?
"No need for alarm. The Demon King of Fury met their demise once more not long after the resurrection,” continued Alphiero.
"...What... are you... saying...?" said the phantom.
"Eugene Lionheart," came the response.
The phantom loathed that name.
Knowing this, Alphiero continued with a sly smile, "He, with the Holy Sword, personally ended the Demon King. Just like... his ancestor, Vermouth Lionheart."
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Amidst the unfolding tale, the phantom heard a resonating thud. It was the sound of a non-existent heart beating.
He found himself gasping for breath he didn't require.
Various images flickered within in a single moment. He remembered facing Eugene Lionheart, clashing swords with him. He remembered how his blade had been overwhelmed and when he faced the unnerving sensation of an indomitable force as he faded away. He recalled the despair he felt then.
What he felt now was self-loathing.
—I....
Those were the words he had uttered in the face of defeat.
—I... lost? To you?
The phantom envisioned Eugene Lionheart.
He was a distant descendant of Vermouth, with neither Vermouth's visage nor aura. Yet, he had the same silver hair and golden eyes. He had wielded the Holy Sword, the Annihilation Hammer, and the Demon Spear differently from Vermouth.
His style of fighting had reminded the phantom of himself. Eugene Lionheart had wielded the weapons in a way that the phantom would have wielded them.
This made the phantom despise Vermouth even more. The treacherous Vermouth had passed down his techniques to the next generations. It was truly a cruel jest.
"Grr...."
Unquenchable rage flared within, threatening to consume its soul and dark power in its entirety. Alphiero noted the phantom’s trembling state as he made his way toward Amelia Merwin's chamber.
Left in solitude, the phantom was acutely aware of its racing heartbeat. Its soul, mingled with dark power, seemed to flutter towards an obscure abyss.
—You are....
A distant voice echoed.
The phantom couldn't recognize who the voice belonged to.
‘That’s....’
The phantom saw something as waves of gray colored his consciousness.
Although he couldn't approach it, instinctively, he knew.
That entity was watching him.
And its gaze was far from friendly.
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