Chapter 119
Demons' Silent Relics
"Does any of it make any sense?" One didn't know how to answer that question.
Staring over the ramparts and at the field of mayhem, he wondered, too, how any of it made sense. The flimsy vapors of black disappeared as quickly as they appeared, and the chances were that most of the world was wholly ignorant of them... but One wasn't. He, as well as all his brothers and sisters, very much knew what those motes of black represented.
Then there were the auditors of the mayhem—an Ancient Clan had woken up, and Three simply chanced upon them just as they were ritualizing their slumber once again. Though they tried to capture them, the clansmen fought to the last man, all ending up dying in the end. It forced a frown upon One's face; as far as he knew, none of this should be happening. While the motes of Primordial Qi could somewhat be explained by something accelerating its return—likely that something within the Nameless Forest—the Ancient Clan's return did not fit the timeline.
Per the old texts, they would only return when the whole of Qi was converted into Primordial Qi, and not a day sooner. They, too, were surprised—otherwise, they would not have been trying to resume the long slumber before being found out.
"No," he replied, glancing to the side where Three was standing. The most enigmatic of them all, in more ways than one. Silk-like golden hair ran down over her shoulders, clusters of it tied symmetrically over the back of her ears. She was beautiful—horrifyingly so—but one oughtn't be bewitched by it. The red eyes were not merely the result of their cultivation method—they were the mirrors into one of the most wretched souls One ever had a chance of meeting.
She was the architect of this, after all—there wasn't a whole body within sight, and not a whole limb that hadn't been played with in some way. Though it was all done under the disguise of 'wringing out information from them,' the facade was lost on One who'd seen her unmask herself enough times to know she was a devil like no other.
"Should we report to the Master?" She turned toward him and smiled sweetly, her red lips colored not with makeup but rather with blood.
"Report what? Do you think he is not aware?"
"Hm, good point. So, what should we do?" For some reason, she still deferred to him—perhaps more so than everyone else save for Four.
"How goes the search?"
"It's a mastery of disaster," she snickered. "We have only managed to capture two more. Five, supposedly, is too busy tracking that man from the Central regions. Four tries, but he's got a brick for a head. Two is dead. Six is... well, Six. I don't have much to work with," every one of her movements was tantalizing, and even someone who had been around her for decades now wasn't wholly immune. One frowned, scoffing and dispelling her Qi that had tried wrangling him.
"You never quit, do you?"
"How can I?" she queried. "One man who never once bent to me. Aah, the mere thought of it makes me--"
"--Enough," he interrupted harshly. "These can't have been the only ones who woke up. There's a chance there are others, so suspend the current mission for a moment and look for them."
"And when I find them?"
"... try to capture them."
"I will try really hard, just for you."
"I'm sure you will," One sighed and shrugged simultaneously. When he was first handed over the position of the leader in their Master's absence, he was absolutely ecstatic. It felt as though everything he had worked for his entire life was coming true.
Now, though, he was mostly just tired. What the title of the 'Leader' entailed wasn't so much honorable as it was... busy. It felt like all he ever did was put out fires, sift through hundreds of tomes a day and old, tattered documents, ordering others to look for this or that across the world. On the rare occasion that he got to go out into the field as well, he was mostly tasked with dragging everyone where they needed to go, as they were rather easily distracted.
"Ever since Two's death," she said. "Everything seems to have gone terribly wrong."
"It doesn't matter," One said. "Things were never going to go smoothly, regardless. We have always succeeded in the face of failure, and we won't stop now."
"Aah."
"What?"
"That commanding tone, that practically carved frown in your face, it makes me--"
"--Do you believe in this, Three?" he suddenly asked, seeming to surprise her.
"Hm? In what?"
"In us," he said. "Our cause."
"... Are you doubting my Faith?" Her playful voice chilled as she straightened up, seeming a breath away from trying to kill him.
"Not your Faith," One said. "Your commitment."
"Why? Because I'm not an obedient little bee like the rest of them?" Her anger... seemed genuine. "Hah. Sitting behind that desk and on your ass all day has driven you mad, clearly. My commitment? Who the hell do you think is doing anything you're assigning these days? Do you think Four has the capacity to do it by himself? Or, perhaps, do you think Five has even the iota of intention to not be distracted by every goddamn little thing in the world? No, no, it must be Six, yes. That child who is yet to wet his blade with blood, yes, he is the one running around the world and fulfilling commitments. Perhaps I, too, ought to become as committed as them. After all, it seems to be precisely what you are asking of me."
"... I'm sorry," One withdrew and bowed gracefully. It wasn't the first time he was wrong, nor would it be the last—he'd been wrong thousands of times in his life. It was around the four hundredth that he understood the breadth of acceptance; rather than becoming defensive, it was always best to simply... apologize.
"Hah. That's the fourteenth time you've apologized to me this year alone. Keep it up, and you might yet reach your new high."
"I mistook your playfulness for indifference."
"... no," she mumbled, glancing over at him as her gaze suddenly softened. "You just want that little girl back. The girl who would follow you around all damn day long and who would have done anything for an iota of your attention."
"..."
"I've always hated her, though," she said, her smile souring. "She was weak, dependent, and pathetic."
"Three--"
"--Those were your words, weren't they?" She asked, turning her back toward him. "I'll head north first. Per old records, there was an Ancient Clan that resided somewhere in the Cloud Mountains. Maybe I luck out and find them."
One didn't say anything as she disappeared, leaving behind only the fading, fragrant scent of her perfume. He could only sigh, looking up at the ashen sky preparing to bear down rain upon the world and wonder whether life would ever get any easier. No... he did not live to make it easier.
He, as well as all others, knew well enough what awaited them at the end of their journey—death. There was nothing else. Long, cold slumber that they would all have to welcome. Master's first words to all of them were the same: I will give you life, but at the very end, you will have to give it back.
Perhaps, in due time, he'd gotten greedy, thinking that if he just worked hard enough, and if he properly set up all of his plans, that might not become a reality. But it was futile. The world wasn't so meekly simple that it would care for his plans or his ideas or his musings. Beyond the membrane of it was the darkness that would swallow everything if they did nothing. And nobody else... well, nobody else was doing anything.
No... that was unfair, unfair to one person in the entire world who was suffering while the rest of his gilded kingdom tore itself at its seams through backstabbings and corruption. One wondered just what it took to embrace that mantle, to willingly walk out into the void, and face the horrors beyond one's comprehension. Embrace the role that nobody would ever celebrate, for none would ever know.
However, it was not for forever—he was merely buying them time. And, at their Master's behest, he offered them the tiniest glimpse of hope.
When humanity destroyed the last remnants of the First Demons, the latter didn't simply vanish from the world—their fragments were scattered, buried deep like seeds into humanity itself. Every once in a while, they would fester and grow and manifest into a creature—a berserk, mad creature fueled by rampant rage leftover from the act of betrayal. However, in that rage... there was hope.
If those with the special physiques were taught the proper cultivation method before they turned 15, there was the faintest chance they could eventually break through the shackles of immortality and ascend past the Earthly Immortal Realm. That was the Demons' parting blessing and a curse—even in the troves of betrayal, broken and destroyed by those they shielded from oblivion, they left behind a seed of hope, for they knew that the Outsiders would return one day.
One glanced back down at the battlefield and gently flicked his fingers before disappearing.
As he faded in the gust of wind, over a mile of land went up in blood-colored flames, but only for the briefest of flashes that lasted less than a blink of an eye. Thereafter, there was nothing—just lasting dirt, bereft of a voice and words to describe what had taken place here.