Chapter 66: Chains of Ash and Obsidian
Crimson Siege
Sidney's shadow engulfed the capital.
The Purge: Demon corpses choked the Mother Pool, their dissolving hearts staining the waters black. Survivors whispered in collapsing alleys: "He promised liberation… yet devours even his own."
Human Pawns: Zealots stormed demon districts with rusted blades, only to disintegrate mid-charge. Sidney absorbed their screams like fine wine.
Nilett, First Prince, knelt in the throne room's ashes. "What… what sustains you now that the Pool sleeps?"
Sidney flicked a blood-crusted ledger open. "Duty."
Thorns in Winter
Annette's Winter:
Forest Stalker: Five kills marked her belt—crude knives, fractured dialects. The sixth preyed now on her, their boots crunching closer through frosted pines.
Volcanic Whispers: Peasants spoke of a mountain that ate explorers alive. Annette's stolen map glowed faintly where ink bled through volcanic rock.
Tonight, she vowed, the mountain will cough up its secrets—or my bones.
Glass and Desperation
West District's Crucible:
Aramo the Mad Prince: His duels left craters, sanity unraveling with each victory. Spectators placed bets on when his Lightforce-addled veins would burst.
Cecily's Gambit: She shattered her seventh combat crystal, its shards reflecting Et's fleeting silhouette. There—the ice-haired demon from Nathaniel's cadre!
Bargain with Frost
Cecily crashed into the strategy chamber, her plea raw:
"Contract me."
Farsht recoiled. Et smirked.
"To overthrow Forth? Child, even glaciers hesitate to erode his kind of rot."
She slammed Forth's blackmail scroll onto the table. "He'll raze Fourth District unless I bind myself to him. But you—" Her finger jabbed at Farsht. "—you reek of guilt. Help me, and I'll absolve whatever sin gnaws at your frozen heart."
Farsht's breath crystallized mid-air. "…Absolution died with my first failed experiment."
Et leaned in, scenting drama. "Still. Watching Forth's face when his pawn rebels… Priceless."
Sidney's Lament
Deep within the ossified library, Sidney traced a faded mural—Mother Pool in its zenith, demons and humans clasping hands under twin moons.
"Where did we fracture?" he asked the hollow-eyed archivists. "Was it her smile in Third District's gardens? Or the nun's 'miraculous' recovery that spoiled the plague's crescendo?"
The archivists offered no answers. Their tongues had been removed weeks prior.
Chapter 67: Ashes of Providence
The Weight of Crowns
Carmela's presence fractured the throne room's tension like a blade through silk. Sigrid shrank under her languid gaze as the Eighth District monarch settled into her seat, her question a guillotine poised to drop:
"What do you desire from this pact, child?"
Sigrid's knuckles whitened around her broken staff. "Archfiend Firth's annihilation."
"In exchange for your entire heart?" Carmela's chuckle held winter's bite.
The bargaining began—40 years whittled to 30, then silence. Sigrid's laugh cracked like thin ice: "I'm no martyr. Let others bleed for virtue."
Carmela's fingers brushed the girl's ash-blonde curls, intimate as a dagger's caress. "Strip away duty's chains—would you still choose this war?"
Sigrid recoiled. Memories surfaced: moldy bread scavenged from trash bins, nuns' whispers of "sacrificial stock." Her answer dripped venom: "I'd let it burn."
Fractured Foundations
Tasiya's arrival shattered pretense. Nathaniel's collapse still haunted her voice: "The Motherpool's dead. No new Archfiends will rise."
Sigrid's hope curdled. Firth—now irreplaceable—became paradoxically untouchable.
Carmela's nails scored the throne's armrest. "Population projections?"
"Half will perish without Archfiends regulating demonic tides," Tasiya spat.
Ettore's jest about bisecting himself died at her glare. The room constricted with unspoken truths: Humanity's survival now hinged on preserving its jailers.
Strangers at the Gate
Carmela produced a letter reeking of foreign ink. "Interlopers from beyond the mountains claim we're tainted descendants. Their 'Eden' lies in ruins—they hunger for ours."
Nathaniel's wings rustled—a sound like crumbling parchment. "Their arrival coincides with the Motherpool's extinction. No accident."
A knock interrupted. Twin letters arrived: one sealed with the High Pontiff's crest, another oozing Fourth District's desperation.
Chapter 68: The Old World
The Blank Letter
Sigrid stared at the empty parchment in Tasiya's hands, her exhaustion sharpening her tone: "He's just terrorizing us again. Ignore it."
Forth thrived on psychological warfare—sending hollow threats to provoke panic. As a child, Sigrid had trembled at these games. Now, after surviving the Church's machinations, she snatched the letter and shredded it with a snarl.
Ett leaned against the wall, his grin predatory. "Would you dare tear it if Forth stood here himself, little rabbit?"
Sigrid's face flushed crimson. "O-of course! I'm not a child anymore!"
"Bravo," Ett drawled, clapping mockingly as faint wisps of lightforce flickered around her—a telltale sign of her rage. Sigrid glanced at Tasiya and forcibly extinguished the glow, ashamed of her meager power compared to the storm of light that once raged from the black-haired girl.
Carmilla's Gambit
Carmilla unrolled fresh vellum, her darkforce coalescing into an inkless quill. Precision governed every stroke—a masterclass in control that Tasiya memorized.
The List:
Forth's Deadline: Sigrid warned that appeasing him would only hasten his arrival.
Merlada's Disappearance: Carmilla's voice hardened. "The nun vanished days ago. My spies found nothing."
Tasiya's knuckles whitened. Nathaniel's hand closed over hers, steadying the tremor.
"Why keep this secret?" Tasiya hissed.
Carmilla met her glare unflinching. "Had you charged blindly into the subdistrict, you'd have walked into a trap. Forth wants you unhinged."
The Old World's Shadow
Carmilla's quill hesitated. "The 'refugees'… they call us inferior. Yet their technology saves lives—advanced medicine, alchemy beyond our grasp. The subdistrict tolerates their arrogance for survival."
Tasiya's laugh was brittle. "Refugees sneering at their saviors? Pathetic."
Nathaniel stirred. "They came here as you did. This world… it was never meant for humans."
A World of Embers
Tasiya recoiled as Nathaniel spoke of the past:
"Your scriptures once described this place—a hellscape of lava and ash. No life but demons. Then your ancestors stumbled through the veil, gasping for footholds in our inferno."
Her voice fractured. "So everything—our reliance on demons, the contracts—it's all just… desperation?"
Nathaniel cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away unshed tears. "You call it desperation. I call it courage. They built cities in a realm that devours the unprepared. You…" His forehead pressed to hers. "You're the miracle that defies even hell's logic."
Chapter 69: Roots of Delusion
Veils of Memory
Tasiya's fingertips whitened against the table's edge. Nathaniel's hand hovered near her cheek—an intimacy forged across lifetimes she could no longer recall.
When did his eyes gain this weight?
Memories fractured:
Vincent's District: His arm barring her from charging into a demonic horde, voice taut. "Even martyrs need strategy."
Confessional Shadows: Him sketching enemy weaknesses on parchment, candlelight gilding his horns. "Exploit their pride, not their flesh."
Now: His thumb brushing her jawline, a touch older than kingdoms.
She leaned back.
Nathaniel withdrew as if burned. Centuries of restraint coiled in that retreat—the demon who'd weathered crusades yet faltered at a girl's flinch.
Tasiya caught his wrist.
Sunlight pooled around them as she pressed her forehead to his collarbone. His scent—petrichor and ancient papyrus—drowned the tournament's distant roar.
"Will this unravel everything?" Her whisper vibrated against his still heart.
He chuckled, claws retracted to human nails combing her hair. "Child, true calamity is when I forget to brew your tea."
Theatre of Reflections
Carmela's Gambit:
Kunji's Crucible: The Eighth District heir glared at his sister's proposal. "You want me to play you? While you gallivant to Fourth District?"
Carmela's Smile: A viper's yawn. "Consider it… remedial governance."
Sigrid gaped. Sibling rivalry as world-saving gambit?
Red Thorn's Fury: The spymaster's scarred lips twisted. "Replacing Carmela with this whelp risks—"
"—Nothing compared to leaving Kunji untethered," Carmela purred. "Let him taste the throne's arsenic-laced honey."
Lies That Bind
Nathaniel's shadow stretched across war maps. "Forth believes himself indispensable. Let's disillusion him."
The Poisoned Truth:
Sigrid's Doubt: "But if Forth severs his tether to Fourth District's ley lines…"
Ettore's Grin: "Then we watch whether fields wither or wolves starve!"
Farsht's Ice: "You gamble with tectonic stability."
Nathaniel's claws unsheathed, carving a continent's silhouette into stone. "My body has become the land's skeleton. If Forth's withdrawal cracks it…"
Tasiya's breath hitched. He'd hinted at this during Ch.67's desert trek—how his roots now strangled magma chambers.
The Unspoken Wager:
Should Fourth District's earth rot, Nathaniel would bind himself as its new Archfiend—a chain heavier than death.
If it endured… humanity's millennial subjugation to demons shatters.
Beneath the Skin
Nathaniel's Descent:
Molten Lullaby: His consciousness plunged through strata, bones merging with continental plates. Cities above resembled fungal growths on his petrified flesh.
Triple Betrayal:
Third District's Sandscape: His Duplicate there remained mobile, if brittle.
Fourth's Frostbite: Mycorrhizal toxins blackened his roots—Forth's parting gift.
Eighth's Rot: Kunji's tantrums had once spiked his sap with cortisol.
Too entrenched. Extraction now would trigger quakes. Yet…
A tremor shook the chamber. Tasiya stirred, unknowingly clutching the blanket he'd woven from shed wing membranes.
Faces in the Crowd
Sigrid's Resolve:
Farsht's Silence: The ice demon's gaze lingered on her scarred palms—Ch.68's frostbite wounds from their cave ambush.
Her Epiphany: He fights not for virtue, but against entropy itself.
"Why aid us?" she blurted.
Farsht's exhale crystallized the air. "Demons… crave purpose too."
Chapter 70: Primordial Crucible
The Dreaming Abyss
Tasiya's consciousness unraveled across eons.
She floated above a hellscape where Vincent's bubbling sulfur springs seemed childish novelties. Crimson fissures scarred the earth, volcanic plumes devouring the sky. No sun pierced the ash-choked firmament—only the hellish glow of lava rivers illuminating a world where even time suffocated.
Demons thrived here. Humans should not.
Yet the vision sharpened: clusters of skeletal figures huddled near dormant volcanoes, their ribs protruding like prison bars. New arrivals stumbled through narrow passes—still fleshed, still weeping. A gaunt man's laughter rasped like grinding bones: "Sixtieth batch? Let's wager how long before they eat their young!"
Tasiya's spectral form trembled as the nightmare unfolded.
The Old World's Sins
Through fragmented dialogues, she pieced together the truth:
A "civilized" realm beyond the mountains—advanced yet dying. Wars fought with technology (a concept her dreaming mind translated as godless firestorms). Crowded cities purging "genetically imperfect" citizens under humanitarian pretense.
Exile as salvation.
She watched the cycles:
Week 1: Prayers to absent deities.
Week 2: Mothers carving thigh meat for infants.
Week 3: A father's whispered apology before devouring his son's remains.
Survivors adapted through monstrous alchemy:
Acid rains neutralized by limestone caves → Precious drips of drinkable water.
Crimson lizards (venom sacs bursting under teeth) → Foul sustenance.
Volcanic soil sprouts → Hallucinogenic weeds that dulled starvation's edge.
Generations withered until she appeared—a squalling infant abandoned on obsidian shores.
The First Covenant
Tasiya's breath caught.
The child mirrored her own infancy: slate-gray eyes too knowing, a crescent birthmark curling like smoke above her brow. A young mother fled, leaving the newborn inches from a lava flow.
Nathaniel's domain.
Demonic shadows writhed beneath the molten surface. One tendril stretched upward, solidifying into a clawed hand that brushed the infant's cheek—hissing flesh, a screamless cry. The shadow recoiled, its form flickering between fascination and horror.
"Failure," Tasiya whispered, though she knew the ending.
An aged nun materialized—Sister Agnes, the same weathered face that had guided her to Mary's cabin. The spectral woman lifted the child, her gaze piercing through time to lock with Tasiya's.
"Watch closely, daughter of ash."
The Demon's Apprenticeship
Years compressed.
The marked girl grew feral, conversing with lava flows while humans branded her mad. Nathaniel's shadow learned through obsessive mimicry:
Walking: Legs buckling like newborn deer, knees bloodied on razor-sharp rocks.
Hunting: Clumsy lunges at flame-scaled lizards, talons rending his borrowed flesh.
Nourishment: Charred lizard eggs carried in bare hands, skin blistering as he offered them to his dying ward.
Tasiya's ghostly hands clenched. He couldn't even feed her properly.
When fever nearly claimed the girl, the demon's roar split the inferno. Molten rivers recoiled, etching a gargantuan sigil across the continent—The First Contract.
Covenant Ignited
The girl stirred as golden light speared through ash clouds.
"I… don't… want…" Her cracked lips moved.
Nathaniel's newly formed throat produced sounds no demon should utter: "Live. I'll bleed stars for you."
The sigil detonated.
Tasiya witnessed the birth of dual curses:
Humanity's Bargain: Survival tethered to demonic whims.
Nathaniel's Chains: Eternal servitude carved into metaphysical bones.
The girl's chest bloomed with a scarred emblem—Tasiya's own birthmark.