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2 Days Earlier
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"Demons—the greatest threat to our universe." Professor Rose's voice carried across the lecture hall, sharp and commanding. "Fourth-dimensional beings, born from the corruption and torment of mortal souls, twisted into spawns of evil to serve the Demon Emperor of Hell in his endless conquest."
She paced slowly before the class, eyes gleaming as the faint glow of arcane diagrams shimmered behind her on the board. "These beings are not flesh, nor bone, but pure energy. They cannot be killed by normal means. The only way to deal with them is banishment—casting them back into Hell by destroying the vessel they've claimed."
Her words hung heavy in the air. A silence pressed down on the cadets, broken only by the scratching of pens.
"But once a soul is twisted into a demon, it doesn't forget. No… it remembers everything... combat, blood, screams and all it needs is a vessel to rise again." She let the statement linger, her lips curling into the faintest grimace. "That is why they are a threat that never truly diminishes."
She leaned forward, resting both hands on the lectern. "If you falter—if you allow yourself even a heartbeat of distraction—then you won't live long enough to understand the horrors you will suffer."
The room seemed colder as her voice dropped. "A C-rank demon requires at least three of equal rank to contain. The same holds for B-rank demons. But if, by some unholy misfortune, you find yourself before an A-rank…" She paused, letting her gaze sweep over every cadet, her voice now little more than a whisper.
"…then pray to the Emperor that you leave with your life."
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Present Time
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The man who stepped out of the thunder-struck cauldron looked far too young for what he was. Dark hair framed a pale, almost flawless face, his skin smooth and unblemished—as though he'd never known hardship.
Yet the way he carried himself, dressed in pristine formal wear that seemed too natural, betrayed an ancient, unsettling poise. He didn't just wear the clothes; he embodied them, as if civility itself was his disguise.
"Hello there, rebel..." the demon greeted, his voice a silken threat that echoed unnaturally. His eyes bled into pools of pure black, locking onto Reinhardt with predatory ease.
"This is bad..." Reinhardt muttered, his composure shaken. "That's a Flesh Stitcher..."
Johnathan leaned in close, whispering, "What's a Flesh Stitcher?"
My blade tightened in my grip as I scanned the surroundings, every nerve alight. "A healer," I said grimly, my voice low and clipped. "The torturing kind. They remake your vessel—gutting, cutting, and breaking your mind—until you want to become a demon."
I drew in a breath, forcing myself to focus. "We can't run from this. Cover each other. All we need is one second... just one second to get him stuck."
"Get me stuck?" a voice hissed, right at my ear. We all flinched backward instantly, but it was too late. He had already slipped between us. "That's cute."
The demon moved with such speed it was unreal. One moment he wasn't there. The next, he was breathing down our necks.
"...Ha..." Johnathan forced out a nervous laugh, preparing his claws. "Any of you feel like praying yet?" Without waiting for an answer, he hurled himself at the monster.
"This is insane... Young master, be careful. I'll cover him!" Reinhardt barked, his voice hardening as his battle suit unfolded around him, encasing his body in sleek armor. A ripple of ink surged into his hands, stretching and twisting until it hardened into the shape of a wicked scythe. He didn't hesitate—charging forward alongside Johnathan.
I exhaled sharply, almost growling, and muttered under my breath. "Sigh..." With a flicker of will, I pushed my ability to the very edge. Wally reacted instantly, his essence flowing across me like liquid metal, fusing onto my skin, sealing me inside my battle suit.
And then—silence. The world groaned and slowed. The flicker of thunder in the distance froze mid-crackle. Dust hung suspended in the air like tiny stars. Time itself buckled and held still.
I dashed past the two, yanking them back just in time as my saber carved through strands of nearly invisible strings stretched across the air. They shimmered faintly in the light, like spider silk woven from death itself—any closer and we would have been reduced to ribbons of flesh.
But even as my blade found its mark, aiming for the demon's vessel, more strings materialized—dozens, layered atop one another, each tougher and sharper than the last. The steel edge screeched uselessly against them.
"Flesh Stitchers aren't combatants... but the silk they weave is nearly impossible to cut through," Moriarty remarked, his voice slipping in as he took control. His lips curved into a thin, dangerous grin. "Then let's fight poison with poison."
A vile sheen spread across the saber, the metal hissing as a corrosive poison coated its edge. With swift, calculated strikes, Moriarty hacked through the strands, each swing dissolving the invisible barriers. The path to the demon's chest opened—
—but just as the blade was about to connect, another strand snapped taut, unseen until too late. It coiled around him and yanked him backward violently, slamming him into the ground. The impact tore the breath from his lungs, his ability flickering out as the poison vanished from the saber.
"You really thought I wouldn't prepare counter measures for an Allen?" the demon mocked, his grin stretching unnaturally wide, his black eyes glinting with manic delight.
"Oh-ho-ho... one could only be as blessed as I am to encounter a young Allen. I wonder what rewards I'll reap when I turn you into a demon," the Flesh Stitcher cackled, his voice thick with malice as he floated higher, his body swaying as though suspended by unseen strings.
But before he could strike, his ascent jolted to a halt. He glanced down, eyes narrowing... Johnathan had clamped both clawed hands around his legs, muscles trembling with the strain, a guttural growl reverberating from his chest.
"You really think that's going to work, little wolf?" the demon sneered, flicking his fingers.
A strand of invisible silk lashed forward—slicing through the reinforced plating of Johnathan's armor as though it were paper. The blade of string didn't stop there. It sheared through flesh, splintered bone, and severed his entire left arm at the shoulder. Blood gushed in hot, arterial spurts, painting the demon's leg and splattering across the ground below.
Yet Johnathan did not let go.
"This little—! Get off my shoe!" the demon snarled, voice cracking with irritation. Another string snapped out. Once again, the armor split open like a crushed shell, bone shards crunching as Johnathan's right arm was ripped away in a single, merciless stroke. His severed limb hit the dirt with a wet thud, twitching uselessly in the dust.
But the wolf refused to fall. Instead, with both stumps pouring blood, he surged upward. His jaws gaped wide, saliva mixing with blood, before slamming shut around the demon's right leg. Fangs sank deep—tearing through fabric, muscle, and sinew until the crunch of splintering bone echoed across the battlefield.
The demon's grin faltered at last, twisting into a grotesque grimace. His laughter choked into a hiss as pain wracked his vessel, his black eyes widening in disbelief that a maimed beast dared to wound him.
"You—" The demon raised his right hand to unleash another strike, but then his movement faltered. His fingers twitched. The skin of his palm glistened, slick with moisture—as though someone had doused it with water. His eyes flicked down.
There, etched in ink, were dozens of glowing sigils writhing like living brands across his flesh.
"Demon-sealing wards…" Reinhardt's voice rasped. Blood poured freely from his seven orifices—nose, ears, eyes, and mouth—as he staggered into view behind the demon. His ink-born scythe gleamed with a sickly black sheen before he swung. The blade carved clean through the demon's left arm, severing it at the shoulder. Flesh and ichor sprayed across the ground, sizzling where it touched.
"You insane bastard! You'll kill us both!" the demon howled, twisting around to face him. For the first time, there was panic in his voice. His black eyes widened, trembling with disbelief. "How can you use sealing wards—you're a demon yourself!"
Reinhardt didn't answer. His crimson eyes burned like coals, his entire body trembling on the edge of collapse.
"You're wrong about one thing…" Moriarty's voice slithered into the silence. He materialized in front of the demon, his presence sudden and suffocating, before driving his saber straight through the creature's chest.
The blade punched through bone and muscle with a wet crack, sliding into the blackened heart beneath.
"He is no servant of Hell," Moriarty hissed, twisting the blade. "He is a demonic rebel."
All of a sudden, a surge of dark light exploded from the demon's body, swallowing the battlefield in a blinding wave of shadow. The force blasted us apart, flinging each of us in different directions like ragdolls. I barely managed to twist midair and land on my feet, boots skidding across the torn earth.
Then came the strings.
Colossal constructs woven from invisible silk burst forth, coiling and lashing like monstrous tendrils. They carved through the wasteland with terrifying precision, each strike pulverizing stone and sand into dust. Entire slabs of earth were ripped apart, trenches opening like miniature canyons wherever the tendrils landed.
The ground shook violently beneath every impact—each blow powerful enough to feel like the wrath of an earthquake. Dust clouds and shards of rock erupted into the air, filling our lungs, stinging our eyes.
Moriarty's form flickered with green light as he activated his ability again, slowing the monstrous appendages just enough to act. He dashed toward Reinhardt and Johnathan.
Johnathan, his torn limbs now grotesquely reformed by his werewolf regeneration, staggered back to his feet. Reinhardt swayed, pale and bleeding from his earlier warding.
Without hesitation, Moriarty seized them both, hoisting their battered bodies onto his shoulders before sprinting away from the oncoming tendrils. Even slowed, those monstrous strings slammed down behind him, shattering the ground and tearing through the ruins like a predator hot on its prey.
"Let's see how your puny faith saves you now!" the demon's maniacal laughter split the air, carrying with it the weight of arrogance and malice. The sound echoed like jagged glass scraping across stone.
My aura flickered as I deactivated my ability, my breath fogging in the cold void of the demon's presence. I raised his gaze, the green glint of defiance burning against the darkness.
"Faith is for the weak," I spat, voice low and cutting like a blade drawn in silence. "I only deal in absolutes."