Draven stepped forward slowly.
Not rushing.
Not flaring his aura.
Just walking.
"I'll see," he muttered under his breath, "if it still stays up when there's nothing left for it to feed on."
The barrier pulsed again—dark, oily violet spreading across its surface in slow, living waves.
Inside his body, his mana stirred restlessly.
He could feel the strain.
To form a true mana pool, he needed density. Volume. Stability.
He had consumed magic crystals before—shattered them, absorbed them, forced their refined mana into himself. Each time, he felt the increase.
But he had also been using mana without pause.
Fighting.
Breaking.
Forcing.
The more he poured in, the more he spent.
The net gain barely shifted.
His reserves grew… yet somehow remained almost constant.
A stagnant cycle.
His eyes narrowed.
Magic crystals were simply condensed mana.
Structured.
Unrefined.
This—
He looked at the barrier. At the ritual circle feeding it.
Demonic energy.
It was still mana.
Just… altered.
A corrupted frequency.
A different alignment.
If he could observe the flow of mana from magical stones—
Then this should be no different.
He only had to observe it differently.
Unlike the crystals—
His lips twitched faintly.
"I'll just eat."
Another pulse surged from the ritual. The air distorted as something pressed harder against reality itself.
The mage who had laughed earlier stepped forward, his voice rising sharply.
"What are you doing?!"
The confidence in his tone had thinned to irritation.
"The ritual is almost complete! The descent is near!"
The other cultists chanted louder, desperation seeping into their rhythm.
"You cannot interfere!"
The mage's eyes widened slightly as Draven didn't stop walking.
"You— stop right there!"
Draven didn't answer.
His perception shifted inward.
Outward.
Both at once.
He reached toward the barrier again—not to strike it.
But to feel it.
The demonic energy flowing through it wasn't chaotic. It was being drawn from the ritual circle, circulated, converted—sustaining the shield like blood through veins.
Black currents.
Heavy.
Hot.
Violent.
Different from unrefined crystal mana.
But still structured.
Still energy.
Still something that obeyed rules.
His hand lifted.
He didn't strike.
He placed his palm flat against the barrier.
The cultists gasped.
The surface hissed violently at the contact—black tendrils lashing outward, snapping at his arm like living whips.
Instead of pushing mana into it—
He opened himself.
Not fully.
Just enough.
A thin pull.
A subtle reversal.
The barrier flickered.
Just slightly.
The mage's voice cracked.
"What is he doing?!"
Draven's eyes sharpened.
The demonic energy tried to bite back—corrosive, invasive, burrowing toward his channels like acid through flesh.
He didn't fight it head-on.
He observed it.
Watched its pattern.
Its rotation.
Its density shifts.
The way it entered the barrier.
The way it stabilized once inside.
Then—
He mirrored it.
Inside himself.
A new pathway formed.
Rough.
Imperfect.
But functional.
The barrier pulsed again.
This time—
A fraction dimmer.
The lead mage staggered back.
"No… no, that's impossible—!"
Draven exhaled slowly.
"…It's just mana."
His fingers pressed harder into the surface.
The pull deepened.
Behind him, Aldric's eyes widened slightly.
"…He's not breaking it."
The barrier flickered again.
"He's draining it."
The ritual circle sputtered.
The chanting faltered for half a heartbeat.
And from the distortion in the air—
Something growled.
The barrier darkened.
Then thinned.
Then—
It began collapsing inward.
Not shattering.
Not cracking.
But draining.
Black-violet currents that had once pulsed outward now reversed direction, spiraling into Draven's palm. Demonic energy writhed like a living thing, thrashing, resisting—
But there was nowhere else to go.
He absorbed it.
All of it.
The barrier convulsed, its surface destabilizing in jagged ripples before dissolving into scattered motes of dark light.
Then—
It was gone.
The clearing changed instantly.
Open.
Exposed.
Raw.
The cultists stumbled back in panic.
"The barrier—?!"
"He devoured it—!"
"No— keep chanting!" the lead mage screamed, desperation shredding his composure. "The descent is almost complete!"
Despite the chaos, they forced their voices back into rhythm.
The ritual circle flared again.
Draven lowered his hand slowly.
Black traces of demonic mana lingered around his fingers, crawling faintly across his glove before being drawn inward and compressed.
Folded.
Contained.
He stared at his palm.
"…It's just like I thought," he muttered.
"Whatever they call it…"
His eyes lifted.
"It's still mana at the end of the day."
Inside him, the newly absorbed energy churned violently. It was denser than crystal mana. Heavier. More resistant to control.
It scraped against his channels, testing them.
But once he folded it properly—
It settled.
Not pure.
But usable.
He exhaled slowly.
With that intake…
He could feel it.
A threshold drawing closer.
Not reached.
But closer.
"…Ten percent," he murmured.
Ten percent more.
That was roughly what he still needed to force open a true mana pool.
Aldric stared at him for a long moment.
"…You're insane," he said flatly.
His gaze shifted toward the ritual circle, then back to Draven.
"You didn't disrupt it. You didn't crack it. You didn't even counter it."
A faint, incredulous exhale.
"You just ate it."
Lyriana's gaze had sharpened to something wary.
"That was demonic energy."
Vaelith, standing behind her crimson barrier, watched in silence—eyes unreadable.
Aldric shook his head slightly.
"And here I thought punching things was reckless."
His eyes narrowed.
"If you can absorb structured demonic flow like that…"
He trailed off, then muttered under his breath—
"…That's not normal. What am I saying? Since you started eating magic stones, nothing you do is normal."
From the ritual circle—
The distortion split wider.
A massive claw forced its way through the tear in space, talons scraping against reality as if it were glass.
Black mist poured outward in suffocating waves.
The chanting grew frantic, cracking under strain.
The lead mage laughed again—but the sound trembled.
"You think you've won?!"
The air shuddered violently.
"It's too late! It descends regardless!"
Draven looked at the forming shape, irritation flickering back into his expression.
"…Yeah?"
He rolled his shoulders slowly.
The newly absorbed mana pulsed inside him.
Denser.
Heavier.
Closer to critical mass.
"Good."
His eyes darkened.
"I was getting hungry again."