Chapter 17
The Legacy of Ouroboros (I)
The river carried its silent cargo downstream. Three bodies drifted just beneath the surface, their pale faces hidden from the morning sun. No one saw them vanish beneath the current, no one heard the ragged gasps that ended too soon.
By the time the water calmed, the city above carried on as if nothing had happened.
But far below, in Hell, another world stirred.
Maverick sat cross-legged in the abyssal cavern that Voldrack had claimed as their temporary refuge. His body was perfectly still, his breathing shallow. Yet within his Sea of Consciousness, storms raged.
Ever since he had discovered the jade pagoda and the library within, he spent every idle moment combing its endless shelves. Dustless tomes whispered to him in languages long dead, fragments of knowledge sliding into his mind as naturally as breathing.
But today, something called to him.
Past the familiar shelves, deeper than he had ever dared go, a faint glow pulsed. It was not the steady shine of crystal lamps that lit the pagoda. It was alive—like a heartbeat in the dark.
Maverick's cold gaze narrowed. He reached out, fingers brushing the spine of a book that radiated warmth. The moment he touched it, the Sea of Consciousness trembled.
BOOM!
Waves rose and crashed across the endless sea, threatening to swallow him whole. He clenched his jaw, holding steady as the book unlatched itself. Pages fluttered open, words unspooling like rivers of fire, burning themselves into his mind.
Outside, in the cavern, Maverick's body shook violently.
Voldrack looked up from his meditation, his crimson eyes narrowing. "He's convulsing."
Zaratul, in his humanoid form, leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His expression was calm, but his golden serpent eyes gleamed with anticipation. "He found something. Don't interfere."
Voldrack scowled. "His Sea of Consciousness is unstable. If he overloads it, he'll collapse."
Zaratul's lips curled into the faintest smirk. "You underestimate him. He isn't like the others. He is Ouroboros."
Inside the Sea, Maverick staggered as visions poured into him.
He saw a woman standing before a throne of broken light—her eyes soft, her wings tattered. She was both radiant and weary, her smile the kind that broke hearts.
"My son… if you've reached this book, then fate has not abandoned you."
Her voice echoed not in his ears but in his very soul.
The script around him writhed, rearranging itself into instructions. They were incomplete, fragmented, but their meaning struck like thunder: a method to shatter the walls of the Sea of Consciousness—faster, sharper, more brutal than anything demons used.
But there was a cost. His mother's words warned of it. The method would erode him, body and soul, unless he was ruthless enough to carve away weakness itself.
Maverick's eyes, once human, now gleamed with demonic clarity. Weakness? He had none to spare.
The visions shifted. The sea beneath him stilled, and for a moment, he saw Earth. A river, flowing dark beneath a gray sky. Corpses drifted lazily, their faces half-eaten by fish, their eyes glassy.
He recognized them instantly—though he had never met them. Three young men, brutal in bearing, now pale in death.
Vessels.
The thought came unbidden, sharp and undeniable.
The book snapped shut. Maverick gasped as agony ripped through his chest. His Sea of Consciousness buckled, then steadied. He fell to his knees, blood spilling from his lips.
"Maverick!" Voldrack's growl echoed through the cavern. He was on his feet, ready to steady the young demon's body.
But Zaratul raised a hand, barring him. "No. Let him endure it."
"He's bleeding out!"
"He's transforming."
The tension between them sparked, but neither moved closer.
Maverick's body trembled, his nails digging into the stone floor until they cracked. His lips curved into the faintest smile even as blood dripped down his chin.
Inside, the Sea of Consciousness quieted, its depth noticeably greater. The water was no longer stagnant—it pulsed faintly, alive.
Minutes dragged. At last, Maverick's body went still. He exhaled slowly, opening his eyes. For an instant, their whites were pure silver before fading back to black.
He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
"…I see," he murmured, his voice low but steady.
Voldrack stepped forward, studying him closely. "What happened?"
Maverick met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "A legacy."
"Whose?"
Maverick did not answer.
Zaratul's smile widened, sharp and knowing. "So. The Ouroboros begins to awaken."
Voldrack scowled but said nothing more. His instincts told him something dangerous had shifted.
Maverick closed his eyes once more, replaying the vision. His mother's voice lingered in his soul, her cryptic words heavy with meaning. A faster path to power… and a promise that he was destined for something more.
But it was the river that burned brightest in his mind. The drifting corpses. The way fate itself seemed to point toward them.
When his eyes opened again, the cold ruthlessness that defined him had only deepened.
Those bodies… they would not remain wasted in the mortal world.
They would serve him.
Even in death.