Chapter 39: Perfect Failure
Light filled the mausoleum. Foul. Warped. Wrong.
It lasted less than a heartbeat.
Then it shattered.
Shards of pale yellow hung in the air like dying embers, suspended in stillness...then pulled, all at once into the cocoon. The mass twitched. Muscle lurched. Bone snapped deep inside.
Life begun anew.
[System // Evolution Finalizing.....]
[User // Azakh-Tur]
[Lineage Path // Mawspawn Variant – Confirmed]
[Genetic Encoding // Anomaly]
[Source // Unknown Blood Bead]
[Baseline // Imp]
[Stat Adjustment // Granted]
[+10 to All Base Attributes]
[+10 // Strength]
[+10 // Vitality]
[+10 // Agility]
[+10 // Intelligence]
[+10 // Flesh]
[+10 // Will]
[Racial Ability Adjustment // Triggered]
[Savage Feed // Ranked Up]
[Minor Shifting // Ranked Up]
[Racial Ability Unlock // Requirements Met]
[Racial Ability Unlock // Corruption]
[Racial Ability Adjustment // Triggered]
[Corruption // Rank Up]
The cocoon shivered.
Then bulged outward with a sickening pop, liquids sloshing as the shape within surged against the pulped layers of skin. The outline expanded, shoulders pulling wider, muscle writhing against bone as density thickened. The fetal mass curled at its core shifted upright, trembling, convulsing.
Crack!
A fracture split the top of the cocoon. From within, two massive horns punched upward—curved, jagged, blackened at the base. The flesh around them hissed, pus boiling as the heat from the horns seared the cocoon from the inside out. Blisters ruptured. Layers peeled.
And still, the shape grew.
[System // Notification]
[Mutation Detected: Racial Ability // Minor Shifting]
[Slot 1: Twinback Growths // Mutation Rank Up // F → E]
A sound tore through the silence, wet and fibrous.
Two seams split open along his back, just above the shoulder blades. The skin didn't tear, it peeled, like overcooked meat sloughing from bone. From the exposed growths, mouths erupted, jagged, asymmetrical things, ringed with layered fangs and dripping clear, burning fluid.
They screamed.
A high, slicing shriek, razor-thin, almost insectile. The air itself recoiled. The sound hit the cocoon like a blade. It didn't crack. It detonated. Flesh, pus, and fluid launched outward in every direction, splattering across stone, clinging in wet ropes along the mausoleum walls.
What remained, what stood at the center...was Azakh-Tur.
No skin. Just muscle. Red. Coiled. Sculpted in violence.
His mouth tore open, sinew splitting at the corners, and he roared. Primal, raging steam vented from his throat as the heat surged outward, his body boiling with it. The final stage had begun, slow, deliberate, like molten stone cooling into armor.
[System // Notification]
[New Racial Ability Unlocked]
[New Racial Passive Unlocked]
[System Update // Directive Overwrite]
[Daily Directive: Survive // Deleted]
The notifications rang out like iron bells, one after another, as his flesh began to harden, fibers knitting tight, sealing the muscle beneath. Limbs elongated, bulked, carved to lethal proportion.
Stone groaned beneath him. Air wept. Even the grave echoed. The quiet, miserable moans of those long dead leaking through the cracks.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, he staggered, jaw clenched. Something snapped inside him.
[!!WARNING!! // Evolution Finalization Error]
[!!Insufficient Base Soul Samples Detected!!]
[Primary Absorbed Souls: Imp // Carrion Hound // Corpse Worm // All Marked Incomplete]
[Soul Integrity Cap Maintained // Soulmass Values Unchanged]
[Evolution State: Incomplete // System Cannot Finalize User Core]
[Time Remaining Until Soul Integrity Collapse // 3 Hours]
But the system's voice meant nothing in the haze. The clarity was gone. The thoughts didn't register. He couldn't care.
His evolution, spiritually stunted or not, was physically complete.
He was no longer an imp.
He was Mawspawn. Something unknown.
Without warning, the steam filling the mausoleum curled as if caught in a pull, dragged inward with steady force. Azakh-Tur inhaled deep, chest expanding as the heat and vapor funneled into him. The air trembled.
He held it. Then exhaled, a low growl rumbling from his throat, warm and deliberate. His hand rose. Fingers curled. He studied their movement, the weight, the newfound strength.
"Beautiful."
His skin had blackened to a dense, oil-slick shade, lined with faint pulses of crimson beneath the surface. His frame was thick with muscle, dense and sculpted, but his ribs and collarbones pressed against the skin's outer layer, jagged and defined like armor fused over meat. Bone ridges wrapped his chest, etched deep with heat scars and layered buildup from the evolution.
His limbs were longer now, corded with raw strength, ending in clawed hands thick enough to crush. His tail, now capped with a pointed speartip of bone, whipped the air, visibly slicing it.
His face was a mask of brutal design, skull-tight, no flesh wasted. The bone structure pushed hard against the skin, forming sharp ridges over his brow and cheekbones. His mouth stretched wide, jaw thick, lips torn back enough to expose full rows of jagged teeth. Some looked filed. Others looked grown that way.
From above the brow, his horns swept back in wide arcs, thick at the base and ridged like bark peeled from charred wood. They curved high, but never lost their weight, like they could split a spine on momentum alone.
His eyes burned deep into the sockets, flickering as if they watched everything. Unblinking. Unforgiving.
No nose. Only the faint ridges where one might've been. His ears had stretched, narrowed into sharp blades, tapered high like they could slice wind.
And beneath it all, his aura never stopped. It rose around him, slashing outward in jagged streaks, never gentle, never calm. It clawed at the air like it wanted out of him, wanted more room to spread. Bloodlight twisted behind him, shaping talons, hooks, edges of something starving and angry.
Azakh-Tur didn't move. He didn't need to.
The room bent around him.
And he breathed like the world owed him something.
"I feel it."
His voice scraped like gravel over stone.
"I've ascended...Azakh-Tur. My True Name..."
He flexed his arm. Power surged through the limb. Still not enough, but more strength than he'd ever held.
But surprisingly quick, the grin faded. He knew this wasn't the moment to revel.
"System. How do I finalize the evolution?"
[User must consume a complete source. Immediate option: Human.]
He paused. The last one hadn't qualified. Too early. He'd likely capped out at fifty percent. Evolution apparently pushed the ceiling higher. Regret flickered. Too brief to matter.
"So I just need another human. Shouldn't be too hard."
He stepped toward the exit, but the system cut in again.
[Recommendation: Choose wisely.]
He stopped cold.
"Choose what wisely?"
Just born and the system was already pissing him off.
[Required materials insufficient. User's foundation must be constructed. Current plane lacks demonic resources. Human soul presents high probability of genetic failure.]
'Can't enjoy anything...'
Birth pains. That's all this was.
"So you're telling me I have to go back to Hell?"
He didn't yell. Didn't curse. He'd been with the system long enough. Problem first, solution last. If it felt generous.
[System failsafe protocols enacted during evolution process. Outcome deviation permitted due to User's demonic origin and Imp physiology. Soul Foundation process will now bind to Racial Ability: Minor Shifting. Slot 2 allocated.]
"...Wait—so I don't get to pick my second slot either? Why is there always a problem with you? Can't I just kill things and be satisfied?"
Even as he said it, something about the last word sounded off, but he quickly dismissed it.
[User may return to Hell.]
His spine straightened. He narrowed his eyes. Somehow, that felt like an insult.
"...Not doing that. So again, why the warning? What's the risk? I need an extremely pure soul or my guts explode?"
[Sarcasm noted. Clarification: the next human you consume will determine your permanent alternate form.]
The information landed heavy. He should've felt better knowing. Instead, it just pissed him off more. Something in the system's tone, cold, clinical, made it feel like a setup.
His thoughts drifted back to the charred remains he devoured earlier. He wondered what that human looked like. What would he have become?
Jaw tight, he shook the thought away.
"Set a timer."
A red countdown blinked into his UI. 2:56:00. Not much time.
He sniffed the air and moved to the exit, fingers digging into the collapsed stone.
"I'll need to be fast. System—feed me the rewards breakdown as I hunt."
[Affirmative. First unlocked Racial Passive: Soul Sense…]