Chapter 20: Awakening of the Devourer
Nov 13
A little while earlier…
'More…'
"No. No — this can't be happening…"
shkk!
A sound like flesh parting. A hand shoved through a body.
' I'll kill them all…!'
"P-please… don't come closer…!"
rrrip!
A ripping that was almost a scream.
"I'll throw you into hell…!'
'Please… I don't want to die…!"
crack — thump.
Bones breaking, a heavy fall. Panic, pleading, the lab a chorus of terror.
"Help—someone—"
skreee!
Clothes tore. Steel strained. Screams braided with wet, ugly noises.
"Get away from me! Don't touch me! Please—stop!"
'I will kill you all!!'
A scientist's scream was cut short — torso separated, collapsing in a crimson heap.
Haa… haa…
"It is not enough… I need more…"
Amon stands in the center of the ruin. His clothes soaked in blood, the makeshift arm he built dripping and clanking with human debris. His breath comes fast and ragged; his eyes are a comet's flash.
Amon is a quiet storm. On the surface, calm, analytical eyes, measured tone, emotions locked behind an unshakable stillness.
But beneath that calm lies a maelstrom — grief that never healed, fear that never faded, rage that never stopped burning.
When his mother "abandoned" him, something inside Amon broke. He didn't stop feeling, he learned that feeling was dangerous. To survive, he had to bury his emotions so deep they couldn't hurt him anymore. What others mistake for coldness is really armor, forged from pain, worn by necessity.
Mercy is not something he understands in the way others do. To Amon, morality is not guided by ideals but by purpose. If destruction ensures survival, he will destroy. If killing means protecting the few who still matter to him, he won't hesitate. He acts not out of cruelty, but out of a grim, efficient instinct to endure.
And yet… there's still a trace of light. Around Amy or Sera, that gentleness resurfaces, fragile, uncertain, human. But when fear grips him or pain returns, that humanity vanishes in an instant. His empathy doesn't fade; it shuts off, like a circuit breaker tripped by trauma.
Each time he loses control and survives, he grows closer to that darker self, the part that feels invincible, unstoppable. It's intoxicating. For once, he isn't the victim. For once, the world bends before him.
He hates it. But deep down… he craves it.
Because in those moments — drenched in chaos, wrapped in fury — he isn't weak anymore.
He is powerful.
He is wrathful.
He is the Devil within.
"I need more!!!" he roars. Black aura blooms like spilled ink, crawling up his limbs.
"GAAAH!!"
A shockwave detonates from him, a savage, hungry pulse that shreds tile and steel. The floor explodes outward in a spiderweb of cracks; a crater swallows the center of the lab.
Silence hits the edges first, then the distant, stunned sobs. Dust hangs like a bad memory.
Amon stands there, chest heaving, dark aura fizzing at the edges. Blood, ruin, the echo of what he has done. The devil within has tasted the world — and it wants to feed.
Around Amon's neck hung a necklace — the last gift from his mother. A teardrop-shaped violet crystal glimmered faintly, encased in silver spirals etched with delicate green runes. Its dark chain, threaded with tiny beads, shimmered with a strange, almost mournful beauty.
The crystal began to glow. A soft violet light pulsed at his throat, growing brighter and brighter until it burned against his skin.
A low, electric buzz echoed in Amon's head.
"Urgh!" He grunted, wincing as pain clawed through his skull. His hair, which had been drifting wildly in his dark aura, slowly fell limp.
The air grew still.
The sinister energy surrounding him wavered… then weakened. Not gone, just subdued.
"W-What… happened…?" Amon gasped, collapsing to one knee.
And then he heard it.
A voice. Warm. Familiar. Yet distant… distorted, like an echo from a forgotten dream.
"No matter what… you must never hate humans…"
His eyes widened. He knew that voice.
"I will always love you… Never forget who you are…"
"Know that I will never abandon you…!"
"Argh!" Amon clutched his head, the pain intensifying. The buzzing grew louder, drowning his thoughts. He dropped fully to his knees, trembling.
"Where are you?! Show yourself!" he shouted into the empty, broken lab, eyes darting, searching.
But there was no one. Only the echo of a final whisper.
"I love you… my sweet little crybaby…"
The dark aura that once tore the room apart slowly began to fade. The air calmed. The hatred, the fury, the anguish within him…
…all of it began to melt away.
Behind a shattered table, a terrified scientist whispered under his breath. "…What's wrong with him…?"
He was a thin man, black hair, small brown eyes behind crooked glasses, face pale under the flickering lights.
Then, his fear twisted into greed. "Tch… Whatever. Now's my chance…"
He reached into his blood-stained lab coat and pulled out a crystalline sphere, its surface pulsing with unstable magic.
"Heh… this damn Explosive Lacrima cost me a fortune. But if it gets rid of that little monster, it's worth every coin."
Peeking over the debris, he saw Amon kneeling, trembling, blood trailing down his arm. His lips curled into a cruel grin.
"…That necklace is glowing? Is that a magic item? Hah. Guess I'll sell it off his corpse."
He stood, taking aim.
"See ya, kid!"
He hurled the Lacrima.
BOOM!
The explosion ripped through the ruined lab, flames and dust engulfing everything. The shockwave threw debris across the room.
When the smoke cleared, Amon lay motionless in a pool of blood. His makeshift arm was gone, blasted apart, reduced to fragments of burned flesh and ether.
The scientist raised a fist, laughing breathlessly. "Ha! Oh, hell yeah! Still in one piece, huh? Guess even monsters go down the same way as everyone else!"
Clap. Clap.
The sound echoed. Slow. Icy. Mocking.
He froze.
Turning, he saw a tall figure step through the haze, hands lowering from a polite applause.
"Boss? You're still alive?" the scientist stammered, forcing a shaky smile.
James said nothing. His footsteps were slow. Deliberate. His eyes, cold and unreadable, fixed on the man like a blade pressed to his throat.
The clapping stopped.
Only silence remained.
Do you know what this place is?"
James's voice broke the silence, low, measured, yet heavy enough to crush the air itself.
"O-of course I do…!" The man stammered, his body shaking. "This facility is one of many scattered across the kingdom, each devoted to a single purpose."
"Project Requiem…"
James gave a small nod. "Correct." He began to pace slowly, his tone clinical, detached. "The project operates under two primary objectives."
"The first—" his eyes narrowed "—is the location and capture of children born with innate magic energy. A task far more difficult than it sounds. Only one in ten humans can even wield magic."
He spoke like he was reciting a grim scripture.
Rex himself had worked under James for six months, and in that entire time, he'd found barely ten children with true potential. That alone spoke volumes.
"When these rare children are found, they are brought here under the guise of safety and care. They're given food, warmth, and comfort, everything a neglected child could ever want. For one month, they live believing they've been rescued… until their guard drops."
The scientist frowned slightly. 'Why is he telling me this? I already know all of this,' he thought irritably, eyes darting toward Amon's still body. 'Just let me grab that necklace and get out of here…'
James continued, ignoring his thoughts.
"After that, they are branded, reborn, as subjects of Project Requiem. Children of the Night."
His voice turned quieter. "The second goal… is the true heart of Requiem: to fuse Lacrima with the human body, to create an artificial mage."
He stopped pacing.
"Finding natural-born mages is already near impossible. Training them takes years. But science," his tone sharpened, "offers shortcuts."
James's eyes dimmed with something darker, something like regret. "But this dream was not born from ambition. It was born from fear. And hatred."
He began walking again, slow steps echoing in the ruined lab.
"Project Requiem began ten years ago, a state-funded initiative by the Kingdom's Magitech Division. Dozens of facilities were built. Hundreds of children were taken. None survived. None succeeded."
His words hung heavy in the air.
"In time, the kingdom called it a failure. Funding was cut. Records buried. Requiem became a forgotten ghost of human arrogance."
He stopped behind the scientist.
"But one man refused to stop."
James's tone turned hollow. "To him, humanity's weakness was undeniable. Against dragons, magical beasts, the ancients, humans were fragile."
He was right.
A single dragon could erase a city from the map. If war ever broke out between dragons and mankind, humanity would fall in a day.
"Even the most powerful human spell can barely scratch a dragon's scales," James said quietly. "And dragons are not the only threat. Countless beings exist that no sword or spell can truly kill."
He glanced at his bloodstained hands.
"To that scientist, humanity's survival demanded evolution. Forced, brutal, unnatural evolution."
He finally turned his gaze back to the trembling man.
"When he succeeded—when he finally created an artificial mage—he tried to share his discovery with the world."
James's voice cracked with venom.
"But instead of awe, he was met with ridicule. Scholars mocked him. The Magitech Division called him insane. The world branded him a madman."
His tone grew colder, darker. "That humiliation festered. The rejection broke him. What remained was a man who despised the very race he sought to save."
"Now, years later, that same scientist funds the last surviving Requiem facility. His private laboratory, his crucible of vengeance. Here, he continues his forbidden work, determined to prove his theory through blood."
The scientist's eyes widened. "W-Wait—why are you—"
James raised a hand. His magic circle flared to life beneath the man's feet.
"Chain Magic: Binding Seal."
With a clang, crimson spectral chains erupted from the floor, each link engraved with burning runes. They snapped outward, coiling around the man's torso and limbs, digging into his flesh as arrow-tipped links anchored him to the ground.
"W-what are you doing!?" he screamed, thrashing helplessly.
James continued as though he hadn't spoken.
"The scientist became everything the project represented, intelligent, ruthless, detached. He saw lives as variables, pain as data. To him, morality was irrelevant. Only results mattered."
He stepped closer, eyes burning.
"He no longer served humanity. He sought to replace it."
James hovered a hand above the man's head. For the first time, the scientist saw his face clearly.
Pure rage.
"So tell me," James whispered, voice trembling with fury, "how do you think it feels to see someone with the potential to become an artificial mage killed right in front of me?"
"B-but, I had no choice!" the man stuttered. "You saw what he did! He was killing everyone—!"
"Am I supposed to care?" James's tone dropped to a growl. "Why would I care about a room full of replaceable insects?"
He leaned close, whispering coldly into the man's ear. "But don't worry. I'm merciful. I'll make it quick."
James gripped the man's head and pulled.
The air filled with the sickening crack of bone and the tear of flesh. In one motion, James ripped the head free.
Blood splattered across his face. He smiled faintly… and licked it away.
Footsteps echoed.
"Don't you think that was a bit cruel… father?"
James didn't look up immediately. He stared at his bloodied hand. "…You would've done the same."
Finally, he turned.
Alexander stood at the far end of the hall, a faint smirk curling his lips. "I suppose I would have," he said softly. "James Redmaere…"
He stepped into the dim light, eyes glinting like steel.
"...Alexander Redmaere. The first artificial mage." James said with a smile.
—
'I've fallen into pieces… I never had anybody else…'
A faint whisper drifted through the darkness.
Slowly, painfully, Amon's eyelids fluttered open.
'I battled with my demons… so I buried them deep within myself…'
His fingers twitched. His breath steadied. He pushed himself upright, rising from the blood-stained floor as if waking from a nightmare.
Memories of Agnes flickered and burned away, consumed like paper in a flame.
'Yet this world… had to make me so cold…'
Amon looked around, dazed. "What… happened? I was in pain and now—" He winced, clutching his head. "Damn it… why does everything hurt?"
Behind him, two voices suddenly halted.
James and Alex both snapped their heads toward the small figure standing amid the carnage.
"You're… alive?" James murmured, pupils shrinking. "How the hell did your body survive that explosion!?"
'Explosion?' Alex thought, blinking. 'Was that the sound I heard before…?'
Alex narrowed his eyes. Unlike James, his face barely moved. He scanned the room, the shredded corpses, the limbs, the single decapitated head.
'This brat did all of this? Impossible. He's nothing but an insect.' No human child could slaughter grown men like this.
Then he saw it, Amon's body leaking a strange, wavering stream of energy. His bodysuit was torn open from the blast, two strips of fabric fluttering behind him like dark, broken feathers.
James stepped closer, analyzing.
The blood on Amon's skin was smeared, but every wound he'd inflicted on himself earlier, every tear from his own magic, had closed.
Completely.
His raven-black hair was messy, dripping with sweat… yet something inside him was changing.
'How is this possible? His wounds closed on their own…?'
In this world, every mage carries an Ethernano container, a natural reservoir that limits how much Magic Power they can hold.
For children, it is tiny… fragile… almost nonexistent.
Amon's container is barely developed. His channels are thin, his body immature.
A healthy five-year-old would struggle to withstand their own magic.
But Amon?
Amon's magic demands far more than any child's body can provide.
When a mage exceeds the limit of their container, the body ruptures from the inside:
blood from the mouth
blood from the nose
tears mixed with red
pores weeping crimson
organs straining
magical shutdown
For adults, it's a painful strain.
For Amon, it feels like his own magic is carving him open from the inside.
His small body was never meant to hold this power.
His magic isn't killing him, his body is too weak to contain what's inside him.
Every burst of power costs him blood.
Every surge burns through his organs.
This was why he bled when he used magic,
why every ounce of power came with agony.
Amon staggered, veins rising along his face.
"Maybe you can explain this, James!" he growled. "What's happening to me?! Why does it feel like something is tearing me apart!? Why does this… this hatred… burn!"
"It won't stop!" he screamed. "It doesn't fade, it just keeps growing!"
James scoffed. "You miss your little friends? Those useless siblings?" His lips curled. "You cling to the past like a starving animal digging in garbage."
"Bastard…"
A dark aura began to rise from Amon's small body, thick, trembling. "I'm going to make you pay for what you did to them…"
He crouched and detonated upward.
With a single leap, he soared across the room and landed atop a massive chunk of debris, looking down on them like a predator perched above its prey.
His raven-black hair shimmered—
turning, strand by strand, into a shining snow-white mane.
"You taught me this," Amon said, voice trembling with fury. "This rage… this destruction…"
Veins crawled along his arms. His fingernails split, sharpening into claws.
"Look at me."
His eyes glowed with something ancient, something inhuman.
"For a Devourer stands before you."
He raised one finger and pointed directly at James.
"I'm hunting you…
and you'll be my first prey."
The air trembled.
Freed from the shackles of humanity, his power grew.
"Would you like my help, father?" Alex asked calmly.
James shook his head, stepping forward into a martial stance. "Don't bother. I want to see what your little brother can do… before I break him."
Amon grinned. Not a smile. A beast's expression—distorted, feral, dripping with malice.
James beckoned. "Come."
Amon crouched lowband launched himself like a bullet.
"GAAAAAH!!!"
A transcended one approaches.
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