Damn it.
The bastard was still there.
As if hearing Hermes's internal thoughts, the monster crashed against the stone above. Teeth scraped against the surface, trying to gouge through to the fist-sized hole that led to his sanctuary.
Hermes quickly transmuted the opening closed.
"Fuck! What do I do?" The words escaped before he could stop them.
Scrape. Scrape. Crash.
The monster thrashed above, relentless. Then—a hiss. Silence.
It's still there. He knew without needing to check.
Think. Think.
He ran through his options methodically, forcing panic down.
Most of my attacking spells are long-range. If I use them in close quarters, I'll catch myself in the blast. The water spell can cut through steel, but what if it only tickles this thing? What if it only leaves a scratch?
He was probably overthinking. But he only had one try. If he didn't kill the monster in a single strike, it would be wary. He wouldn't get another chance.
And he still needed to confirm his hypothesis.
My spear.
Fuck. I hope it's still there.
He hadn't dismissed his Memory after killing the Scavenger. If the spear was gone, if it had fallen into the sea or been crushed—he'd have nothing but the water spell and blind hope.
He dismissed it.
A moment of terrible emptiness—then something settled into his soul sea.
"Haah..." The sigh of relief left him trembling.
Alright. Test the hypothesis.
He transmuted another fist-sized hole.
The blood-red serpentine eye was there. Waiting.
CRASH!
SCRAPE! SCRAPE!
He closed the hole. Smirked.
Okay. Let's do this.
Hermes waited for a good while.
He transmuted the place around him, shaping the stone to suit his needs. He filled the cavity he'd sunk into, rising until only a thin layer separated him from the surface. Then he crouched, gripping his spear from the very bottom with both hands.
Deep breath.
He opened the hole.
The red eye stared back at him.
Hermes thrust—every ounce of strength, every shred of will, and the Unerring Path enchantment blazing to life.
The spear pierced the eye without resistance. His thumb pressed against the gelatinous surface as the spear drove through—through the orb, through the socket, through the brain.
He let go instantly.
For a heartbeat, nothing.
Then the Spell's voice echoed in his mind:
[You have slain an Awakened Demon, Bloodscale Devourer.]
[You have received an Echo.]
Hermes stared at the darkness where the eye had been. At the spear now embedded in a dead goddamn Demon.
"...Heh."
The laugh escaped him, quiet and slightly unhinged.
"Hehehe."
He slumped against the stone, adrenaline crashing, and laughed until tears streamed down his face.
"…Hah."
Then, he muttered softly "Thank you."
Not to any god. Not to fate or luck or the Spell.
To Azoth.
His innate ability—the one he'd cursed back at the Academy. The one that couldn't transmute lead into gold no matter how hard he tried just yet.
He'd spent hours in his room, frustrated, pressing his hands against objects and willing them to change. A pen became a long needle. A water bottle became a cup. Shape, always just shape. Never substance. Never the true transmutation he'd dreamed of.
What good is alchemy if I can't even make a gold toilet? he'd complained to his reflection.
"Azoth," he whispered to the darkness, testing the word on his tongue.
He was alive because of it.
When I get out of this, he promised himself, I'm going to figure you out.
And then? When he finally could change the composition and properties of things as well.
Then the gold toilet.
He smiled in the darkness.
Some dreams were worth holding onto.
He transmuted a hole large enough for his head and carefully peered out.
The Bloodscale Devourer lay on its side, a massive mud-brown serpent easily thirty feet long. The spear tip jutted from its eye like a flag of conquest.
The sun was sinking fast.
Growl!
His stomach screamed in protest. He was famished.
I need to eat before dark. Cook the food now. He couldn't light a fire when it got dark after all. He would be painting a red target on himself if he did something that stupid.
He pulled himself out and got to work.
First, he dismissed his Memory—the spear returned to his soul sea. He'd need it later, but not for butchering. A stabbing stick wasn't a carving knife.
Let's finally test how much damage my spells can actually do.
He inscribed the water spell and pressed his hands together in a thrusting gesture. A jet stream shot out, slicing into the serpent's flesh. It took two and a half seconds to exit through the other side.
Good to know. But if I'd used this first, the demon would've dodged after the initial wound. The spear was the right call.
He carved fillets from the corpse, then inscribed the fire spell. Soon, the sizzle of cooking meat filled the air.
The meat was salty, dry, and tough. Hermes didn't care. He ate like a starving man—because he was. When he was thirsty, he would use the water rune to summon water and drink.
When he finished, the sun hovered at the horizon.
Time to find a new spot.
He definitely wasn't spending another night in the hole he'd pissed himself earlier.
Speaking of which. He inscribed the water spell and showered. Piss, sweat, blood, and grime washed away.
He then cast the cleaning spell. Hermes could have just used the cleaning spell on its own but he wanted to feel clean. Like he had taken a shower. It was only play pretend and mind games but it was effective.
He began inscribing the runes.
Light. Cleansing. Purification.
Golden light enveloped him, warm and pure, traveling across every inch of his skin. He felt clean—really clean, not just surface-level. The spell reached places water couldn't.
Wait.
He blinked.
Why don't I combine the water rune with this spell? Or—summon water first, then cast this on the water?
Holy water?
He thought to himself.
Later.
Darkness was falling and the dark sea was rising. He slipped into his new sanctuary and sealed himself in.