Marcus's mind reeled with confusion, his thoughts a chaotic swirl of doubt and fear. How could the barrier have been triggered? The question echoed relentlessly through his consciousness as sweat beaded across his forehead.
Pushing aside his internal turmoil, Marcus stammered out his response. "Honored... Honored Ancestor, we truly didn't discover anything unusual during our patrol."
The elderly demon's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as he processed this claim. "Tell me exactly what transpired during your watch," he commanded with quiet authority that brooked no evasion. "Everything."
Marcus swallowed hard, his throat working visibly as panic clawed at his chest. If our laziness gets exposed, we're all dead, he thought desperately. The truth was, most patrol teams engaged in some degree of negligence, a reality that superiors typically overlooked when nothing went wrong. But when incidents occurred...
The memory of his tribe's brutal disciplinary measures from before their underground exile made Marcus shudder involuntarily. Blood and screams echoed in his memory, reminders of what happened to those who failed their duties.
"The Ancestor asked you to speak," Viktor's cold voice cut through the oppressive silence like a blade. "Did you not hear?"
The threat in those words sent ice through Marcus's veins. His body went rigid as he began recounting their patrol activities, carefully omitting or softening any evidence of their unprofessional conduct. He painted their watch in the most favorable light possible, emphasizing their vigilance while downplaying moments of inattention.
As Marcus reached the part about Kael's solitary trip for personal business, the young demon beside the Ancestor started to speak. "Wait, "
A single glance from the elderly demon silenced him instantly, the unfinished words dying in his throat as he recognized the warning in those ancient eyes.
"Which one is Kael?" the Ancestor interrupted, his voice carrying casual curiosity that somehow felt more menacing than shouted threats.
Marcus turned and pointed directly at Azrael's position among the gathered demons. "Kael there, Honored Ancestor. I verified his identity using our clan's traditional scent recognition method."
Viktor opened his mouth to confirm that such verification should eliminate any concerns, but the elderly demon's prolonged silence made him reconsider. The Ancestor's penetrating stare conveyed volumes without words.
Understanding the unspoken command, Viktor addressed Azrael directly. "Kael, approach us immediately."
From his position in the crowd, Azrael felt his borrowed name being called and suppressed a surge of alarm. Through the intervening distance, he could see Marcus trembling like a leaf while mumbling explanations to the elderly demon whose spiritual pressure dominated the entire plaza.
Have I been discovered? The possibility sent adrenaline coursing through his system, though he maintained his disguised appearance of confused concern.
Azrael hurried forward with the awkward urgency expected of someone suddenly thrust into the spotlight of authority. "Master Viktor, you summoned me?"
Viktor nodded tersely. "The Honored Ancestor wishes to question you personally."
Azrael noted how Viktor had positioned himself to subtly block potential escape routes, a tactical positioning that confirmed his suspicions were at least partially warranted. Turning toward the elderly demon, he arranged his features into an expression of respectful uncertainty tinged with appropriate fear. "Honored Ancestor."
The old demon raised one weathered hand to halt Azrael's words before they could continue. What followed was an intensive visual examination that felt like being dissected by surgical instruments. Ancient eyes studied every detail of his appearance with methodical precision, searching for inconsistencies that might betray his deception.
Azrael forced himself to remain calm under this scrutiny while his mind raced through contingency plans. Fortunately, there aren't many Silver-level demons visible at the moment, he assessed tactically. If exposure becomes inevitable, I can summon Artoria and Retsu to fight our way out.
His confidence in escape stemmed from Pride's capabilities. Even if discovered, the symbiote's shapeshifting and stealth abilities would allow him to vanish into the underground complex's labyrinthine passages and begin a new infiltration with a different identity.
The oppressive silence stretched until the very air seemed to vibrate with tension. Just as Azrael prepared to abandon his disguise and summon his cards for combat, the elderly demon spoke with deceptive gentleness.
"How are your family members faring recently? Do you harbor any resentment regarding the clan's current arrangements?"
Azrael recognized the psychological trap immediately but responded with carefully crafted emotion. His voice carried notes of genuine grief as he replied, "My parents were murdered by those surface-dwelling scum, Honored Ancestor."
The word choice was deliberate and strategic. Given that these demons appeared to be animal-hybrid creatures, using derogatory terms like "beasts" or "animals" would have been counterproductive. "Scum" conveyed hatred without inadvertent self-reference.
A flicker of doubt passed through the elderly demon's ancient gaze. His question had been designed to elicit an unguarded response that might reveal deception, but Azrael's answer rang with authentic emotional pain. Moreover, his prolonged observation had confirmed that the figure before him was indeed a half-transformed weasel demon, matching clan records and physical expectations.
After another moment of consideration, the Ancestor waved his hand dismissively. "Take all members of their patrol team into protective custody. Ensure their safety while this matter is investigated."
The decision reflected political reality more than tactical preference. In earlier times, he would have simply eliminated anyone connected to suspicious incidents without ceremony or regret. But their current circumstances, hiding in an underground refuge with a population already teetering on the edge of panic, made such decisive action problematic.
His position as leader wasn't unassailable. Multiple rival factions watched constantly for opportunities to exploit any perceived weakness or mistake. Those who currently addressed him as "Honored Ancestor" might quickly adopt different titles if his authority wavered.
The detection barrier could only identify which general area had been breached, providing no specific details about the intrusion's nature or current location. Without more precise information, conducting a comprehensive search would be prohibitively resource-intensive.
Still, there was some reassurance in the situation. If this unknown infiltrator required stealth to operate, it suggested their power level wasn't overwhelming. The Ancestor refused to believe that any reasonably strong opponent would need to skulk through shadows rather than launching a direct assault.
Viktor felt genuine relief at this relatively mild resolution. After all, both demons facing questioning belonged to his family line, and avoiding their execution represented the best possible outcome under the circumstances.
"Remove them immediately," Viktor commanded the guards who had assembled to carry out the Ancestor's orders.
Azrael maintained his performance of confused innocence as the detention order was implemented. Despite his internal satisfaction at successfully passing this dangerous test, he continued projecting the bewildered outrage expected of someone facing unjust punishment.
"This is completely unfair, Honored Ancestor!" he protested loudly, matching Marcus's similar complaints. "We've done nothing wrong!"
Viktor's expression showed weary exasperation at such displays. He gestured impatiently to the guards. "Escort them away quickly. Don't allow this embarrassment to continue in the Ancestor's presence."
At least they're alive, Viktor thought pragmatically. These youngsters really don't understand political necessity.
As the small group was led away from the plaza, Viktor addressed the elderly demon with careful respect. "Honored Ancestor, shall I escort the remaining patrol members to their quarters?"
The Ancestor nodded wordlessly, his ancient gaze following the departing weasel demons until they disappeared into the underground complex's depths.
Long minutes passed in contemplative silence before the old demon's tired voice echoed across the plaza. "Even at this desperate hour, internal scheming continues to plague us."
His tone carried the weight of accumulated disappointment and strategic frustration. "Without such divisive politics, our situation wouldn't be nearly so precarious."
The young demon beside him stamped his foot in frustrated anger. "If those rival families weren't constantly undermining your authority, we could have simply executed the suspects without ceremony!"
The young demon's words reflected the elderly leader's private thoughts, but implementing such decisive action remained politically impossible. Any appearance of heavy-handed brutality would provide ammunition for his opponents and potentially trigger the very uprising he sought to prevent.
Internal discord combined with external threats created a nightmare scenario where every decision carried the potential for catastrophic consequences.
Since the underground detention facility lacked windows, Azrael couldn't accurately gauge the passage of time during his imprisonment. The eternal darkness of their subterranean refuge provided no natural rhythms to mark the hours.
The five demons sharing the dungeon cell had gradually succumbed to despair and listlessness. Their earlier energy had been drained by uncertainty and fear, leaving them huddled in dejected silence.
Everyone except Azrael, who remained secretly satisfied with his successful infiltration.
Marcus broke the oppressive quiet with a heavy sigh. "Who knows when they'll release us from this nightmare?"
His gaze shifted toward Azrael with growing resentment. "Your excessive bathroom needs caused this entire mess. If you hadn't wandered off alone, we wouldn't be rotting in this cell."
Azrael spread his hands in a gesture of helpless innocence. "Then perhaps you should install a valve on my digestive system. These biological functions aren't exactly under conscious control."
The retort left Marcus speechless. He snorted with frustrated disgust and pointedly ignored Azrael for the remainder of their confinement.
The sound of approaching footsteps eventually interrupted their gloomy silence. A well-dressed demon appeared carrying a large iron bucket, his appearance notably cleaner and more professional than the dungeon's usual guards.
"Feeding time!" the newcomer announced cheerfully, setting down a container filled with an unappetizing gruel that barely qualified as food.
Marcus's expression brightened considerably at the sight. "Finally! I've been looking forward to this."
Azrael stared at his cellmate in amazement. If this slop represents a dietary highlight, what exactly do these demons usually eat?
Accepting his portion in a grimy bowl, Azrael studied the mysterious substance with poorly concealed disgust. Rather than attempt to consume what appeared to be barely edible refuse, he opened a mental channel to his symbiotic partner.
Pride, I'll need you to intercept this before it reaches my stomach, he communicated silently.
His caution wasn't motivated by simple fastidiousness. The food distributor's appearance raised multiple red flags that his tactical instincts couldn't ignore. The demon's clothing was far too clean and well-maintained for someone working in these dank, filthy conditions. More importantly, this individual hadn't been among the guards when Azrael's group was originally brought to the detention area.
While shift changes were certainly possible, Azrael preferred excessive caution over potentially fatal oversight.
After eliminating all innocent explanations, the logical conclusion was that this "food service" represented an assassination attempt. If Azrael held authority in this situation, he would certainly pursue the same solution, eliminating suspicious persons while maintaining plausible deniability.
Pride silently intercepted the gruel as Azrael went through the motions of eating, the symbiote containing the substance before it could enter his digestive system. He placed his empty bowl on the stone floor and retreated to a shadowed corner to observe the situation's development.
Watching his cellmates finish their portions, the food distributor's expression shifted to one of satisfied anticipation.
"Farewell," he said with casual finality.
Marcus and his companions looked up in confusion at this strange parting comment. "What do you mean by that?"
Almost immediately, Marcus's expression transformed to horrified understanding. His face went pale as he began frantically trying to induce vomiting, jabbing his fingers down his throat in desperate attempts to expel whatever he'd consumed.
The other demons quickly followed his example, recognizing the implications of the food distributor's ominous words.
"Your efforts are pointless," the assassin said with cruel satisfaction. "The poison was specially formulated for your species. Once it enters your digestive system, it spreads throughout your entire body within minutes."
His smile widened with sadistic pleasure. "Even if you wanted to cry for help, the toxin has already paralyzed your vocal cords."
His attention then turned to Azrael's motionless figure huddled in the corner shadows. "Why aren't you reacting like the others?" he asked with curious interest. When no response came, suspicion crept into his voice. "Strange... Are you already dead? Does the poison work that quickly?"
Driven by caution and professional thoroughness, the assassin decided to examine the silent figure more closely. He couldn't risk allowing a target to escape through feigned death.
As he approached Azrael's position, shock replaced confidence. Through the darkness, a pair of emotionless eyes stared back at him with predatory intensity.
Anger flared at what he perceived as defiant mockery. "What the hell? You dare try to intimidate me!"
He raised his foot to deliver a punishing kick, but his leg was suddenly seized by a massive black and red appendage that erupted from Azrael's shadow. Before panic could fully register, another enormous hand clamped over his mouth with crushing force.
Violent struggles ensued as the assassin fought against restraints that felt like steel cables, but Azrael simply waited patiently for Pride to complete the genetic extraction process.
"Finished, Azrael," Pride's voice eventually resonated through their mental link.
Azrael directed the symbiote to transfer the untainted food from his own system into the assassin's stomach, a poetic justice that seemed appropriate under the circumstances.
With the extraction complete, Azrael turned his attention to Marcus and his companions, who lay writhing on the filthy floor in their final moments. Despite their obvious agony, they had witnessed enough to understand exactly what had transpired.
Marcus's eyes contained a mixture of disbelief and bitter regret as he rolled uncontrollably across the stone floor. Perhaps he had harbored suspicions about "Kael" from the beginning, but self-preservation had prevented him from voicing such dangerous doubts.
Whatever his regrets, they died with him as the poison claimed its victims one by one.
Satisfied that the other demons had succumbed completely, Azrael brought the terrorized assassin's face closer to his own. The demon's eyes bulged with fear as he confronted something far beyond his comprehension or experience.
"Your usefulness is about to expire," Azrael informed him with clinical detachment. "Pride, proceed with the transformation."
In the assassin's horrified gaze, black and red liquid flowed into his body through every available opening. He felt his muscles and bones reshaping themselves with nauseating fluidity, his entire physical structure being molded into something completely different.
The process continued until his appearance perfectly matched the deceased Kael, down to the smallest detail.
"To maintain operational security, I'm afraid you'll have to die in my place," Azrael explained with mock sympathy as the transformation neared completion.
The assassin's consciousness faded into permanent darkness as his identity was completely subsumed by Pride's shapeshifting abilities.
Genetic module acquired: [Boar Rush]
[Boar Rush]: During maximum speed charges, gain significant increases to velocity, physical strength, and defensive capabilities. However, agility and maneuverability are substantially reduced during activation.
"This module shows genuine promise," Azrael observed with satisfaction as he reviewed Pride's latest acquisition.
After dismissing his enhanced form, he exchanged clothing with the deceased assassin and allowed Pride to reshape his features into a perfect replica of the poison distributor. The symbiote's capabilities made such identity theft effortlessly convincing.
His systematic collection of materials from the corpses yielded Black Iron-level [Half-Human Weasel] (Blue) x4, Bronze-level [Human Weasel] (Blue), and Bronze-level [Human Pig Spirit] (Blue).
"After this operation concludes, creating a storage-type card becomes essential," Azrael muttered as he organized the accumulated materials. "Inventory management is becoming problematic."
Straightening his borrowed clothes, he allowed a predatory smile to cross his features. "I never expected to become the protagonist of those horror stories I read in my previous life."
Though I suppose I'm playing the monster rather than the victim.
After collecting the serving bowls and iron bucket, Azrael walked confidently toward the dungeon exit. On his way out, he passed the unconscious guard who had been on duty when his group arrived, now lying in a drugged stupor that would prevent any inconvenient questions about timing or unusual activities.
Stepping into the corridor beyond the detention area, Azrael was immediately confronted by another demon dressed identically to his current disguise.
"Is the task completed?" the unknown demon asked with businesslike efficiency.
Azrael nodded wordlessly, studying this apparent partner whose existence he hadn't anticipated.
"Then you maintain watch outside, Tyrel, while I conduct the final verification," the demon commanded before turning toward the dungeon entrance.
Should I eliminate him immediately and flee? Azrael wondered briefly. No, better to maintain this new identity as long as possible. I've finally achieved a useful position within their hierarchy.
His confidence stemmed from the assassination's method. The poison victims had died from consuming contaminated food, and their corpses appeared identical to natural deaths from the toxin. As long as no one performed detailed autopsies, unlikely in their current circumstances, his deception should remain undetected.
The demon emerged from the dungeon within minutes, his expression showing satisfaction with whatever he'd observed inside.
"No complications," he reported tersely. "The master is expecting our report."
As they walked through the underground complex's twisting passages, Azrael reflected on the ironic reversal of his situation. What had begun as a desperate infiltration had transformed into an opportunity for deeper penetration of the demons' organizational structure.
Sometimes the best plans are the ones that adapt to circumstances rather than forcing predetermined outcomes.
The mysterious "master" awaiting their report would undoubtedly provide valuable intelligence about the demons' true objectives and defensive capabilities. Each step deeper into their hierarchy brought him closer to understanding their weaknesses and identifying the most efficient methods for eliminating their entire population.
The hunt was about to enter a new and far more dangerous phase, but Azrael felt ready for whatever challenges awaited in the shadows ahead.