Chapter 197
The world trembled beneath the weight of a nightmare. Below, the colossal calamity-class centipede demon, a creature so vast its armored body coiled around entire mountain ranges—lay in uneasy slumber. Its chitinous plates rose and fell like shifting hills, faint tremors rippling across the earth with every breath it took.
A thin stream of molten air hissed between its mandibles. Above its monstrous bulk, the sky shimmered with lingering waves of arcane heat, remnants of the spell that had subdued it. Melgil hovered nearby, her once-elegant robes now torn and scorched, her golden hair matted with ash and sweat. Her mana-draining lullaby had done the impossible, forcing the beast into sleep—but at a steep price. Her eyes were dull, hollow, as though every ounce of life had been poured into the spell.
High above the smoldering valley, Daniel flew toward the floating garrison of the Holy Empire of Álfheim, its marble towers suspended in the air by glowing runic pillars. He could feel the hum of sanctified magic beneath him, tainted now, pulsing unevenly, like a heartbeat gone wrong. As he neared the courtyard, a flutter of white caught his eye. Knights were waving a flag of surrender, their armor cracked and bloodstained. They motioned desperately for him to land.
Daniel descended cautiously, the light from his wings dimming as his boots touched the stone platform. There, among the seven battered knights, stood Sir Maurel Favian of the Silver Crest, a venerable noble of Álfheim and a man whispered to have once stood beside saints. His once-polished armor was now torn and blackened with soot; his left pauldron had been cleaved in half, and blood seeped through the joints of his gauntlets. Though his voice trembled, his eyes still carried the disciplined fire of a knight who refused to yield.
"We know who you are," Sir Maurel rasped, his breath shallow as he regarded Daniel's armor—the dark insignia glowing faintly across his chest plate. "The Netherborn… we read of your kind in the oldest scriptures. They said none remained."
Daniel's gaze softened. His Omni-Resonance ability pulsed faintly, scanning the seven knights. He could feel their souls, frayed, exhausted, but clean. None were corrupted. "You've done well to hold this long," Daniel said quietly, his voice echoing through the smoky air. "But I sense something inside. Something festering."
Sir Maurel's expression darkened. "It's the Holy Vicar, Arnis Feldreldre," he said. "He's been… changed. At first, it was subtle, a shadow in his eyes, a tremor in his prayers. But now…" His voice faltered. "Now he's no longer human. I saw the demon take form when he struck me down with his own staff. His voice was not his own."
Daniel's wings flared faintly as the air thickened with unease. Without hesitation, he motioned for the knights to follow. Together, they sprinted through the shattered archways into the garrison's inner sanctum, where once-white marble had been stained black by demonic corruption. Sacred banners hung in tatters, the sigil of Álfheim defiled with streaks of blood and ash. The walls themselves seemed to breathe faintly, pulsating with infernal veins that glowed like molten cracks in stone.
"Don't attack your comrades," Daniel warned, his voice low but commanding as they advanced. "They're not the enemy, they're being possessed. If you kill them, their souls will be lost. We save them first. The Holy Vicar is the root."
The knights nodded, gripping their weapons tighter, their fear tempered by purpose. The distant toll of a corrupted church bell echoed through the corridors—each chime carrying a distortion, like a voice laughing beneath the sound.
As they descended deeper into the heart of the floating fortress, the light dimmed to a sickly crimson. The air grew heavy, tasting of iron and burning incense. Daniel's hand tightened around the hilt of his blade as he felt it, an ancient, crawling malice pulsing from below.
"If we fail to stop the main demon ," Daniel murmured, his eyes narrowing, "something far worse will awaken."
a living vessel to breed and evolve. Unlike spirits, parasites are bound by flesh—they twist it, reshape it, and feed upon it until body and mind are no longer separate. In these halls, the infection had taken root deep beneath the stonework, pulsing like veins through the walls.
The group could hear it, the slow, wet thrum of something alive within the structure itself. What was once a proud fortress now breathed like a wounded beast.
Sigils meant for holy protection were corroded and blackened, their light extinguished. Whatever had entered this garrison was no longer mere corruption, it was symbiosis. The parasite had found its perfect host. while running with the seven untainted knights including Sir Maurel Favian who guided Daniel in his Neatherborn form, struck casual conversation as Maurel Favian was a know scholar of the old age , especially relating to a Neather war that lacks historical foot prints.
Maurel Favian deep enthusiasm could not be stop as he was running beside a Neatherborn disciple, the only historical record he knew was that Neatherborns are a race with different soul composition than humans or other living beings. Their essence was said to be half-light, half-shadow, born between the realms of the living and the forgotten. they were brother and sister non of them have the same powers and abilities like in other races, Neatherborn dont reproduce , they take in disciples and impart their power in that chosen person not based on personality , character or
bloodline, but on resonance. A Neatherborn's choice was guided by something deeper, something that could not be measured or predicted. The disciple they chose would inherit a fragment of their essence, shaped and refined through trials that tested both body and spirit.
Maurel knew this, of course, he had studied every surviving fragment of scripture and testimony concerning the Neatherborn, but witnessing one in motion was another matter entirely. Daniel beside him radiated an aura that bent the light around them, a quiet hum of opposing forces held in delicate balance. It wasn't divine, nor demonic,it was something older, something that refused to be defined.
He could hardly contain himself."To think I'd run beside one of your kind," he murmured, voice trembling with awe. "The archives say your people once walked with gods."
The disciple gave no answer. Their eyes, pale as moonlit glass, stayed fixed on the path ahead. Only when the echo of their steps began to fade into the gloom did they finally speak, softly, almost regretfully.
And because he created the narrative of the Neatherborn out of whim, perhaps out of boredom, or even foolishness, the unseen and forgotten Primordial God rewrote his life, and made the Neatherborn real. Daniel had to face the truth: his fate as a human no longer existed. He swallowed the dull, predictable life he once had and chose instead to live the story he created.
"The previous Neatherborn did not take disciples," the disciple said, voice echoing faintly in the garrison's hollow halls. "It was more… a passing of authority. Each Neatherborn may appear as an autonomous being, yet they remain bound by the same thread of fate. We answer to the one who first formed us."
Their eyes shimmered with a faint, unearthly light as they continued."They are connected, and at the same time united. We are the physical extensions of chaos itself."
The words lingered in the air like a divine curse, truth spoken with no pride, no shame.
"The Neatherborn once walked beside the gods," the disciple said at last, tone turning cold, "but not to serve them. We made them bow… and in the end, we made them fall."
Daniel remain silent as the disciple's words echoed through the decaying garrison. We made them bow… and in the end, we made them fall.
The air thickened. Every heartbeat sounded louder, sharper, until it was no longer his heart but the pulse of the world itself, hammering in his skull.
He felt it then , the seams of reality bending around him. His thoughts, his memories, the stories he once wrote out of boredom, were no longer fiction. They were law. The Primordial God had not punished him; it had used him. His imagination had become creation, and his words, commandments.
Daniel's trembling fingers reached toward the crumbling wall. Beneath the stone, faint veins of black and gold light pulsed in rhythm with his breathing , his story embedded in the architecture of the world.
"This can't be real…" he whispered, but even as he said it, the world answered with a deep, resonant hum that shook the dust from the ceiling.
It was real.And he was no longer human.
As the realization consumed him, Maurel watched from a few paces behind, confusion slowly turning to dread. He had always admired Daniel's genius, the way he built legends from ink and silence , but now, seeing the trembling man surrounded by living myth, Maurel understood the price of such power.
His mind raced back to the disciple's earlier words.They are the physical extensions of chaos.
He finally understood. The Neatherborn were not mere beings , they were raw power made into flesh , will and entropy given form. And if the noble lord Daniel Laeanna Rothchester became one of them , it wasn't by chance, it was meant to happen , a destiny that no gods can stop, and beyond divine comprehension.
The floating garrison of Álfheim was unlike any fortress on earth—a miracle of divine engineering and lost arcana. Its walls, carved from sky-marble and sun steel, glimmered with runic veins that pulsed like living light. Every corridor hummed faintly with etheric resonance, threads of blue and gold magic woven into the very stone. Between the arches hung radiant glyphs that floated freely in midair, shifting and reforming like thoughts whispered by angels. The floor beneath their feet was translucent, revealing faint glimpses of the lands far below—rolling clouds drifting lazily beneath a sea of starlight, though it was still day.
But beauty had turned to horror.The once-pristine hallways were now warped and breathing, the enchantments trembling as corruption crawled through their circuits. Holy sigils flickered like dying candles, and the scent of sanctified oil mixed with ash and blood. What once sang in harmony now screamed in discord.
Daniel led the way, his boots echoing sharply on the marble path as the group pressed toward the Main Chamber Hall, where the Control Crystal, the heart of the garrison, was housed. Each step drew them closer to the source of the corruption, and with it, the air thickened, saturated with the whisper of demons. The torches along the walls burned with blue flame, twisting unnaturally, as though reacting to their presence.
Then came the sound, a deep, guttural rasp, followed by the clatter of armor.
From the shadows ahead, five knights of the same order emerged, their silver armor blackened and cracked, the crests of Álfheim carved with runic scars. Their faces were hidden beneath visors leaking faint trails of violet smoke. The demon parasites that had infected them had twisted their movements, unnatural, jerky, their limbs snapping and realigning like puppets pulled by invisible strings.
"Hold!" Sir Maurel shouted, stepping forward, his sword raised but trembling. "They're our brothers! Do not kill them!"
But the corrupted knights roared, their voices layered with demonic growls. One lunged forward, his great sword crashing down on Maurel's shield, sparks scattering like fireflies. Another swung at the nearest of the seven knights, cleaving through the air with inhuman speed.
The hallway erupted into chaos.
Silver blades clashed against corrupted steel. Holy energy met demonic miasma in showers of blue and crimson light. The seven knights struggled, holding back their strength, trying desperately to disarm without killing. Their hesitation cost them dearly, one knight was struck across the chest, another thrown against a rune-carved pillar that cracked upon impact. Sir Maurel himself parried two attacks at once, his breathing ragged, sweat and blood mixing beneath his helm.
Daniel moved like a storm given form.
His mana flared, the air vibrating with harmonic waves. He spread his hands wide, tracing glowing sigils in midair that shimmered gold.
"Echo Prism, "
"Initialized... Harmonic Resonance Active... Purification Engaged"
…he commanded.
The orb of light responded instantly, radiant spheres flared to life and spiraled outward from Daniel's hands, leaving trails of molten silver in the air. They weaved and danced like living stars before plunging into the chests of the possessed knights. The moment contact was made, the entire corridor shook.
The knights screamed, human voices warped by demonic resonance, echoing with agony and fury. Their bodies convulsed violently as the holy orbs tore through layers of corruption, their weapons flailing against invisible restraints. Sparks burst from their blades as they struck the golden seals encasing them, but Daniel's spell did not yield.
"Hold them!" Daniel shouted, his voice amplified by the roaring magic. His eyes ignited with silver fire, twin beacons of celestial fury. Arcane rings rotated around him in perfect symmetry, etching glowing symbols into the air. The very stones beneath his feet pulsed with each word he spoke.
The orbs of light began to hum, resonating in perfect harmony. One by one, the demonic parasites inside the knights were pulled toward the center of the orbs, bound in radiant containment. The air was filled with a chorus of hisses and shrieks as the dark entities struggled against their prison, writhing like smoke within glass.
For a heartbeat, it seemed the spell had stabilized. Then,
A surge of resistance erupted. Black tendrils exploded from the cracks in the knights' armor, coiling like serpents of shadow. The walls warped from their presence, the runes flickering violently. The parasites, desperate and enraged, began clawing at the soul-link that tethered them to their hosts, trying to tear themselves free and devour both body and spirit.
Daniel clenched his fists, his voice lowering to a growl. "You will not have them."
He drew upon the full might of his Omni-Resonance, his body vibrating with pure, celestial power. A deep, soundless pulse rippled outward from him, so strong it seemed to silence the world. The vibration carried through stone, steel, and spirit alike, resonating with divine precision.
The tendrils shattered midair, fracturing like glass under the pressure of that holy tone. The corrupted energy disintegrated into motes of black smoke, dissolving into the air with a hiss. The glow from the orbs softened, then drifted gently back into Daniel's palms before fading into faint trails of light.
Silence fell over the corridor.
The possessed knights slumped to the floor, armor clattering as they collapsed, alive, freed, their souls trembling but unbroken. The air that had been heavy with corruption now shimmered faintly, cleansed by Daniel's divine resonance.
Daniel exhaled slowly, lowering his hands as the silver glow faded from his eyes. "It's done," he said quietly, voice hoarse but steady. "The parasites are gone… for now."
Sir Maurel staggered forward, leaning on his sword for balance, gazing in awe at the fallen knights. "By the gods… you purged them without a blade."
Sir Maurel fell to one knee, panting heavily, his sword slipping from his grasp and clattering against the glowing marble floor. Blood pooled beneath him, dark against the light-imbued stone. A deep gash ran across his side where a corrupted blade had found its mark, the wound burning with traces of demonic residue.
Daniel immediately knelt beside him, the silver glow returning to his hands. "Hold still," he murmured. His palms hovered just above the wound, releasing a pulse of radiant energy that shimmered like sunlight through water. The seared flesh mended slowly, the torn fabric of his armor shifting as the wound sealed with a faint hiss. The demonic taint dissipated in wisps of black vapor.
Sir Maurel drew a sharp breath as the pain dulled. "You… truly are powerful," he managed, his voice trembling with awe. "Just as the old texts spoke of the Netherborn race, beings who could weave light and void as one."
Daniel offered alight tone respose. "I'm no legend," he said, his tone calm but edged with humility. "I only learned how to shape the old languages, the words the ancients used to build creation itself. When spoken correctly, they don't just cast spells, they rearrange the output of spell ."
Sir Maurel looked up, astonishment flickering behind his weary eyes. "To command reality through language…" He chuckled weakly, the weight of battle softening for a heartbeat. "Then perhaps the stories were not exaggerations after all."
Daniel rose to his feet, his expression sharpening once more as the corridor trembled underfoot. The light from the ceiling sigils flickered, fading from serene gold to a frantic, warning red. Beyond the shattered archways, the garrison's interior twisted and pulsed like a living thing, every rune screaming under the weight of the corruption spreading from the Main Chamber Hall.
"Can you still move?" Daniel asked, glancing at Sir Maurel.
The veteran knight clenched his jaw and forced himself upright, one hand gripping his side. "I've fought through worse," he said with a smirk that didn't quite mask his pain. "The Empire still needs me on my feet."
"Then stay close," Daniel replied, his tone low and steady. "We don't have much time."
The group pressed onward, sprinting through the long, radiant passageways that curved and spiraled through the floating citadel. What had once been a masterpiece of divine architecture—a fusion of angelic craftsmanship and elemental magic , was now a fractured dream.
Crystalline walls glimmered with runes that shifted like constellations, whispering fragments of long-forgotten prayers. Floating platforms drifted across open atriums, suspended by invisible threads of mana. Water from ethereal fountains ran upward instead of down, flowing into orbs that orbited the ceiling like miniature moons. Every corridor was lined with statues of saints and heroes, their faces cracked and blackened by demonic rot. It was beautiful, even in ruin, like a temple dying with grace.
But beauty gave way to horror once more.
From the far end of the hall, the sound of metal scraping stone echoed, a slow, rhythmic clang that grew louder with every heartbeat. Out of the crimson mist emerged another formation of infected knights, their armor warped and smoking, banners of the Holy Empire dragging behind them in tatters. Their eyes glowed a venomous violet beneath their helms, the demon parasites puppeteering them forward.
The seven knights of Silver Crest quickly formed a line beside Daniel and Sir Maurel, shields raised. "They're too many," one of them hissed. "There must be a dozen"
" they are no longer our brothers and sister, those things are infernal,"
"we need to kill them all!"
"Make every strike count," Maurel said hoarsely, gripping his sword once more.
The infected knights surged forward with unnatural speed, their weapons shrieking as they met steel. The clash sent shockwaves down the corridor, metal grinding, magic flaring, holy chants breaking under demonic laughter.
suddenly Daniel raised one hand, tracing ancient sigils in the air faster than the eye could follow.
"Harmonic Resonance"
"paralyze, sleep, bind, "
A blinding pulse erupted from his palm. The air itself rippled as waves of pure resonance crashed into the corrupted soldiers. The first line of infected knights froze mid-swing, their armor vibrating violently as the demonic parasites shrieked within them. One by one, they fell to their knees, the corruption forced into dormancy.
"Sir Maurel!" Daniel called, turning to his ally as he drew another sigil across the floor with his boot, sealing it with a flash of light. "We can't save all of them here. Some of your knights are still clean, take those I've bind and get them out of this fortress!"
Maurel blinked through the haze of battle, momentarily stunned. "Leave? What of you?"
"I'll hold the path to the Main Chamber," Daniel said firmly. His voice carried authority, steady, resolute, like the sound of order itself. "I've already calculated and assume Commander Eldric Marrow of the Holy Knights of the Seraphic Order He's rallying survivors at the Third Walled Military District in Karion's capital. Go there. Join them. They'll need your leadership, and I'll need you alive when this is over."
The mention of Eldric seemed to steady Maurel. He nodded, rallying his surviving knights with a raised hand. "You heard him! Take the wounded and the cleansed! We make for Karion's walls!"
Two uninfected knights rushed forward, lifting their fallen comrades, their armor still glowing faintly from Daniel's purification spell. Others formed a protective line as they began their retreat through the fractured halls. The ground beneath them rumbled, cracks spreading like veins of fire through the marble.
As the last of the knights disappeared down the corridor, Maurel paused and turned back toward Daniel. "Don't die here, Netherborn," he said, voice rough but sincere. "The Empire will need your light before this ends."
Daniel's silver eyes gleamed through the swirling dust. "Go," he replied softly. "I'll meet you at the dawn."
Then he turned, facing the massive obsidian doors ahead, the entrance to the Main Chamber Hall, where the Control Crystal pulsed like a wounded heart. Shadows leaked from the seams, forming tendrils that reached into the air as if sensing his presence. The garrison moaned, the sound like a cathedral crying.
Daniel raised his hand, light gathering around his fingers as he whispered in the language of the first dawn. The doors began to tremble, the seals glowing one by one.
The final confrontation awaited beyond.
The chamber beyond was vast and dim, lit only by the fractured pulse of the Control Crystal at its center , a great sphere of translucent sapphire now webbed with black veins that crawled outward like frost on glass. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and blood, heavy enough that every breath tasted of copper and burned incense. Broken pews and torn banners lay scattered around the dais where the Holy Vicar once led his prayers; now, in their place, sigils of forbidden origin smoldered faintly, drawn in a hand that was neither human nor holy.
At the foot of the dais stood Arnis Feldreldre.
Or what remained of him.
His robes, once immaculate white, hung in ribbons of scorched fabric. His eyes, pale and unblinking, glowed with an internal red shimmer , the unmistakable mark of possession. Around his body, chains of radiant scripture floated in slow orbit, each rune twitching like it struggled against the will that bound it. He turned his head as Daniel entered, and for a moment, the faintest trace of the man he once was flickered behind the ruin of his expression.
"Daniel," he said, voice layered with another , something guttural, echoing from beneath the world. "You came too late. The wards are broken. The city will fall as all the others did."
Daniel took a step forward, his boots scraping against the scorched marble. "Arnis… I can still feel you in there. The parasite hasn't finished its claim. Let me end this before the Crystal dies."
Arnis laughed , a sound like a cracked bell. "End this?" His body trembled violently, his arms spreading wide as the black veins of the Control Crystal pulsed in time with his heart. "You cannot end what was promised. The Third Gate will open, and the heavens themselves will tremble before what waits beyond."
The transformation began not with a roar, but with a whisper , a low hum that rolled through the chamber like the tolling of a distant bell. The air around Arnis folded inward, light itself bending as the black veins from the Control Crystal surged outward and sank into his flesh. His body convulsed violently, the chains of radiant scripture snapping one by one with the sound of shattering glass. Each fragment of divine light that broke away was consumed by the darkness coiling within him.
A deep crimson glow erupted from his chest, and his once-human frame began to warp. Bones stretched and cracked, reshaping into jagged spires that tore through his flesh like obsidian blades. His skin darkened into a texture like burned parchment veined with molten red light, every vein pulsing in rhythm with the dying Crystal at the room's center. His arms elongated, fingers fusing into talons rimmed with spectral fire, blue at the edges, black at the core.
The holy sigils branded into his robes twisted into runes of desecration. From his back burst six skeletal wings, their membranes shredded and bleeding black ichor that evaporated before touching the floor. Each wing carried fragments of radiant feathers, remnants of his faith, now corrupted and flickering like dying embers.
His face split open where the human features had once been, his jaw unhinging far beyond natural limits. Rows of glistening, needle-like teeth formed where words of prayer had once passed. His eyes now twin orbs of spiraling red and violet, no longer blinked but instead watched everything, even shadows that dared to move.
When he spoke again, his voice carried the echo of a thousand tormented souls overlapping in unison:
"The Holy Vicar is no more. I am Orr'Khaal, the Breath of malice . Witness rebirth through ruin."
The ground trembled as the Control Crystal responded,as it shattered to pieces , the floating garrison was now without control nor the means to stop it, as it floowed a signle path toward the main capital of Karion, Daniel once again used his Omni-Resonance and saw a few more garrison personnel were still at the area were the escape capsule were place, all 25 of them were the last to board the large container he briefly saw Maurel Favian and the sevent knight as they entered the capsule, Daniel took his time to feed the demon Orr'Khaal, vanity as it proclaimed its victory .
The demon wasn't merely vile, born of malice, it was arrogant, prideful, the sort of being that assumed the world existed solely to feed its ego. Orr'Khaal radiated power even from the control chamber, a suffocating aura of demonic energy that would have crushed the resolve of any ordinary hunter. Shadows writhed unnaturally around him, as if the very air obeyed his will, pulsing with rage and contempt.
Yet Daniel entered without a trace of his chaos mana, in his normal human form. His steps were calm, deliberate. The oppressive energy that would have made lesser men stumble barely brushed him. He didn't flinch.
In fact, as he observed Orr'Khaal more closely, a strange thought crept into his mind: This demon… is childish.
Every movement, every roar, every attempt at intimidation was exaggerated, theatrical, almost petulant. Daniel blinked once, almost incredulous. The very creature that had orchestrated the descent of the garrison, that had amassed armies and spread terror across the lands… was, in essence, a mere brat throwing a tantrum.
The irony was delicious, though Daniel didn't smile. He simply stepped forward, his presence neutral, unshaken. The demon's pride flared like a fire against a stone wall, useless and impotent.
Orr'Khaal's eyes narrowed, and for a fleeting moment, the air around him shimmered with fury. "Who dares" he began, but even before the words left his throat, Daniel's calm, human demeanor stripped away the grandeur and menace he had relied on for so long.
In that instant, Daniel understood something profound: power is not always as terrifying as it seems, and even the mightiest can appear ridiculous when stripped of the narrative the world expects of them.
At the same time the floating garrison of Álfheim descended steadily, drifting toward an angel some 400 meters away. From its height of 120 meters, the fall could have been catastrophic. Yet Daniel realized the impact would be far less destructive than he initially feared. Though the garrison was massive, almost the size of a human-made aircraft carrier,it moved deliberately, controlled by forces beyond mere mechanics.
He scanned the vessel mentally, confirming the grim reality. Nearly all the transport capsules were gone. Nearly 300 personnel had already reached the ground. Many of them, however, were in no condition to engage in combat. Limbs twisted, armor cracked, exhaustion etched on every face.
The worst part, Daniel thought, was that despite their numbers, they were still not out of danger. The angel loomed closer, its massive wings slicing through the air, its form radiating a terrible light that made the shadows of the garrison tremble.
The demon, Orr'Khaal, moved with a deceptive grace toward the wide window frame of the garrison's control chamber. The holy light that once filled the room had long since faded; what remained was a faint, corrupted glow that bent and twisted around his form.
Beneath his clawed feet, the last traces of the Holy Vicar, Arnis Feldreldre, had vanished, his soul completely devoured. No echo, no scream, not even a whisper lingered in the air. The sanctified chamber had become a tomb of silence.
Orr'Khaal's body began to change, shedding its monstrous form like a serpent sloughing its skin. Muscles twisted and reshaped, bones cracking and reforming beneath the surface as the grotesque silhouette took on a disturbingly human shape. The great ibex-like horns receded, shrinking until they curved neatly backward each no longer than a foot from base to tip.
His jagged fangs dulled into humanlike teeth, though two prominent canines remained, glinting whenever he breathed. The slick, tar-black skin faded into a dark gray sheen, smooth and almost regal in its texture. Yet, not all traces of his true nature vanished, four eyes remained, arranged in perfect symmetry across his face, glowing faintly with a crimson shimmer that betrayed the truth: no matter how human he appeared, Orr'Khaal was still every bit a middle class Infernal demon.
it was still something uncomfortably familiar, a man draped in arrogance, moving with the easy confidence of one who believes himself untouchable.
He stood before the window, hands clasped behind his back, gazing down at the fractured landscape below as if admiring his own work.
Daniel, still in his human guise, studied the demon with quiet precision. He had expected chaos and fury, not vanity. The transformation confirmed it, the demon's pride ran deeper than its hunger.
So, Daniel played along. He mirrored Orr'Khaal's arrogance with an expression of mild amusement, a raised brow, and the faintest curl of a smile. He wanted to draw the demon out, to understand its intentions rather than rush into battle.
"Fitting view for someone who fancies himself a god," Daniel said lightly.
Orr'Khaal's head tilted, intrigued. "Careful, mortal. Mockery has cost men their souls."
Daniel stepped closer, unflinching. "And gluttony has cost demons their reason."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then, the faintest twitch of irritation crossed Orr'Khaal's perfect face. Daniel noted it, there, a crack in the mask. The demon could act human, but it could not be human.
As Daniel studied him, fragments of memory bled into his mind, visions from the void space he once inhabited. A legion of demons waiting in the dark, countless eyes fixed on a single rift suspended between dimensions.
Then the realization struck him like a wave of ice. He spoke softly, almost to himself:"They're waiting for the rift to open again…"
His gaze sharpened, focused on Orr'Khaal."But what's the main trigger?"
The demon's smile widened, eyes burning faintly crimson. His voice slithered through the chamber, both mocking and sharp.
"You think I will answer your question? I am a noble demon in my world," he sneered, each word heavy with disdain.
He took a slow step forward, the air rippling with oppressive heat and the metallic taste of sulfur. "Do you truly believe I would reveal the design of my master plan to a human pretending ignorance?"
Daniel didn't flinch. His calm expression was a mask, but behind it, thoughts collided like storms. Orr'Khaal was taunting him, yes, but that arrogance had rhythm, purpose. There was something beneath it. A hint of fear.
"You talk too much for someone who thinks he's already won," Daniel said flatly.
Orr'Khaal's laughter reverberated through the chamber, deep and cruel, echoing against the fractured glass. "Win? Oh, little human, this isn't about winning. This is about remembering. Remembering what our creator made us for… and what happens when the final page turns."
The last word rolled from his tongue like a curse, and the entire garrison groaned in answer. Bolts strained, panels warped, the structure itself seemed to shudder under the weight of that truth.
Daniel's eyes narrowed. He took a careful step forward, the light of the flickering console glinting off his face.
"So, as a noble demon, you're bound to your lineage," he said slowly, tone thoughtful. "Bound by rules, by the pride of your bloodline… correct?"
Orr'Khaal's smirk faltered just slightly, an imperceptible twitch, but Daniel caught it.
The silence that followed was thick, heavy, like the air before a storm.
"Interesting," Daniel murmured. "Because that means even nobility can be chained."
For the first time, the demon's eyes flickered, not with arrogance, but with anger.
"What do you know about nobility?" Orr'Khaal snarled. "We were created before humans ever crawled out of those clay molds."
His voice deepened, resonating through the metal walls like thunder. "Our kind established the Seat of Power, the throne from which chaos itself once ruled all."
He stepped closer, his aura burning hotter, distorting the air between them. "You might be right, mortal, but you are wrong about one thing. Chaos never faded. Chaos still rules everything."
Daniel tilted his head slightly, as if studying a flawed piece of art. Then, without a word, his form began to shimmer. The air rippled around him like disturbed water, and the faint hum of cosmic energy filled the chamber.
In the blink of an eye, the human façade dissolved. His skin took on the pale glow of moonlight and shadow; his eyes, two endless mirrors of twilight.
He had become a Netherborn.
Orr'Khaal's four eyes widened in recognition and rage. "So it was true," he hissed. "A Netherborn set foot on this land!"
The demon's voice cracked into a guttural roar, trembling with hate. "You're the one who made my master furious!"
He straightened, his expression hardening into cold amusement. "But you are still a youngling. I, on the other hand, have centuries of conquest and slaughter behind me." He grinned, baring his remaining fangs. "Killing you will raise my rank higher than ever before."
Daniel said nothing. His Neaherborn eyes reflected Orr'Khaal's image, distorted, fading at the edges, as if the demon's existence was already unraveling in his gaze.
The air split with a roar. Orr'Khaal moved first, his body exploding in motion faster than a mortal eye could track. The floor beneath him cracked, molten light spilling from his footprints as he lunged forward. The impact shattered the control dais, scattering shards of crystal and fragments of steel through the chamber like glass rain.
"KNEEL, YOUNGLING!" he thundered, his four eyes blazing crimson. In each of his hands, dark fire coalesced into curved blades of molten obsidian. The weapons screamed with trapped souls as he swung, one horizontal slash meant to decapitate, the other to cleave Daniel from chest to spine.
The strikes never connected.
Daniel didn't dodge. He didn't even blink.
The world simply bent around him.
The air thickened, sound dulled, and for an instant, every particle in the chamber hung suspended in timeless stillness. Orr'Khaal's blades froze mid-swing, caught in a shimmering distortion that rippled outward like water disturbed by a single drop.
Daniel exhaled softly, his voice calm, almost curious."Chaos isn't destruction, Orr'Khaal. It's balance refusing to obey."
The energy around him pulsed, an unseen gravity that obeyed no law of nature. The black-gold veins from before flickered across the floor and walls, responding to him like living script.
Orr'Khaal strained, roaring in fury, trying to force his blades through the stillness. "What—what have you done!?"
Daniel looked at him with those mirrorlike eyes, where light and shadow danced in perfect symmetry. "I didn't stop your attack," he said softly. "I just removed the concept of movement from this space."
He raised one hand, fingers tracing a faint spiral in the air. Reality cracked.
The demon's weapons shattered, not from force, but from irrelevance. The moment his will defied Daniel's domain, his magic simply ceased to exist.
Orr'Khaal stumbled back, his arrogance finally slipping into raw disbelief. "You… you wield true chaos"
Daniel stepped forward, his tone devoid of emotion. "No, Orr'Khaal. I wield what you've spent eons misunderstanding."
He flicked his wrist, and the suspended debris began to fall again, time resuming its course. The demon crashed to one knee, gasping, his four eyes flickering with both rage and fear.
Daniel stopped a few paces away, calm as ever, his presence alone distorting the light."Now," he said, voice low, "let's talk about your master."
" how can you do that?"
"I studied hard and memorize all the spells in this realm, I can manipulate , reconstruct, and remake the spells foundation and used it to my benefit"