Spark Nighthawk stared at the grimoire in his hand.
It was a thick book bound in gnarly dull-black leather. A grey horned skull symbol was etched into its cover. The Demon Contract Grimoire.
He used it twice before. One for a test. The other one to summon a Lesser Imp in Regalheart Volcano. To acquire the Glory Orb.
It was a tool he had created for contingency. A thing he didn't want to use. The risks associated with dealing with demons were immense. Even through a supposedly controlled contract.
And he truly dreaded making a contract with high level demon. But, there was no other way. He would die otherwise. And the people in Eagledome City. And even more people.
He looked at the battlefield.
The Evil Phoenix of Apocalypse blazed. An inferno of pure destruction. Consuming the Dragon King's life force. And siphoning the energy from the four Tier-7 masters of Avianest.
He could not hesitate any longer.
He flipped open the grimoire. The pages were black in color. The writing in the first two pages was glowing faintly in infernal red. He flipped to a blank page.
Spark knew the price. The cheaper he paid, the higher the risk. He couldn't be stingy. He needed power. Devastating power. And he needed it now. His gaze hardened. Unwavering.
"Very well." He muttered. His voice was a low growl even in his Draconic Werelion form. Though he was rapidly shifting back to human. He needed precision for this.
He lost the protection of [Supernatural Stealth] by reverting to human form. But he didn't care.
The world tilted slightly as the ritual outside intensified. The raw power of the Phoenix rippling through the air. The Dragon King dropped to the ground. Time was running out.
He reached up. His fingers brushing his left eye. One he would need to sacrifice.
This would be a ruthless decision. He valued his senses. His sight, more than most. It was his primary tool for observation. For control. For survival.
But it was not comparable to survival.
He took off his Spatial Belt and tilted it above the opened pages. Gemstones spilling out like a waterfall of frozen starlight. Into the pages and disappeared.
Rubies the size of pigeons' eggs. Sapphires like shattered sky. Emeralds glowing with captured forest light. Diamonds that glittered with cold fire...
These were the fruits of his hard works. Of shrewd investments. A large part of his substantial wealth.
"This wealth..." Spark declared softly. the words echoing in the sudden, eerie silence that seemed to fall around him, a pocket of stillness in the chaos. "For Matadaeva."
His inner knowledge recalled the details of the lost legend. Matadaeva. A name not really known for many at present. But it was a famous folk tale once. A tragic tale of love, betrayal, and unbridled vengeance.
Matadaeva was, in its early life, a pitiful, unassuming gargoyle. It had been born with misshapen wings. And a craggy, unappealing form. Scorned by its own kind.
Yet, this gargoyle fell in a twist of cruel irony. He fell hopelessly in love with a being of unparalleled beauty. The elven queen of a shimmering, verdant kingdom.
She was the most beautiful elven lady. The queen, as was expected, looked down on the gargoyle with disdain. Perhaps a flicker of pity. But certainly no love.
The elven kingdom she ruled was beautiful. But it was not invincible. A brutal invading army swept across its borders. Tearing apart everything the queen held dear. The kingdom fell.
In its moment of deepest peril, the pitiful gargoyle rose. Fueled by a desperate, unspoken love. It fought with a ferocity no one had believed possible. It tore through enemy ranks. The gargoyle saved the queen.
Together, the queen and the gargoyle rallied the remaining forces. They built a powerful, specialized army. Retaking the kingdom piece by bloody piece.
And then... Victory was theirs. The queen seized her throne back. Triumphant.
But victory bred treachery. The instant her power was secure, the elven queen cast aside her ugly savior. She saw the gargoyle not as a hero. But as a stain on her perfect victory. A monstrous reminder of her kingdom's vulnerability. And a potential future threat.
She ordered the kingdom's freshly recovered Guardian Beast, the magnificent Forest Phoenix, to capture and imprison the gargoyle.
The gargoyle was dragged to the deepest, darkest dungeon. Beneath the reclaimed castle. There, it suffered unimaginable torture. The queen's mages and torturers worked tirelessly. Systematically dismantling the creature that had saved them.
One of its eyes was brutally destroyed. Leaving a gaping, weeping wound. Its face was scarred into a permanent mask of agony. Its body was twisted and disfigured. Bones were unnaturally contorted. Its limbs rendered grotesque.
Its already misshapen wings were deliberately broken. The very instruments that had carried it to glory were splintered and mangled. Ensuring it would never fly again.
In that cold dungeon, amidst the ceaseless pain and betrayal, something broke within the gargoyle. Its pure, selfless love turned into suffocating hatred. Its latent power awakened.
It wasn't just a transformation. It was a demonization. The deep, agonizing grudge. The raw, searing essence of betrayal... They tainted its very being. Warping it into something truly monstrous.
It became Matadaeva. The One-Eyed Gargoyle. A devastating demon.
It broke free. With a silent, consuming rage. It systematically destroyed the entire elven kingdom. Every single person was slaughtered. From the lowliest peasant to the most esteemed noble. From baby to the oldest man.
The queen, who had inflicted such suffering to him, met a gruesome end. Her beauty was marred by Matadaeva's vengeance.
Even the kingdom's guardian, the Forest Phoenix, was torn apart. By the twisted, demonized gargoyle. Its essence was devoured. Adding to Matadaeva's horrific power.
It was a tale of utter annihilation. A kingdom erased from the map by a demon born of unforgivable betrayal.
That was the 'Matadaeva' Spark intended to summon. A creature whose very existence was a testament to the destructive power born of betrayal.
The demon would be ugly. Monstrous, and precisely what Spark needed to combat the beauty of destruction. The Evil Phoenix of Apocalypse.
Spark placed his hand over the open grimoire. He had no love for demons. No trust for them. But he understood their brutal logic.
He didn't make a plea. He made an offer. A declaration of terms. A contract as cold and precise as any he'd ever drafted in his business dealings.
"Hear me, O Great Demon Matadaeva! The One-Eyed Gargoyle!" Spark's grim voice resounded through the air. Amplified by a raw surge of will. "I, Spark Nighthawk, offer my left eye and all gemstones within my Spatial Belt as sacrifice!"
Without stopping, he continued. "In exchange, you shall slay the Evil Phoenix of Apocalypse, the creature threatening my life right now! All other spoils... anything within the range of the battlefield... shall be yours! Nothing beyond the battlefield range can you harvest without the owner's permission! Accept it, or be left behind!"
The grimoire pulsed violently. Then, as Spark mentally braced himself, a searing agony exploded behind his left eye.
It wasn't just pain. It was a sensation of being scooped out. A flash of brilliant, painful light. Then blackness in his left peripheral vision.
His body convulsed. A wave of nausea washed over him. Blood welled. Hot and sticky. Streaming down his cheek. He had paid. The contract was sealed.
The air tore open with a sound like shredding steel. A vortex of pure darkness swirled above the battlefield.
The Evil Phoenix had just slain the Dragon King. It was consuming parts of its body. Its form was swelling with absorbed power. It paused in its deadly work. Its fiery gaze snapped towards the new anomaly.
The King and the three Tier-7 masters were already weakened to the brink of death. They barely registered the new arrival. Their own lives were flickering like dying candles.
From the swirling void, something emerged. It was exactly as the legends described. Only far more horrifying in reality. An extremely ugly and misshapen gargoyle. About three-meter tall in height.
Its body was a twisted mass of dark, scarred stone. And raw, exposed demonic flesh. One side of its face was a gaping, empty socket. The other held a malevolent, glowing red eye. One that burned with an ancient, unforgiving hatred.
Long, gnarled horns curved back from its head. And its limbs were thick, powerful, yet cruelly contorted.
Worst of all were its wings. They were not grand or majestic. Instead, they were broken, splintered, and mangled. Yet somehow they still capable of generating a powerful, ragged beat.
The creature exuded an aura of pure, concentrated malice. A deep, pervasive grudge that seemed to solidify the air around it.
Matadaeva.
It let out a guttural roar. One that was more of a rasping shriek. Filled with the echoes of ancient torment.
The creature didn't hesitate. The moment its twisted feet touched the ground, it used its broken wings. Flapping them with a painful, tearing sound. Propelling its monstrous bulk forward.
It charged directly at the Evil Phoenix. With raw, brute force. A living embodiment of spite.
The Phoenix seemed to be momentarily taken aback by this unexpected challenger. But then... it let out a shriek of its own. A sound like tearing metal. And then, it unleashed a torrent of hellfire.
Spark Nighthawk watched. Swaying precariously. The pain in his left eye socket was incapacitating. A throbbing void that threatened to consume his consciousness.
The world now seemed off in his sight. One-sided. His usual sharp vision was compromised. And dizziness plagued him.
He was severely weakened. The sacrifice had taken a profound toll not just on his body. But also on his future potential.
"Not... yet..." He gasped. Forcing himself upright.
Spark couldn't afford to black out now. Not when his life depended on that brutal one-eyed monstrosity fulfilling its end of the bargain.
With a trembling hand, he reached into his Spatial Belt. Pulling out a vial of glowing green liquid. He uncorked it with a snap and poured it down his throat. The bitter energy potion taste was burning as it went down.
Then another vial. And another one.
He self-casted [Celestial Healing]. Focusing the pure, healing energy into the raw wound where his eye used to be.
It wouldn't regrow his eye. But it would staunch the bleeding. Numb the pain. And prevent infection. His body screamed in protest. But his will was a hammer. Driving him forward.
He had to stay conscious. He had to watch. He paid too high for this show.