Lately, Belric had been plagued by persistent headaches. But it wasn't the naked woman sprawled before him that troubled him. What gnawed at his mind was a dream—one that had haunted him for as long as he could remember.
In the dream, he always encountered a man. The man would ask cryptic questions, speak in riddles that made no sense. The dream had first come to him at the age of three, and as he grew older, it returned more frequently. Yet no matter how vivid the experience, Belric could never recall the man's face, nor a single word he'd spoken.
Sixteen years had passed since Belric was born into this world. The bustling streets and towering skyscrapers of his previous life had long faded into the recesses of memory. So why now—after all this time—had the dream begun to resurface with such intensity?
What was that voice trying to tell him?
A sudden stomp from his father snapped him out of his thoughts. The sharp thud was a signal—a silent cue. It was time.
Belric quickly pushed aside his wandering thoughts and focused on the task at hand.
As he worked, the woman lying before him watched him with wide, glistening eyes. Her gaze was a cocktail of fear, pleading, and seduction—anything to distract him. But it was futile.
When Belric worked, he worked with precision. Or rather, he forced himself to be precise, to shut out everything else. And soon enough, the job was done.
He handed his father what he needed.
Without so much as a glance, his father took the heart from Belric's hand.
Still warm, still beating—it had been carved from the girl's chest mere moments ago. Belric's technique was so swift, the heart hadn't yet realized it was no longer inside a body.
Throughout the ritual, his father's chanting never faltered. It wasn't the soaring, sacred hymns of cathedral priests. No—this was something older, darker. A forgotten tongue, heavy with power and decay. The words were low and oppressive, laced with necromantic phrases that sounded like whispers from the grave.
At his father's feet lay a complex magic circle, drawn in the blood of a six-month-old black goat. Surrounding it was a plain altar, upon which the young woman had lain—the owner of the heart now pulsing in his father's grasp.
According to ancient texts, this ritual—combining the circle, the goat's blood, and the sacrifice of a pure maiden's heart—could summon a demon of immense power. Such a creature, it was said, could raze kingdoms, grant immortality, or bestow endless riches. All it took was a well-negotiated contract.
As the final chant echoed through the room, his father crushed the heart in his hand. Blood and tissue splattered across the circle, painting it a vivid, grotesque red.
For a moment, silence reigned. Was that it?
No. It was never that simple.
A chill crept into the room. The warmth vanished. The fire in the hearth shrank to a flicker, and every candle snuffed out in an instant. Darkness swallowed the space. Belric thought he heard wind whispering past his ear—but that was impossible. The room was sealed, the curtains drawn, reinforced by both divine and arcane wards. No breeze could penetrate this place.
His father stepped back, placing himself protectively in front of Belric. The boy noticed his father's hand trembling.
Was it excitement? Or fear? Either way, something had answered the call.
Suddenly, the room was bathed in crimson light. The goat's blood on the floor ignited with a blinding glow, flowing along intricate paths. The magic circle twisted and reshaped itself. From within came sounds—first sobs, then whispers, then a cacophony of screams. The circle morphed into a hexagram, etched with ancient demonic runes. The wooden floor beneath it began to rot and collapse.
Belric's heart pounded. They were on the second floor of an inn. His father had layered the room with divine and magical seals to avoid detection. Belric knew that even a thunderous concert wouldn't be heard downstairs. But now the floor had given way. Would someone come to investigate?
He peered into the hole, expecting to see the innkeeper storming up in fury. But there was no one—only a void. A deep, black emptiness. No one knew where it led.
Even his father looked uncertain. Then, from the darkness, a demon emerged—its tusks gleaming, its form massive. As it crawled out, the hole vanished, and the floor returned to normal.
The demon crouched within the circle. It had to. If it stood, it would tower over three meters tall, its twin horns easily piercing the ceiling.
No sooner had it appeared than it swung two enormous, blood-red swords at them.
Belric froze. The blades were monstrous—larger than the inn's front door. One of them bore a grotesque eye embedded in its hilt, staring directly at him with pure, unfiltered malice. Even a knight in full armor would be reduced to pulp. Only a giant from legend might survive such a blow.
It felt like staring up at a falling meteor. Every instinct screamed the same truth: this was the end.
Just as despair took hold, his father shouted a word—a word so radiant it felt like sunlight piercing the depths of hell. Though Belric had never heard it before, he knew instinctively: it was the language of the gods.
Golden light erupted, flooding the room with divine power.
The demon froze mid-swing, locked in place.
His father exhaled and stepped forward.
"Hey! Hello! Who summoned me? Was it the one lying down? Oh, she's dead. My bad. I guess it was that wicked fellow who called me here. Not my idea, I swear. Mind letting me go? I'll head back right now."
To Belric's astonishment, the demon spoke first.
His father cleared his throat. "The wicked one who summoned you... is me."
"Oh? Really? Well, damn. That's rich. Not exactly in the mood for jokes, and that one wasn't funny. Yeah, I did swing at you—but that's just how we say hello where I'm from. You know, cultural thing. So, noble priest, how about we let bygones be bygones? I'll be out of your hair in no time."
His father's expression darkened. He knew this demon had cost him dearly to summon. If it were a mere mortal, he'd have torn them apart already. But he held back.
"I summoned you, demon. Name yourself."
"That's impossible!" the demon cried, theatrically aghast. "A priest with divine power like yours summoning me? That's not how the universe works! But hey, maybe that's the beauty of it. Rules are overrated."
His father's patience snapped. "My power is none of your concern. I'll ask again—your name!"
The divine light flared, and the demon screamed.
"Ahh! Damn it! That hurts! Stop! We can talk this out!"
"Then answer me."
"Bird! My name is Bird!"
"Then tell me, Bird," his father said, waving his hand. The golden light condensed into a cage around the demon. "Why did you say the woman lying there summoned you?"
"There are only three of you here. That young man behind you—clearly your son. Don't get defensive, the resemblance is obvious. Anyone with half a soul could see it. And you, a Priest of the Light, wielding such dark summoning magic? Unthinkable. It's not him either. Which leaves only one candidate—the dead girl."
The demon finally turned his gaze to the lifeless body. He leaned in, inhaled deeply, then recoiled in surprise.
"She was the offering? You used her heart to summon me?"
The priest nodded solemnly. "That's correct."
"What a waste. A tragic waste." Bird, the demon, stomped in frustration.
"Oh? Waste?"
"Yes, waste! Why sacrifice her so soon?" Bird's voice brimmed with lament. "A soul like hers could've been nurtured, corrupted slowly. Her fire, her beauty, her potential for sin... all squandered. A living vessel offers so much more. But now? Only the cold shell remains. Surely you're not one of those who prefer corpses, are you?"
The priest's brow furrowed. "Are you implying you intended to… defile her? Do demons truly engage with mortal women in that way?"
Bird's eyes flared. He pointed to the imposing bulge beneath his robes. "Are you questioning my nature? Of course we do. Desire is part of our essence. You think this is merely ornamental?"
"No, no, I didn't mean it like that. I always thought demons consumed flesh, not craved it."
Bird sighed, his posture slumping. "Understandable. Heaven's crusade has weakened our reach. In realms like this, even basic knowledge of the Abyss is scarce. But that won't last. Soon, the veil will tear. You'll see. I imagine even acquiring this summoning circle wasn't easy?"
The priest nodded. "Indeed. Anything tied to demonology is seized or burned by the Holy Order. It took me years to obtain this ritual."
"Come closer. I'll grant you a tome. With it, you'll gain deeper insight into our kind. Next time, you won't waste a soul like hers." Bird lowered his voice. "And you won't summon the wrong entity."
Carefully, Bird extended his hand through the divine cage. In his grasp was a thick, black-bound book. A snarling demon's face protruded from the cover, its eyes glinting with malice.
It was a grimoire—an artifact steeped in infernal power. The priest could feel its corrupting energy pulsing through the air. Few spellcasters could resist such temptation.
"You feel it, don't you? This book holds more than spells. It contains secrets—truths buried in the dark corners of Hell. Forbidden knowledge. Power untouched by mortal hands." Bird's voice turned honeyed, persuasive. "Take it. I offer it freely, my master. Claim it, and all within shall be yours."
The priest's eyes locked onto the tome. As if entranced, he began to move forward, hand outstretched.
"Yes… yes. Take it," Bird whispered, a grin curling on his lips.
Suddenly, golden light erupted. Spears of divine radiance pierced Bird's body. His seductive tone twisted into a scream of agony.
"Agh! Damn it! I was joking!"
"I don't appreciate jokes like that," the priest said coldly. "Promise me there won't be a second."
The light intensified, stabbing into Bird like a thousand blades.
"No! No second time! I swear! Not there—please! Mercy! By the Seven Hells, we're both males—show some compassion! I swear on my name, Bird, I won't do it again!"
With a snort, the priest relented. The punishment ceased, and the light reformed into a shimmering cage. Bird collapsed, twitching. The grimoire slipped from his grasp, landing just outside the barrier.
"Belric, retrieve the book," the priest commanded.
Belric trembled. He dared not refuse. Shaking, he crept toward the cage, his thoughts screaming: Damn it! That demon can reach through the bars! One flick of a claw and I'm dead! Why me? I'm your only son, you bastard!
"Don't be afraid. He won't harm you. Isn't that right, Bird?" the priest said calmly.
Bird groaned, too drained to respond.
Belric edged closer, eyes locked on the demon. He could see Bird's gleaming tusks, hear the wails from the skulls adorning his body. His heart thundered. Slowly, he bent down and picked up the book. A simple act—but it drained every ounce of strength he had.
Bird watched him, and for a moment, Belric saw regret in the demon's eyes.
Regret? Belric froze. Is he disappointed my father was so cautious? Would he use me to threaten him?
But nothing happened. Belric handed the book to his father.
The priest flipped through it, then closed it with satisfaction.
"Thank you for your generosity. Since you've called me your master, it's time to seal the pact." He produced a scroll, prepared long ago.
Belric noticed Bird smirking. What's so amusing about a contract with a demon? Or perhaps he was imagining it. Bird's face was so monstrous, it was hard to read any expression.
"A pact, is it? Let me see it first. Hand it over," Bird said, struggling to rise. He reached out through the cage.
The priest passed the scroll to Belric, who reluctantly approached the demon again.
Bird ignored him, focusing entirely on the parchment.
Once unfurled, the scroll stretched nearly three meters. It listed sixty-six clauses in meticulous detail—covering every conceivable loophole. For three years, Belric and his father had studied infernal law and precedent, scouring ancient texts to craft the perfect agreement.
Bird was stunned. He'd never seen anything like it.
"Are you two damned contract-mancers? This thing's airtight. Not a single clause left to twist."
"No," the priest replied confidently. "Not airtight—flawless." He'd spent more time studying infernal contracts than divine scripture. He believed even the most cunning archfiend would find no escape.
Bird read it over multiple times, then sighed.
"You really went all in. I suppose I walked right into this."
"Any objections?" the priest asked with a smile.
"No. It's fair. 'For ten years, I shall obey your commands. I'll pillage, burn, and reap souls at your behest. All souls are mine. Half the power and wealth I gain shall be yours.'" Bird chuckled, patting the scroll. "All this effort for such modest terms. You mortals are strange."
"We have no choice. Your kind isn't known for honesty. And I've heard that 'every greater demon is a master of contractual loopholes.' If we slip up, we're doomed. So you truly agree? No hidden demands?"
Bird shook his head. "It's a solid deal. Why complain? Opportunities to wreak havoc in the mortal realm don't come often. Sure, I have to follow your lead—but it's only ten years. That'll fly by."
"Good. Then sign it. We'll discuss the rest later."
Without hesitation, Bird extended a claw, pierced his own arm, and signed his name—Bird—in blood.
Belric passed the scroll to his father, who added his own name in blood.
The pact was sealed.
A pact—a sacred vow, the embodiment of order. No force could defile its sanctity.
The priest stared at the contract, nodding with satisfaction. His eyes gleamed as he looked upon the towering demon before him.
My beloved... my strength... do you know what I've gained?The wine of vengeance, aged in hatred, grows richer with time. And now, that wine is before me—I cannot wait another moment. The feast begins now. This wretched world shall drown in ruin.
"Master, the pact is sealed," Bird said, snapping the priest out of his reverie. "So, what shall we do first?"
"Kill everyone in this inn," the priest replied without hesitation, his eyes burning with madness. Then, as if remembering something, he added, "Except for me and my son. Leave no one else alive."
Bird chuckled. "You don't need to be so cautious. I find myself rather fond of you—and your orders. But I must warn you, once the slaughter begins, my hunger may be difficult to restrain."
"No matter. You may raze this town—no, this entire nation if you wish. Kill the men. As for the women... do with them as you please."
Bird's eyes flared. "My blood boils already. Release me. I can do nothing inside this radiant cage."
"Of course."
With a gesture, the priest dispelled the divine prison. The holy light vanished.
Bird stretched his limbs, rising to his full height. With a roar, he thrust his arms upward, tearing the roof off the inn's second floor.
"Ha! Magnificent! Such power!" the priest laughed maniacally. "Go! Let them tremble! Let fear consume them!"
No one can stop me now. I will bathe this world in blood and fire. Let the foolish souls quake beneath my feet. Their spirits shall be harvested, tormented for eternity.
"I'll begin at once, Master. But first, I require something from you." Bird planted his massive axe into the floor and extended a clawed hand toward the priest.
The priest frowned. "What is it?"
Those were the last words Belric ever heard his father speak.
"Your soul," Bird replied.
Before the priest could react, Bird casually crushed his skull between two fingers.
Red and white splattered across Belric's face. He could only stare, mouth agape, eyes wide.
No... this can't be real. He's dead? Just like that?
The world shifts too quickly. Too violently. The brilliant, cunning, cautious priest—gone. Left behind for the demon to claim.
What now? Should he cry? Run? But in the presence of such a creature, perhaps dying swiftly like his father would be a mercy.
Belric hadn't even begun to grieve when he saw his father again.
Bird muttered incantations, one hand weaving complex gestures through the air, the other hovering above the priest's headless corpse.
With a simple motion, Bird pulled something from the body—something invisible to the eye.
"Greetings, Master," Bird said with a grin. "Fancy seeing you again so soon. Apologies—I may have crushed something important. Feeling a bit light? Don't worry, you'll get used to it."
The priest's soul hovered, stunned. Just moments ago, he had everything. He'd outwitted the demon, forged a pact, and unleashed hell upon the town.
Now, he was dead. And worse—his soul was in Bird's grasp.
Just minutes ago, Bird had writhed in agony within the priest's divine cage. Now, the roles had reversed.
The priest's face twisted in disbelief.
"Ah, that expression. You're afraid, aren't you?" Bird sneered. "You remember what you did to me. Clever man—can you guess what I'll do to you now?"
The priest fought to remain composed, resisting the images Bird's words conjured. Perhaps it was the scholar in him, or simply a soul refusing to die ignorant.
His voice trembled as he spoke his first words in death—not a farewell to Belric, nor a plea for mercy. A question.
"This is impossible. Even in death, I must understand. Where did I go wrong?"
Bird doubled over in laughter, rolling across the floor. After a moment, he stood and addressed the priest's soul.
"Mortal, you must grasp your situation. You have nothing now."
"No," the priest said. "I have knowledge. Everything I've learned. Surely, that holds value. You want to know how I wielded divine magic and summoned a demon, don't you?"
"Oh? Your soul is mine. That knowledge is mine. And trust me—demons are masters of torment. You'll tell me everything."
"You can't deceive me. I've interrogated souls myself. I know how pain drives madness. I'll lose my mind, suffer endlessly—but you won't extract anything useful from a lunatic."
Bird sighed. "True. But not enough."
He turned his gaze toward Belric.
The priest's soul shuddered violently, like a candle in a storm. After a long pause, he roared—a sound so raw it seemed to echo from the depths of Hell.
"You want my son? Bird, that's too far! You could do anything—why torment me like this?"
Bird, unfazed, smiled. "Indeed, I could take everything from the boy. I need no permission. But today, I find rules amusing. I want you to say it. I want you to give him to me."
"Seven Hells! Fine! He's yours!" the priest screamed. His soul flared with rage, then collapsed into a dim flicker. Bird released him, letting the soul drift aimlessly through the ruined inn.
The priest tried to escape, but invisible walls blocked every path. When Bird drove his sword into the floor, a hidden barrier had sealed the space.
Eventually, the priest's soul curled into a crevice, only his face visible as he watched Belric.
"Forgive me, Belric. Forgive me! Oh, Susan—my dear wife—please forgive me. Look at what I've done. Look at what I've become. What I've done to our son…"
He wept, broken in body and spirit.
Bird watched with delight. "Touching. Truly. You've pleased me, mortal. So I'll reward you with an answer."
Bird's grin widened. "Bird isn't my true name."
The priest and Belric stared, stunned.
"I never signed with my true name. Without it, no pact or vow holds power. My real name? Could be Zarek. Could be Mandrala. Too many to recall. But even if you knew it, you'd still fail. Know why?"
"Why?" the priest whispered.
"Because I'm not a devil. I'm a demon."
Bird laughed triumphantly. "I'm not some pathetic, rule-bound devil. I am Bird the Demon—mighty, terrifying, and utterly free!"
Belric and the priest were speechless.
After a long pause, the priest asked, "Is there a difference between devils and demons? I thought they were the same."
Bird scoffed. "Fools. You mortals know nothing of Hell. And yet you dared summon a devil. You failed—because you summoned me instead. Lucky, in a way. Most devils wouldn't bother talking. They'd simply kill."
"But I? I offer knowledge. Even if it's common sense where I come from."
"The greatest mistake mortals make is ignorance. You know nothing of Hell—so you know nothing of the world."
"Hells aren't singular. There are many. But two factions dominate: the petty, rigid Seven Hells, and the vast, glorious Abyss. Devils crawl from the former. Demons, like me, rise from the latter."
"So devils are from Hell, and demons from the Abyss?" Belric asked cautiously.
Bird smirked. "Polite and clever. You grasp what should be obvious. But don't interrupt my lectures. It ruins my mood. And when I'm upset, I crave blood. So hush—unless you'd like to lose your head."
"Most will tell you demons and devils are born enemies. But I know a secret. A multiversal truth…"
Bird's voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible.
"What is it?" the priest asked, breath quickening.
"I already told you," Bird said earnestly.
"But I didn't hear it!" the priest shouted.
"Not my fault. Perhaps your ears are failing. Or your focus slipped. Pay better attention next time."
Bird looked up at the night sky. "Beautiful, isn't it? That crimson orb—Nulinthari, the Red Moon. A blood moon. A season of slaughter."
The priest sensed danger. "Wait! You made a promise! You haven't finished your answer! What's the secret of the multiverse?"
"I'd love to teach you, poor soul. But you've run out of tuition." Bird grinned. "
"…And besides," Bird added with a wicked smile, "we demons are never bound by anything. Not by contracts. Not by promises. Rules are for fools. I do only what I desire."
He said no more. Ignoring the priest's curses, Bird produced a crimson gemstone and absorbed the priest's soul into it. Then, with a mighty swing of his greatsword, he leapt out of the inn.
The demon was gone.
And with his departure, the crushing pressure vanished—only to be replaced by a wave of exhaustion. It felt as though someone had drained every ounce of strength from Belric's body. He collapsed onto the blood-soaked floor like a heap of wet clay.
Not far from him lay two corpses. One was a beautiful woman, her heart torn from her chest. The other wore ornate robes, but lacked a head. Blood poured from them both, flowing freely across the floor like a river.
Moonlight spilled gently through the shattered roof, casting a soft crimson glow over Belric's limp body.
Then, from the quiet town outside, came the sound of explosions and screams. The slaughter had begun.
Belric remembered Bird's words: "A red moon... a season of blood."
Fatigue surged through him like a tide. His eyelids grew heavy. And in that river of blood, Belric drifted into sleep.
He opened his eyes.
He was dreaming.
A warrior approached—tall, broad-shouldered, and powerfully built. His face was handsome and resolute, his gaze sharp and commanding. He radiated strength and battle-hardened grace. His armor was ornate, etched with intricate designs. A gleaming helm crowned his head, and in his hands he carried a long spear and a shield.
The warrior spoke: "Do you know me?"
Belric blinked. "What the hell? How would I know who you are? What is this dream again?"
The warrior's expression twisted strangely. After a long pause, he sighed and said, "Were you not the last soul from Earth, we would never have met. You are of Earth—you should know me."
Belric threw up his hands. "I really don't. Why do you insist I should? If you want me to know, just tell me already. Can't you speak normally?"
The warrior's eyes widened. He stared at Belric, jaw clenched, spear trembling in his grip. After a moment of inner struggle, he sighed again.
"So be it. If danger finds you, speak my name. I will come to your aid once—and grant you all I have learned. But if you truly do not know my name…"
"Don't be so stubborn," Belric interrupted. "I honestly don't know. Just finish your sentence—what happens if I don't know?"
"If you don't," the warrior muttered, turning away, "then you're on your own."
He walked off, grumbling to himself. "What kind of people are these…? Fine, play by yourself. I'm done here."