RUMBLE!
The storm grew louder the longer it raged, but its reach was smothered by the cold embrace of thick cave walls.
The scent of burning wood shavings wafted through the air, feeding the flames beneath three hanging braziers fixed to what had once been the ceiling.
Between them, Qiren painted a diagram of circles using the blood of a bound wolf.
"Whimper—!"
The creature let out a wounded howl, its legs wrapped tight in thick vines that suppressed every struggle as Qiren worked.
With one hand, he crafted an identical circle to the one that had granted him what he now called an incomplete soul.
In his grasp hovered a raw nucleus of ectoplasm—bare and exposed—lacking the spiritual mist and emotional flavor that should have surrounded it.
Just like the fragment he'd won during his first contract test, when he'd played a staring contest to claim a demon's soul. He had claimed its soul as stated—but only the nucleus, stripped of the intoxicating emotional residue that made souls so addictive.
That loss had forced him to change his wording in the last ten contracts he'd performed. Instead of vaguely asking for a soul, he'd explicitly demanded the entire soul structure—the nucleus and the mist surrounding it.
And at first, that was exactly what he received.
But the mist proved fleeting. It dispersed with time, thinning until only this remained—another incomplete soul.
"If this doesn't work," he muttered, "I can try using the wolf's soul next."
He placed the cursed berries hanging at his waist onto each of the five outer circles—one berry per Burning Hell sigil.
Then he released the incomplete soul, letting it hover, and reached for the sixth and seventh berries still bound to his waist, placing them at the center of the formation.
Though the vines anchoring them still wrapped tightly around his hips—
I hope this doesn't hurt too much.
He closed his eyes and braced himself, clenching a handful of leaves and vines.
Riiipp!
He tore the plant free at the roots.
Agonizing pain flared along his sides.
"Fuck!" he cursed, ripping the vines out of his flesh and leaving bloody exit holes along his lower back where the roots had burrowed deep.
He sucked in a breath, clutching the loose shrub.
"The things I do for progress," he muttered as he knelt, stretching his sore back.
Using the shrub's vines, he wrapped the two central berries together.
Qiren focused on binding them tightly, weaving them into a crude fruit basket before standing again. He reached back and stretched lightly, easing what pain he could.
Normally, he wouldn't recommend this to any patient—but he didn't have the luxury of rest. His mind was still flooded with potential ideas, and he needed to act while they remained fresh.
He inhaled.
Then exhaled.
His fingers clenched and unclenched as he relaxed his chest. His eyes. His wings. His shoulders.
"I call upon the Supreme Laws of the Endless Nether Abyss," he chanted, pulling free his hairpiece.
Dark hair spilled down his shoulders as blood trickled along his neck.
"I wish to return a gift to the devout reborn of the Law of Burning Hell—"
"I know not their true name."
He held his demonic head in his hands, brows relaxed, mouth sealed tight.
"The demon I wish to return a gift to… sigh."
"This doesn't feel right…" the maw at his neck muttered.
He flung the head over his shoulder.
"Let's try that again."
Raising his left hand, he began to recite:
"Rin-Tal Moqen Tir Venek
Moqen Rin-Tal Venek Tir
Venek Moqen Tir Rin-Tal
Tir Moqen Rin-Tal Venek
Rin-Tal Tir Venek Moqen."
"I know not your true name," he continued, pacing slowly, "thus I hope our contract may act as a medium for the names I can utter. You have served me well—thus I wish to bless your devotion."
He cradled his demonic head across his arms like a cursed brush.
"I grant you fragments of my misfortune, bound to the soul you gifted me."
He released the incomplete soul.
"Let misfortune be guided by the flames of Hell."
The central fruit rolled across the stone without a breath of wind.
"Let the seeds of the abyss grow more terrifying. Gain my curse. Draw upon my blessings."
WHISS—!
He swung the bamboo handle, twisting sharply as he flooded it with Qi. Every strand of hair stood on end, hardening into a spiraled drill frozen mid-twist.
"Supreme Laws of the Endless Nether Abyss—"
Qiren gripped the handle with both hands.
STAB!
He drove it through the soul and pierced it directly into the fruit below.
The soul bled outward, soaking into the berry as the drill unraveled into individual strands, one by one.
"Hear my decree," he said hoarsely, "and grant my tribute safe passage."
For five heartbeats, there was silence.
Then the blood array ignited.
"—Argh!"
His veins bulged as Qi was forcibly ripped through his body, surging down his head into the formation. The fruits along the five outer rings began to smoke.
Miasma spilled outward—but not alone.
Heat bloomed within them. Juices simmered. A rich, intoxicating fragrance filled the cave as the sigils beneath the berries caught fire—true fire. Crimson and orange flames licked upward from the stone.
The berries' skins blackened and flaked.
Qiren watched in quiet joy as the ground beneath him darkened with overflow mist pouring from the center fruit.
And then, an image formed beneath it—
A red-skinned juvenile tearing through a group of demons with barbaric ferocity.
…
On one of the obsidian roads leading toward the first floor of the Underworld, a massacre unfolded between packs of Dao-Awakened demons.
What began as hunger devolved into obsession—a desperate need to prove supremacy through sin, souls, and violence.
"Grrr—!"
A red-skinned demoness staggered across the obsidian road, claws scraping sparks from the stone as she spun to face them.
Five juveniles closed in—lean, feral things with cracked horns and hunger-bright eyes. They swarmed her flanks without formation. One leapt. Another followed. Teeth sank into her shoulder; nails raked her ribs.
She answered with raw brutality—an elbow crushing a skull, a heel snapping a knee backward until bone burst through skin—but for every one she dropped, another replaced it.
She roared and surged forward, blood slicking her hands.
A chipped humerus, sharpened into a spike, bit into her thigh.
"Ahh!"
She faltered.
That was all they needed.
They piled onto her like carrion—fists, jaws, horns. Something tore free at her back. She screamed, slamming one attacker headfirst into the ground—once, twice—until it stopped moving.
Another juvenile lunged and sank its teeth into her throat.
Her vision dimmed.
Then—
The air behind her folded.
A circle carved itself into existence midair, lines snapping into place with bone-deep finality. Sigils flared one after another, burning corpse-white.
Dark miasma spilled out.
It poured like heavy smoke, thick with rot and promise. Pale, green-veined tendrils burst forth, veins glowing as flames raced through them.
They darkened, hardening into embering shrubs.
A vine punched clean through a juvenile's chest, lifting it from the ground. Another wrapped a neck and tightened until the head tore free. Roots speared up from the stone—impaling legs, pinning bodies, bursting from mouths and eyes.
The swarm broke—too late.
The vines hunted, branching mid-strike with unnatural precision. Screams were cut short. Bones cracked. The obsidian road drank deeply.
The demoness gasped as something slammed into her back.
Roots bored through flesh and muscle, anchoring along her spine. Pain detonated through her—but she didn't fall. The roots held her upright, spreading, knitting into her like grafts forced into living wood.
She screamed again, the sound warped and threaded with something colder.
The array behind her throbbed.
Miasma flooded into the roots embedded in her back, surging through her veins like liquid night.
Her wounds sealed. Her breath steadied. Her eyes snapped open—burning brighter than before.
Around her, the vines finished their work.
Her body writhed as twisting roots swam beneath her skin. She collapsed to her hands and knees, claws scraping stone.
Nearby demons sensed something wrong. Their infighting faltered, heads turning in uneasy silence.
She cried amid the ruin, chest heaving, roots flexing beneath her skin like a second skeleton.
And from the array behind her, something watched.
…
Qiren stood at the center of his ritual site, ankles deep in swirling miasma. Rin-Tal's image was obscured, yet he could feel her on a supernatural level.
"She's going to die!!" he shouted.
I need to stop this—
He moved—then froze.
No. He needed to observe. If he was going to keep imparting curses onto himself, he needed to know how to survive them.
"If she can't live through this," he murmured, "then so be it."
He twisted his head free once more, hardening it in his grasp. A smaller formation flickered into existence beside him.
"O devotee—even in pain, you upheld our deal."
The new formation ignited as a complete soul emerged.
"For that, I shall continue to bless you in your time of need—with the hope and spiritual strength at my disposal."
He spun, stabbing the soul before it could drift away, pinning it to the miasma-soaked ground.
Hope poured out of him.
"Huff… huff…"
The swirling strands tried to unravel, but he forced them to hold.
Qiren forced more Qi down the handle.
—Transfer.
His disembodied head thought the word as his forearm glowed amber. He forced hope from his heart, his meridians opening wide, nearly expelling it all.
The soul's outer mist flared molten gold as both it and his hair sank into the formation.
Rin-Tal screamed louder.
Qiren's hair burst from the array, stabbing the hope-imbued soul into her back.
She roared as the wave of hope carved into her being. He twisted the bamboo hilt, drilling deeper, forcing it along her spine.
Her knees buckled as she struggled to rise.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Her heartbeat accelerated.
She tried to stand—
Thump—
A massive root speared out from her back, bursting through her chest and piercing her heart.
Her arms shook as she looked down, blood pouring over her palms.
A breathless gasp escaped her lips.
The hope drained away.
More roots erupted. Her body trembled violently before collapsing to her knees.
The last thing she saw was her blood-soaked hands.
Then everything went blank.
Thud!
Her body struck the ground as the bush fully manifested.
Rin-Tal went limp.
The array hovered above her. Qiren's hair remained drilled into her back, roots stilling as the flames guttered out.
He stood in silence, feeling his ritual end in failure.
He sighed and unscrewed his hardened hair. The formation shuddered.
All remaining flames vanished in a volatile burst of miasma.
A shockwave of darkness tore through the cave.
SWISH—!!!
Qiren spread his wings, gusting through the backlash.
"Cough—! Cough!" he hacked through his second mouth.
He cleared the smoke and shoved his head back into place.
"She failed to adapt…"
His gaze dropped to the floor. The circles had dried; blood splatter radiated outward. Every berry on the outer rings had been reduced to burnt flesh and caramelized sludge.
"Not yet—"
His eyes locked onto the center.
The final fruit still pulsed, miasma pouring from it.
He stared into it.
"Wake up!!!"
The sigils ignited once more.
The closing array fractured.
Pain—
Rin-Tal's eyes snapped open.
"AHHHHHHH—!!!"
Roots erupted violently from her limbs—
—RIP—SHRRK—CRACK—