The silence that followed was suffocating.
Don stared at the girl in the black cloak. Her red eyes gleamed in the darkness like dying embers, and her black hair framed a face that seemed too young, too innocent, for the carnage surrounding them.
She tilted her head, studying him with an expression that was almost… curious.
"You're not supposed to be awake," she said softly. Her voice carried a strange accent, each word measured and deliberate.
"The tainted water should have claimed your mind by now."
Don's foot remained trapped in the blood that had somehow solidified around his ankle. He could feel it—cold, viscous, alive. His heart hammered against his ribs, but his mind was oddly calm.
The pain from Uncle John's assault had taught him something: panic killed you faster than any monster.
He needed time. Time to think. Time to find a way out.
"Who are you?" Don asked, forcing his voice to stay steady.
The girl smiled—a small, sad smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Does it matter? You'll be dead soon anyway."
She took a step closer, her boots splashing through the blood-soaked street. "Though I must admit, I'm curious. Your hair… it's red. Like ours. Are you perhaps—"
"He's MINE!"
Miss Mira's distorted voice shattered the moment. The creature lunged forward with terrifying speed, her multiple arms reaching for Don like the tentacles of some deep-sea horror.
Don's body moved on instinct. He didn't think—couldn't think. His hand shot up, and before he understood what he was doing, words tumbled from his lips:
"Imagination: Ice blade!"
[Imagination activated.]
[Analyzing request… Creating weapon from available energy…]
[WARNING: Inexperienced usage detected. Efficiency: 23%]
[Cost: 150 Mana]
A weapon materialized in his palm—but it wasn't what he'd expected. Instead of a proper sword, he held something closer to a jagged shard of ice, roughly blade-shaped, dripping with condensation. It was crude, unfinished, but the edge looked sharp enough.
Miss Mira's hand was inches from his face.
Don swung.
The makeshift blade connected with her reaching limb, and to his shock, it cut through.
Not cleanly—the ice shattered on impact, fragments exploding outward—but it was enough.
The severed hand fell away, dissolving into black mist before hitting the ground.
"GAAAAAAAH!" Miss Mira recoiled, her single eye blazing with rage and pain.
The blood around Don's foot suddenly loosened. He stumbled backward, nearly falling, but managed to stay upright. His mana reserves had dropped significantly. He could feel it—a hollowness in his chest, like he'd been running for hours.
[Mana: 250/650]
[Warning: Low efficiency in Imagination usage detected.]
[Recommendation: Visualize complete forms. Incomplete concepts drain excessive energy.]
"Interesting," the demoness said, her eyes now fixed on Don with genuine fascination. She'd made no move to help Miss Mira.
"You just connected to the Source, didn't you? Yet you're already using basic-type abilities. And that form…" She studied the dissipating fragments of ice with an almost academic interest. "Crude, wasteful, but functional. You're untrained."
Don didn't answer. He was backing toward the blacksmith's workshop, his eyes darting between the demoness and Miss Mira, who was circling around for another attack.
The demoness sighed. "Mira, stop."
The creature froze mid-lunge, trembling with barely restrained hunger.
"But… food… the Voice said… feed…"
"The Voice can wait." The demoness waved her hand dismissively. "This one is different. Red hair, immune to the taint, using abilities within hours of connection…" Her smile widened. "The King of Blood will want to see him alive."
Don's blood ran cold. Alive. They wanted him alive. That was somehow worse than wanting him dead.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," he said, his hand already moving to imagine another weapon. But before he could—
CRACK!
Miss Mira launched herself at the demoness.
It happened so fast that Don almost missed it.
One moment, Miss Mira was trembling in place. The next, she'd betrayed her master, her multiple arms reaching for the demoness's throat with rabid desperation.
"The Voice… the Voice says YOU lie! YOU keep me from feeding! YOU—"
The demoness didn't move. She simply raised one finger.
A thin line of red light shot from her fingertip.
Miss Mira froze mid-air, suspended like a puppet on invisible strings. Then, slowly, methodically, the red light began to move, tracing lines across the creature's body.
Wherever the light touched, Miss Mira's flesh split open, revealing not blood or bone, but a swirling darkness that seemed to devour light itself.
"You forgot your place," the demoness said quietly. "The taint made you hungry, but it also made you forget: I am the one who gave you the gift of transformation. I can take it back."
Miss Mira's screams were inhuman—a sound that made Don's newly acquired Immortal body shudder. He watched in horror as the creature was systematically dissected by those red lines of light, each cut precise, surgical, cruel.
Within seconds, there was nothing left but scattered pieces that dissolved into ash.
The demoness turned back to Don, brushing imaginary dust from her cloak. "Where were we? Ah yes—you're coming with me."
Don's hand was already on the workshop door. "I told you. I'm not—"
"You misunderstand." The demoness's smile faded. "That wasn't a request."
She raised her hand, and Don felt it—a pressure, like invisible chains wrapping around his chest, his arms, his legs. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The air itself had become solid, crushing him from all sides.
[WARNING: External force detected.]
[Unable to resist. Host's current level insufficient.]
[Recommendation: Activate Immortality's regeneration? Y/N]
Even his thoughts felt slow, sluggish. How was she doing this? The Source had said demons couldn't use magic. Unless—
"You're wondering how, aren't you?" The demoness walked toward him, her footsteps eerily silent. "You were told demons can't touch the Source. That's true—for full demons. But I…" She stopped directly in front of him, so close he could see flecks of gold in her red eyes. "I'm only half."
Half-demon. The words echoed in Don's fading consciousness. Like him. Like what they accused him of being.
"Sleep now," she whispered, pressing her palm against his forehead. "When you wake, the King will decide your fate."
[SYSTEM ALERT]
[Host consciousness: Fading]
[Emergency protocols: ACTIVATED]
[Immortality Skill: Resisting forced unconsciousness]
[Success rate: 12%]
[Attempting resistance…]
[…]
[Skill failed]
Don's consciousness slipped away like water through desperate fingers. He truly drowned in the darkness, the world fading to nothing—
And in that final moment before everything went black, he heard it. Not a notification. Not a cold system message.
But something softer. Warmer. Almost… motherly.
[Hold on, my dear. Everything will pass… just hold on.]
Then, nothing.
[System Status Update]
• Location: Unknown
• Time Remaining on Quest: 10:47:33
• Current Status: Unconscious (Forced)
• Mana: 250/650
• HP: 10/-
• Madness: 0.5%
[Quest Status]
• Primary Quest: Survive for 12 hours - [IN PROGRESS]
• New Variable: Captured by demon forces
• Survival probability: Calculating…
In the white dimension within Don's chest, The Source pulsed with a faint, protective light—like a mother's heartbeat, steady and unwavering in the dark