"Pathetic."
The word, spoken in a low, bored murmur, cut through Angus's chanting. The demon king pushed himself off the tree, a slow, deliberate motion. He walked toward the pulsating stone, his bare feet leaving shallow prints in the black slime. He didn't seem to notice the foul substance, or the way it clung to his ankles.
"What? I'm getting there! It takes a moment to... to prime the divine pumps!" Angus stammered, his rainbow aura flickering as he lost focus.
The demon king ignored him. He stopped in front of the obsidian stone, a perfect, white-gold statue against the encroaching darkness. He raised a hand, not a fist, but an open palm, held a few inches from the pulsating surface. He didn't seem to be doing anything, just standing there, his expression one of bored concentration.
The stone pulsed, a frantic, agitated beat. The slime around it began to churn, a frothing, black mass that seemed to shrink away from him. The buzzing in my ears intensified, then cut out entirely, replaced by a deafening, soul-crushing silence. The air grew thick, heavy, and cold. A thin trickle of black smoke began to rise from the stone, not from the heat of a flame, but from a deep, unnatural cold.
He wasn't burning it. He was… unmaking it. Pulling it apart at a level so fundamental I couldn't even comprehend it. The corruption was a knot of diseased magic, and he was slowly, methodically, unraveling the threads.
I watched, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. The display of power was terrifying, not because of its violence, but because of its precision, its absolute control. He was a surgeon, and the forest was his patient. A very, very sick patient.
[He's... he's absorbing it! (O_O)] Angus's text box appeared, the little angel icon looking like he was about to faint. [Just like the spider! He's drinking the evil juice! So gross! (×﹏×)]
I hadn't noticed at first, but Angus was right. A thin stream of black smoke, the very essence of the corruption, was coiling away from the stone and flowing into the demon king's outstretched hand. It wasn't a lot, just a thin, wispy tendril, but it was there. He was feeding again.
The stone began to shrink, its jagged edges crumbling into black dust that was immediately absorbed into the slime. The slime itself began to recede, the purple light fading, the foul smell diminishing. The clearing was being cleansed, not by holy light, but by a controlled act of consumption.
The last wisp of black smoke coiled around the demon king's hand and sank into his skin. The stone vanished, leaving behind a patch of clean, damp earth. The buzzing silence was broken by the cheerful chirping of a cricket, a sound that was both absurdly normal and incredibly jarring.
The man made a face of distaste.
"Disgusting." He said, as if he'd just sipped from a sewer. "The local demon lord's power is as foul as he is weak." He turned and walked back toward me, leaving clean footprints in the slime-free ground. "I find myself without an appetite."
"You're... Do you even need to eat?"
"Do you need to speak, or is it a choice you make to infuriate me?" He retorted, but he didn't look at me as he said it. His gaze flickered back to where the stone had been.
His lips were pursed.
I wasn't sure what that meant. He didn't get anything out of it? No, he got some magic, at least. He'd gotten something out of the spider, too. Maybe that one tasted better.
That was hard to imagine.
"If you're well enough to gawk uselessly as others put in the work, then you are well enough to begin walking again."
He said, gesturing vaguely in the direction we'd been heading.
I hadn't even said anything to the contrary. I was still sitting down, though. So I suppose he wasn't entirely wrong about the gawking.
I didn't want to get up. My body was sore, my head was spinning, and the lingering smell of burnt sugar was making my stomach feel queasy.
"I can't tell if that was less impressive or more impressive than the giant fireball that almost got us attacked by angry plant people." I say, pushing myself to my feet. "It was less flashy. I think I was less terrified."
"Terror is a sign of a properly functioning mind. You are an idiot for not being afraid." He replied, dismissively. "However, your assessment is correct. This was less effort."
"I feel like that should have been more comforting than it was." I say.
"I am not here for your comfort." He replied, and with that, he turned and began walking.
[He's so grumpy! ( ` ϴ ´ )] Angus's text bubble popped up. [Even when he does something nice! Like cleaning up the evil stink-rock!]
I feel as if, for once, that seems reasonable.
After all, he was a Demon King.
Who ever heard of a cheerful and nice Demon King?
Or a helpful one? Or one who wouldn't threaten you with murder at the slightest provocation?
Even if it was an inconvenience, it was better than having one that pretended to be nice.
Probably.
...Especially if he were hot, I might do something foolish if he were pretending to be nice, instead of...
Himself.
So. There were some benefits. Maybe.
I picked up my pace, my boots sinking into the damp, clean-smelling earth. The forest around us was changing again. The sickly, jaundiced leaves were gone, replaced by a vibrant, healthy green. The buzzing in my ears had faded, replaced by the cheerful chirping of birds and the rustle of squirrels in the trees. The air was clean, smelling of pine and damp earth. It was almost… pleasant.
"See? All better!" Angus chirped, fluttering ahead of us. [No more evil stink! Just happy forest smells! Like... dirt! And... more dirt! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ]
The demon king ignored him, his stride long and purposeful. He was a man on a mission, and I was the inconvenient, exhausted luggage he was forced to carry. I stumbled again, my foot catching on a root that I hadn't seen. I would have fallen, but I managed to catch myself, my hands slapping against the rough bark of a nearby tree.
The demon king stopped. He didn't turn around. He just stood there, a silent, rigid line of judgment. I could feel the waves of contempt rolling off him, a palpable force that made my skin prickle.
"I. Caught myself."
He didn't say a word as he started forward again.
Somehow, it felt even more cutting than if he had.