Chapter 142 — Wretched Humans, Wretched Demons
The winds howled violently around the altar, scattering offerings and ritual tools across the ground before sweeping toward the blood-soaked parchment.
The contract began to melt. The scarlet ink—real blood—seeped from the paper and dripped down its edge.
As the wind roared closer, the parchment trembled wildly, threatening to be torn away and swallowed by the swirling air.
Carlby clung to the sheet with both hands, his frail body shaking, but he refused to let go—even when he fell to his knees in the dust.
This was his only hope of redemption.
Meanwhile, Gideon was already moving.
The first bottle of holy water had struck true, and now he hurled the second one straight toward the crow idol—the true vessel of Marbas' spiritual form.
"Foolish mortal!"
The demon's voice thundered from the vortex. It had learned from its last mistake—this time, instead of shattering the bottle, Marbas summoned a gust of wind, catching it midair and setting it gently upon the ground.
The air shimmered.
A faint figure began to take shape beside the crow statue—a lifeless shade, perfectly identical to Carlby, a dark iron chain coiled around its neck.
The other end of the chain vanished into the swirling void.
"Human," Marbas growled, "if you dare interfere again, I'll tear this soul apart!"
The chain flared black, and the phantom convulsed in agony.
Carlby screamed as his mind went white-hot, as though a hammer had struck his skull. He staggered, fell, and his grip loosened.
At once, the parchment shot toward the crow idol.
Snap!
A boot slammed down—Gideon's boot—pinning the parchment to the ground.
"Not so fast," he said softly.
There was no way he'd let a demon reclaim what he'd just risked his life to seize.
At the same moment, Gideon tore open the seal on the wooden jar and hurled it toward the crow idol.
"Despicable creature," Marbas snarled, "you dare turn demons against each other? How naïve."
Demons might despise one another, but never tolerated being used by mortals.
With an angry hiss, Marbas caught the jar in midair—and gently lowered it to the ground.
"First I'll destroy the human," it began, "and then we can—"
It never finished.
A crimson eruption burst from the jar's mouth, engulfing the crow idol in a blinding storm of scarlet light.
"Valakh!" Marbas roared. "You dare side with a human!? Traitor!"
The crow statue's left eye glowed with fury—but the right rolled lazily upward.
"Your anger only proves your weakness," Valakh's voice echoed from within, smooth, almost amused.
"And betrayal?" it added. "How ironic—coming from a demon."
The air between them sizzled with power.
Both demons belonged to the same infernal hierarchy—but expecting one to aid another was pure fantasy.
If any of the other seventy-two demon lords were watching, they wouldn't intervene. They'd wait—then strike both Marbas and Valakh down, devouring their essence to ascend even higher.
Marbas knew it, too.
After its initial rage, it fell silent, pouring its focus into the struggle for control of the idol's form.
The statue shuddered and cracked, half its surface bleeding red, the other half weeping black ash.
The two demons wrestled in silence, each vying for domination of their shared vessel.
Then—
"Hey, priest," Valakh's voice rang out suddenly, light and mischievous amid the chaos. "You might want to throw me that second bottle now."
Gideon threw the holy water bottle without hesitation — just as he and Valakh had agreed beforehand.
A few minutes earlier...
"Marbas enslaved a soul," Gideon said evenly. "I'm going to summon it — and then renegotiate the terms."
Valakh chuckled, a cruel glimmer in his eyes.
"You'll need something far more valuable to make him even listen."
Gideon lifted a finger and pointed directly at him.
"You're my bargaining chip. But the real goal isn't negotiation — it's destruction. I'm going to break that contract entirely."
Valakh raised an eyebrow, his tone shifting from amusement to intrigue.
"You'd dare manipulate a demon? And you know where a contract's weak point lies... interesting."
There were only two ways to end a demon's pact.
The first — make another deal. But demons rarely allowed mortals to come out on top. That was their nature.
The second — destroy the contract itself.
Though the parchment was forged by a demon, its binding force came from the Unknowable Realm — a space even demons could not alter.
Demons merely borrowed the authority to amend it, but they could never change the foundation of its law.
That meant every contract was unique. No matter how many times a human bargained with the same demon, the pact would always manifest on the same piece of parchment.
So — burn the parchment, and the contract would be nullified. Even a demon couldn't stop it.
This clause once existed openly on every infernal contract… until demons learned to hide it.
That was why Valakh had been so stunned. Not even he expected a human to know such a secret.
But Gideon knew — thanks to the Codex, a forbidden Church text detailing rituals, pacts, and their hidden loopholes.
Of course, he had no intention of sharing that with Valakh.
"The details don't matter," Gideon said. "If we work together, you'll get your revenge and your holy water."
His tone was calm — almost too calm, like the whisper of a devil wearing a priest's smile.
"And I'll finish my mission. Everyone wins."
Valakh's eyes flickered with temptation. Of course, what truly drew him wasn't vengeance — it was the holy water.
"And why," the demon purred, "should I trust you?"
Gideon shrugged.
"Because the enemy of your enemy… is your friend."
Valakh tilted his head, savoring the phrase. Then a grin spread across his lips.
"Fine. Six bottles."
"Two," Gideon countered, "I need the rest for protection."
"Three — or the deal's off."
"Deal."
The demon smirked.
"You really are from the Church?"
Gideon didn't answer — he didn't have to.
Now...
Valakh caught the bottle in one clawed hand, humming under his breath. He poured the water over the crow idol.
The effect was immediate.
The demonic miasma clinging to the statue's surface dissolved, hissing away in streaks of black smoke.
Both demons — Marbas and Valakh — were weakened by the holy purification.
But Valakh, driven by his unique appetite for divine pain, grew stronger instead — his will pressing harder against Marbas's, tipping the balance.
A swirl of energy peeled away from the statue, drifting toward a bottle on the ground — the same one Gideon had thrown earlier.
Valakh's greedy gaze followed it.
"That one wasn't part of our deal," he muttered, popping the cork and raising it to his lips.
Gideon narrowed his eyes slightly.
Demons. Never fully trustworthy.
Valakh downed the contents in one gulp — then his expression contorted.
"Damn it! One-year holy water!?"
He glared at Gideon, who merely looked back, calm as stone.
From the very beginning, Gideon had never intended to waste a high-grade relic.
Using a top-tier holy water here wouldn't guarantee Marbas's destruction — but it would make Valakh think he had an endless supply. And that was dangerous.
Besides — with a turncoat demon on his side, why spend extra resources?
Twenty-year holy water was priceless. Even with a dozen more bottles in his pack, he had no reason to squander one here.
They held each other's gaze for a few seconds — each silently thinking the same thing:
"What a cunning bastard."
With Valakh busy wrestling for control, Gideon could finally focus on the true objective — the contract.
Carlby, meanwhile, had regained consciousness. He stared at his own soul — the faint, ghostly reflection still chained to the crow idol — and froze.
"When the parchment burns," Gideon said, "grip the cross tightly, and pray with all your heart."
His voice carried a faint echo of a true missionary now.
"Only faith will shield you when the light descends."
Carlby clutched the cross to his chest and nodded, trembling.
As the winds howled and the two demons screamed in fury, Gideon drew out the Rite of Exorcism — its pages trembling between his fingers.
And beneath the raging heavens, the final battle of faith and infernal will was about to begin.