Now for the daemons. They were a strange group shrouded in mystery. While tales of their deeds had spread far and wide, the intent behind them was anyone's guess.
'Ah.. maybe this was a mistake after all.'
They were in a league entirely of their own, with even humans that had managed to walk far on the path of ascension struggling to be a match. Their only rivals could've been the gods themselves, whom they had gotten into tussles with on several occasions.
Hope for example..
She used to rule her own kingdom in a far-off mortal realm, but near the end of the age of heroes, she was imprisoned by the sun god and had been bound ever since.
In the twilight sea too, there was Rime the Demon of Repose. She had built her own city in the black skies up above, allegedly free from death. It was said to be unreachable to all who didn't earn her invitation, as any beings that tried to breach the wall of stars and forcefully enter her dwelling were instantly struck down.
Nether, the Demon of Destiny had..
'Wait.. what!?'
He had fought the storm goddess herself in her own home, causing great devastation that left a permanent gash in the twilight sea. Although he was said to have lost, he didn't take the defeat lightly, as he promised to create something truly blasphemous to spite her.
And now for his target, Weaver.
'The hell? This guy.. this guy is crazy!'
A Sybil of Sun God crushed a spider beneath her foot before the enigmatic daemon once. He watched in silence, his expression hidden behind that demonic mask of his. By dawn, the Sybil lay dead, her lifeless body transformed into a grotesque nest made by several spiders of the very same kind.
Caught between two warring domains, a city became a battlefield for powers beyond mortal comprehension. Taking pity upon its people, the daemon shrouded in mystery promised them freedom. But instead, he bestowed a peculiar mercy: an impenetrable mist that swallowed it whole. No enemy could breach its veil, yet neither could its inhabitants ever escape.
There was once a bountiful mortal realm ruled by a righteous and kind king, all of his people loved him, as he ruled through peace and ushered his people in an age of prosperity. That was until the treacherous Demon of Fate paid the king a sudden visit. What they spoke about was unknown, but the result of it had the king come out a changed man. He no longer spoke of peace, and only of war. Foolishly leading his people into a battle they could not win, the entire realm was left a wasteland. A whole civilisation, destroyed by a single conversation.
His list of nefarious deeds only kept getting worse and worse. Each one paleing in comparison to the last. Even the avatars of gods weren't safe, with tales of some having fallen for his trickery and paying for it recorded in numerous books.
Although those events were mostly in the fairytale section.. he was inclined to believe that they were true as well.
'This person is even worse than I imagined..'
Weaver was a liar. Not only did they sound incredibly petty, but they were also cruel and terrifying beyond belief. Never before did he think that such a vile entity could exist.
'No.. some of this can't be true...'
He was starting to see why everyone was so serious when he mentioned that name now. Truly, deities weren't meant to be trifilled with at all.
'Tyr made a deal with them??'
He couldn't help but worry now. Was taking his memories all that the dubious demon did? What if they took even more than that, and he just had no clue yet?
As he read more about the Daemon, eventually he came across something peculiar. It was a drawing of a mask that seemed to be carved from some kind of dark ivory; its features were made to resemble a ferocious demon with a crown of three twisting horns.
It was the signature mask of the demon of fate, the one synonymous with him.
'This mask. It looks familiar to me.'
He was getting chills just looking at it. On that same page there was also something that sparked his interest greatly.
'He had followers?'
Weaver appeared to be someone that didn't stay in the same place for too long, opting to travel around the mortal and divine realms unlike their brothers and sisters. But during their travels, they seemed to have gathered a small group of disciples.
They too were nomadic just like their master, but rather than leaving behind a trail of destruction like they did, instead they preached of the end of the world.
They spoke of the gods falling, humans being driven to extinction, and corruption claiming the world just like it did in days of old.
'This sounds like a doomsday cult.'
Due to being the mad Daemon's followers, they weren't particularly welcomed anywhere, and their presence wasn't liked in any of the mortal realms either. Unable to take revenge on Weaver, a small few went after them as well, to no avail, of course. Despite being a small group they were powerful in their own right.
It was then that his eyes flashed, a spark of ingenuinety glinting in them.
'This is it! This is my trail!'
These people for sure had to possess this sorcery too. If he could find even just one of them then maybe they'd know something about where Weaver was.
They would be his ticket to find them.
**
Azdin sat quietly on a bench near the playground, lost in thought. Night had already fallen, and the street was illuminated only by the faint, flickering glow of the lanterns scattered along the pavement. Their soft yellow light barely reached the playground, leaving parts of it hidden in shadow.
Strangely, there were children still playing, their laughter and excited voices echoing through the otherwise quiet street. Some ran around the swings, while others chased one another across the playground.
'I really should go now, but I..'
It was time for him to check in at the hospital, but he couldn't muster any strength to do so. His experience there last time made him rather reluctant.
Although he'd learned everything he'd wanted at the library, his mind was still stuck on getting stronger.
'The lieutenant I fought, she wasn't just strong because she was Ascended, she was skilled too.'
Was every Ascendant like that? He wondered.
'Right, being able to survive and then kill enough creatures to reach that level would have to require some skill.'
Now that he really thought about it, he wasn't experienced with fighting at all. Since the time that he had woken up, he had only fought three battles. The one in the beginning against the Azure Bear, his fight for freedom against Roswell and his crew, and lastly with the Ascended Lieutenant, Marianne.
His track record, although impressive was quite small.
'Hugo took her weapon, so I never got to see how strong she really was, but even Roswell and Drewey were good with a blade.'
Compared to them, Azdin just fought in a way that felt natural. He had never trained properly nor learned from anyone.
No.. that was wrong. His teachers were the opponents he had fought thus far. He had already assimilated Dreweys sharp and proper style, as well as Roswells' cunning into it, as well as his unconventional practices. But he hadn't found a proper opponent that he could test it all out on.
'I've even kicked my sword once, hahah.. where did I even get that idea.'
It had been good enough to get him this far, but was that enough? If he met an opponent that was truly a master with the sword, one that no trick could work on what would he do then?
Pushing that question even further… if he became fearsome with a blade, then applied that skill to his unpredictable fighting style, how strong would he become?
'Its not just finding a soul essence refining technique that I need worry about it seems, I need more combat experience.'
A place where he could fight as many Awakened as he wanted to his hearts content.. where could he find a place like that in here?
As Azdin's thoughts wandered further, his attention was drawn to someone approaching from the other end of the street.
It was a young man, thin in stature, dressed in an unremarkable white shirt. His grey hair was somewhat dishevelled, and his face carried an unmistakable look of exhaustion. He walked with a slight slouch, his steps slow and somewhat sluggish, as though even the short distance between them had become an arduous task.
The man seemed rather out of place against the lively backdrop of the playground. His eyes were half-lidded, and his expression held little emotion beyond a deep, lingering fatigue.
Eventually, he came to a stop a short distance from Azdin, briefly glancing at him before letting out a quiet sigh.
"Who are you?"