Morris walked away from Laid and his father, disgust churning in his gut as he glanced back one last time. He couldn't stand being around such a weakling. The very sight of his father's compassion made his skin crawl.
Demons were supposed to be proud—fierce, brutal, uncompromising. If you were weak, you deserved to die. That was the natural order of things. Yet his father had let Laid live, of all people, spouting some nonsense about mercy and restraint. The thought alone made Morris's jaw clench.
He continued down the winding red track, his boots crunching against the crimson earth. Dense blood-red trees rose on either side, their twisted branches forming a canopy that led deeper into the forest. This had always been his refuge, the place he came when the world—when his father and Laid—pushed him too far.
His greatsword hung heavy in his hand, its pitch-black blade seeming to drink in the dim light around him. The weight of it was comforting, familiar.
A figure emerged from between the trees ahead.
Morris stopped, his eyes narrowing as he studied the approaching stranger. Who is this? What do they want with me? His grip tightened on the sword's hilt as he took a cautious step forward.
The man finally stepped clear of the blood-red foliage, his features sharpening into focus. Red eyes gleamed with predatory amusement.
"Well, well, well, Morris," the man said, his voice smooth as silk over steel. "I assume you're here to settle your debt."
"What debt are you talking about?" Morris replied, his fingers flexing around his greatsword. He'd just finished crippling Laid; he wouldn't mind adding another victim to today's tally.
The man raised one hand dismissively, a cruel smile playing at his lips. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Five demon cores. You had a ten-day timeframe to collect them." He took a step closer, his presence oppressive. "I know demon cores are difficult to obtain, but that's no excuse, Morris. You should have had those five cores ready for me. You should have been on your knees, offering them like a good little demon." His smile widened. "And even if you had managed to bring them, I would have kicked you back to the ground like a dog and made you lick my boots."
Something inside Morris snapped. Heat flooded his chest—rage, humiliation, and wounded pride all mixing into a volatile cocktail.
He was a prideful demon, young and strong. In the past, he'd cowered before this man, unable to stand up for himself. But now? Now he felt confident. Powerful.
"Who do you think you are?" Morris snarled.
He gripped his blade and rushed forward, the greatsword cutting through the air with deadly intent. The man dodged with infuriating ease and caught the blade mid-swing.
"This is your prized possession, isn't it, Morris?" the man taunted, his fingers wrapped around the black steel. "How about I snap it completely in half?"
Before he could act on the threat, something grabbed him by the neck.
"He crippled me and all, but really?" a flat voice said. "You're going to stoop so low as to grab someone's weapon?"
Laid was holding the man by the throat, his usual expressionless mask firmly in place. But this wasn't the actual Laid—not the old Laid who had died. This was the new consciousness that had entered the demon world inside this body, bringing with it speed and strength that were impressive, at least by human standards.
The man's eyes widened slightly. "You... you really think you can fight against me, Laid? Aren't you the weakest demon in the year? Know your place."
"Wait a minute," Morris interjected, confusion cutting through his anger. "What are you doing here, Laid? You know not to interfere with my battles."
"I'll get those five demon cores," Laid said in that same emotionless, monotone voice, his eyes never leaving the man's face.
"Good," the man began, but Laid cut him off.
"For myself. After all, I need to grow stronger somehow." His grip tightened. "So screw off, because I'm not giving you anything."
A dangerous light flickered in the man's red eyes. "Then I'll have to kill you."
He grabbed Laid's arm and wrenched himself free, throwing the younger demon to the ground. Laid hit the earth hard but immediately rolled to his feet, seemingly unfazed.
"I'm fine with that," Laid said, a strange smile crossing his features. "Dying is nothing to me."
He lifted his hand in a casual gesture, as if death were merely an inconvenience.
But something else crossed Morris's mind, pushing aside his anger. How did he heal? The question gnawed at him. I tore his leg off. There should be a hole in his stomach right now, his organs barely holding together. How is he standing there, working perfectly fine?
Laid must have read the confusion on Morris's face. "I healed up with the greatest healer in this town."
"That's a lie," Morris said immediately. "The timeframe between you getting crippled and you grabbing this disgrace of a demon by the neck is too short. You couldn't have traveled to the great healer. I know you're lying." He stepped closer, searching Laid's empty, cold eyes. "Tell me—how did you heal up?"
"Healed myself," Laid said truthfully, his expression unchanged.
Morris's body went rigid. "Wait a minute. No. No way."
He began walking forward, his mind racing. He'd completely forgotten about the man standing beside Laid, forgotten about everything except this impossible revelation.
When a demon gets extremely injured, they heal up extraordinarily quickly. The realization hit him like a physical blow. Did I actually injure him that badly? I thought he'd be able to handle what I gave him. Apparently not. I might have gone too far.
But it doesn't really matter, he decided, continuing to move forward.
The path remained still beneath his feet. No stones shifted, and the blood-red trees didn't sway as they usually did. The entire forest seemed to hold its breath.
"Step back, Morris," the man commanded. "I need to murder this low-level demon for defying me."
"What's wrong with collecting the demon cores for myself?" Laid asked, his tone genuinely curious. "Do we have a problem with me being stronger?"
The man smirked, though anger simmered beneath the expression. "No, it's not a problem with you being stronger, Laid. But you knew I had a deal with Morris. I thought you were going to give those five cores to me like an obedient little demon. Instead, you disobey your master."
In a blur of movement, Laid appeared behind t I'mhe man. He grabbed him by the neck and slammed his face into the cold, dark, reddened ground with brutal efficiency.
"You do not call me obedient," Laid said, his voice finally carrying an edge of emotion—cold fury. "And you're not my master. No one is. I control my destiny. I can draw my fate." His grip tightened. "Like a wise man once said, long, long ago: I am the master of my fate, and I am the captain of my soul."