Chapter 83
Chapter 83
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter Title: The Demon from 150 Years Ago
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Thud! With a loud crash, the man collapsed, and moments later, the rickety wooden door creaked open as someone stepped inside.
"Holy shit."
It was a woman with hair as dark blue as the deep sea. Dragging a loose white gown behind her, she entered the cramped room, muttering curses under her breath as she checked on the man.
"Wow, what a fucking mess. What the hell happened?"
The woman glanced back and forth between the blood-soaked floor and the man's arm, from which blood was gushing like a faucet left running. Then she quickly placed her hand on his arm and cast a healing spell.
"Hey, was that you?"
Sweat beading on her forehead, she asked while eyeing me cautiously. I simply shook my head in response.
After applying basic hemostasis to the severed arm, the woman hoisted up his upper body and began dragging him toward the door.
"Sorry about this, but mind waiting here a sec?"
Screeech-click. She dragged the man out the door, said that, and shut it behind her.
I watched the whole process without saying a word.
Where was this place? Why was I here? Who was the guy who randomly collapsed in front of me, and who was the woman who came to clean up after him?
I had no shortage of questions, but I didn't ask. I wasn't particularly curious.
From the start, I'd closed my eyes in the middle of the battlefield, ready to die. For someone like me—exhausted and suicidal—where I ended up wasn't all that important.
Of course, opening my eyes to see a guy putting on an arm-severing show right in front of me had thrown me for a loop.
Left alone in the dark room, I stared blankly at the floor. The pooled blood had soaked into the worn wooden planks.
The stench of blood hung heavy in the air.
The metallic tang lingered around my nostrils, biding its time before finally scraping across the mucous membranes inside my nose and stabbing into my brain.
A smell I'd sniffed countless times—familiar to the point of boredom. It still made my stomach churn.
Drip. Drop.
Blood droplets trickled along the grooves in the floor, seeping even deeper.
Tick.
The sound of a clock.
"……."
What did I look like right now? Probably a wreck with dark circles under my eyes, looking utterly haggard. Thank god there was no mirror in the room. Nobody wants to face their pathetic reflection.
Father—only now do I realize—
How did you live like that—
I started singing. Not for any special reason. I wasn't assigning any deep meaning to the song, either.
It was just a disposable tool to temporarily drown out the noises gnawing at me. Nothing more.
No more—don't be so lonely—
Now come with me—
The high-pitched, upbeat melody filled the room. It clashed horribly with the blood-drenched, noise-filled atmosphere.
But a superstar has to change the vibe just by existing. Amid the tsunami of maddening hallucinations crashing over me, I fought alone.
To avoid being swallowed by the noise, I flooded it with more noise. I cycled through the few songs I knew, belting them out.
It was my final desperate struggle to die sane, even if I had to die.
All day long, my heart—
Rides atop that clock hand—
How much time had passed? After belting out verse one, verse two, and an encore, I finally stopped when I heard Rockbell's applause.
"Fuck."
And out slipped a curse. I glared at the door.
...She told me to wait, so I did like a good girl, but now nobody's coming.
Tick.
Time.
Tick-tock.
Time's passing.
Tick-tock-tick.
Click.
After zoning out like that for a bit, the door finally opened.
"You look awful. Like the kind of guy who'd bite his tongue and off himself any second."
The man entered, his severed arm wrapped thickly in bandages. Kneeling on the floor, he looked down at me and greeted me.
"Nice to meet you, Anis Harper. Or should I say, long time no see? Nah, you wouldn't remember me."
...Who the hell are you?
"Me? Ah, sorry, introductions are late. Name's Kahathel."
"Oh. That side-dish-ruining bastard."
"...Side-dish-ruining bastard? What's that mean?"
It was a name I'd heard before. The demon bastard who'd taught Betty all those awful things.
"...Why's a demon messing with me?"
Ignoring his question about the side-dish thing, I spat out what I wanted to say. I don't talk to terrorists.
"Why? Just reclaiming my stolen magic beast, that's all."
And a meaningful reply from the demon.
"......What?"
I thought I'd misheard and asked again. But his next words were even harder to grasp.
"I'm the one who summoned you 150 years ago."
150 years...? I doubted my own ears. My expression must've shown it, because the demon smirked faintly.
"That 'what are you talking about' look. Fine. I'll explain step by step. I don't mind old stories, after all."
Ignoring my confusion, the demon began to speak.
When an angel falls and becomes a demon, they lose all the powers they held as an angel.
They gain new ones instead—magic beast summoning. The power to call forth and command beings from other realms.
There are various ways to summon magic beasts.
The first is to expend the demon's own power. The more power spent, the stronger the beast summoned—a simple, straightforward method. Most demons in the past used this.
The second involves sacrificing a human or a human corpse, but demons don't rate it highly.
Simple reason: The summoned beast's power matches the magical capacity of the sacrificed human.
To summon a beast worthy of demons, you'd need a strong human sacrifice—and those aren't common.
So demons preferred turning human corpses into magic-infused tools for various uses over sacrificing them.
Then one day, a demon had a thought.
If the summoned beast's level matches the sacrifice's...
What if we sacrifice an angel?
The idea spread quickly among demons, who began plotting to kill an angel for the summoning.
And after a long time, they finally succeeded in killing one and retrieving the body.
150 years ago.
The spark of the Heaven-Demon War.
The angels were furious that demons had killed one of their own and taken the body. They poured out of the city, charging toward the demons.
With angels closing in, the demons gathered around a girl and tilted their heads.
"What is this?"
"Not moving."
"Yeah, not moving at all."
"This isn't human, is it?"
The black-haired girl summoned using an angel as sacrifice. She looked human no matter how they inspected her—not like a magic beast at all.
The demons scratched their heads. Forget human or not; she wasn't moving. She looked like a corpse at a glance, but no rigor mortis, and her skin was pristine.
"Other worlds have humans too?"
"Sure, but we can't summon them."
"This one got summoned, though."
"Using a world-admin angel as sacrifice makes it a special case."
"Maybe from some unique worldline, different from the usual."
The demons debated among themselves. But nothing changed. The girl lay there, eyes closed.
"Weird."
"Wait, no soul."
"Kahathel, what's going on?"
"...Dunno. Body's here, name engraved on it, but no soul. Why?"
"Name's on the body? Not the soul?"
Names are normally engraved on souls. No soul, no name.
But this girl was different. Her name was on her body.
As if she'd been made without a soul from the start.
"...Feels pretty strong, though. Demon-level at least."
"So what? She's not waking up."
"No soul, can't be helped."
"No shit, why no soul?!"
"Beats me."
"Zero accountability."
The demons' heads were practically spinning 90 degrees now.
"Hmm... Rise! ...What's her name again?"
"Anis Harper."
"Rise, Anis Harper!!"
"Necromancer impression? Ridiculous."
"………."
This was a magic beast summoned from an angel sacrifice. They tried everything to make her move, but Anis Harper showed no sign of stirring.
"Angels are almost here. Shame we can't use our big summon, but I say we handle the immediate threat first. Thoughts?"
The demon leader asked the others, who nodded.
"Agreed."
"Concur."
"Support."
"Agreeing, concurring, and supporting."
With that, the demons left the summoned girl and headed to the battlefield.
The battle, later called the Heaven-Demon War, escalated far beyond expectations.
Of the long war, only Kahathel, Yeriel, and Auriel survived.
All other angels and demons perished.
In a war where everyone lost so much, calling winners and losers might be pointless. Still, the angels' side—with two survivors—claimed victory, while Kahathel stood as the sole demon loser.
Defeated, Kahathel fled. He hated leaving Anis Harper, but she was just an empty shell without a soul. Trying to grab her would've gotten him killed by the pursuing Yeriel and Auriel—he knew that well.
Kahathel abandoned Anis Harper. The lone girl was eventually found and taken by Yeriel.
Even Yeriel, who could handle souls, couldn't implant another into that body.
Unless it was Anis Harper's own soul.
But Kahathel was certain that was impossible.
The summoned girl was designed without a soul from the beginning. Alive yet not—a paradox.
A body existed, but no soul to inhabit it.
Like a doll. Like a game character moved by another's will.
So Kahathel didn't mind losing her.
Her soul didn't exist anywhere.
But contrary to Kahathel's expectations, Yeriel found it. A faint, fragile thread linking to the girl's body—one only she could've spotted.
Following that thread, Yeriel discovered a soul beyond dimensions.
Not Anis Harper's own, but clearly connected to her somehow.
Yeriel thought: Maybe this soul could settle into Anis Harper's body.
After endless efforts, Yeriel succeeded in summoning that soul.
The fragile, wounded soul of a girl sitting alone in a dark, rundown studio apartment, staring at her computer.