Demon and Knight (2)
The demon who had cast its shadow over Tirnanog using the Chalice of Truth as a catalyst watched Kriel's actions with keen interest. Though he had concealed his presence with a holy sigil imbued with divine power, it couldn't fool the demon's gaze. The pure darkness dwelling within that flesh bore witness to the knight's true nature.
Thus, until the knight's jet-black sword aura struck the Chalice of Truth, the demon had dismissed it as mere formality. When picturing a knight drawing the eye of an abyssal demon, one naturally imagined a Dark Knight—and the most resolute response to such suspicion was aggression. Yet Dark Fighting Spirit conjured from blood qi or resentment held little value against a demon. Their very existence already embodied such forces.
Pretend to halt the abyssal flood with a show of overwhelming power. But alas, the encroaching shadow outpaced even the knight's heroic charge, plunging him into a realm of utter darkness. This 'performance' would prove his innocence to the Lir family—specifically to Alberik. The true negotiation would unfold in the lightless abyss, beyond their sight.
After forging the pact, stage his narrow escape from the fiend's wicked ploy. Moved by that desperate struggle, Alberik would slay the traitorous spirit who betrayed the house—and with that, no one would harbor doubts about the knight. A cunning scheme indeed. Including the sword casually tossed before talks began: one of the Seven Great Demonic Weapons.
Thrusting the Demon King's legacy before a demon's eyes—what else could it declare but ambition to claim the abyss's throne? The Corpse-Eating Sword Gratuon was a vital cog in Grikenkos's scheme. For the knight to wield it meant he had wrested the artifact from Grikenkos's vanguard by sheer force. A bold flaunt of power.
The demon stood ready to indulge such a mighty, devious ally's whims. Against the demonic weapon's master, a trifle like the Chalice of Truth could be offered up endlessly.
The demon's expectations shattered. The knight's inky-black sword strike wasn't Dark Fighting Spirit at all. Plain, unadulterated fighting spirit—pure and unsullied by blood qi or resentment—burrowed into the tainted chalice.
An unforeseen twist, yet all the more intriguing. The demon deepened its shadow through the chalice's fracture. The abyss surged from the wound.
He blinked. The darkness wasn't just thick—it clung like viscous tar. Moving felt laborious, like swimming through dense fluid. Whispers slithered into his ears.
Accept us. Embrace the power. This is your place. Here lies the army you'll command, the lands you'll rule, the throne you'll inherit.
A voice from the abyss, yet also a temptation swelling from within. Kriel closed his eyes once. The chill of his armor pressed in, constricting. Recalling the divine pressure, he spoke.
"Begone—!"
A momentary hush. Then the abyss-packed darkness mocked him.
We can grant you eternity. We can grant you dominion. We can grant you infinity. All that mortals crave resides in this abyss.
But Kriel ignored the murmuring shadows. His shout hadn't targeted the abyss's gloom, but the lure gnawing inside him.
Regaining composure, Kriel glared into the abyss. The moment he peered in, it peered back.
Huuuh—all temptations faded. Beyond the abyss's own desirous chorus, the realm's dweller finally turned its gaze.
"Welcome, our knight. I am Kromnagha, one of the six grand dukes of the abyss."
'Not Grikenkos...!' Kriel held his silence. The abyssal grand duke eyed the knight, whose crimson gaze flashed amid the red glow in the dark. The knight's black plate armor was savagely ornate, veiling even the golden filigree beneath—like a mad artist's rendition of a man who devoured dragons. Despite the vivid aura of battle-lust, holy power coursed through that armor. The demon's intrigue deepened.
"Why does the vanguard of darkness shun providence's chains? Such petty laws and edicts are worthless before us."
"I don't trust you."
A Dark Knight distrusting an abyssal demon? Another unforeseen reply. Those hungering for greater power typically sought demons—only to betray them later, claiming that strength to ascend as new fiends. For one steeped in the abyss to reject outer-world might was inconceivable.
Outer-world power, indeed. The demon queried Kriel.
"Knight, I understand your distrust. But I've given my name. For your honor's sake, reveal yours."
"No honor serves the abyss."
A simple, crystalline refusal. Yet impossible for an ordinary Dark Knight, whose power's obsession and honor-mania would compel acceptance. A Dark Knight this distant from them—such a being shouldn't exist. But the demon knew well those summoned from beyond the world to achieve the impossible.
"Now I see. We know your kind well, guests of Tirnanog. Though you've come sooner than expected."
"Didn't your king get torn apart by those guests?"
Sharp hostility. The demon rejoiced.
"Of course. Indeed. Tirnanog's so-called heroes felled our king. But, knight—"
"Do you know the first Balor was also a guest of Tirnanog?"
Unknown lore to Kriel. 'The first Balor?'
"We six hold the seats, names change but the count remains six. We six—three-as-one against providence—could not prevail. Equal in number, yet Tirnanog sided with providence."
"Thus we invited a guest. The seventh, our king to lead against providence."
"Six against six, we falter. But seven against six? Victory seemed assured."
The darkness quivered. Kriel recognized it as the demon's laughter. The abyssal realm twisted, upending his sense of direction.
"Providence mirrored our deed. Our seventh Balor fell, the hero vanished."
"Yet here stands the third successor to the seven thrones. How delightful."
"Think I'll be your vanguard?"
"No! Far from it! You'll be no pawn but a general—no slave but emperor!"
The demon added an enigmatic riddle.
"The youngest becomes the eldest. That's the seventh seat."
"No. I'll be none of you."
Not the prior defiant roar, but a quiet murmur. Yet the softened tone betokened no wavering faith—a calm decree. He would not be stained by the abyss.
"Ah, the throne awaits you. The most glorious seat, etched in the abyss's depths."
Kriel raised his sword. A silent rebuff. The demon laughed once more. Amid the quaking abyss, his blade tip held steady.
"Very well. For earnest negotiation, not honeyed words or false smiles—but truth."
Rumble! The abyss morphed. A miracle possible only in the grand duke's domain. Towering walls erupted, lit by clusters of blue ghostfire. Within the circular enclosure lay a barren stage: an abyssal arena.
The demon extended a finger. Shadow-droplets like blood beads fell from it. The abyssal gloom coalesced. It took human form—but no ordinary man. Armored, dual-wielding greatswords, crimson eyes blazing beneath his helm.
"The potential awaiting you one step further—the power you can seize now..."
Kriel noted one timbre missing from the demon's kaleidoscopic voice. A soul the demon hoarded now stood before him.
"Behold my kin. No match for a king, but my faithful knight."
"Kromnagha. Your loyal servant, Gila Decaire, answers the summons."
"Go. Dark Knight. Reveal plain truth to your distant heir and future king."
Gila Decaire raised his blade. Blood qi coursed through him, tracing crimson lines across his body. Resentment clung to the edge. Wails of the damned echoed from the throbbing steel. Corrupted souls drew forth abyssal might.