A Contract with a Demon (2)

Hair as black as midnight, falling all the way to her waist. Crimson eyes so mesmerizing that once they caught yours, looking away became nearly impossible.

Faces come in types, they say—but the woman before him seemed to exist beyond any such category. At first glance her figure, full where it ought to be full and spare where it ought to be spare, together with clothes designed to flaunt bare skin, called a harlot to mind. Yet the moment those eyes met yours, she somehow conjured the image of an innocent maiden. From another angle she was a woman in full bloom, ripe with experience; from still another, she could have been a little sister. In truth, she was a woman who possessed every allure a woman could possess.

And yet, for reasons unknown, every one of her limbs was bound in iron chains. A plight that might have driven anyone to terror—but far from weeping, she hummed through her nose as if she were enjoying herself.

"At last, something interesting has happened since they threw me into Purgatory."

The connection to her minion had been severed completely. He was dead, most likely. She didn't care. A minion had never meant much to her anyway—at best, a courier who ferried a millet-grain of power in the hope of escaping Purgatory.

If anything, she had hoped for something like this. The minion was an insect to her, but in the mortal world he was a being that demanded a genuine expert to put down. His death, then, meant that whoever had killed him was at least worth something.

She had been chuckling to herself. Then she stopped. Not only had the connection been cut—the power she had bestowed was gone as well.

"It would seem this seat's minion has fallen into the hands of a rather vicious one."

The minion's death had been within her expectations. Swallowing the power whole, however, had not. She had even taken measures so that if anyone claimed that power, she could descend to the mortal world at once.

"And yet he ate it anyway..."

The woman let out a short, dry laugh.

"A provocation. He dares provoke this seat. Now that is a novel experience, is it not?"

She had intended to speak in voice alone, but she changed her mind. She wanted a look at the face of this thief whose audacity had spilled clean out of his belly.

Descending to the mortal world in spirit form, the woman saw the thief's face at once. She took in his appearance and, however briefly, was impressed.

It was a face that even an incubus—those infamous seducers of men—would have to concede a point to. A well-proportioned body. Blue eyes like gemstones cut and polished. Short blue hair to match, lending him the air of a young nobleman.

But her eyes lingered on his looks for only a moment. The instant she saw his soul, the object of her interest shifted. He was unmistakably human—and yet his soul was closer to a demon's than anything else.

In terms of the power contained in that soul alone, he rivaled a high-ranking demon. Ordinarily, when a soul's caliber ran this high, the body's vessel rose to match it. Strangely, this man's vessel was one step from shattering. Had he not absorbed her minion's power, he would surely have died before he ever faced her.

"I see."

She surveyed the scene a little further and pieced the situation together. The man still held his head high, staring her down. He had not taken the power merely as a provocation. Calling her had been the point from the beginning.

It was pleasant, being given a diversion after so long—but the insolence was real enough. To correct that attitude, she opened a mere fragment of her power. Enough that a man whose vessel was already in pieces should not have been able to stay on his feet.

Contrary to Barbatos's expectations, the man stood there, unshaken.

"Oho. You endure it in that body. I thought you would collapse at once. How unexpected."

"...For a first meeting, the greeting is a little aggressive."

"You ought to have sent this seat a proper invitation, and instead you provoked me into coming. Take this as this seat being merciful. It was merely the punishment due a wretch who failed to show courtesy first. If anything, this seat would like to hear your thanks."

When the man looked puzzled, she kindly explained.

"Committing such insolence and still having your head attached is not a common occurrence, you see."

"How very grateful I am."

"Which brings me to the point. Human."

"Patrick Chevalier."

"Hmph. Very well. Patrick Chevalier. Why did you summon this seat, even at the cost of such insolence? Having absorbed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my minion, you must have known—that something of an entirely different caliber was connected to him."

"...Before that, withdraw this power. It makes conversation difficult."

"You endured so well I quite forgot. My apologies."

She flicked her fingers, and the force pressing down on the surroundings vanished. He had looked fine on the surface, but it seemed the strain had been real enough—only then did Patrick steady his breathing.

"Before I answer that, you should introduce yourself first."

"Puhuhu. Ordinarily this seat does not take questions, but very well. It has been a long while since I last went out. I shall grant you that much of an answer. This seat's name is Barbatos. A primordial demon, born at the dawn of all things, who once brought demonkind to heel and challenged the Demon God himself."

"...The Demon God? And you claim to be an ancient demon?"

"Yes. This seat is Barbatos, a primordial demon. Though, having said that, I did lose to my father in the end and get thrown into Purgatory."

Having heard it all, Patrick raked a hand through his hair.

"...Another character who never appeared in the original work."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing of any importance. Whatever you are, a high-ranking demon of your caliber suits my purposes well enough."

"Oho. And what purpose was worth summoning me?"

"A contract."

At the word contract, Barbatos smiled and stepped toward Patrick. She traced his face with her fingers, as if intrigued, and asked:

"Is it the vessel? If you want it fully restored, I refuse. Your vessel has already strayed so far from the natural order that even this seat cannot do anything about it. That is a realm of impossibility unless a miracle occurs that rewrites the laws themselves."

"No. I would have been glad if it were possible, but that is not the contract I want."

"Then what is it? A mere temporary repair of the vessel was something even this seat's minion could have managed."

"An adjustment to the method of payment. That one was only a low-ranking demon. The only tribute he could take from me was my soul and my emotions. A demon of your caliber should be capable of other forms of payment."

"Hmmm. Speak, then."

"I will change how emotions are paid. My own emotions come last in priority. The default payment will be the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠emotions of others, generated by my actions."

Barbatos wound herself around Patrick's neck then and there. Her ample chest pressed naturally against his. She whispered into his ear.

"In other words, you want me to feed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on emotions directed at you—respect, admiration, envy, and the like. For that sort of fare to be efficient, you would need hundreds, thousands of people—not one or two. Or else the concentration of emotion would have to be exceptionally high. Can you pay a proper price?"

"That is why I said it. My own emotions are last in priority. If it falls short, I will pay with mine. As for the soul—harvest it only when I die."

"And why should this seat bother to wait? Bound by causality though I may be, one such as you—"

With the hand she had wound around him, Barbatos stroked his Adam's apple.

"I need only snap it like this. You would have me pass up something so easy and go home?"

"Then stay buried in Purgatory. The choice is yours. I will say this before I die, though. If you contract with me, I will gather enough power for you to escape that place within four years at most."

"...Do you even know how much power that requires, to speak so? Even a cute, ignorant child has a line I will not sit still for."

"Believe it or don't. I already said that is your choice. Four years is little more than an instant to you anyway, is it not?"

"..."

Before she knew it, Barbatos had drawn back from Patrick. She had been interested in him at first. Now she could not tell what he was thinking.

He would gather the power for her to escape Purgatory. Easy to say—if it were not on the scale of offering up every human being in the Empire as a sacrifice, perhaps. Did the man in front of her understand that when he said it?

Even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠if he doesn't, it hardly matters.

As Patrick had said, four years was an instant to her. If the quota went unfilled when those four years were up, she need only harvest that ripe soul of his then and there. And honestly, she was a little curious why he would display that much confidence.

"Very well. I accept."

"One last thing. Give me the right to choose the form of payment."

"You ask for a great deal. The right to choose. What do you mean?"

"I want to be able to choose whether I pay with lifespan, or whether I borrow and use your power. Also, restrict what can be taken as payment to things I myself possess—not emotions alone."

"That much should be no issue."

Only after they had adjusted even the finer points related to his safety could the negotiations be concluded.

"Then, under this seat's name—Barbatos—the contract shall proceed. Contractor Patrick Chevalier, do you consent to this contract?"

"I consent."

"I swear."

When their mutual consent was complete, a crimson thread formed between Barbatos's heart and Patrick's. She grasped the nature of that crimson thread—and understood how her minion had died.

"What an interesting power. A contract even this seat cannot dissolve. You hold an authority far too great for such a frail vessel. I take it you toyed with the contract and killed my minion?"

"Do you mean to take revenge even now?"

Barbatos shook her head.

"Did I not say? A contract even this seat cannot dissolve. I am now in the position of having no choice but to fulfill it. I had no intention of breaking it to begin with, but being compelled by something is a distinctly unpleasant sensation. And power of this magnitude... were you chosen by a god?"

"I don't know either. It has been possible since the moment I entered this body."

"You speak as if it were not your own body. If you do not wish to tell me, simply say so. This seat is generous. I can grant that much clemency."

"It is the truth. This was never my original body to begin with, so there is a great deal I don't know either."

"...Are you saying you possessed it?"

Patrick nodded, and Barbatos sank into thought. A suspicion crossed her mind, but she shook her head. That was something even demonkind and demons—incarnations of desire, not humans—would refuse to do.

Setting aside those complicated thoughts, Barbatos asked Patrick:

"So what do you intend to do? You were so certain about four years. You must have a plan laid out."

"None."

"...What did you say?"

"I have been in this body for less than a day. There is no way I would have a plan in that situation. I intend to think it through from here."

Barbatos considered harvesting his soul on the spot, then quietly set the thought aside. The instant it occurred to her, her heart constricted. Had she followed through, her true body's heart would have burst, and she would have died.

I feel as though I've been swindled...

A headache she had never felt even in her battle with the Demon God was, for some reason, making itself known now.