8. Curse Plague (19)
8. Curse Plague (19)
The sphere tore through the air, warping the atmosphere as it screamed toward its target.
Power, technique, timing—every variable calculated to perfection.
"Kyirik?"
Zakanuba tracked the sphere's size and trajectory with his eyes, then twisted his body violently.
The telekinetic shell, for all its ferocity, caught nothing but empty air. It sailed past him and struck the building behind.
Booom.
The outer wall collapsed in a cascade of rubble. The impact carried the force of a genuine cannonball.
But even the deadliest attack meant nothing if it couldn't connect. Zakanuba bared his fangs and sneered at her.
"Kikiki."
Maya couldn't hide her frustration. Twenty percent of her magic reserves—gone.
She had accounted for him dodging. That was why she'd waited, bided her time, struck the exact moment he leaped. No one could evade an attack mid-air. Or so the theory went.
But the Abyss Demon had pulled off an aerial maneuver that defied all logic—kicking off nothingness itself to change direction.
He kicked off the air?
Launching yourself by kicking the air with sheer leg strength was the stuff of fairy tales. Physically impossible.
Even in the chaos, Maya's mind raced, synthesizing observations with theoretical frameworks. One conclusion crystallized with cold clarity.
The creature was born of the Abyss. Their bodies inherently repelled the Material Plane.
That repulsion was why they could never linger long in this world. They could manifest briefly when an Abyss-like environment formed, but given time, the natural rejection force would expel them back. But what if you could harness that repulsion? What if you forcibly amplified it in a localized part of the body—turning the very atmosphere against it?
That would allow the kind of aerial maneuver she'd just witnessed.
She was right. Trained exorcists already knew demons could employ such techniques.
Genius though she was, Maya's knowledge was limited to what she'd studied at the Academy.
Maya scoffed. Excuses like that were useless with her life on the line. She had to find a breakthrough with the information she had.
Standard telekinetic attacks couldn't pin Zakanuba down. He could see them coming. He could dodge.
Which meant—
"Kiaaak!"
The demon lunged. He meant to finish her before she devised another dangerous trick.
His claws slashed through Maya. Claws sharp enough to cut through a knight and his armor alike. She had no way to block them.
The blow bisected her body cleanly.
"Kyirik?"
But Zakanuba's expression shifted to bewilderment.
No blood sprayed. No viscera spilled. Nothing he'd anticipated materialized.
His arm had met no resistance at all—just the whisper of wind through empty space. Her form dissolved like mist where his claws had cut.
An illusion. Maya had crafted it the moment the fight began, cloaking her real body with transparent paint and hiding herself in plain sight.
Zakanuba scanned his surroundings. She was nowhere to be seen.
He tried tracking her scent. The same trail he'd followed earlier burned intensely right beside him—but all that remained there was her torn cardigan.
Blood-scent was useless too. The whole village reeked of it.
Zakanuba lashed out wildly at the empty space around him. His claws found nothing.
Maya watched him from a short distance away.
She clung to consciousness with everything she had. If her focus broke now, it was over. The wound she'd barely sealed shut with telekinesis would rupture.
Hiding or fleeing would have been simple. She could turn away right now and slip into the shadows.
But that wasn't an option. If she did, the creature would slaughter the Troupe Leader inside the hall.
She'd considered using transparent paint on both of them and escaping together. But when she'd last seen him, the Troupe Leader had been drenched in strange flesh and fluids. No amount of stealth would mask that stench from Zakanuba's nose.
Maya drew up her magic once more.
"Kkirruk."
After a long, searching pause, Zakanuba gave up looking for her. The mage had fled, he decided. A pity—but the human inside the hall would serve for his entertainment.
He reached for the door.
Shhk. Fft.
Something sliced past his shoulder.
"Kiaaa!"
Zakanuba snapped his gaze toward the darting presence at the edge of his vision.
Deep blue fur. Alternating bands of red and white tiger-stripes along its back. A cat.
But nothing about it felt ordinary. It had cut him.
Assuming the mage had worked another spell, he lunged to catch it. The creature slipped through his attack with a flick of motion, springing off his head and vaulting over his back.
Enraged, he whirled to pursue it—and froze.
The open ground before the hall was packed with hundreds of identical cats.
-Mrrowrr!
-Wo-rung wo-rung wo-rung wo-rung.
-Nyaaaa!
Maya's handiwork.
If the enemy could see your attacks and evade, the solution was simple: hide them where he couldn't see.
Out of the hundreds of cats arrayed before him, only one carried Maya's telekinetic force.
She set the illusion cats into motion all at once. A wave of fur crashed over the demon.
Zakanuba slashed at the first oncoming bodies, but each one burst into white mist on contact. Then a single cat exploded from within the swarm and raked its claws across his eye.
His shriek of agony split the air.
"Kie-eek!"
Blood streaming from the ruined socket, he scrambled to find the one that had attacked him. But it had already melted back into the sea of illusions.
-Wo-rrrrong!
Hundreds of false cats yowled at him in unison, mockery plain on every face even if the sound never reached his ears.
Mocked by prey.
The killing intent burning in his remaining eye turned murderously bright.
***
The demon gripped the roof's edge, arched his spine back like a drawn bow, then launched himself with the snap of released tension.
The straight-line distance from that rooftop to where the troupe stood must have been dozens of meters at a glance. He swallowed it in a single bound.
Thoom.
A shockwave like a hurtling boulder blasted grass and dirt into the air. The villagers who'd been brandishing weapons at the troupe members screamed.
"Wh-what the—?"
"You monster bastards, what is this trickery?!"
The heads of the two who'd just spoken detached from their bodies and rolled across the ground. Three others who saw it happen had their bellies and chests split open before they could cry out, organs spilling wetly. Five more who managed to witness the slaughter and actually scream were struck by something unseen and sent flying, their bones shattering on impact.
A massive silhouette rose from within the dust cloud. The demon that had killed ten people in the space of a blink revealed itself.
"Aaaagh!"
"Run!"
The villagers who'd witnessed Zakanuba's strength lost all will to fight. The ferocity that had been bearing down on the troupe moments ago evaporated as they scattered in every direction, blind panic on every face.
"Kikikik!"
Zakanuba seemed to find the sight contemptible. He bounded after the fleeing humans. Every leap, every swing of his claws—another body fell.
Less than three minutes passed before he'd killed another thirteen. By the time he returned to where he'd started, the troupe members had barely recovered from the chaos and gotten their weapons ready.
"Hyah!"
Yobel, closest to the creature, swung his rake in startled desperation. The blow landed—but the hide was too thick. Not a single drop of blood was drawn.
To Zakanuba, the attack was no more significant than a mosquito bite. He kicked the rake from his shin and flicked his arm out at the man with casual disdain.
Yobel had neither the toughness to endure the strike nor the speed to evade it. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Thud.
The blow never came. He opened his eyes cautiously—and they went wide at the figure blocking his path.
"U-Umon?"
A hulking youth with tough, red, crocodilian hide stood between Yobel and the demon. He was straining with all his strength, gripping both of the creature's arms as they bore down on him.
"Mister, g-get clear!"
"R-right."
Yobel scrambled backward. He'd known Umon was strong, but matching a demon like this—he hadn't imagined it possible.
"Kiiik!"
Zakanuba screeched at the opponent who'd seized his arms. A creature strong enough to tear a bear apart was being held back by brute force.
"Kahht!"
The demon channeled power into his grounded legs and flipped backward in a back-tumbling arc.
Umon was dragged along with the momentum. His body spun half a turn through the air and slammed into the ground.
"Ungh!"
Thud.
The back of his skull struck the earth hard. Before he could recover, Zakanuba was already diving to sink his claws into the boy's throat.
But something flashed like lightning and buried itself in the demon's wrist. Flesh split with a wet pop.
"Kieht!"
"Run, now!"
A girl in a red tailcoat worn cape-like over her shoulders had drawn another blade from her coat and was shouting. The throwing knife had been Ella's.
Umon seized the brief opening she'd created and rolled sideways behind a wagon.
Zakanuba, enraged, kicked the wagon—but Umon had already regained his footing and shoved it back in the opposite direction.
Crash.
The demon reeled backward, the wagon slamming into him with an ungraceful stagger.
He scanned the area furiously for the girl who'd thrown the knife. She was already far away, putting distance between them.
Zakanuba seethed. Toyed with by insignificant prey. Humiliating.
One at a time. He'd kill them one at a time.
The big one could wait until last. Ranged attackers had to die first.
He launched himself at Ella. Two strides closed the gap to her back.
His claws came down. She caught the motion in her peripheral vision and slipped the attack with minimal movement. He struck again. She evaded that too. And the next. And the next.
She didn't flinch in the face of claws that would send her to the afterlife with a single hit. This composure was something different from Maya's measured calm. Ella looked almost like someone enjoying herself—a faint smile on her lips.
"Go on, catch me, you big dumb brute!"
She even slipped the attack he'd set up several moves in advance.
He'd feinted to force her backward, then closed distance for an off-hand strike. If she'd simply tried to flee from his attacks, it would have worked.
But in that split-second window she'd read his intent, ducked inside his reach, and twisted against the arc of his swing—evading it entirely.
It was a technique born of astonishing judgment and nerve.
Even the demon, who held humans in contempt, felt an unwilling flicker of admiration.
"You think that's enough to catch me?"
She was behind him now, laughing.
But she'd missed the last card he'd kept hidden.
Shlurp.
Zakanuba's mouth gaped open and something shot out—a tongue as long and limber as his arms. It coiled around her ankle.
"Ghk!"
The tongue was tacky, oozing viscous slime. No matter how agile she was, she couldn't pull free easily.
Yet even then, her reflexes were staggering. In the space of a heartbeat, she'd hurled a knife and severed the tongue clean through.
Unfortunately, it came a fraction of a second too late. Zakanuba had already whipped his tongue first. Ella's body was flung through the air and smashed into a wagon.
Crash.
"Guh!"
The impact hammered through her. She tried to spring to her feet to avoid any follow-up, but the pain lancing through her ribs dragged a groan from her throat and dropped her back down.
Damn. A few ribs were definitely cracked.
"Ella!"
"Deputy Leader!"
Troupe members rushed toward her. Zakanuba was faster.
She gasped against the pain that came with every breath and looked up. The three-meter hulk loomed over her.
Perhaps because she'd slipped every single one of his attacks—perhaps that had wounded his pride. Instead of using the weapon that defined his confidence, Zakanuba pressed down on the wagon she was leaning against.
"Shit."
Ella saw the wagon bearing down on her and couldn't move.
Crash.
The impact was heavy enough to shake the ground.