Balrog's Awakening
Krwaaang!
Waves crashed in.
Waves made of sand battered the violet illusory space with ferocious force.
It felt like what it must be like when a massive tsunami rolled in.
The scene unfolding before the High Elder's eyes was that surreal.
The sand waves surging like a tidal wave were unreal enough, but Zeon standing tall atop them felt even more alien.
It was as if Zeon himself were wielding the sand.
The sand tidal wave carried Zeon forward toward the High Elder.
In that instant, the High Elder and Zeon's gazes locked in midair.
"No way... is he really controlling the sand?"
"We need to evade."
"Hurry..."
The Shadow Squad men grabbed the High Elder's arms and leaped into the air.
Shwaaak!
The sand tidal wave swept past where the High Elder had stood.
The violet illusory space shook as if it might shatter at any moment.
This was a world separate from reality.
A subspace, yes, but one that existed and thus had its limits.
The mass of sand pouring into the illusory space was immense.
That mass, transcending limits, exerted tremendous pressure from within the space itself.
Creeeak!
Unable to withstand the internal pressure, the illusory space tore apart in tatters.
"What in the world...?"
The High Elder stared at Zeon in disbelief.
Zeon had just brute-forced his way through an entire dungeon.
He'd used sand as a foreign material, but it was still his power all the same.
"How strong must his control be to command that much sand?"
It defied the High Elder's common sense.
Over a hundred years ago, after the world took a near-fatal blow, countless Awakeners had been born.
They fell into broad categories like martial, magic, mechanized, and curse types, but there were also those with special abilities that didn't fit.
Special ability Awakeners were true irregulars.
Awakener with unconventional powers.
The prime example was Levin with his ghostification ability.
Special didn't mean invincible—humans had limits, after all.
The High Elder was an A-rank barrier mage himself, but even he had limits to the space he could envelop with a barrier.
The fortress where the White Bear Caravan was stationed and its surroundings—that was his limit.
Impressive enough on its own. That's why Jin Geum-ho had dispatched him as a precaution.
Maintaining a barrier over the fortress and its perimeter required mana and the strong control to wield it freely.
No matter how much mana one had, weak control meant the barrier wouldn't hold long.
Thus, the High Elder knew better than anyone the importance of control.
And in his eyes, Zeon was a monster.
"Exerting influence over that much sand... just how insane is his control?"
Zeon, of course, didn't answer.
Their gazes had crossed briefly, but the High Elder was no longer worth his attention.
Zeon's full focus was on the fortress.
Demian!
Something was changing in him.
He couldn't pinpoint what, but it was definitely nothing good.
He had to reach Demian first.
Zeon ramped up his control even further, drawing in more sand from outside. The added mass amplified the destructive power.
That heightened force shattered the illusory space like glass.
Creeeack!
As the violet illusory space collapsed, the environment shifted.
From an eerie purple haze to a landscape filled with red sand.
Back from unreality to reality.
But Zeon didn't stop.
Krwaaang!
He drove the sand straight up to the fortress roof.
The High Elder, spotting this, hurriedly pursued Zeon.
"Huh?"
"Elder!"
The Shadow Squad men tried to follow, but the High Elder had already cloaked himself in a barrier and vanished.
"Damn it!"
"Approach the fortress."
The Shadow Squad men who lost the High Elder headed for the fortress as well.
＊＊＊
Broi swayed precariously, like a reed in the wind.
"Guhhh!"
A groan thick with agony leaked from his bitten lips.
Black tentacles coiled around his neck.
His legs kicked futilely in the air.
Broi wasn't the only one.
Dozens of dwarves, elves, and beastkin warriors dangled from tentacles, swaying unsteadily.
"Grrk!"
"S-save... me..."
"Ugh!"
Serion Olia bit her lip raw at their moans.
All her trusted North District elites had been subdued by Demian.
If I'd known, I should've moved myself.
Too late for regrets.
They'd been taken down in the blink of an eye.
Even Broi, whom she trusted deeply, hadn't landed a scratch on Demian and had become a prisoner instead.
Demian shook the tentacle-bound heteromorphs like trophies. They let out fresh groans of pain.
Some were already on the verge of death.
Any more delay, and their lives were forfeit.
Serion cried out urgently.
"Stop."
"Who gave you permission..."
"Kill them, and you won't get out unscathed."
"Don't pretend to care. It's disgusting."
"Calm down."
"You need to calm down."
Demian snickered.
Gone was his former polite tone.
Feral and rough—not the usual Demian.
It was the influence of the Prism Armor he wore.
More precisely, the Spirit King's Crown supplying it power.
The Prism Armor was merely a conduit.
The true source was the Spirit King's Crown.
The power from the crown was sorted and amplified through the Prism Armor into the Spectrum Prison.
The more power one drew from the crown, the more they became subservient to it.
Demian was in that state now.
Half-subsumed by the Spirit King's prism.
Yet he clung to his reason with grim tenacity for one purpose.
"Tell me Elharon's location now."
"I can't..."
Crack!
Before Serion finished, Demian snapped the neck of one dangling beastkin.
Her eyes trembled at the sight of the silently slain warrior.
"Every second you delay, one dies."
"Please, just calm..."
Demian cut another's breath short.
An elf this time.
Serion fell silent at the elf's death.
Demian mocked her.
"Still not talking? Then this one's next."
He shook Broi, dangling from a tentacle.
"Gah! I'm fine—don't say a word, ma'am."
The black tentacle tightened around his neck with crushing force.
Broi's face drained white.
Serion bit her lip until it bled at the sight.
Broi was vital.
Losing him here would cripple North District's strength.
The balance of power with other districts would tip drastically.
Crack!
Broi's neck bones creaked on the verge of snapping.
A bit more pressure, and it'd break like dry twigs.
Serion closed her eyes and spoke.
"Magadan."
"What?"
"Elharon is in the sea off Magadan, one of old Russia's cities."
"Magadan, huh? How do I get in?"
"I don't know. I've never been there."
"Swear on an elf's honor it's the truth?"
"I swear on my honor."
Serion opened her eyes and answered.
Resignation filled her gaze.
A smile crept across Demian's lips.
An elf's sworn honor meant no lies.
Serion spoke truth.
"Finally... I got it. Finally... heh heh!"
Demian laughed.
He'd lived the past eight years for this moment.
Burning everything he had.
Demian's gaze shifted to the empty air behind Serion.
"You heard, right? Bro!"
"Loud and clear."
Zeon stood there, atop a massive sand pillar.
"I kept my promise about finding Elharon."
"You did! You really pulled it off."
"Glad to hear it."
Demian beamed innocently. But his helm-concealed smile was overtaken by the encroaching armor.
The Prism Armor rooted into his flesh, claiming him.
Man and armor merging.
Demian knew what it meant.
His sense of self was already eroding bit by bit.
Something was seizing his mind.
Demian's eyes turned to Aleksandr.
Aleksandr was a bloody mess.
Ilai, the Spider Queen, was formidable. Surviving her this long was a miracle.
Demian mustered his last strength.
"Go."
"Demian!"
"I've achieved my goal. So go. Don't look back—link up with Jack."
"..."
"We had a deal. Keep it."
"...Got it."
Aleksandr swung a desperate punch.
Bam!
Ilai skidded back from the forceful blow.
Aleksandr seized the gap and retreated.
"All survivors, fall back!"
White Bear Caravan Awakeners rallied to his call.
Aleksandr's face twisted with sorrow as he watched them.
Only a scant few remained.
They'd come prepared to die, but seeing so few survivors crushed him.
He masked his despair and said,
"Let's move."
"Yes, sir!"
The survivors glanced at Demian one last time.
Demian met their eyes.
No words needed—they understood each other perfectly.
Aleksandr and the survivors fled.
Serion watched it all but couldn't intervene.
All her focus was on Demian—or rather, her captured elites like Broi.
"You've got what you wanted. Release them now."
"Heh heh!"
"You wouldn't... break your promise, would you?"
"I keep promises. They'll all die anyway."
"What?"
Demian released everyone from the tentacles.
As Broi and the North District Awakeners collapsed, gasping,
Kwaaang!
The warehouse holding the Spirit King's Crown exploded in an ominous black light.
Serion and Ilai instinctively shut their eyes against the pupil-stinging glare, but Zeon stared straight at it.
The black light stemmed from the Spirit King's Crown.
Something sealed within had awakened.
The darkness bathing Demian thickened.
Along the beam from the crown, something poured into Demian's body.
Crack! Crackle!
Demian's form twisted and warped.
His body swelled over five meters, Prism Armor fusing like a second skin.
His reddened eyes burned with malice; his protruding maw brimmed with flame.
The two horns sprouting from his head proclaimed he was no longer human.
The entity sealed in the Spirit King's Crown had emerged through Demian's body.
Serion murmured upon seeing it.
"Ba...lrog!"
Kroooaaar!
As if in answer, the Balrog's roar echoed across the desert.