3: Devil
"Pray more," I whisper under my breath, my heart pounding like a war drum. With a swift, almost instinctual motion, I clench my arm and shatter the cultists neck. His lifeless body crumpled to the ground.
Suddenly a calming voice resonated inside my head. The Spell.
[You have slain a dormant human: Victor]
'Rot in hell, Victor,' I curse silently as I watch his corpse hit the floor. My gaze fell to my own hand, a mix of amusement and dread dancing in my eyes. 'This power... It's terrifyingly unnatural. But in this borrowed body, I have the upper hand.
The Spell indeed is fair. I just hope it was fair towards my sweet Andromeda too…'
Before the remaining cultists can react to Victor's demise, I lunge for the crimson-red knife on the bed I am on. With a calculated throw, the blade pierces another cultists skull, his blood now splattered everywhere in the room
[You have slain a dormant human: Alexander]
The odds are turning in my favor, but only slightly. Three cultists remain, their faces hidden behind grotesque masks, their malevolent intent clear. I have a pressing problem—my wrists and both ankles are still chained to the bed. I can't make a run for it.
As I think of a solution to my chained limbs the three of them start running towards me like mad demons
''If I die, the day will restart anyways,' I try to reassure myself, summoning courage from the doubt.
With their deadly intent closing in, I mimic the shattering move again, freeing my second wrist. Shards of chain fly in all directions, disorienting my approaching enemies, who momentarily falter in their advance.
I stand up on the bed, a length of shattered chain clenched tightly in my freed hand like brass knuckles. As one of the cultists lunges at me, I awkwardly sidestep, my muscles recalling the unforgiving training Gale had forced upon me.
My attempt at an uppercut misses, leaving me cursing silently as the masked man crashes behind me, his robe billowing like a sinister shadow.
I am surrounded, with no escape in sight. The chains on my ankles remind me of my limited options, their cruel links digging into my flesh.
Before the remaining two cultists can close in, I turn, using the shattered chain as a makeshift weapon. It strikes the one behind me, and I hear the sickening crunch of bone beneath the mask, a muffled scream escaping the figure's lips.
[You have slain a dormant human: Yuri]
Behind the grotesque mask, I glimpse bright yellow eyes on what once was a beautiful face. I destroyed it. With my own hands.
But there is no time to sulk around. These people aren't real anyways. They are conjured by the Spell.
--
The rush of adrenaline surges through my body, dulling the pain in my left hand and reviving my weakened legs. There's no time to retrieve the knife, so I launch into my next move. I jump as far as the chains on my ankles allow me to.
Mid-flight, I crack the whip of my chain once more, landing a powerful strike on the right shoulder of the nearest assailant. He grimaces, his shoulder dislocated, and his weapon clatters to the ground. As I touch down, he hastily transfers the knife to his other hand and thrusts it toward my abdomen, his right arm hanging limply like a dead weight. Swiftly, I sidestep the attack, the blade grazing my side, leaving a shallow wound.
Seizing the moment, with his arm still outstretched, I loop my chain around his forearm and yank, crushing bones and tearing muscles. He may not be dead, but he's injured and unable to continue the fight.
Before I can prepare for the next opponent, searing pain erupts in my back. A chilling thought crosses my mind: "Don't tell me he actually..." I pivot my head and discover the sole remaining cultist, gripping the knife with both hands, embedded in my lower back. Adrenaline begins to fade, replaced by the slow resurgence of pain. It's akin to that one harrowing experience when I took my father's drugs and nearly overdosed. "I'm about to die," I mutter, determined not to meet my end alone.
With the intention of taking this assailant down with me, I act swiftly. Before he can withdraw the knife from inside my back, I deliver a vicious spinning elbow strike to his temple. He releases the weapon and crumples, knocked out cold but still breathing.
--
I survey the gruesome scene around me, surrounded by nothing but blood-soaked corpses. "I actually killed human beings," I murmur in disbelief, dropping to my knees beside the unconscious cultist.
Inwardly, I know they weren't real, and I shouldn't feel remorse for ending their lives. It's just that this is the first time I've ever killed someone, extinguishing their chance at a happy life. "Not your fault they chose this path," a voice, both familiar and unfamiliar, whispers into my ear. I startle for a moment, chalking it up to adrenaline and stress-induced hallucinations. So much has happened in such a short span of time—
After taking a deep breath, I rise and approach the one cultist who remains alive and conscious. He leans against a table, hands hanging limply, breathing heavily, and sobbing. "Is he crying?"
I wonder aloud. A strange urge to comfort him welling up within me. A strange feeling. As if a siren is luring me into a trap.
But suddenly, the chains yank me back to reality. "What the hell was that!?" I curse at him.
He responds in a whisper, which he's been doing all along.
An ominous feeling begins to creep over me. "STOP THIS!" I shout at him, a rising sense of dread. Something is profoundly wrong. His prayers—there's an answer, and it's coming from somewhere beyond.
"No, no, no—WHAT DO I DO?" Panic surges through me. I struggle to breathe; the air grows oppressively heavy.
Frantically, I grab the knife lying nearby and sit down on the floor, my legs extended in front of me. In a desperate move, I begin to cut—not the chains, but my own ankles. I need to escape, and I can feel it. The room starts to tremble slightly as I sever my left foot.
My gaze shifts up to the cultist who had been praying. He's no longer praying, and he's no longer breathing. He's dead.
Suddenly, a single drop of liquid falls near me—a sticky black substance. More droplets follow, and my gaze rises slowly, horror building within me.
---
I focus all my energy on cutting my right foot at the ankle, ignoring the nightmarish sight of the gigantic black creature hanging upside down from the massive golden chandelier. The relentless droplets of that hot, fiery, sticky substance fall around me, making my task more urgent. I cut faster and faster, but I'm painfully aware that it may not be fast enough to escape this living nightmare.
Suddenly, a massive black hand lands near me, followed by another behind me, and more hands continue to descend. There are about five of them, covered in rusty red hair and adorned with impossibly long, body-length nails. I've long since ceased any movement, paralyzed by fear, unable to even inch away from the grotesque spectacle unfolding.
Then, something even more horrifying happens. I can sense something breathing heavily behind me, something of immense size and malevolence. It feels as though the devil himself has descended upon me. Slowly, I summon the courage to glance back.
What meets my gaze is a creature so enormous that it challenges the limits of the room. Half of its body remains suspended within a portal on the ceiling, the circular gateway crafted from pitch-black, sticky darkness, adorned with a menacing red pentagram. "Don't move," a hoarse voice emanates from the devil's mouth.
But I'm beyond the capability of movement at this point, frozen in sheer terror. "I am... coming... with you... out of here," the creature utters again, raising one of its monstrous hands and extending a nail toward my head. The unnaturally long nail pierces my skull, and suddenly, the world fades to darkness, everything disappearing----
[Wake up, Dante! Your nightmare is over]
[Prepare for appraisal…]
-------
I jolt awake and find myself surrounded by a breathtaking expanse of stars and galaxies, their silver and golden lights creating a mesmerizing spectacle. Yet, amidst this celestial beauty, I discern the presence of something else—a pitch-black void that, oddly, seems equally alluring. It reminds me of my Andromeda. Both equally beautiful and breathtaking.
The enigmatic Spell that has been guiding me through this surreal journey speaks again:
[You have received an Echo: The dark prince of the Underworld.]
"ECHO?!" I exclaim at the top of my lungs
I recall Gale teaching me about Echoes and Memories, emphasizing how difficult it is to acquire an Echo compared to a memory. "I guess my Attribute really is working," I ponder
After a few moments, the Spell concludes its appraisal, each word vibrating with the universe itself, somehow soothing in its delivery:
[Aspirant! Your trial is over.]
[A young prince got captured by a sect in his own castle. They tortured and killed him, but every time he was near death something saved him, maybe the remnants of the divine. Finally, the young prince was able to free himself, just to get ##### ## ######]
A high-pitched noise resonated in my ears as the Spell pronounced the last couple words, rendering me unable to hear whatever was said.
[You have defeated a dormant human: Victor]
[You have defeated a dormant human: Alexander]
[You have defeated a dormant human: Yuri]
It then drops a bombshell:
[You have received the curse of the dark prince.]
'Why the hell did I get cursed?' I cry out in confusion.
That devil somehow possessed me… or so I think at least. I am uncertain what happened after the massive nail penetrated my skull.
[Your luck was pushed to the utmost limit!]
[Final appraise: Fantastic. Your pride knows no limits]
"Why pride?" I question inwardly, my curiosity piqued. "Pride because I felt like it was beneath me to give up? But I already gave up before the Trial even started. Or was I just depressed cause of Andromeda? I don't know.
Anyways, now comes my Aspect"
[Your Aspect is ready to evolve dreamer Dante.
Evolve Aspect?]
"Of course, why even ask that?" I reply impatiently.
[Dormant Aspect Doppelgänger is evolving...]
[New Aspect acquired.]
[Aspect Rank: Cursed]
[Aspect Name: The underworld's master]
"Hold on… Hold on."
'How does Doppelgänger have anything in common with a damned Master of the underworld? And what the hell is a Cursed rank…