Chapter 109: Encroaching Cultists

"Don't be like that, Balir."

"Hunter Balir is a combination of my profession and name. Please refer to me as such, because I don't want to hear any of your blathering shit without that small amount of courtesy."

"Be more civil. Since you have cast away that old form of yours and been born anew, you represent the gods-"

"Profession. Name."

"…Hunter Balir."

"That's who I am first and foremost. You can take your subservient attitude and fix it on someone else. Now help me hunt down these cultists."

"Hmph. If that is what you wish."

Balir fixed both his cap and his eyepatch, grimacing at the remnants of his clothing. Only his pants were intact, his shirt ripped into threads and both covered in his own amber blood.

Hugo brought out a rather elegant red shirt, but Balir glared at him as if to tell him to put it away. He controlled his floating jacket to fit him like a glove, using his ripped shirt as makeshift bandages as he walked from the wreckage of the central Autumn Parish temple.

"So, that kid. Did he become one of your kind?"

Balir asked as they wandered about the capitol, dispatching any cultists demons they found. There was a slight hint of concern in his voice, and he had some lingering worries in the forefront of his mind.

"…If you are asking if he became a Red Angel, no."

"What's that supposed to mean? I don't like your phrasing." Balir snapped as blood splattered, following after the heavy axe that he effortlessly swung. The liquid pattered off of a crimson membrane as it found itself near Hugo, who clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"He is a hybrid of what he originally was mixed with very, very ancient angel blood. A Cruel Angel."

Balir breathed a sigh of relief, not bothering to ask what that was. As long as it wasn't those detestable demons or a result of what happened to Lah, it was fine.

'I mean, that boy is an otherworlder after all. Having him bound to this world is an act of hatred.'

In truth, Balir quite liked the four otherworlders, even more than some of the natives of his homeland. Unlike the citizens that cowered under the corrupt grasp of the clergy, and true to their duty of posing as demon hunters, he was the reason their accolades spread so quickly. It gave some people hope, leading to more demons being routed overall.

And it was precisely this that brought about the awakening of The Tarnished Text, whether he knew it or not. In fact, only three people in total had knowledge of this.

That crimson angel behind him, Hugo.

The head cultist, Von Friede Waltzahen.

And The Tarnished Text themselves.

—

Deep beneath the capitol, behind the Gantrian Night Jade doors. Hospitality Home.

In the chamber room of the slumbering demon, a corpse stood in the center of an array. Fiendish light formed an aurora that danced around the grandiloquent rooms, and bloody green tears fell from the eyes of weeping horned statues.

Within the aurora was a pitch black scrawl, surging towards the corpse. An amber, translucent membrane shielded the still woman, causing the text to bounce off of it. A silent stalemate was ruined by the mutterings of one Von Friede, whose words would chip at the shield with the patience of a saint.

The qi left in the corpse's body rioted against the spiritual shield as well, it was a battle of attrition beneath the ruined terrain of Morris. The cobalt blue woman's eyes would sometimes gain a dark tint, and sometimes they would empty entirely.

Auric spider legs assaulted the membrane, the rich bright green like limes as the scrawl crawled within. They would be met with a flick of a finger, the corpse moving despite lacking any remnant will…it was if it knew the calamity that would befall Morris if it simply gave in.

"This is the hymn of clarity, this is the song of awakening. Four doves fly up to the sky with ruined feathers, and beneath them two demons lay out a silver carpet. For the king will feast tonight, crunching on their feathered carcass!"

The crisp pang of slapped palms conjured the appearances of two monstrous figures, who ripped at the sky and laid it on the ground. On cue, the scrawls followed the carpet, battering against the shield as the corpse attempted to resist.

But try as it might, it had withstood these conflicts hundreds of times. Flakes of amber light spilled down cracks in the membrane. A moment later, chunks flew off as it bore the appearance of shattered glass.

Von Friede laughed, the demonic energy scratching at the walls of the morgue before the doors. Breaking his hymn, his energy circulated and formed a trumpet, which he then brought up to his lips.

And he played a solemn, regal tone. Contrasting the heavy melody were shining eyes gleaming in triumph. His hands glowed pale green as mist filled his surroundings, and the cultists in the building were alerted due to the gathering energy beneath them.

Inside the room, the corpse walked with stilted, jerky movements. It made its way to the furthest wall, upon which a throne made out of fiendish shadows laid against, the eye pattern on Von Friede's chest plate on the backrest of the seat.

The black scrawls within the room surged and shot forth, entering the corpse of the beautiful woman. Its own hands clawed at its face as it mounted a futile last struggle, but it was too late. It was guided towards the throne, and when it finally sat, it slumped over, limp.

The cobalt skin gained a black luster to it as the text roamed all around the body. The eyes became dense, virile dark green whirlpools, the leafy green overwritten and absorbed by the will beginning to inhabit the body.

The distinct birthmark upon the face shifted, moving a bit to the right and below the full lips and forming a miniature imprint of a sarissa's blade, resembling the top half of a spade.

Gradually, the pitch black hair became a luminous, sunflower blonde that fell past both the chest and the upper half of its back. As the hair changed colors, four gnarled, pristine dark horns rose from the rows and pronounced themselves as they emerged from her head. Two sets of vertically arranged horns formed, the tops pointed towards the sky, and the bottoms pointed backwards at an oblique angle.

The mature, lifeless face twitched, and plush lips formed a serene smile that quickly released a snicker. One hand rose and snapped, and light green became dark green shadows, the energy resembling its new eyes.

Flesh wriggled as another set of arms grew out from beneath the original pair. Particles crackled as patterns from the wall formed a silvery veil, condensing into a metallic material as the likenesses of screaming humans rose within like water vapor to the sky.

Portions of her skin became stony as the muscles tightened, forming a sort of shell-like substance. When that was done, the scrawled text covered the nude form as it became a flickering top that exposed the abdomen, and a skirt fitted with sharp spikes that rose up said exposed abdominal area.

The aurora was dyed a green so dark it bordered on black, and was then absorbed by the corpse. With a wag of a finger, the doors of the burial chamber opened, and what greeted it was the kneeling form of Von Friede, as well as cultist demons who had heads held to the floor.