Half a Demon

The true face of the winged demon was not something Noah could easily forget.

Its skin was riddled with tiny wrinkles, with a pronounced nose and thick brow, sharp-edged ears, scars covering its lips, and eyes—vast and utterly black except for the white pupils, a stark inverse of human eyes.

No matter how fearsome a human's visage, it never truly terrifies. The visage of a monster might unsettle one for a time, but the face of the winged demon, eerily humanoid, would forever be seared into the memories of all who beheld it.

Seeing the demon's true features, the mercenaries became weak-kneed.

"Eugh... Ahhh...!"

The demon's mouth, a lattice of deep scars, opened wide, allowing those nearby to imagine the searing pain it suggested. Then, it let out a piercing screech that echoed long and hauntingly through the woods. Noah watched as mercenaries, both veterans and novices, young and old, quaked in terror, drained of all will to fight. In that moment, all their accumulated experience, skill, and resolve crumbled.

Several mercenaries began to vomit blood profusely.

"Núin's Edge!" Noah declared, raising his hand and releasing a piercing spell toward the demon. A blade of light streaked through the air, striking the demon's torso and leaving a gash.

Not powerful enough...

"A familiar spell," the demon mocked, brushing off the chunks dislodged from its hide. "But you lack mastery. Can you kill me before he dies?"

Noah's eyes darted anxiously to Tibert, suspended in the air.

Tibert, desperate for air, flailed and gasped, eyes welling with tears, unable to draw a fresh breath as the rope tightened around his windpipe. He scrambled to wedge his fingers under the noose, seeking space for his throat, but his attempts were futile. His legs kicked reflexively as if trying to find solid ground to escape the suspension, all in vain.

He wanted to live... he wanted to live! Could Noah save him?

Watching someone die before his eyes was excruciating, and Noah searched frantically for a solution.

A spell... but no incantation could directly affect the winged demon, nor could any save Tibert from his fate. A crossbow? To shoot the rope? Impossible, it wouldn't hit. Shoot the demon? Its hide was too tough and unpredictable. A knife? Definitely could harm it, but the demon was perched high, out of Noah's reach.

Wait... I might be able to.

Noah, silent and swift, readied his crossbow, aligning the shot with the winged demon, and quickly released the bolt. The demon didn't flinch, and the arrow merely bounced off its chest cavity.

"The potions she gave me polluted me, left me riddled with holes, but the flesh that grew back is tougher," the demon murmured, its voice deepening the onlookers' agony as more mercenaries began to vomit darkening blood, their very essence seemingly altered, though Noah had no time to ponder what it was.

If he didn't defeat the winged demon, it would kill them.

If he didn't become a powerful demon hunter, more demons would invade the world, wreaking havoc on mortals.

Noah reloaded the crossbow, taking aim once more.

"Are you pretending to make an effort?" the demon taunted.

"Afen Flames."

Corrupted by the demon within, Noah's soul fire was no longer golden but a lurid phosphorescent green. The flames leapt from within, guided by his hands. He fired the bolt, now wreathed in flames.

The demon released Tibert, who fell harshly to the ground. Scrambling upward, it evaded Noah's shot, the fiery arrow streaking like a meteor across the night sky, disappearing into the forest's far end.

"You're all the same, inheriting and reciting the same spell," the demon observed Noah, its blank, white eyes growing more dreadful to behold.

Noah rushed to Tibert's side, removing the rope from his neck and gripping it tightly.

"Are you alright?" Noah asked urgently, but Tibert could only cough in reply.

"Why do you live? I saw your vile soul dim and then reignite, coming to find me. I fear something within you... what is it?" the demon inquired.

Noah readied his crossbow again, the iron sights fixed on the demon's position. It was too dark to see clearly, but one bolt, just one well-placed shot, and Noah would have an endless advantage. The threat of the Afen Flames to the demon had been proven.

"Why can't I be free? What harm does it do to your hunters if I savor my freedom?" the demon questioned.

"You kill," Noah's mind flashed with the images of those who'd been cruelly slain.

"I killed those you don't even know. Why champion them? They won't thank you."

Noah silently recited the incantation and fired another arrow. The demon continued to climb the trees, reaching the canopy.

Curse it—if only I were better with a bow, more skilled, I could end this demon quickly and avoid its endless prattle.

"I don't like you," the demon settled on a high branch, now out of Noah's sight.

"Do you have to talk so much?" Noah cursed.

"Transformation takes time."

Transformation? What transformation... Noah looked around, a chill creeping over him.

The mercenaries initially vomited blood, but soon, they began to expel something dark. Their skin slowly grew dark scales, faces twisted grotesquely, and sinister horns erupted through their helmets with a grating sound.

"Waaah—Waaahhhh—" A burly mercenary screamed as a pair of fleshy wings sprouted from his back. They expanded rapidly, tearing through his skin, emerging from a pool of blood, black as the demon's. His features morphed, his mouth sprouting fangs.

Noah realized this was the demon's corruption at work—the mental assault had breached their psychological defenses. Once their minds were lost, their souls were eroded, forming demonic essence and reshaping them in the demon's image.

Was its influence so extensive?

"Wish to kill me? Dispatch these fresh half-demons first," the demon taunted.

An infected mercenary lunged at Noah who, with no other option, slashed with his blade, severing his assailant's arm.

"Why—why are you hurting me—" He wailed, clutching his wound, blood pouring forth.

"Why do you harm him! Why do you harm him!" the demon lamented, "Despicable humans, isn't he of your own kind? Why hurt him!"

Noah knew the transformation into half-demon was irreversible. Once fallen, they could never return to human form. Ravaged with inner turmoil, he was forced to kill them, to end the lives of those who were once mere mortals.

More half-demons, bereft of reason, rushed at Noah, while others began to attack each other. Noah watched helplessly, forced to raise his sword in defense. His blade, demon-forged and razor-sharp, cut through demonic flesh with ease, unhampered by muscle or bone. Yet with each strike, his heartache deepened.

"You kill humans ten times faster than you kill demons," the demon mused, "Should I praise you? Soon, you'll have slain more than I."

They're not human anymore... they've become monsters... Running footsteps, from behind! Noah braced for an impact that came too quickly, a heavy half-demon colliding with him from behind, its horns piercing into his back muscles and throwing him to the ground.

Bang! Noah tumbled across the grass, scrambling to his feet, clenching his demonic blade. The pain was unbearable, but he forced himself to endure.

The half-demons, half-human creatures, watched him, each craving a piece of Noah's flesh, a sliver of his soul.

The winged demon's shriek pierced the air once more, burrowing deep into Noah's psyche.

Soaring, flying, mastering the currents in the sky, moving with the wind, dominating the heights, flying, unfurling the wings. Noah felt an itch on his back—a desire to burst forth. Yes, if he could take flight, he could combat the demon. Flight was the ideal of humanity; he should realize it. Sprout wings, mighty and agile wings...

Get out!

Noah's eyes widened, his grip on the blade firm.

First, dispatch the unfortunate souls tainted by the demon. They were suffering the corruption, confused and pained, many unresponsive to Noah's approaching slashes, falling where they stood.

But another, particularly robust half-demon, seemed to have mastered its new demonic prowess immediately. Its upper body grotesquely swollen, covered in dark scales, wings slowly unfurling, it was a miniature replica of the winged demon. Its face bore no trace of humanity, and the very horn that had toppled Noah protruded from its skull.

"I will grant you release," Noah whispered.

The burly half-demon roared and charged. Noah swung his sword from right to left with all his might, but injured and bleeding from the previous collision, his movement slowed by pain.

The half-demon, closing in, swiped its clawed arm, knocking Noah to the ground, gashing his chest with multiple bloody wounds. Noah rolled away, knowing to stay down spelled death. Scrambling to his feet, he evaded further attacks.

Its rasping roars rang painfully in Noah's ears. Lying on the ground, he watched the looming half-demon, quickly arming himself with the sword and stabbed toward its belly, sinking the blade into its waist.

A hit!

The half-demon recoiled in pain as black blood oozed from the wound, it looked around, retreating hastily.

Where was it going? Noah couldn't pursue, the pain was too great. His breath heavy, he widened his eyes in the next moment.

No—

The injured half-demon approached the unconscious Tibert, lifting him by the arms and began to gnaw hungrily.

"Ahhh—Ahhhh—" Tibert awoke from his stupor, eyes bulging as a chunk of his shoulder was bitten off.

Tibert... Damn it... Damn it... I still can't save him!

The half-demon masticated Tibert's body, its wound rapidly healing. After recovery, it tossed Tibert's mangled corpse aside, wiped its mouth, and lunged at Noah again. They were once fellow countrymen... once members of the same mercenary band...

Noah raised his blade high above his head, assuming a fighting stance taught by the old soldier, knowing his life hung by a thread.

The half-demon was fast, playing a game of cat and mouse. It raised its now demonic arm, poised to strike at Noah's head—a feint, perhaps, as it concealed its true intent.

This creature seemed to recall its human combat experience, inconveniently for Noah.

Was the incoming blow real? A feint? Should he raise his sword to block, retreat, or side-step?

Noah agonized over the decision, one misstep meant doom.

"Left," said Gladius.