Darkmoon Tribe, Old Tailor's abode.
"Do you want to keep this thing?" Leon asked nonchalantly as he showed a glass bottle with a squirming Demon Core sealed inside to the Old Shaman.
The Demon Core shown in the glass bottle was not the same as the one he had last destroyed after his battle with Balthazar in the Capital.
This one did not have any sharp legs and lost its solidness. It was like a blob of sticky black slime with a bit of sentience and would latch onto any living thing in its vicinity like a parasite.
It needed a host to live. Without one, it will eventually die and solidify back into its spherical crystal form.
"What? No way. Take that thing away from me and destroy it!" The Old Shaman said decisively with repulsion towards the glass bottle in Leon's hand.
The Old Shaman had seen what a Demon Core looked like, and it did not look anything like this. Every warrior had their own Demon Core, and he was also no exception.
