Chapter 94 – The scent of a passive
"Devon!" Madame Elisa shouted in concern. It was the first time outside of Petunia that someone actually witnessed Devon getting killed, or 'killed', so to speak.
Madame Elisa did not see the impact clearly, however, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Devon stir in the ground, raising his neck that she thought had been fatally dislocated based on the brief instance that she witnessed.
However, Devon got up just fine onto his two feet. In the fog of war, and the heat of the moment, Madame Elisa's logical side of her brain overrode her observation about the reality of the situation, and she thought that she just misread things. After all, her poor student could never be able to recover from a mortal blow such as that one, right? Devon's current state could only be explained if her observation was a fluke.
But, as with many things in this world, the busty and highly accomplished sorceress madame who was a voice of reason amongst the top minds of the sorcerer's guild came to a conclusion that was led askew by an improper understanding of the world.
[You have taken a mortal blow.]
[You can not die.]
[Your wounds are now healing.]
Devon spat out a few specks of dirt that entered his mouth and snapped his neck back into place with a brusque motion with his hand, like he saw an undead zombie do in a movie once upon a time back on earth. He watched the movie on a DVD as a child… these days, DVDs were just as mystical of an item on earth as they were in this world, where there was no earth technology.
Ironically enough, Devon's source of regeneration was neither necromancy nor any form of undead fuckery, despite its source from the god of the underworld himself. In fact, [Dead Man Walking] was a source of ultra-vitality that borrowed its power from the fabric of life itself to facilitate its regenerative properties. And yet it was not really holy healing magic, per se. The gods required more than divine energy to restore their physical form, and thus [Dead Man Walking] was more akin to universe creation magic, or creation magic in general.
The only vessels capable of wielding such a vital force were empty shells devoid of vitality themselves, at least during the inception period. And so, Devon was the perfect candidate for such an insertion.
Graaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!
The behemoth let loose an earth shattering roar as it took another step forward, causing the entire cliffside to tremble in fear. The ground shook crazily, and howler monkeys and fifth regiment soldiers both fell to their asses in unison, many of them unable to keep their balance when the very ground underneath them moved like an earthquake. Those left standing included Knight Aurora, Madame Elisa, several of the carriages and horses, and a few of the veteran knights who took the opportunity to slay their howler monkey compatriots in combat.
Little did Devon know, the behemoth could smell his life force from kilometers away due to the aura that his passive gave off. And in fact, this particular behemoth was let through a portal from the underworld for the purpose of beginning the terraforming of this world to one that was more suitable for beasts of the underworld.
This particular behemoth's master had another goal in mind– the securing of a certain god's passive known as [Dead Man Walking]. And now the behemoth caught the scent of the passive. In a week's time, it would alert its master of its findings. That is, if it survived until then.
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Meanwhile, in a town not far from the commotion, a certain bespectacled businesswoman was looking more disheveled than usual. Her black pencil skirt was ripped in the back, showing just a hint of her black panties, and her white shirt was rolled up on her sleeves with noticeable tears and rips all around. Even her panties were a bit askew, as a hint of dark curled pubic hair stuck out from underneath her panties. She looked like a mess.
The woman with long, silky, dark magenta hair was known as Hecate in several other universes, also referred to as the goddess of Witchcraft, Secretary of the Underworld, and General Administrator of the second chance program.
But none of that mattered at the moment. Right now, her current status was drunk. Very drunk. She raised a large mug of beer to her mouth and began glugging the second half of it, before placing it back down with a thud.
"The t'porter… *hic*" she cursed. "Wha th'hell happened to 'i?" Her words were slurred and her eyes unfocused, and on her face was an expression of extreme dejection. It was understandable. She had no way of going back to the underworld now that her teleporter broke, and her interdimensional powers were not working for some reason despite the rest of her immense magical might staying intact. And so she was stuck in this mortal world with no directions, no way of communicating with her manager for help, and on a dire mission to find one particular reincarnator before this entire world collapsed upon itself.