The power of a divine weapon could not be understated. Each cut that Devon delivered with the half-completed sword left echoing pain on the calamity-level behemoth's shank, the fresh cut wounds sending a rippling sensation across the fanged behemoth's entire body, causing the itching sensation that was originally ignited just moments ago by the mere unsheathing of Mjolnir's pommel, an itching sensation on the prior wounds the behemoth sustained from Mjolnir thousands of years ago during the Battle of the Celestial Realm, to erupt into mind-shattering pain.
How?
The behemoth's anguished roar tore through the sky like a clap of thunder, causing the earth to tremble in fear.
How is that a mere mortal possesses such a weapon?
With its fanged and dark blue fur covered face twisted into an expression of pain and anger, the Behemoth continued to speak, projecting its booming voice across the lands until he could be heard from many kilometers away. But his use of the demonic language meant that none of this particular world's inhabitants could understand him, barring a handful of sages who specialized in the study of the ancient demon languages.
"Hm?" muttered Devon, too preoccupied with dishing out copious amounts of two handed sword strikes to fully grasp what the behemoth was saying.
The Mjolnir! How did you come into possession of a… gah... divine weapon, mortal?
The behemoth spoke in labored breaths. Every time the moonlight steel sword connected with his body, it sent a shockwave of pain to flare up from his old wounds. The sword seemed to be taunting him, not doing real damage, but reminding him of a battle that he lost long, long ago.
"This is a divine weapon?" Devon asked, still going through the motions of hacking and slashing away at the behemoth's tail. Every time the behemoth tried to slam down on him with its tail, or stomp on him with its foot, Devon simply side stepped it. The monster's movements seemed to be slow and sluggish for some reason, as if it were trying to avoid putting pressure on the middle of its tail and its left foot, kind of like it was nursing a sprained ankle, or a twisted knee, or even a large, painful wooden splinter to put it in human terms.
You do not even know what you possess? The behemoth said in anguish. The sword in your hand right now contains the pommel of the Mjolnir, the dwarven god Hrothgar's personal weapon! It is a weapon that has defeated me before, one of the truly fearsome divine artifacts, and you just happen to be carrying it on your person? Name your master! Which master gave that to you? Was it Hrothgar himself?
"The Mjolnir's pommel huh, is that so?" Devon smirked. "And to answer your question, I don't know this Hrothgar that you're talking about, and I don't have a master. This sword just showed up in my inventory after I died. Didn't ask for it or nothin'." He didn't know if the behemoth was talking out of his ass or not, but the mere fact that it kept recoiling from every swing of his sword meant that there had to be some strand of truth to his claim that his moonlight steel sword's pommel was the pommel of a dwarven god's weapon.
But dwarves normally used weapons like battleaxes, maces, and hammers? Why would the dwarven god's weapon be a sword?
It made little sense to Devon, but as of right now he couldn't care less. It was immensely gratifying to see the titanic behemoth the size of a skyscraper height wise and width wise, armored with thick blue scales, vicious fangs, and twin spiraling horns, recoil like a little kitty cat every time the moonlight steel blade cut into its skin.
He felt a sense of empowerment much like a video game character receiving a large power up after a long stretch of being a punching bag. If only those damn Algorian rebels also reacted like this to the taste of his blade… things would've been so much easier.
Devon noticed that every time his sword hit the Behemoth, mana seemed to be transferring from his body into the pommel, and then onto the blade. And the otherwise muted pommel glowed a brilliant golden color whenever his mana channeled through it. He guessed that it had something to do with being the pommel of the Mjolnir.
Tch! What a nuisance. To attack a Behemoth of the demon clans is an act of war. My master will hear about this, mortal, and you will feel the wrath of one of the demon clan noble lords! You better run, puny mortal!
Devon nearly let out a laugh, seeing as how the gargantuan twin horned blueish-purple furred behemoth was starting to walk away like a kitty cat scorned. "Run? Me? Maybe worry about yourself, first. Where are you going, huh? You scared of a mortal like me?"
The behemoth shot Devon a dirty look, but continued to flee. This particular mosquito of a human being was more difficult to capture than he first thought. He'd come back again later.
"Hey, come back here!" Devon shouted, waving his arms in the air since he obviously could never catch up to the stride-length of a leviathan-class monster. He started to mock the behemoth, blowing a raspberry with his tongue and doing a mocking imitation of the behemoth limping away. "Get your ass back here, scaredy-cat! How can you run away from a puny mortal like me, huh? How're you gonna face your friends when you tell them that a speck of dirt like me drove you away myself?"
The behemoth paused for a moment, clearly irate from the mockery.