The red moon dipped low, heralding the approach of dawn. The demon Burd, exhilarated yet exhausted from a night's work, returned to the inn.
There was something—or rather, someone—Burd had left behind in the inn: a charming youth with hair as black as the night sky and eyes of the same dark hue, such wicked colors. Had they spent more time together, Burd might have grown fond of the polite, albeit timid, boy.
He belonged to me. Take him back to Hell? No, of course not. The boy had no means to fend for himself; he would be but a burden there, and certainly no amusement park. Moreover, the child was now the sole survivor of the city. The total annihilation was only complete with his death; any survivors marred the perfection of the massacre. Burd preferred a flawless record.
Upon returning to the room, Burd found the boy still lying there like sludge, limp and lifeless.
This place had been both the starting point and was now the end of the night's revelry.
The boy couldn't have run; Burd had bestowed upon him a "Weakening Curse" before departing. Unlike the half-hearted spells cast by human mages, Burd's curse was a demonic affliction from the Abyss. Even if Burd withheld his killing blow, the boy would never stand again. This poor creature would lie like sludge for the rest of his pathetic life.
Perhaps, that was also a form of mercy. "A swift kill is a kindness." But Burd, weary from the night's endeavors, no longer felt playful and sought to show Azazel this mercy.
"Pitiful. Can't even dodge. It's so boring to kill such a creature. Can't even scream." Disdaining further cruelty, Burd decided on a different method to kill Azazel. He produced a gemstone, within which Azazel's father's soul was confined. Uttering an incantation, Burd began to cast.
"Soul Ripping" was a high-level spell even for a demon like Burd. It allowed him to tear a soul from the body without harming it and the beauty was in its duration. "Soul Ripping" was a process that often lasted several minutes, minutes of unprecedented agony as the victim's soul was tortured and torn.
Azazel convulsed violently on the floor, every inch of his skin thrumming, blood burning in his veins, and his soul being ripped from within, his throat producing only hoarse, wretched screams.
No one could imagine the torment of such excruciation, where every second felt like an eternity, where living became the greatest torture. If Azazel had any strength left, he would have bitten off his own tongue without hesitation.
The sun finally rose, and a grey wisp was pulled from Azazel's body into the gemstone.
"Thank me, little worm, for the reunion with your father," Burd muttered, turning his back on the morning light and heading for the next town.
"What the hell do you think you are? Calling me a worm? Say it again if you dare!"
A figure rose from the ashes of the sunrise, behind him, the broken walls and the embers fluttering in the morning breeze.
Burd turned in astonishment; the man's shadow stretched long in the morning sun, engulfing him.
It seemed like an omen. An ill omen.
Azazel stood before the demon, once again on his feet!
Impossible!
Burd hastily retrieved the gemstone, verifying its contents with no issue—Azazel's soul was indeed trapped inside.
So, who or what stood before him now? Or rather, who was inside Azazel's body? Burd's mind was a whirl of confusion.
But he dismissed his doubts; if he didn't understand, he'd simply capture and study the phenomenon. He thought the evening's performance had ended, yet an encore unexpectedly began.
The demon delighted at the thought of singing again.
"Ah, how fascinating! I do love a surprise! Watch yourself, little bug, don't die too soon!" Burd swung his great sword with all his might, the blade splitting walls, cleaving floors, the entire inn shaking with the strike.
When the dust settled, Azazel's form was gone, leaving behind only a gaping hole that revealed the tavern below and a dwarf's bisected torso.
Burd searched around, "Where's the man? Could I have flattened him? The song's notes had barely risen, it can't end so abruptly."
Azazel's voice came from behind the demon, but the speaker was most certainly not Azazel. The voice was authoritative, cold, like a tyrant's, "You've got guts. Only the Yellow Emperor dared to call me a worm."
Burd spun around to see Azazel sitting casually on a broken beam behind him, smirking and flipping a small stone in his hand.
Burd gripped his sword tighter, his eyes narrowing on the stone—Soul Sealing Stone, the very one that held Azazel's soul, which until moments ago had been in his own possession.
Feeling threatened by the young man's sudden change, Burd realized Azazel had somehow become formidable. He didn't understand how Azazel had gotten behind him or how he had managed to take the Soul Sealing Stone. Could the boy be an exceptional thief? It seemed this trip to the prime material plane wouldn't be easy after all.
The other didn't seem willing to follow his lead. How he despised such out-of-step dance partners. This song might not be as joyful as he had hoped.
"Who is the Yellow Emperor? I've never heard of him. How did he address you?" Burd asked, teeth clenched, as he swung the sword down, this time using it like a hammer, aiming to smash Azazel flat.
With a resounding crash, the wall collapsed under the demon's strike. After a pause, Burd chuckled. He hadn't seen anyone escape from under the blade. Surely even the best thief would have been flattened. "Sorry, I should have asked sooner. Now I'll never know who the Yellow Emperor is or how he called you. What a pity! Oops, I squashed a bug—a bug just like a bug should die. Crushed." He mused to himself with a laugh.
"The Yellow Emperor was nothing but an annoying old man; he called me Chi You." Azazel, or should we say Chi You, stepped from the shadows, the Soul Sealing Stone levitating in his hand, emitting a blinding light.
A shadow flew from the gem and settled on Azazel's forehead.
Chi You tossed the stone back to Azazel, saying, "This child is mine; I have returned."
"Now, my child Azazel, here's a question for you. What is my, your ancestor's, given name?" Chi You asked inwardly.
"Ah! Ah! Ah!" The just released Azazel was in utter panic. He could see what was happening outside from within the Soul Sealing Stone but had no idea how to deal with the entity controlling his body, who claimed to be Chi You.
"Are you Chi You?"
"No need to lie to you!"
"Oh, I see. Your surname must be Chi, right?"
"Fool! You even forget the surname of your ancestor. In my times, such ingratitude would have warranted a thousand cuts!"
"Then, what should I do if I truly don't know?"
"What else can you do? You're the only descendant of Jiuli left." Chi You spoke irritably, "Listen and remember. Don't forget. My name is Jiang, descendant of Emperor Yan. Though later generations' accounts are often ludicrous, the statement in 'Records of the Historian - Later Annals Four' is correct: 'Chi You, surnamed Jiang, was a descendant of Emperor Yan.' Have you never read it?"
"Er, back then I mostly read the sports section of the newspaper."
"I've no time to waste on you, I'm busy."
Thus, Azazel quietly retreated into the depths of his mind, witnessing everything happening outside. He felt as if he had moved from the stage to the audience, merely watching, silent.
The interaction between Azazel and Chi You in the mind happened in an instant, and during that moment, dissonant notes began to play in Burd's mind. Sensing something was amiss, he decided to show no further mercy.