Chapter Eight: Flickering Hope
[Species: Demon
Rank: Awakened
Level: 3]
Surprise flashed across Dusken's face as he read the information revealed by the white smoke.
In this world, power was divided into seven ranks: Awakened, Preeminent, Reverend, Supreme, Mythical, Ultimate, and finally, the Celestial rank.
Levels within these ranks were vast and daunting. Level 1 to 9 made up the Awakened rank, while the Preeminent rank spanned level 10 to 99, and the Reverend rank encompassed level 100 to 299.
With each rank came exponential strength, just as each level within a rank represented a significant leap in power.
Dusken didn't know much about the levels beyond the Reverend rank, but they were irrelevant to him now.
Even a Level 1 Awakened creature posed a dire threat to him, but a Level 3 Awakened demon? That was a death sentence.
Demons were vastly different from creatures. Creatures were simply animals that had evolved due to the presence of magical energy.
Demons, however, were pure-blooded aliens, not mere threats to humanity like creatures, but beings with entirely separate origins.
Unlike creatures, which only possessed physical or magical attributes, demons had talents and abilities akin to humans, but far more deadly.
Even a Level 1 demon could kill Dusken instantly due to their unlocked talents and higher inherent strength.
Taking a slow, deliberate breath, Dusken steadied his thoughts. The situation wasn't entirely hopeless, it could still be salvaged.
The soul-devouring poison must have damaged the demon's soul, but all Dusken could see was the ethereal body of white smoke.
He couldn't confirm his suspicions, yet he desperately clung to this possibility.
"Shocked, are you? This is true strength, Dusk, and you lack it. I could kill you with a flick of my hand, and you know it," came a voice from the mouth of the white smoke - or at least where Dusken thought was the mouth - reaching Dusken's ears. The words were followed by a low, dark chuckle.
"Don't you see? With power, anything is possible."
The atmosphere grew tense, as an unspoken threat lingered in the area.
Dusken's eyes burned with resolve. Although his soul script had failed him by not detecting the demon within Kyle until he had fully revealed itself.
'Too weak.' The thought engraved itself in Dusken's mind.
A soul script grew alongside its owner. Perhaps if Dusken had been at Level 1, he could have detected the demon's presence earlier. But lamenting his weakness now was useless.
"You can't scare me," Dusken said, his voice firm despite the fear clawing at his core. "Your laughter, your strength, your powers... they don't faze me. You're nothing but a pitiful, second-rate failure."
His words cut sharply, not because he wasn't afraid... he was, but he refused to let his emotions rule him.
Fear was a tool, and he would wield it. He gambled on his theory that the soul-devouring poison had severely weakened the demon, making it unable to attack.
The demon's laughter abruptly ceased. The cold night air of the desert turned frigid as the white smoke expanded ominously.
"Ha! You're clever, I'll give you that. Yes, the poison weakened me. But don't forget that the poison originates from the demon snakes of my race. I have my countermeasures. Why do you think I'm still alive?"
The demon chuckled softly, its voice now a low growl.
"Bad news for you, though: I still have enough strength for one last attack. Run, Dusk. Run and never look back!"
Dusken's smile widened, though his thoughts turned grim. His gamble had paid off, the demon was indeed injured but it still retained the power to strike once.
It might be possible that the demon was faking it, but survival had been drilled into him since his training.
He wouldn't sacrifice his life just to test that theory. Although he might seem impulsive due to his excitement-driven actions, they were all grinded in logic.
He hadn't run away from that creature earlier and had decided to fight it, not only because of the exhilaration but because running would only have exhausted him. When the creature caught up, death would have been a certainty.
Every plan he formulated was always carefully thought out before execution, and a blow from a level-three awakened demon wasn't just dangerous but fatal.
In such a situation, escaping was imperative, and Dusken knew that. But how? There was no way he could outrun a level-three, no way. The demon was telling him to run, but how could Dusken believe him?
All these thoughts ran through Dusken's mind, making him feel troubled, but none of it reflected on his face. Instead, his smile only widened.
The demon let out a disappointed sigh.
"You know, Dusk, I might have let you go with just a few wounds if you'd run. But your pride is too vast. You could have escaped, yet you stayed. Now, you can only blame yourself."
The white smoke warped, and the air around them seemed to shift. An invisible wind blew, neither hot nor cold, but unsettling nonetheless.
Still, Dusken smiled, shaking his head slightly.
"Why should I run and give you the satisfaction of seeing fear on my face? Never. Pride, beauty, kindness, evil, good or bad, these are mere opinions. They don't define me. They're just words people use to control or judge others."
He spoke deliberately, his words aimed to buy time while the poison did its work.
"This is the natural order, demon. Call it pride if you want, but I call it survival. If I ran, you'd still attack. Staying or running, what's the difference? If I'm going to die, I'd rather face your attack head-on. That's my way. That's my thrill."
The demon laughed darkly, its voice booming through the night.
"Oh, Dusk, I admire your courage, but your thrill cannot save you. I'm curious to see what your expression will be when you face my attack."
The smoke surged as ten ethereal spikes appeared, hovering behind the demon before shooting toward Dusken - slow at first, but picked up speed soon.
He moved, slashing at a spike with his bone weapon, but it passed through as though the blade wasn't there.
Dusken leapt back from a nearby spike, but no matter where he moved, they followed in relentlessly.
He did his best to avoid injury, but a misstep made one of the pursuing spikes stab into his right arm, causing intense pain.
Gritting his teeth to endure it, he noticed that once the spike pierced him, it disappeared, leaving only nine spikes rampaging through the area.
"Haha, you've been pierced," the demon sneered. "These spikes target your soul. And in this Ethereal Land, your body is your soul. Beg me, and I might let you live."
Dusken ignored the taunts, his sharp gaze scanning the battlefield. More spikes launched toward him, tearing through the air with whistling sounds.
He titled his head, narrowly dodging a spike aiming for his head. As his mind raced with countless thoughts.
One of them, though, was how to escape this perilous situation.
A spike suddenly appeared in his vision, aiming for his left rib.
He couldn't react on time and could only throw himself to the ground as the spike tore through his robe, scratching his left rib, which dealt him a light wound in the process.
The spike's size visibly shrunk as it flew away only to turn and head back at him.
'Something, something, something,' Dusken's mind raced with thoughts as he avoided spikes after spikes, his wounds now becoming an hindrance.
Another spike buried itself into his left thigh sending a sharp pain to his brain. Dusken stifled a groan as blood seeped into the sand. Yet amidst the agony, inspiration struck.
The shadows.
If darkness was an entity of the abyss, so too were shadows. He could use them to track the spikes' movements, to turn their speed against them and try to escape his desperate situation.
However, unlike the darkness, which instantly responded to him, the shadows were heavy and unmoving, as though they didn't care about his crisis - the crisis of their child.
Dusken's body protested with every motion, but he was unrelenting. He pushed through the pain from his wounds, driven by the will to survive.
The crazed laughter of the demon echoed around him, but he didn't respond.
It was because, finally, the unmoving shadows had mysteriously stirred for some reason.
The feeling was faint and imperceptible - like a silent call, even - but it was still there, flickering like a dying light.
He called to the shadows, willing them to respond.
Even so, the shadows refused to give him full access to their senses, as if they disdained or hated him.
Dusken frowned slightly. Although he knew the shadows had partially responded to his call, there was still something else - an ancient power that was forcefully cutting their bond, separating him from the shadows and making them... enemies.
*******
A/N: Another chapter has been written. Vote for the novel to reach more readers.