Dripping with Bahirath fluid, Yur emerged from the underground chamber and headed back to the surface. In his hand rested the Asheseed Relic, now transformed into a vivid red orb. Its exterior remained glasslike, etched with the same cryptic symbols, but its interior now pulsed with blood imbued by runic characters.
"So this is what the Asheseed Relic looks like afterward," he murmured, turning it in his palm. The blood within shimmered under Zulmasharr's crimson light.
Yur grimaced at the thought of random demons devouring the Ritual Fruits that would eventually grow from this relic. "Zul, where's the safest place to plant it?"
[Only an Ashkavaal can benefit from the Fruits!]
"Sure, but demons here eat anything—better to be safe than sorry." He followed the system's guidance to a secluded patch of ground, then dug a shallow hole with his claws. Gently setting the red orb inside, he double-checked the instructions. As before, he needed the Bahirath to help it grow.
He dashed down into the cavern, filled his mouth with the steaming liquid, then rushed back up. The first trip failed miserably as most of the blood spilled en route, drawing a horde of eager imps. Irritated, he stomped them flat before trying again. After several messy journeys, he finally saturated the ground around the relic.
Exhaling in relief, Yur slumped by the newly covered hole. Soon, Ritual Fruits would sprout, granting him new spells against foes. He couldn't wait to leave this place and begin exploring. But first, he needed to test his abilities.
Opening his status panel, he scanned through what he had so far. The Incineration technique caught his eye—an ability that could ignite another being's blood or Orb directly. "That could be pretty handy," he mused.
Demons might not have Orbs, but their blood was abundant enough. Meanwhile, his own body—barbed tail, razor claws—served as a potent weapon. He just needed practice.
A sudden thought nagged him. "Zul, since I'm half demon and half human, can I switch back to a more human-like appearance?" Although his current form felt comfortable, he suspected waltzing into Afloria looking like a winged demon would get him attacked on sight.
[Changing form is possible!]
[Ashkavaal retain their full power in any shape!]
[Most demons lose a substantial amount of power when taking human form!]
"Wait, so demons can assume human form, too?" Yur asked, surprised. He'd assumed it was exclusive to half-demons like himself.
[Indeed. Once they reach Rank 5, they can shift forms, though they forfeit many abilities while disguised.]
A screen detailing his Ashkavaal Bloodline popped into view:
|——————————————————————|
Ashkavaal Bloodline
Host possesses both demon and human capabilities, plus unique powers of the Ashkavaal. Because every form is an authentic form of the Host, there is no loss of strength when shifting shapes.
Demons transform and forfeit many abilities while in human guise.
|——————————————————————|
"So I can transform at will and keep my full strength?" he mused. "That's convenient."
[Correct!]
[Does Host wish to shift forms now?]
"Yes. Zul—something more human, but still sturdy enough for Zulmasharr."
[Understood!]
A bright aura enveloped him, forcing him to shield his eyes. His grotesque wings shrank, skin lightened from sickly grey to a pale tone, and his flame-like black hair faded into a silvery white. His sclera remained a dull grey, his pupils a piercing crimson.
The twisted faces once emblazoned on his wings vanished, leaving behind smaller, shredded black-and-red membranes. His claws receded, fangs dulled, and a swirling black tattoo took shape on his right shoulder, branching over the exposed portion of his grey-orb core.
[Complete!]
Blinking away the last motes of light, Yur checked his reflection in a faintly reflective rock surface. He looked almost human—save for the tattered wings and the orb protruding from his chest. His face, though expressionless, held a strange allure.
"Not bad," he remarked, hopping in place to test his balance. "Zul, I'm going to need clothes if I'm traveling around like this."
[Remaining Demon Points: 2]
[Remaining Human Points: 7]
[Searching for options… Complete!]
[Zulmasharr Shop: Pants of Resistance (2 Points) (Recommended)]
[Afloria Shop: Set of Heat-Resistant Clothes (5 Points)]
"Just give me the pants. I only need to cover the essentials," he said with a wry grin.
[Purchased: Pants of Resistance!]
[Demon Points Remaining: 0]
A pair of dark grey trousers appeared on his body, comfortably snug. They radiated a mild enchantment against heat and moderate physical damage. "Much better," he said, pleased with the fit.
Eager to set out, Yur asked, "So, Zul—how do I start adventuring in Zulmasharr?" Clearly, he was clueless.
"Ah, right." He hurried to the Imp Mother tree, scooping up several of the larger, still-living imps. Each one shrieked in terror. "Do they need to be alive…?"
[Dead!]
With a simple nod, Yur snapped their spines and stowed them in his pouch, grateful it kept everything separate so his spare clothes wouldn't be ruined. He continued until he'd amassed nearly a hundred imp corpses, the pouch nearing its capacity.
"All set. What now?"
[Host is ready to explore!]
[Tip: Practice flying during your travels.]
Yur nodded thoughtfully. Mastering his wings would take effort, and he still needed to train Incineration. But no amount of static practice would replace real-world experience.
"You're right, Zul," he agreed. "It's time to learn on the road."
He checked his map. The area he currently occupied was logged, so returning wouldn't be difficult. Resolving not to retrace his original path, he picked a direction at random—each towering wall of the crater seemed equally distant, so any choice was as good as another.
"Let's go," he murmured, excitement lighting his crimson eyes. He broke into a sprint, wings flaring slightly as he got used to his slimmer physique. The red-tinged sky loomed overhead, and the endless expanse of Zulmasharr beckoned with unknown perils.
At last, Yur was free to set forth—his half-demon blood racing in anticipation of the trials and battles waiting beyond the horizon.
————————————————————————
"What did you say?"
Sect Leader Olmi slammed his teacup down, sending scalding liquid splashing over the kneeling masked disciples. His composure cracked, revealing the fury roiling just beneath. "That fool broke the treaty? We explicitly warned them not to provoke the demons!"
"Yes, Sect Leader," the lead masked figure acknowledged, bowing even lower. "We only recently received confirmation. It appears Damon attacked Demon King Yukinly's forces directly."
Olmi's aura flared, rattling the ornate wooden screens lining the hall. Though slightly weaker than Demon King Yukinly, he was nonetheless a formidable Rank Eight cultivator at the Ethereal Convergence realm. "Gather the armies," he barked, eyes burning. "We'll deal with that idiot—and face the Demon King head-on."
A woman beside the masked group hesitated, then spoke, voice steady. "Sect Leader, we need you at the front lines. Demon King Yukinly isn't someone we can manage alone. He has over a dozen Valgaths at Rank Seven and hundreds of Kyrrath demons at Rank Six."
Olmi's jaw tightened. "And our side?"
She stiffened, carefully choosing her words. "We've tried summoning the allied sects, but few have mobilized. Our own force, including affiliated sects, totals only six cultivators at Rank Seven—Aetherial Soul—and fewer than a hundred Rank Six—Essence Forge—combatants."
"Idiots," Olmi muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "They're wasting time squabbling while Yukinly's army grows stronger." His gaze shifted, looking off at some distant horizon. "What about the Eastern Region? Are they also locked in battle?"
A murmur of uncertainty swept through the kneeling disciples. "They're at a stalemate, Sect Leader. Most regions are, except ours. Here, the demons appear dead set on escalating hostilities. And…" The woman paused, as though reluctant to speak. "Word has spread that the Dying Flame Sect was annihilated."
Olmi's eyes widened in alarm. "The Dying Flame Sect? Their leader was Rank Nine—an Orb of Divinity cultivator! How could they fall so easily?"
This time, the disciple's voice trembled with uneasy respect. "They faced a Demon Lord, a Rakshar. Even a Rank Nine struggled against that kind of power."
A bead of sweat traced down Olmi's temple as the weight of the news sank in. "This war… It's spiralling out of control." Slowly, he slumped back into his chair, exhaustion warring with fury. Then his eyes flashed with renewed resolve. "Find Damon. Drag him here if you must—I want answers for this breach!"
The masked group stood in unison. "At once, Sect Leader." In a rush of silent motion, they vanished, leaving Olmi alone in the hall with the woman, the tension in the air humming like a drawn bowstring. Outside, thunder rumbled—a grim omen of the battles yet to come.