NOVPUB
Chapter 84: 84:The Rotten Memory[II]
The night sky burned with crimson flames as the demons descended upon the village like a swarm of locusts.
Houses crumbled, their wooden frames snapping like twigs under monstrous claws. Screams filled the air, desperate cries for help drowned beneath the cackling laughter of the invaders. Blood splattered across the dirt paths, staining the once-peaceful land with carnage.
Children clung to their mothers, sobbing, only to be yanked away by the clawed hands of demons with wicked grins.
Men and women grabbed whatever weapons they could rusty swords, kitchen knives, farming tools, anything to protect themselves. But against the overwhelming force of the demons, it was hopeless. Blades bounced off thick demonic hides, and arrows shattered before they could even pierce flesh.
A farmer swung his axe at a hulking demon, but the beast caught it mid-air with a clawed hand, snapping the wooden handle with ease.
"Pathetic," it sneered before tearing the man’s throat out with its fangs. Another villager, a young boy barely old enough to hold a weapon, stabbed a demon in the leg.
The creature roared, not in pain but amusement.
"Ahaha! This one’s got some fight!" it howled before sinking its teeth into the boy’s skull, cracking it open like a ripe fruit.
Corpses piled up in the streets, and the rivers ran red with human blood. The Asmodeus Clan stood at the center of the destruction, their leader, a towering figure cloaked in dark robes, overseeing the chaos. His voice was deep, emotionless. "Take them all. Spill their blood. Let their suffering please the gods." His followers obeyed with glee, dragging the still-living victims to makeshift altars of bone and stone.
Women were bound in chains, their pleas ignored as jagged blades carved into their flesh. Their blood pooled into sigils etched in the ground, glowing with eerie light.
"Sacrifice them! Let the power flow!" a demon priest screeched, raising a bloodstained dagger. One by one, throats were slit, bodies tossed aside like discarded waste. The demons did not let the corpses go to waste.
A hunched demon tore a chunk of flesh from a dead woman’s thigh, blood dribbling down its chin. "Oohh! It’s so hot and fresh," it moaned, licking its lips. Another demon, covered in spikes, shoved a severed arm into its mouth, crunching the bones with sharp teeth. "This one tastes really great," it grunted between bites. "Have a taste too," it offered, tossing a torn leg to its companion.
A winged demon dipped its claws into a pile of organs, scooping up a handful of intestines. "Nothing beats the taste of fear-soaked meat," it said with a twisted grin. Another demon, covered in thick, tar-like skin, held up a severed head, its eyes still wide with horror. "Look at this one! The terror is still frozen on its face!" It cackled before biting into the skull, cracking it open like a nut.
Amid the carnage, a cloaked figure stood still, his face hidden beneath a cracked, expressionless mask. His eyes were dry and lifeless, his skin pale and corpse-like. The demons beside him noticed his stillness and frowned. "Hey, why aren’t you eating?" one asked, blood dripping from its fangs. Another shoved a chunk of raw flesh toward him. "Don’t you find it appetizing?"
Amid the gruesome revelry, the odd demon stood still. His mask hid his expression, but his eyes—those dry, lifeless eyes—were filled with something unspoken. The others noticed his stillness again.
"Hey, aren’t you hungry?" one demon asked, gnawing on a severed arm.
"It’s fresh, tastes amazing," another grunted, gulping down chunks of flesh.
He shook his head. "I’m not hungry."
The demons laughed, some shrugging, others sneering. "Tch, what a waste."
Without another word, he turned and walked away. His footsteps were steady, but his soul felt like it was shattering with each step. The laughter and feasting faded behind him as he moved farther and farther from the carnage, disappearing into the shadows.
The moment he was out of sight, his body lurched.
"BLUERGHHHH!"
He ripped off his mask and fell to his knees, vomiting violently. The acidic stench of bile filled the air as his body convulsed, heaving out everything inside him. His trembling hands dug into the dirt, nails clawing at the cold earth as if trying to hold onto something real, something solid, but there was nothing.
His chest heaved, and his breath came in ragged gasps. His legs felt weak, like they could no longer support his weight. His heart hammered painfully, a deep, aching tremor that made his ribs feel like they were breaking. He spat the last remnants of bile, his throat raw, his stomach hollow. But the emptiness inside him wasn’t just physical—it was something far worse.
He lifted his head slowly, his face contorted with agony. His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, stared into the endless night. They were not the eyes of a demon they were the eyes of a man, a human drowning in grief, in helplessness.
"Why... Why do I have to see this?" he whispered, his voice hoarse, barely audible. His fingers curled into the dirt, shaking.
His breath hitched as his mind replayed the horror people screaming, children crying, limbs being torn apart, blood soaking the ground. His kinsmen, his own people, devoured like animals, and he—he could do nothing.
"Goddess," he choked, his voice breaking. "You said I am strong... You said I am the only one capable..." His lips quivered as a single tear slipped down his cheek, lost in the filth on his face. "But I am doubting it... I felt my heart shattering."
His hands clenched into fists, his nails biting into his skin. His breath grew heavier, more frantic, his chest tightening like a noose.
"I find it difficult to see my own kinsmen getting devoured while I am unable to do anything, so WHYYYY?!"
He screamed into the emptiness, his voice raw with anguish, a cry so broken, so full of pain, it could tear through the heavens. But the night did not answer. No one did.
His sobs racked his body, silent and shaking. The stars above him, distant and uncaring, offered no comfort. The wind that brushed against him carried only the scent of blood and burning flesh.
Alone. 𝔫𝖔𝖛𝖕𝔲𝔟.𝔠𝖔𝖒
He was utterly alone in his grief.
......
The sudden flashes of memory hit Kael with a slam that shook him as his steps faltered and his feet caved in as he tried to get up.
Kael’s eyes widened as he took in the grotesque sight around him. The corpses were pale, drained of every last drop of vitality. Their sunken eyes stared lifelessly, their skin shriveled like dried husks. He could see the veins beneath the flesh, blackened and shriveled as if their very essence had been ripped away.
Kael knew this sight all too well.
His fingers trembled as he clenched his fists, his breath turning ragged. This wasn’t just death—this was sacrificial extraction. Their life force had been siphoned away, either as an offering to a so-called god or to create something truly monstrous.
His mind flashed back to a place he never wanted to remember the Demon Continent.
He could still hear the screams. Men, women, and children, were all dragged to the altar, their blood used to fuel demonic power. Every time a demon triumphed, they would slaughter more innocents, feeding their god, and reveling in the despair they caused.
And him?
He stood there, teeth clenched so hard they bled, fists shaking, powerless.
He did nothing.
He let it happen.
And for what?
For nothing.
His chest heaved as rage swelled inside him, raw and untamed. His vision blurred with a red haze, his hands gripping his sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
Then, he screamed.
"HAAARGH!"
