Rearing Demons-Chapter 15: Morruk Demon; Rank 8 Battle

Yur spent nearly a full day razing Mother Trees, gathering saplings with single-minded efficiency. By the time he was done, he'd amassed dozens, including several new varieties: Truik Mother, Wasqi Mother, and many more.

The Dreanin Mother was an especially interesting find.Dreanin demons, though relatively weak on their own, had the potential to evolve into Vashra and beyond—making them valuable foot soldiers.

The Dreanin Mother itself was enormous, and it took him more than five hours to burn down. Its children relentlessly defended it, hurling themselves at him with surprising force. Though they couldn't do serious harm, their bites and punches still hurt more than any low-level demons he'd faced before.

In the process of all this destruction and harvesting, he managed to rack up a healthy sum of Demon Points.

[Demon Points: 290]
[Human Points: 57]

"Time to see what else is out there," he murmured, pushing deeper into the warped forest. Some demons fled at the sight of him; others attacked on sight. With a casual flick of his wings, he extended his barbed tail to its full two-meter length and used it to dispatch most foes that ventured too close. It was much simpler than swinging his arms.

Suddenly, a rustling sound—a faint trep trep—caught his attention. Peering around, he spotted an odd little creature perched on a gnarled branch overhead. It cocked its head curiously at him.

Unlike most of Zulmasharr's monstrosities, it was...cute. Its soft fur was predominantly white, broken by bright blue stripes. Two large, floppy ears framed big, watery eyes, and it had a petite, button-like nose. Five graceful tails waved behind it, each tip flickering with a strange white flame. From the shape of its body, it resembled a small cat—if cats existed in this realm.

"What is—?" He got no further. In the blink of an eye, the creature vanished.

Trep trep.

A horrific realization cut through him: the demon was suddenly gnawing on his arm—and not just biting, but gnawing the entire arm clean off. His vision swam as he glanced down to see nothing there but a crimson stump.

[Morruk Demon Detected!]
[Trep Demon! Host is advised to escape!]

"Damn it!" Yur's stomach lurched. He hadn't even seen it move. Panicking, he flared his wings and launched into the air, only for a searing pain to tear through his leg. One swipe—no, one blink—and that leg was gone, too.

"Arrgh!" he screamed, glaring down. The same creature now perched on another tree, munching on his severed limb, the cute veneer stripped away by the ghastly reality of its appetite.

[Host is losing blood quickly!]

"I know!" he snarled, twisting in midair to maintain balance with just one leg. He hastily tugged a few Retch's from his pouch, ripping off their tube-like tendrils with his fangs and using them as makeshift tourniquets for his bleeding stumps. It was crude and agonizing, but it slowed the blood loss.

"Zul, what do I do?" he shouted, heart hammering.

[Host must fight from afar!]

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"Can't I just run?" He was all for battle experience, but not at the cost of getting devoured alive.

[Trep Demons track scent. It won't stop until you're dead...or it is!]

Hearing that, a spike of pure terror jolted through him. The only slight advantage he had was elevation—the Trep Demon apparently lacked wings, so it couldn't follow him into open sky. Still, he could only remain aloft for so long, especially now that he was grievously wounded. Maybe an hour, tops.

"O-okay, think... Do I have enough points to buy something useful?" His mind raced, recalling the 290 Demon Points he'd amassed.

[As an Ashkavaal, Host can purchase offensive Rituals!]

"Fantastic! Show me the best one I can afford!" he demanded, voice trembling with urgency.

[Host does not have enough points!]

His hopes plummeted. "But I've got nearly three hundred!"

[Most basic offensive Ritual costs 1000 Points!]

A spike of despair shot through him. "A thousand?! That's insane! Why were Asheseed Relics only fifty, then?"

[Relics are cheaper but require study to master their fruits. Store-bought rituals imprint directly into the Host's mind!]

He clenched his jaw. "So... no help there, I guess?"

[Host is on his own!]

"Zul, you're useless!" he spat, already flying away as quickly as he could. Below, the Trep Demon bounded from branch to branch, staring up with bright, unblinking eyes, drool lining its maw.

"What do I do now?" He felt lightheaded, adrenaline surging with every labored wingbeat. In the midst of his panic, a sudden idea flashed through his mind: The ledge!

He remembered the towering cliff he'd scaled to leave the Barren Canyon—a perilous drop that would definitely cause the death of any creature. Gritting his teeth, Yur forced himself toward that distant edge, praying he could stay airborne long enough to reach it...before the demon found another chance to rip him apart.

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The sky churned an ominous green, pillars of searing flame erupting from every corner of the war-torn landscape. Clouds crackled under the heat, hissing in protest.

Beneath this unnatural storm soared Sect Leader Olmi, his massive curved blade glinting with lethal intent. Opposite him, rising like a living mountain, stood Demon King Yukinly in his monstrous behemoth form—flabby limbs crushing hundreds of fleeing mortals with every step.

"Bastard!" Olmi roared. Green fire coiled around him like serpents, lancing upward into towering columns. He directed them toward Yukinly's hulking body, hoping to slow the demon's advance. Yet Yukinly simply shrugged them off, batting them aside with swollen arms. Each casual swipe erased entire swaths of human homes, turning what remained of a once-thriving region into a smoking ruin.

"More! More!" The demon's booming laugh shook the air, his flabby girth lurching forward at shocking speed. Where he passed, mortals and lesser cultivators alike were trampled into the earth.

"Damn it!" Olmi spat, despair and rage warring in his voice. The demon's rampage carved through entire cities, unstoppable. "If you want to slaughter my people, then I'll butcher every last one of your demons!" The sight of Yukinly crushing innocents sparked something wild in Olmi's mind. Pivoting away from the demon king, he plunged into the thick of the infernal army.

"Eye for an eye, you beasts!" With one tremendous sweep of his arms, countless green pillars erupted, razing scores of demonic forces in seconds. Bolts of emerald flame danced across the ground, incinerating even the strongest lesser demons.

Yukinly snickered at the carnage, unperturbed by Olmi's retaliatory fury. "I like your spirit, Olmi! But can you save everyone?" he taunted, bounding after more helpless mortals, each colossal footfall birthing new screams and rubble.

The rank-seven and rank-six cultivators nearby gritted their teeth, torn between focusing on the Demon King or stemming the slaughter. At Olmi's frantic urging, they rushed to contain Valgath and Kyrrath demons scattering in every direction, ravaging mortal towns. A brutal dance of destruction spread outward—cities overrun, villages burned, and families uprooted in moments.

Meanwhile, Olmi squared himself, eyes bloodshot with fury. "Yukinly! Hear me now: If you keep this up, I'll give my life just to drag you into the grave with me!"

The Demon King paused amid the wreckage, a twisted grin stretching across his monstrous face. "Go ahead and try—I've wanted to know how death tastes!" His voice thundered with dark amusement, saliva dripping from jagged teeth.

Emerald flames surged around Yukinly, forming binding chains that bit into his bloated flesh. Olmi's sword struck next, whipping toward the demon's throat—but Yukinly lunged forward, his teeth snapping down on the blade. The piercing screech of metal on metal filled the air, driving mortals nearby to collapse with blood trickling from their ears.

"Damn monster!" Olmi hissed, unleashing a torrent of slashes and flame pillars. Each cut drew gouts of black blood from Yukinly's hide, but the Demon King bore it with cruel laughter, slamming his limbs about to flatten any stray human or demon in his path. The two combatants, locked in a stalemate, continued to clash for what felt like endless hours. Their battle scoured the land bare, leaving a thousand-kilometre wasteland devoid of life.

At the center of that ravaged land stood Yukinly, pinned by searing chains of green fire, his obscene bulk panting from exertion. Olmi hung in the air, arm trembling around his battered sword, face gleaming with sweat and tears of rage. "Let the other sects know," Olmi shouted, his voice echoing across the dead plains. "No more rank-eight beings will remain! If we don't unite, the demons will devour everyone."

Small, flaming birds materialized at his command, darting away to carry the desperate message. In their wake, Olmi drifted closer to the Demon King, the fight draining from him in ragged breaths.

"Ha...ha... Are you out of tricks, Olmi?" Yukinly goaded, testing the fiery shackles. "Accept your defeat and let me eat you!"

For a moment, Olmi stood silent in the swirl of ash and embers. Then, he glided forward, close enough to smell the demon's rancid breath. "You want to devour me? Fine."

A flicker of unease passed over Yukinly's face. The demon began thrashing, tearing at the chains. "W-what are you doing?!" he bellowed, as a wave of profound energy rippled from Olmi's chest. For the first time all battle, a spark of fear trembled in the demon's voice.

"It never needed to come to this," Olmi whispered, pressing a hand to his own sternum. With a wrenching cry, he tore it open and yanked free a brilliant green orb. Blood frothed around the wound, yet the cultivator's expression was oddly calm. "Did you know we humans carry entire worlds in our Orbs? We call them Cyralim's."

"Y-you bastard!" Yukinly roared, finally freeing one massive arm from the binding flames—but an even greater surge of green power flared from the orb, lashing into him with a chain of living fire. He could only watch, horror etched into his twisted features.

"They say," Olmi continued, voice quivering with emotion, "that once a human reaches certain heights, their Cyralim can manifest physically—a true world. But even before that level, the power we harbor can eclipse reality itself." Tears mingled with the blood on his face as the orb's emerald light began devouring him from the inside. "Come, Demon King. Let's both close our eyes together."

"No—NO! NO!" Yukinly shrieked, thrashing in panic as the orb expanded, swallowing him, swallowing Olmi, and then surging past their bodies in a spine-chilling wave of radiance.

For a heartbeat, all fell silent in the wasteland. Then came the flash: a brilliant green blaze that consumed the horizon, searing an eerie afterimage into the eyes of all who witnessed it. When it finally faded, there was nothing left—no trace of Yukinly, no sign of Olmi, just an empty stretch of devastated earth beneath a sky that still wept silent, flickering embers.

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"Follow me!" Yur cried, voice hoarse and ragged as he forced himself higher. His wings—one intact, the other tattered—thrashed against the scorching Zulmasharr air, barely keeping him aloft. Blood still seeped from the makeshift bandages knotted around his missing arm and leg. Landing means death, he told himself, clenching his teeth to push through the agony.

Behind him, the Trep Demon tracked his every movement with chilling persistence, leaping from branch to branch of the twisted trees below. Finally, through blurred vision, Yur spotted the distant edge of the cliff—the same one he'd scaled to leave the Barren Canyon. His only chance now was to lure the creature over that precipice.

He willed the last vestiges of strength into his wings, swinging wide around the cliff. His single foot and hand morphed into claws, digging at the rock to stabilize himself as he drew back from the ledge. The Trep Demon arrived moments later, perched at the lip of the canyon. Its large eyes shone with an unholy hunger, its teeth still stained with Yur's flesh.

This is it... Yur thought, adrenaline spiking. There's only one way. Inch by inch, he floated nearer, his breath ragged in his throat. "Come on... closer," he murmured, his heart pounding.

Suddenly, with an Arg! of fury, the Trep hurled itself forward, moving so fast that Yur's eyes could barely track it. He twisted his body at the last possible moment—a slight tilt that caused the demon's savage bite to miss his torso and instead tear into his already shredded wing.

White-hot pain lanced through his body, and Yur's vision blurred. The wing tore away with a sickening rip, and he plummeted. So did the Trep.

"Damn!" he choked, gravity seizing them both. His remaining wing snapped open to its full two-meter span, beating frantically. Yet it was nowhere near enough to maintain flight with so many injuries.

Just a little more... His one hand clawed at the rocky wall, but the wind of his free fall whipped him too fast to catch a hold. Below, the Trep flailed in midair, powerless without a perch.

All Yur could do was keep forcing that single wing to flap, to drag him a fraction closer to the canyon face. The ground loomed like a death sentence, and his blood-slick fingers scraped desperately against cold, unyielding stone.

I have to reach... he told himself, a fierce determination burning behind his eyes. An anguished roar tore from his throat as he flapped his mangled wing again, willing his body just a hairsbreadth nearer to the rock—praying it would be enough to stave off the final crash