Demonic Devourer: First, I Eat the Babies [LitRPG]

Adrian draws his sword, his low-level Warrior class still enabling him to quickly unleash his blade despite the general lack of skills it must have.

The voice, still at a distance where I can associate with an owner, just laughs. “Come on, Adrian boy. You know you can’t hurt me with that toy.”

“Fuck off, Zil,” the Warrior spits. “Evelyn, be ready to drop it.”

The laugh repeats, louder this time, and Adrian backs up a step, still gripping his sword so tightly that the knuckles on both his hands turn white.

“Zil” steps in for the first time, and I scan him in a second.

 

Name: Azaril Halcyon

Age: 72

Race: Human

Class: Berserker/[CLASS CLOAKED]

Level: 87/[LEVEL CLOAKED]

Last Used Skill: Find Allies (Gold) - lvl 28

Azaril Halcyon. Known as “Zil” by some and “spare me” by many. Openly bears the Mark of the Dead Gods. Has previously come in contact with allies Adrian Stahr and Sierra Jade.

[ATTRIBUTES CLOAKED]

 

The information that my upgraded Appraise offers me is rather useful. Rather than telling me that it failed, it tells me what Azaril has cloaked, and it offers me surprisingly prescient information about how he relates to my party.

Also, Halcyon? That name is familiar. Sierra mentioned the people holding the train station were from that family. Is he here for that?

Azaril himself is a monster of a man, at least seven feet tall with a battle-hardened body. Scars mark every inch of the skin he exposes, though that’s not much considering his layered, weathered leather armor. His full black beard frames a mirthful face that wouldn’t be out of place in the center of an all-out tavern brawl, and he looks much younger than his seventy-two years.

Most importantly, he has a sigil emblazoned on his armor and branded on his cheek. A stylized pair of letters made to look like an eye.

He’s Deadmarked.

“Azaril,” Sierra greets him, any hint of warmth in her voice fading away into a frigid void. “What a coincidence.”

Level 87 is monstrous, and that’s his uncloaked class. I could easily take him as he is right now with my special skills, but Soulpyre still has eight days of cooldown left while my domain has just under six. Without those two, I’m not entirely sure if I can take him down, even with my massively overenhanced stats. His second class is sure to be much stronger, right?

“You’re lucky I haven’t blown your brains out yet,” Adrian warns.

“You didn’t the last time, boy,” Azaril rumbles, rubbing his hands together. “I’m glad you’re still alive. And you, Sierra… you appear to have lived as well.”

I breathe shallowly, preparing to unleash my skills. He doesn’t look like he’s about to attack, but Adrian’s half a second from lunging at the tall, broad stranger and Sierra’s accidentally summoned wisps of blue magic around her head.

“It is ever my pleasure to see you,” Sierra says with open distaste. “Has your cult tracked us to this location already?”

“They have not,” the mountain of a man replies. He eyes the countertop that Adrian got his drink from, grabs a bottle at random, and starts downing it. Azaril chugs half the forearm-sized bottle before he speaks again. “I work alone.”

“You said that the last time, you fucking cultist shithead,” Adrian says. “You’re supposed to be locked up. I saw you getting dragged off to a containment cell.”

Azaril snorts, drinking the rest of the bottle before tossing it aside. “With friends like the Coalition, you lot don’t even need enemies. Who’s the new girl?”

“The Deadmarked broke you out,” Sierra accuses.

For a moment, I see anger flash across his eyes, but it disappears just as quickly as it comes, replaced by the same uncaring mirth as before. “Child, I am not working with their cult.”

“Then why are you here, Zil?” Adrian shouts, pointing the sword at Azaril’s throat. “What do you want with us?”

“History?” I ask Sierra.

She looks at the scene, considering. Despite the venom in her words, she still hasn’t drawn a weapon and hasn’t used a skill. That either means she doesn’t think he’s going to kill us or he’s powerful enough that resistance won’t matter.

I hope it’s the former.

“…History,” Sierra says, eventually. “He hurt Adrian more than he did me, to be completely honest. Adrian looked up to him.”

“You still smoke those Lisheerin cigs?” Azaril asks. “I heard they came out with a new design sometime last year.”

Adrian lowers his sword an inch. “You—you still collect?”

“‘Course I do, boy,” Azaril says, inverting a section of his armor to reveal a bandolier filled with something that looks like trading cards. “Had to restart my collection after the marked fucks burnt my house to the ground.”

That brings the fire back into Adrian, and he places the sword even closer to Azaril’s throat. “Zil. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Look,” Azaril says. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Fool me once,” Sierra says, “shame on you. Fool me twice…”

“I need someone I can trust!” Azaril bursts out, saying the words so fast they slur into one another. “Please. They took everything I have.”

“Who’s they?” I ask. “The Deadmarked, I presume.”

“Who are you?” Azaril asks. “I know Adrian and Sierra, lass. You’re a fresh face.”

Adrian snarls, thrusting his sword forward.

The tip of the metal screeches against Azaril’s throat, and the sword warps.

“My boy,” Azaril sighs. “I told you that wouldn’t work.”

“Stop fucking calling me that!”

“You were asking me who I was,” I say, interrupting their argument before Adrian can make another useless attack. “Correct?”

“Yep,” Azaril says. “Sorry if I’m wrong, lass, but you look like you couldn’t box a twelve-year-old kid, let alone a—“

I let my cloak drop. If there’s consequences, I’ll deal. Just like I always have.

“Whoa there,” the Berserker says, his eyes widening. The look that strikes him is something between recognition and awe. “You’re a powerful one, aren’t ya?”

“I’m an ally,” I say. “Who are you?”

“Zil,” Adrian says, intercepting Azaril before he can speak. “Is a piece of shit. He wormed his way into our good graces ages ago and had the fucking gall to spend years with us before backstabbing us and leaving me to die.”

“That wasn’t my choice,” Azaril grunts, a hint of shame crossing his expression. Before he can defend himself further, his eyes widen. “Hold it. You were in the Crowned Islands, weren’t you?”

“How the fuck do you know that?” Adrian asks, striking Azaril with his sword once more. Zil’s neck does not budge. “Were you following us?”

“I didn’t know,” Azaril replies. “Until now, that is. Those islands are the only safe place in the whole wide world with a limit below Category 0, so I figured that’s where you hid. That said…”

He stares at me. “What was your name again?”

I stare back, drawing on my vastly-enhanced Acting to guide my response. “Evelyn. What business do you have with my allies, Zil?”

This man is powerful, I can tell that. He could be useful as an ally or as food, though the latter doesn’t seem feasible at the moment.

“I was about to say,” Zil grunts, massaging his temples, “Hate to admit it, but I need allies.”

I tilt my head. “Sierra and Adrian do not appear to be your allies.”

“Yeah, what happened to your fucking clan?” Adrian asked. “She just killed a dozen of them as easily as breathing. You think you’ll stand a chance against her?”

Zil definitely would, but I don’t mention that.

He springs out of his seat at the mention of his family, and Sierra actually actively summons magic. She doesn’t fire any of it, but a swirling mass of sky-blue energy roils in her hand.

“The Halcyons,” Zil breathes, “are no longer my people.”

“Oh,” Sierra says, her magic intensifying. “Is that true?”

“If they were, would I come to you?”

As they bicker, I close my eyes, drawing on my Blood Sense. Azaril—no, not Azaril, Zil, that’s what Acting says I should think of him as—is powerful, and I’ve completely uncloaked. Given the fact that the Halcyons controlled the train station, it’s eminently possible that they have some form of influence over the train as well. I need to pay attention.

“There’re people coming,” I mention offhandedly. That gets the attention of all three of them. “Can we skip to the part where we get over our differences and accept the help of the level 87?”

Sierra glares at Zil, but she relaxes quickly enough. Adrian doesn’t sound happy with that, but he lowers his sword. Maybe it’s settled in how ineffective he is without his Hydrokinetic class.

“You have a sharp eye, lass,” Zil says, raising an eyebrow. “A sharper bite, if ya believe the rumors.”

“Rumors?” I ask. This isn’t the time to be having a conversation. My Blood Sense tells me that three are approaching our train car from the side opposite the one that Zil entered through. One is coming from behind him, and that target is coming fast.

Zil grunts an affirmative. “I’ve heard a lot, the past few days. An old acquaintance of an acquaintance told me about this being that shouldn’t have been able to exist in the Crowned Islands. One that took out a city on its own.”

I tense, preparing myself to attack both Zil and the rapidly approaching unknown. Given the people I’ve been dealing with recently, the fact that I’m part demon hasn’t been a particularly important sticking point, but this is someone new. Is he about to attack me?

“At first,” Zil says, lumbering to his feet, “I thought it was one of you two tearing your cloak off in a playground, but the description didn’t fit. The cause of it was entirely unknown, but now…”

The giant’s gaze settles on me.

I meet his eyes.

“They’re calling it the Crimson Rain,” Zil says, cracking his fists. “They’re calling you the Blood Reaper.”

With that declaration, he stands, power coursing through him. Sierra summons magic as I do, ready to fight back no matter how fruitless it might be—but his target isn’t me.

Zil turns one hundred and eighty degrees, swinging his arm with such force that the punch seems to shatter the air itself.

I barely have enough time to Appraise the newest arrival before the air-cracking punch lands.

Level 45. Lucius Halcyon.

That’s about as far as I manage to read when the information simply stops, the Halcyon’s head cleanly separating from his shoulders and crumpling inwards. Gore splatters across the entire train car, though I use Hemokinesis to keep it from dirtying our clothes.

“And,” Zil adds, wiping bloody brain matter and bone chips on a satin-lined couch, “They’re coming for you.”

“Very impressive,” I say, nodding towards the mess he’s made. “There are three more of them.”

Not that they’ll be any threat to me. I track them with Blood Sense, locating all three of them in the next car over. They’ve completely evacuated that car of the scant few civilians who were there—convenient for me.

“Stand back, Adrian,” Sierra warns. “You’re not powerful enough for this yet. Evelyn, keep casualties to a minimum. Please.”

“Got it,” I say, lining up my skills. These three are strong enough to resist my Hemorrhage from this range, so I can’t just turn them inside out.

I can, however, line one of them up through the wall and fire a three-charge blast from my Soulshard Rifle. At the same time, I activate Abyssal Echo, focusing the entirety of the Diamond tier skill on the other two.

One of them dies without even knowing that I’m attacking him, his entire head obliterated in an instant by the fist-sized yellow laser that explodes from my rifle. The other two just freeze up. Neither of them even manage to scream before the demonic spell rips into their cores, twisting their magic until it consumes them.

Trait earned: Killer V

Requirements: Kill 250 beings that possess levels

“I’ll be right back,” I tell the three of them, stepping towards the next car. Zil follows me.

“Shit,” he blurts out when he sees the messy corpses. “Category 0, too? Blood Reaper doesn’t even start to describe ya.”

I shrug, activating Devour. Consuming these three finally gets me to level 52, which doesn’t do all that much other than raise all my attributes again and increase the pool of points I have to 96.

I’m ridiculously strong as is, and I’m not sure which ones I want to invest in most at the moment, but I distribute sixty of the points, giving twenty apiece to Magic (Regen), Body (Strength), and Mind (Speed), all of which have been critical in my continued survival so far.

“So,” I say, gesturing towards the cult mark on his face. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re actually here?”

“Like I said,” he replies. “I need help.”

Unfortunately, despite my Gold tier Acting, I still don’t have any way to determine if someone is lying.

I sigh. “With what?”

Adrian and Sierra filter into the train car, carefully stepping around the corpses I’ve made. Neither of them make a move to attack. Maybe Sierra’s talked some sense into the Warrior.

“What else?” Zil says, spreading his hands. The aisle we stand in is narrow enough that he accidentally crushes the side of two cushioned seats in doing so. “The Deadmarked. The Halcyons.”

“Looks to me, Azaril Halcyon, that you’re still on their side,” I reply.

He grimaces, then unlaces his armor, revealing a remarkably brawny physique underneath.

And a long, silver scar that traces its way from his left shoulder to his right hip.

“They did this to me,” he says. “All in the name of power.”

Adrian bristles at that, but Sierra quiets him down.

I’m not entirely sure what their entire story with him is, but given that Sierra has yet to raise arms against Zil, I think I’ll go with the route that keeps a strong ally on our side.

Besides, I think our goals might be aligned here.

“In the name of power,” I repeat. “I have an objective to destroy them. Would you care to enlighten us on what to expect?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Zil says, putting his armor back on. “They’re making a Titan.”