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

Teleportation doesn’t work the same way across every skill or ritual, I’m quickly realizing. The ride into the Wastelands is as instantaneous as the other teleportations I’ve experienced, but it’s a lot rougher, as if my insides have been scrambled, taken apart, and put back together in the span of a microsecond.

The other three stumble as they appear, but I manage to keep myself steady.

My attributes are ridiculously high now, and slightly lopsided at that. My Mind (Speed) is so high that I’m able to take in our new surroundings before Adrian can even finish his first disoriented step.

Before I even take in the room itself, I send blood flying from my body, drawing on Blood Sense at the same time. I’ve been ambushed one too many times to enter a new area without checking for hidden blades aimed at my back.

There’s nobody but us in this building. I can detect people a few hundred feet out, but the flow of the blood is sedate, which means that they’re not engaged in anything heart-pounding, like, say, an ambush. I keep a metaphorical eye on them anyway.

A series of Locates is my next step, even though the now Gold tier skill requires a fair amount of magic. Locate: Sapphire Clearwater, Marie Jade, Florence aka “Rin”, Simon aka “Sy”. Though I don’t know the latter’s full names, the combination of the more advanced skill and my increased proficiency in Magic (Meta) should bridge the gap.

Nothing. They’re not within three miles of us. Thanks to the massive amount I dumped into Magic (Regen), overspending on skills is less of an issue, allowing me the increased range on Locate. I’ll gain back the expended magic power in a few minutes.

After confirming that nobody’s hiding around a corner to attack us, I summon a Soulblade anyway, splitting it up into eight separate manifestations of the defense-bypassing weapon, each of my spider-like Phantom Shape limbs holding one.

When an entire second passes and nothing attacks us, I finally allow myself to relax.

Compared to the squalor of the border town we just emerged from, our destination is practically a palace. Rather than a single dusty house that looked like it wasn’t even finished with construction yet, we appear standing on a similar rune in a spacious room with golden walls. Paintings of people I don’t recognize line the walls, and enough furniture to seat twenty men is laid out around us—wait. I do recognize one of those paintings.

The face… I’ve seen someone similar before. Very few others have that same complexion and silver hair, but it’s not quite the same as the one I remember.

“Aurora Callen,” Sierra says, tracking my gaze to the painting. “Alexander Callen, her son, is currently an active specialist… somewhere. It has been a while since I saw him.”

Callen. I’ve seen that name before.

I close my eyes, the memory of a page of faces flashing through my mind.

White hair. Gaunt face. Haunted eyes. A simple nametag.

Demon Specialist. Alexander Callen.

One of my thirty-one remaining creators.

Suddenly, this excursion has gotten actually interesting. I didn’t get a chance to interrogate the last one, given that he was actively attempting to kill us. I’d like some answers as to why I exist in the first place, alongside an explanation of what I was made for. Sapphire clearly has some idea, but I refuse to take guidance from her of all people.

That’s something I can deal with when we get there, though, because we still have a task to complete here.

“Where are we?” I ask. “No ambush in the area, as far as I can tell.”

“Should be the Halcyon outpost,” Zil says, wiping sweat from his brow. “Unless I forgot. Shit. Wait a second.”

The Berserker reaches into his armor, drawing a pair of almost identical metal rods. One of them—presumably the one he used to get us here—is still softly glowing. Zil inspects them for a second, looking at the bottom.

“Yeah, okay, not the blood pits,” he says. “We’re in the right place.”

I hear Adrian’s palm meet his forehead. “You fucking moron…”

He seems to be warming up to the Berserker. Good for him.

“Have you been here before?” I ask.

“One too many times,” Zil grumbles, rolling up his sleeves. “Follow me.”

I don’t sense anything that looks like it could be a ritual. The last time I even felt a Titan’s presence was Scintilla’s, and that was from almost a hundred miles away. When it brushed against my mind, it was overwhelming in its power. Even when it wasn’t stealing me away from the real world to tell me that it was watching me, I could feel its presence in the water.

Nothing like that presents itself this time. Are we even in the right place?

As it turns out, the teleportation circle isn’t in an isolated building. The doors are unlocked, and we step out into a richly decorated hallway. The ceiling stretches high above us, intricately decorated with a bunch of art that I really don’t care about.

“It’s rather unguarded,” Sierra comments, keeping her voice at a whisper to minimize attention.

“I ain’t supposed to have the key,” Zil replies. “They won’t be watching.”

The key? Oh. The rod he used to trigger the teleportation circle. I see.

Zil seems to know his way around, and we follow him. I stay on high alert the entire time, my eight extra limbs still holding a Soulblade while my two human arms carry my Soulshard Rifle.

I must look like I’m raring for a fight, which I suppose I am. No matter what I do, I can’t shake my nature, it seems.

“Here,” Zil says, indicating a hallway that splits off from the one we’re already walking through. “Be careful. Try not to stand out.”

The Berserker is seven and a half feet tall, rippling with muscle, and he’s asking us to not stand out?

“You try first,” Adrian mutters.

One and a half minutes later, we encounter our first guard.

“Azaril Halcyon,” Zil says, holding out the still-glowing rod. “You can check it for yourself.”

The guard does so silently, their face hidden behind an opaque black visor.

They hand the rod back to Zil a moment later, nodding. “The others?”

“Guests,” the Berserker says, surprisingly formal. “We have an audience with Lord Arthur.”

Although I can’t see the guard’s expression behind the visor, I get the impression that they might be frowning. “There is no—“

Zil places his hand on the guard’s shoulder. He’s towers two feet above the guard, who can’t be an inch taller than me. “New here?”

Silence, then a nod.

“Trust me.”

I find the single fiber of trust I’ve managed to extend towards him burn away in an instant.

They know his name. Zil claimed that the Halcyon clan backstabbed him and left him for dead, but the reception he just got from this guard contradicts that.

Sierra and Adrian haven’t reacted, so I don’t immediately jump to attacking both Azaril and the guard we’re passing by, but I do prepare myself, every lethal skill I have ready to boil over.

As we walk further into a comically long hall decked with enough decorations to make any noble blush, Zil finally decides to stage whisper to us.

“I’m still officially part of them,” he says. “Any executions they do within the family are off the books. Goes double if they fail.”

His face twists for a second, but he schools it quickly.

I do not relax, since I find it hard to believe that the Halcyon family attempted to kill him and just… forgot to remove him from their support network.

“Could you maybe stop holding your knives there?” Zil asks, not even turning. Does he have a danger sense?

“No.” My response is curt.

“Don’t kill him yet,” Adrian says, running a hand through his hair. “If he dies here, we’ll be lost.”

“Understood,” I say, keeping my Soulblades active.

Zil stiffens, though I can’t tell if it’s because of the threat I currently pose to his neck, back, and legs or if it’s something that I can’t see. Given the fact that he wasn’t panicking about my weapons, it’s probably the latter.

“What is it?” Sierra asks.

“He’s… here,” Zil says. “The excuse was bullshit. We just needed access to the control room, but… the Halcyon scion is here.”

“You can tell?” I ask.

“Family thing,” Adrian and Zil say at the same time. The Warrior makes a face.

“The key,” Zil explains. “I can feel it.”

“Fucking hells, Zil, you’re trying to get us killed,” Adrian hisses. “Sierra, we should leave. Evelyn, do whatever you want.”

Wow, that’s rude.

“Is Arthur still the scion?” Sierra asks, ignoring our partner.

Zil nods. “I’ll talk some sense into him. Failing that, I’ll bullshit a way to get through. He’s reasonable.”

“Then we continue. Adrian, how close are you to recovery?”

“Maybe one more day,” the Warrior grimaces. “I’m still pathetic right now.”

“Be ready to run, then. I have blood to repay.”

We continue, following Zil, and soon we stand in front of a massive pair of gilded double doors. They glide outwards on their own, not even creaking as they unveil an unnecessarily ostentatious room about the size of the entire inn we stayed at in Ravendale.

It’s empty. This could easily be a banquet hall, the tables long enough to seat at least a hundred. Freshly-cleaned teleportation circles lie unused and dimming alongside the walls. The room is lined with intricately designed arcane machines, each of them carrying a dozen seats and pulsing with magic, but it’s all empty, dust settling over magical patterns.

Except, I realize, for one single seat. The hall seems to be designed to slowly draw the eyes towards a single unassuming chair at the center of it maybe two hundred feet back.

There’s one other person in this entire room, sitting alone with no guards. He looks young. No older than Adrian.

He looks like Zil, if Azaril chose a significantly less physically-inclined class. Though the absurd height and muscles aren’t there, the same jolly disposition seems to run through him. In this man’s case, though, my demonic eyes can pick out details that make him seem sharp where Zil tends strong.

“Welcome,” the man declares, standing from his seat, “to the Halcyon outpost. May I know your names?”

My Appraise succeeds.

 

Name: Arthur Halcyon

Age: 65

Race: Human

Class: Guardian of Time/[APPRAISE FAILED]

Level: 99/[APPRAISE FAILED]

Last Used Skill: Contingency

The scion of the Halcyon clan, one of the most powerful in the Whitestar Kingdom.

 

Zil opens his mouth.

Sierra reaches into thin air, retrieves her staff, and fires a skill that I now recognize as Obliteration Ray.

A painfully bright sky-blue laser screams through the air, lancing straight and true across the room. It smashes into Arthur’s chest.

His eyes widen, but he doesn’t even have time to cry out before he’s reduced to a bloody mist.

“What the fuck!” Zil shouts.

“You know who I am,” Sierra says, stalking towards the bloody stain that was Arthur. “You know the ritual you tried to perform.”

“Shit,” Adrian says, gripping his sword tighter. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Fucking—WHAT?” Zil shouts again. “This is not how this was supposed to go!”

 

Sierra reaches into thin air, retrieves her staff, and fires a skill that I now recognize as Obliteration Ray.

A painfully bright sky-blue laser screams through the air, lancing straight and true across the room—and it stops, frozen in the air.

A skill? Contingency. It must be. I can feel that something has changed. Something has been undone.

Arthur Halcyon takes three steps to his left before snapping his fingers. Abruptly unfreezing, the laser tastes nothing but air and steel.

He spreads his hands. “Let’s have a discussion, Zil. Sierra. Adrian. And a perfect stranger. I do believe we started off on the wrong foot.”

“Fuck you,” Sierra spits, raising her staff.

“Die,” Adrian adds helpfully.

“Halcyon,” I say. “No relation to Azaril Halcyon, I’m sure.”

“First cousins, believe it or not,” Arthur says. “And you are?”

“Evelyn,” I say. “Evelyn Carnelian.”

“Pretty name,” he says.

Sierra fires again. This time, the laser doesn’t even get close to her target.

“You should know,” Arthur says, flicking his hand to one side. Once again, the ray misses, twisting around him. “The same trick won’t work on me twice.”

“A discussion,” I say. “What about?”

If this is the scion of the Halcyon family, I have reason to believe that he’s involved with the two objectives I have. Domination of the Whitestar Kingdom and the creation of a baby Titan. I hold no ire against him for that, but it does mean that he is part of the path towards advancing myself.

“I had hoped,” he says, “that we could have a civilized discussion about what happens next.”

“You’re making a fucking Titan, Arthur,” Zil says, spitting the name. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“You should’ve stayed dead, Azaril,” Arthur bites back, each of his words dripping venom. “I was here to invite you to our future. Even you, cousin.”

“Future?” I ask, as probably the only one who doesn’t immediately want him dead. “Do explain.”

Sierra, Adrian, and Zil thankfully hold their fire for long enough for me to have an actual conversation. None of them look happy about it, and Sierra has to actively hold Zil back with strands of magic, but they keep themselves back.

“Of course,” Arthur says, slowly walking forward. “Inome. The Nameless Titan. The newest, and one that is not yet complete. We have already succeeded in drawing power from its nascent form.”

“And this benefits me how?” I ask. “What do you get out of gaining our cooperation?”

“I’m offering you power,” he says, “In exchange for staying out of our hair. It is a fragile operation, you know. A fraction of a false step kills when it comes to Titans. Interference makes an already difficult operation far more complex than it needs to be. Given your tendency to increase complexity, I hoped for a peaceful resolution. I offer you the world in your hand in exchange for a scant few days of peace.”

I consider it, thinking of the insane power that Scintilla had just by witnessing me. If I had even a portion of that, I could be a god amongst men and keep my options open to continue advancing until I can devour the Titans themselves.

Something about this doesn’t sit right with me. With my enhanced mental speed, it takes me only an instant to figure out why.

This deal is good. It’s too good.

And…

“Your tendency, you tell me. A perfect stranger?”

A flash of realization crosses his eyes, and I know I have him.

Zil recognized me. If not on sight, he knew who I was by my reputation and my raw power. If someone who’s supposedly been excised from the family is able to identify me, even if he’s been following me, what can someone with an actual information network do?

Of course he knows who I am.

“Well then,” he says. “I had hoped to spend some more time explaining. It is oh-so-entertaining to monologue. Alas.”

 

“And this benefits me how?” I ask. “What do you get out of gaining our cooperation?”

I blink. Arthur Halcyon is nowhere to be seen, and something is off.

Pop.

My Blood Sense, still active this entire time, triggers, notifying me of another presence.

Pop.

Another.

Pop.

A third.

Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.

The freshly-cleaned teleportation circles weren’t free of dust because of a magical effect or vanity.

They were prepared.

Locate: UCC operator Florence “Rin,” last name unknown. One hundred feet.

Locate: UCC operator Simon “Sy,” last name unknown. Eighty feet.

As I look around, I spy a familiar hunting coat, a bow, a slim figure that reminds me of the lab.

No, not the lab. The containment zone around it.

I search my memory.

Locate: Lady Ashley Kane. Ninety feet.

The litany of skills I’ve been preparing, all of them so close to boiling over all this time, lie ready for me to use. All the distrust I held for Zil, all the tension I held in my body… I can release it now.

As the three others with me fall into their fighting stances, I throw back my head and laugh.

I laugh and laugh and laugh, the room filling with the sound. For a brief, eerie moment, nobody does anything.

Thirty-six unspent stat points go straight to Magic (Power).

“Oh,” I say, still laughing. “You are so fucked.”