Chapter 60 - Destined to Be Cursed

Eighty-one years ago...

Igorus was practicing his sword movements along the molten rivers of Mount Eibilisk. His body was drenched in sweat from head to toe, yet it didn't seem to bother him. He swung his sword forward, to the side, backward, repeating the same maneuvers over and over. Each motion was preceded by a deep breath, his focus unwavering, his body and mind one with the rhythm of combat.

"Don't you like cold places?" a voice called out from behind him.

Igorus turned his head and saw Magura sitting atop a rock beside a small stream of lava.

"There are no cold places on this island. At least not that I can feel," said Igorus, continuing his training without pause.

"You've got the Arnates Mountains, Carolas. You could even consider the Alps of Sin if you wished," Magura replied, crossing her legs casually.

"If I'm not mistaken, you're the demon who serves under the Queen's command... Magura, right?" Igorus said, stopping his exercise.

"The one and only on duty," she answered.

Igorus observed her with intrigue, a curiosity he couldn't quite shake off. There was something undeniably unusual about her presence.

"I could ask you many questions," he said, "but I choose not to. You must have your reasons for being here, in this moment, in this place."

"Such as?" Magura tilted her head. "What does a demon seek in a place this hot? I have the freedom to be anywhere in this realm. That right was granted to me by the Queen herself, as long as I carry out her orders faithfully."

"Orders, huh? And what do you gain from following orders all the time?" Igorus asked.

"Nothing," Magura replied simply.

"Nothing?" Igorus frowned. "What good is it to be part of an arrangement, to exhaust yourself, if there's no reward? I've trained for centuries and finally earned the title of general of this nation. Life has no meaning if one's efforts aren't rewarded."

"That's not true," Magura said softly. "Life doesn't always have to be about reward. The mere fact that we are here, in this sacred place, means we've already been rewarded in some way. My memory is... poor, to say the least. I remember little of my past. But I do know this, life isn't a contest to win something. To live means to cherish even the moments when you gain nothing. To make mistakes is far more valuable than to win all the time."

A faint smile crossed her lips as the image of Simonaela's joyful face flickered through her mind.

"It's valuable even to make mistakes... Magura," Igorus said with conviction.

"Hm?"

"I challenge you to a duel. If I defeat you, then my philosophy stands victorious. But if you win, I'll try to enjoy life a little more... to see beyond the steam of this lava."

Magura smirked. "I see. I like your resolve. Very well then..."

Igorus was defeated, utterly, embarrassingly. His face was swollen and bruised, resembling a frightened octopus. Magura gently cooled his injuries with frost, a small gesture of healing.

"H-how were you that strong? I didn't stand a chance against you," Igorus muttered in frustration.

"I'm not entirely sure," Magura said, resting her chin on her hand. "It must be something I've forgotten over time. And truth be told... I wasn't even close to a quarter of my true power."

Igorus' eyes widened so much that his eyelids seemed useless against the sweat trickling down his forehead.

"Since you lost," Magura continued, "I'll teach you something that might serve you one day, though I don't exactly recommend it."

With a wave of her hand, she conjured dark flames streaked with hints of green.

"Flames?" Igorus asked, astonished.

"I'm not as skilled with fire as I am with ice," she said, "but I can show you a rather dangerous technique..."

That entire moment drifted into the darkness that cloaked his helmet. Igorus saw Magura beside him again, the flames she had taught him to summon, the very flames that now gave birth to these monstrous beings, weighed down by the burden of blasphemy.

A few moments earlier...

Johannel staggered back slightly as he tore the spears from his body one by one. Blood streamed from every wound like a river, yet he seemed entirely unbothered by it.

"You might be the most devilish angel I've ever seen," Aldes said, drawing his sword from his belt. With a sudden burst, his dark wings spread wide, and he launched himself toward Johannel with terrifying speed, shattering the ground beneath his feet. Johannel met the charge with his own blade; the clash of steel between the two rivals unleashed a storm of destruction, waves of lethal lightning tearing through the air around them.

Aldes found an opening and struck Johannel in the head with his forehead.

"Nh–uokk! Heh... hahahaha!" Johannel laughed, blood dripping down his brow.

"Damn it!" Aldes cursed, leaping back just as a catastrophic explosion erupted from Johannel's blood. The blast swept through the ruins, toppled buildings, the corpses of angels scattered across the field, everything was consumed by the divine smoke of that detonation.

Aldes landed on a pile of debris, watching as Johannel walked through the flames and smoke, his face lit by a smile so unsettling that even Aldes felt a chill crawl down his spine. Then, Aldes drew a card from his belt.

"Number 37... alright then. Cyclopes of Triarges!" he muttered.

Five colossal cyclopes materialized before him, towering giants armed with golden mammoth tusks forged into weapons. They bellowed and charged toward General Johannel, each step shaking the divine earth, leaving craters in their wake. The ground trembled as if something ancient and hungry was racing toward its prey.

One of the cyclopes thrust its tusk downward, aiming to impale the general, but Johannel caught the blood-stained tip with nothing more than his right palm. The sheer impact of his grip generated a shockwave so powerful that it scattered stones and rubble in every direction.

"You truly think you can fight a god using these worms?" Johannel said coldly, as with a flick of his hand, he hurled the cyclops and its weapon into the air.

"Lapis Arts: First Wing — Tears of Gelthares!"

Before Johannel, a small mass of blood materialized and shaped itself into a razor-sharp disk. In a single instant, so fast that even time itself could not react, the airborne cyclops was sliced into hundreds of pieces, as if minced by the spinning blade of blood. The creature's remains rained down, its flowing blood forming streams that coursed through the ruined city like a crimson river system.

The other cyclopes were unfazed by their comrade's gruesome death. Instead, they charged faster, their thunderous steps echoing like war drums.

"Hmph."

In less than a fraction of a second, the remaining four were also shredded into countless fragments, their bodies torn apart by the same merciless disk. The blood disc returned to Johannel's hand, hovering beside him, awaiting its next victim.

"Impressive, General," Aldes said, smirking. "But that gave me just enough time to draw another card." He held it up, number 45.

Unlike the cards he had used in earlier battles, this one's activation lasted only two minutes, but at the cost of a massive drain of Lagus.

Across Aldes' body, exoskeletal structures began to form, resembling the natural armor of a beetle. His legs, shoulders, chest, and wings became encased in those insect-like plates. The carapace fused with his flesh, feeding on his veins, arteries, muscle fibers, and nerves, reinforcing them nearly eight hundred and fifty times over.

His weight grew exponentially, cracks splitting open beneath his feet. He grasped his head with both hands, struggling to adjust to the overwhelming power coursing through his transformed body.

"I see... so this must be one of your strongest weapons," Johannel said, as dozens of blood disks materialized around him, identical to the one from before, hovering beside his arms, ready to slice Aldes into hundreds of pieces.

Aldes finally managed to adapt to his new form. His eyes burned crimson beyond natural limits, his breathing harsh and ragged.

"The Hatred of Khepri..." he muttered with effort, rising slowly from the ground, his body reinforced by the exoskeletal plates.

Johannel extended both hands forward, and in an instant, the disks surged toward Aldes with their deadly speed. Aldes crossed his exoskeletal arms over his chest and face just as the onslaught began. Thousands of blood disks bombarded him from every direction, their collisions striking like meteors, each impact erupting in bursts of sparks as the sharp crimson edges met the hardened armor. The disks spun and clashed with near-light speed, but not a single scratch was left behind.

"Nhmm!" Johannel pulled one of his hands back, and the disks suddenly converged around Aldes, each one detonating in a chain of catastrophic explosions. The blast was overwhelming, divine in scale, consuming the battlefield in light and fury.

"There's no way you're walking out of that unharmed, hmm!?" Johannel's expression twisted in disbelief as he saw Aldes emerge from the smoke, his new form completely intact.

"Impossible! That explosion could have leveled hundreds of the Zagros Isles, and you survived without a mark? Absurd!" Johannel snarled in fury. Spreading his wings wide, he launched himself forward at blinding speed, the gust from his flight tearing apart the ground and hurling chunks of debris into the air.

But before Johannel could react, a massive hand appeared before his vision, Aldes' hand, and in that instant, it connected with a crushing punch to Johannel's face.

The impact unleashed devastation beyond comprehension. The kingdom trembled as the earth beneath them rippled like a stormy sea. A quake of unimaginable scale shook the heavens themselves, and a gaping abyss began to open where Aldes stood, swallowing fragments of divine land into an endless, mysterious darkness below.

Johannel's body was hurled back hundreds of meters, crashing violently into the defensive walls of the holy city. The sheer force of the collision fractured the barrier, opening what looked like a pseudo-gate in its structure.

"General Johannel!?"

"What happened to him!?"

"Could he have... lost!?"

The soldiers shouted among themselves, their voices trembling with disbelief as they stared at the partially destroyed wall.

But then, a massive surge of golden divine energy burst from the rubble, sweeping across the ruins. At its center stood Johannel, eyes blazing with murderous rage. He spat to the side, several broken teeth scattering on the ground.

"I took this damage... from a cursed demon? From a CURSED DEMON!? FROM A DEMON!!! RHHHHAAAAA!!!"

Johannel completely lost himself to wrath and humiliation. Holy energy, Lapis, poured from his body in blinding torrents as his power spiraled out of control.

Aldes stood near the edge of the abyss he had created, panting heavily, the glow of his armor flickering.

"Damn it... I can barely keep Khepri's armor under control anymore. At best, I've got two punches left in me. My Lagus... it's draining too fast... Damn it all..." he thought, his gaze locking on Johannel's towering fury as the divine general's power reached a terrifying crescendo.

But beside the furious Johannel, three other angels descended.

"You've no reason to be that angry, Johannel. It's not good for your health," said General Lucriel, his long hair vibrating against the wind, caught by strands of red strings.

"The situation is worse than I thought," murmured General Anastiel, bald with heavy gold bear observing with pride.

"He doesn't look like just any demon," added General Correla, short haired muscular girl wearing leathery handkerchiefs.

"This is my battle. Stay out of it," Johannel snapped.

"Let's strike together, all four of us. Put your pride aside, Johannel," Anastiel urged.

"I hate to admit it, but I agree with Anastiel. There's no room for pride today," Correla replied.

"Do as you wish, then," said Johannel as he shot toward Aldes with immeasurable speed. The other three generals followed him, their wings slicing through the air as they soared toward their target.

"Heh... Hehehehe... Looks like things just got four times worse," Aldes muttered as two insectoid wings materialized from his back, barely able to bear his weight. With effort, he began to ascend toward the approaching generals.

Johannel appeared before Aldes in an instant, moving with divine speed. Aldes swung his arm to strike, but Johannel vanished entirely from his sight. A moment later, Aldes noticed a shadow blotting out the light above him, and then, a vast sea of blood obscured his view of the heavens.

He flapped his wings with impossible force, creating powerful gusts of wind that prevented the blood from falling upon him.

"Hm!?" Aldes realized that the three other generals had surrounded him. Unprepared for their coordinated assault, he was caught off guard.

Correla suddenly appeared before him and punched him in the abdomen with unimaginable strength.

"Lapis Arts: Two Wings — The Final Tendons."

Her fist glowed red as it pressed against Aldes' exoskeleton. Cracks began to spread; his hardened shell was giving way. Aldes felt pain seeping through the armor as the blood finally fell freely upon his head. Correla retreated just in time to avoid the torrent.

"Lapis Arts: Two Wings — The Eye of Falsehood!" shouted Johannel from above, his voice echoing through the blood-red sky.

A massive explosion engulfed Aldes, far greater than any that had come before. Anastiel conjured a vast web of silver threads to contain the flames, trapping Aldes inside a sphere woven from that divine silk.

"Letter No. 11 — Severed Fates."

The threads of Anastiel's web were instantly sliced apart, and the mangled body of Aldes plummeted into the ruins below.

When Aldes crashed among the wreckage, the four generals descended after him, surrounding him from four directions. Aldes rose weakly to his feet, breathing heavily. The exoskeletal plates covering his body were cracking further with every passing second.

"You've endured quite a lot for a mere demon. There's no need to ask for your final words," said Lucriel, drawing his sword from his side before darting forward with near-light speed.

The blade pierced deep into Aldes' chest.

"Khahk!" Aldes coughed up blood as the sword impaled him, yet a smile crept across his blood-stained lips.

He grabbed Lucriel's arm with both hands. The general froze in shock as Aldes opened his mouth. Upon his tongue was pressed Letter No. 32.

Before he could speak, Correla struck Aldes on the right side of his ribs with such ferocity that both of his arms were torn from his body. The rest of him was hurled hundreds of meters away, crashing through the ruins. His severed wings remained impaled in Lucriel's arm.

A long, spectral spear formed inside Aldes' mouth, cutting through the ruins as his body tumbled across the ground. He clenched his jaw shut, biting the weapon in two, the jagged tip protruding several meters from between his teeth.

"You survived for nothing," said Correla, flying toward Aldes' broken body.

Lucriel watched her in disbelief, tearing the severed wings of Aldes from his arm. Johannel and Anastiel followed Correla from behind, and Lucriel joined them.

Aldes lay on the ground, his wings torn away, a gaping wound in his chest, blood streaming endlessly over the shattered kingdom. His dimming eyes stared up at the sky, at the drifting ash, the flames that devoured all, the distant echoes now fading from his ears. Everything around him seemed unreal, a falsehood.

He could no longer feel, nor did he wish to. Perhaps this was what he had always wanted: a false peace within his soul, a seal over centuries of pain.

Perhaps he truly was in paradise now, though someone like Aldes could never deserve such a place.

The four generals approached, gazing down at the broken demon who now seemed more like a memory than a living being.

"What are those?" asked Anastiel, his eyes fixed on the dark flames of Igorus consuming the angelic army.

"Dark flames!?" whispered Correla, stunned.

"That cursed dominion..." growled Johannel, his voice dripping with hatred.

"Hurry! Assist the army!" commanded Lucriel sharply.

Aldes blinked weakly, until a violent pain struck through his shattered heart. The veins beneath his skin began to darken, spreading across his body like black lightning. The agony that surged through him was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

"What the hell!? What is this I'm feeling!? Nothing has ever hurt this much. What is this!? I don't understand!" Aldes thought, panic surging through his mind.

The pain devoured him whole. The pain... the pain...

"Haahh!"

Aldes suddenly found himself suspended in a realm of endless darkness—a void where nothing existed, where nothing could exist. It was a place without meaning, without sense, where even the concept of understanding itself dissolved. He was utterly vulnerable, naked, drifting in the mystery of this incomprehensible dimension.

Then... he heard wings.

The faint sound of flapping grew clearer. His ears did not deceive him, white crows began to appear, gliding alongside him in the dark. Their wings and feathers gave off soft, soothing sounds that seemed to calm his suffering. The white crows, with their crimson eyes, flew past his gaze...

Far ahead, two radiant white steps began to take form, floating in the emptiness. Only two steps, suspended in the abyss, upon which the white crows with red eyes landed and took flight again.

With each beat of their wings, a figure slowly emerged before Aldes' eyes.

A tall being, cloaked entirely in black. Long crimson hair, feminine in grace, flowed freely down his back. He extended his right hand, and one of the white crows perched upon his fingers. The crow looked at Aldes with its piercing red eye. Then, the man turned his head to the right.

Aldes could make out his long red beard, the faint outline of a mustache, and lips that began to move, whispering in an ancient tongue:

"Qra vukh... Qra vukh tias krye yogi..."

As the words left his mouth, the entire dark world around Aldes began to fade.

"NO! DON'T GO! PLEASE! DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE! TELL ME WHO YOU ARE! STAY! JUST A MOMENT LONGER! PLEASE! DON'T GO! DON'T LEAVE ME HERE!" Aldes screamed into the vanishing void, his subconscious desperate to cling to the fading vision.

The white crows turned to bone, skeletons of their former grace, as the red-haired figure vanished completely, taking the world with him.

Aldes' eyes shot open. He was back in the real world.

But he was no longer the same.

His wings had regenerated, larger, heavier, but his body had changed entirely. His skin was now streaked with black and crimson lines that pulsed faintly like living veins. Three great horns had emerged from his forehead, two massive ones curling from the right, and a smaller, jagged one jutting from the left. His eyes burned a deep red, surrounded by blackened flesh. His nails had become razor-sharp claws, his hair wild and flowing behind him.

"What... what the hell happened to me!? Who was that!? Where was I!?" Aldes muttered, trembling as he rose to his feet in this new form.

"What!? Who are you!?" Anastiel shouted, his voice shaking as he saw what stood before them.

The four generals froze, stunned by Aldes' transformed appearance, proof that he was 'Destined to Be Cursed'...