Adam approached the demon with his hand outstretched.
A tendril of pure demonic energy, shimmering with faint embers of hellfire, snaked from his palm. He pressed the tendril against the demon's heaving chest.
The reaction was immediate.
The demon's body seized, a strained groan of agony was torn from its throat as the foreign, perverse energy invaded.
Adam's consciousness, his will, rode the current of his own mana, flowing into the demon's veins, muscle, and bones.
His hell's eyes had shown him the demon's strength, his bloodline, his name.
But this… this was different.
It was disturbingly intimate and detailed.
He could feel the frantic, thunderous beating of the demon's heart, like a wild drum trapped in the cage of its ribs. He traced the surge of hot, potent blood through arteries; a river of vitality his eyes could never see. He felt every minute twitch of the overworked muscle fibers, alongside the residual traces of adrenaline and fear.
His mana mapped the landscape of the demon's physiological makeup with a detail that was both precise and violating.
It was deeply discomforting.
The demon groaned again, a sound of profound suffering escaping its maw, as Adam's mana wantonly coursed through its body.
It was not a clean energy; it was a corrosive liquid that burned where it touched, but not with heat and instead with a chilling, spiritual wrongness; like an invader wantonly and uncaringly throwing furniture aside and breaking decorations as they sought something of value.
Only it wasn't a house, but a body instead.
And Adam sought out a weaknesses to catalog and understand; to break!
A cruel smile touched Adam's lips.
This was true power; not just the power to kill, but the power to know and control.
To reach inside another being and feel the very mechanisms of their life, to hold their vitality in his metaphysical grasp.
A devil's grasp on a being was intoxicating, a truly fulfilling desire that was hidden from Adam thus far.
Control: a word that unraveled more and more mysteries in its simplistic meaning.
Something that Adam had initially overlooked.
He needed more.
He pushed deeper, past the physical, letting his demonic essence brush against the edges of the berserker's mind.
He felt the raw, animalistic fear, the stubborn pride, and the seething rage; all laid bare before his invasive touch.
Each one was peeled and scrutinized under his 'care'.
'Why fear this?' or, 'What makes you angry?'.
Like a scientist gaining a deeper understanding, Adam was slowly unraveling what emotions were.
Slowly, the demon's groans subsided into shallow, whimpering, exhausted breaths.
It's defiance was being methodically unraveled, not by pain alone, but by the sheer, overwhelming violation of it's very being.
Layers of emotions, thoughts, and desires were being torn with gentle ferocity.
Adam stood there, learning the instrument called the living mind.
Adam's curiosity was not satisfied with merely mapping the demon's physical form and emotions. The body was a mere vessel; the true fortress of a being was the mind, but what hid beyond that is what he sought.
And he wanted to breach its walls.
With a focused thought, he diverted the stream of his mana from his body, like a reinforcements being sent.
A shimmering black tendril snaked up from the demon's chest, coiling around its thick neck like a viper before driving itself into the base of its skull.
The demon's eyes shot wide open, bulging in unspeakable agony.
A raw, muffled scream was trapped within; a horrific sound of choked gasp.
Its body, which had been hanging limply, went into violent convulsions.
Its massive arms strained against the thorny vines; muscles tearing as its hands, in a desperate, subconscious act to relief itself from the pain, tried to claw at its own helmet, to rip the invading presence from its mind.
The thorns dug deeper, painting fresh streams of red-black blood down its arms, but the demon was beyond the feeling of physical pain.
This was a violation of its very self: its soul.
A soul was the essence of a being.
Adam saw.
He was no longer in the dungeon.
He was adrift in a storm of primal sensation.
He felt the demon's rage, a tide of hatred directed at him; at its capture, at its own helplessness. He felt its fear, a cold, sharp shard of ice lodged deep within the fury; the instinctual terror of a prey animal caught in the gaze of a superior predator. He felt the stubborn, brutish pride of a warrior who had never been broken, now cracking under the strain. The emotions were not thoughts; they were a raw, unfiltered current, a chaotic symphony of sin and survival. They were 'him'.
It was fascinating, but it was not enough.
Adam pushed deeper, past the swirling tempest of emotion, delving into the demon's mental domain.
The resistance was immediate.
It felt like plunging into a thick, viscous tar.
A strong pressure pushed against his consciousness, as it was a natural defense mechanism of a fiendish mind. Actually, any being would have a natural, instinctive defensive measure against mental invasions and violations.
The minds of demons were robust fortresses, nearly impenetrable to corruption from beings of similar strength.
They were, after all, literal manifestations of sin and chaos, their psyches forged in the same infernal fires that birthed their bodies.
But devils were their natural counter; their one weakness.
Where demonic minds were chaotic fortresses, the devil's will was a precision siege machine.
The pressure trying to force him out was negligible In comparison; a faint buzzing against the immense, unstoppable weight of his will.
As he easily brushed it aside, he saw it.
At the center of the mental domain, floating in a space that was neither light nor dark, was the demon's soul.
It was a mesmerizing, terrifying sight.
The soul was not some wispy, ethereal thing, but instead it was a dense, pulsating orb of raw potential and power, glowing with a deep, violent crimson light. It swirled with untamed energy, like a miniature star of pure malice and hunger.
This was the core of a being near the highest order of creation, its essence far surpassing that of mortal races like giants, elves, or even the mighty dragons. Only devils and angels held a purer, more potent form.
Yet, it was not the soul itself that captivated Adam, though its delicious, potent energy made his own devilish instincts scream with desire as his mouth salivated.
Instead, it was the 'chains'.
Coiled tightly around the glowing crimson orb were chains forged of black, swirling runes. They were not physical, but also felt more real than the dungeon walls around them.
They pulsed with a familiar overbearing energy signature.
Kaelgor's signature...
Adam could feel the intent woven into each 'link': obedience, subjugation, loyalty.
The runes glowed with a dull, oppressive light. It was a magical leash that bound the demon's very will to its master.
A slow, wicked grin of understanding spread across Adam's face in the real world, a stark contrast to the agonized twisting and shuddering of his subject.