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Chapter 167 - corrupted devil

The fiery lit world around Hope wavered. His body, battered, broken, and bloodied, refused to acknowledge what had just transpired—his limbs numb, his mind clouded with the aftermath of a violent, desperate fight. He lay there, eyes half-lidded, fighting the pressure that weighed down his chest. Every breath was a struggle, a gasp for air that barely came. His side throbbed with an unbearable, pulsing pain, where the gash had split wide—a line from his shoulder, curving down across his ribcage.

Nefer, in a similar state, was sprawled nearby. Her face, once vibrant with the pale glow of her inner strength, now looked ghostly, drained. The blood from her wounds stained her white armor—streaks of crimson that contrasted with the paleness of her skin. She was breathing shallowly, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. The usual spark in her eyes had dulled, and Hope could see the toll the battle had taken on her too—bruises, cuts, and fatigue. The scar across her side, one she hadn't even had time to tend to, was leaking steadily, turning the ground beneath her into a pool of blood.

Then, Hope's gaze turned towards Massa. His stomach twisted, dread and confusion colliding. What he saw was not the young, spirited woman he had fought beside. Massa's once-beautiful face, full of life, had changed—wrinkled, drawn with age, as though the spell they had cast had taken more than it should have. Her once-flowing green hair was now grey, thinning, and brittle. Her eyes, usually vibrant with a hint of mischief, were dull, staring blankly at the sky as her breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. Blood pooled around her, staining the dirt beneath her body, soaking the ground with her life force.

Hope's breath hitched as the realization hit him: This wasn't the result of battle alone... Something had gone terribly wrong. The spell—whatever Massa had done, it had cost her, had cost all of them, more than just their blood. What the hell happened...?

But Hope could barely stay awake long enough to process it all.

His body was screaming in protest. His chest, his side, his head—all of it was too much to handle. His vision blurred, the darkness around him deepening. And then... the world faded, pulled from him like a dimming star.

---

When Hope awoke, it wasn't to the sounds of battle or the heat of the day. It was silent. Cold.

He blinked, confusion clouding his foggy mind. He was... somewhere else. Somewhere familiar, but so different from the hellscape they had just escaped. The air around him was thick, oppressive even, as though the very atmosphere had weight. As he sat up, pain shooting through his body, his mind still sluggish and slow, the first thing he noticed was the sense of deja vu—the feeling that he had been here before. That this place was somehow linked to him, to his past... and then it hit him like a bolt of lightning.

This was the place from his dreams.

Before him stood a set of long, stone steps, worn and weathered by time. The stairs wound upwards, leading to a throne perched high at the summit, as if placed on the peak of the world. Atop that throne sat a figure, cloaked in shadow, a presence that was at once unsettling and familiar.

Hope's eyes narrowed as his breath hitched. It was him. The figure from my dreams.

The figure on the throne was like a dark silhouette, indistinct in form yet exuding an undeniable authority, a silent command that seemed to press down on Hope. He recognized the voice, even before the figure spoke, low and resonant:

"Although I'm your flaw, I can't let you die now."

Hope's eyes flickered with the remnants of his anger, his frustration still clinging to him like sweat. A bitter smile curled on his lips, a rough and exhausted laugh escaping him despite the pain radiating through his body.

"Why can't you let me die now?" Hope spat, his voice hoarse, raw. "Are you not my flaw?" His tone was tinged with both disbelief and a deep, seething resentment.

The figure on the throne chuckled, the sound a rich, dark thing that seemed to vibrate through the air itself. "I've told you before, there is much you don't know," it said with a casual air, the words floating down from the throne like smoke. "I will let you live... if you can defeat this creature."

Hope blinked, a frown crossing his face, as the figure waved a hand, the air warping in front of him.

A shape formed from the very shadows—twisting and warping in impossible ways. It coalesced into something tangible, something terrible.

Hope's eyes widened as he took in the creature's form: a humanoid figure encased in black armor, its every step a ripple of dark energy. It carried a massive, wicked greatsword, its blade gleaming darkly, like the void itself was condensed into steel. Its aura emanated a suffocating pressure, a malevolent force that gripped Hope's chest and made his stomach churn.

Hope's heart beat faster in his chest, his mind racing to place it. This wasn't just a corrupted fiend, it was worse. Much worse.

"A corrupted devil," Hope murmured under his breath, his body already beginning to react to the threat. The creature in front of him wasn't just any devil; it was the stage between an awakened and an ascended devil. And the aura it gave off was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was beyond him.

The figure on the throne gave a dismissive wave, his voice now lilting with amusement. "Oh, it's just an corrupted devil. Nothing special."

Hope's lips twisted into a bitter grin. "Just an corrupted devil, huh?" he muttered. "And here I thought you couldn't get more of a pain in the ass."

He shifted slightly, his hand instinctively reaching for the void—it had to be his only chance, but his body was slow, aching. Still, Hope pushed through, feeling a surge of energy pool in his palm. From it, a weapon began to form—a dark odachi, sharp and deadly, glowing with a pulse of shadow.

The figure on the throne chuckled. "That'll do nicely." His eyes glinted with something between mockery and curiosity. "Use that to fight it. Entertain me, hopeless."

Hope's grip tightened on the odachi, the dark energy swirling around it like smoke in the air. His mind narrowed as the creature before him shifted, ready to strike. Hope wasn't sure how much longer he could stand—but this was his chance. This was it. His life depended on surviving this creature. And he would survive.

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