Splash!!!
Water washed over Pharon's face and fell into the small pond. He stood still, head bowed, gazing at his own reflection on the surface. His face had changed along with his body—his skin was pale as a corpse, devoid of warmth, and his sclera had turned dark black, like a demon's.
He closed his eyes. Memories from when he stood at death's door surfaced in his mind, vivid and real. The mysterious voice echoed in his ear, "I grant you power… in exchange for your soul."
His eyes jerked open. He breathed roughly and sat down, leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on the stone where the old man usually sat.
I'm completely certain now—the mysterious voice and dominating presence were definitely the same being… Master.
Many incidents, and today's soul trade, clarified one thing: he was related to the devils. But many questions still remained a mystery.
How could he know everything as if he had witnessed it himself? Why did demonic beings, violent by nature, act like pets around him?
Just like that, many questions lingered with no answers.
As he blinked, the stone was no longer unoccupied. The old man sat there, His gaze was not curious but weighing. He asked, "Do you regret selling your soul?"
"Never. For me, this temple is everything. For it, even my life is tradable."
The old man said nothing, only nodded.
"Master, I have so—" He stopped mid-sentence. His ears twitched, pupils dilating as he sensed something—ominous, dangerous. He stared at the full moon through the window and murmured, "…a cursed beast."
He stood up and walked toward the door but halted at the sound of a voice. "Where are you going, Pharon?"
He turned around and stared, as it was the first time someone had spoken his name in a decade. It reminded him of the hermit.
"Aaaaaaoooo!!!"
The howl of a wolf pulled him from his nostalgia. He looked again, as if the call was for him, and answered, "To slay the cursed beast."
"Risking your life for those who took everything from you and even tried to destroy this temple."
His will wavered at the words. His leg, poised to take another step, retreated. He turned toward the statue of Hecate. "I established this temple not only for worship but to provide help to others in their direst times."
"If I step back now, I lose my identity as a priest."
"No matter what you do, they will never accept you. Even knowing this, do you still want to go?"
He did not answer and exited the temple. He walked to the edge of the cliff. The full moon hung above his head. The ground appeared distant below.
His grey wings slowly spread wide. He glanced at them, his heart racing and his hands shaking. He bit his lower lip and closed his eyes. "Free the body. Let instinct take control."
He took one step forward, then pulled it back. He summoned his arcane power and strengthened his whole body. "Physical enforcement."
He stared down again and lightly kicked a pebble. It took a few seconds to hit the ground. "I can do it."
Then he stepped forward again but pulled back once more. Fate, however, had something else in store for him. The edge suddenly cracked and crumbled.
He flapped his wings vigorously, but uneven movement sent him tumbling through the air. "Levitate!!!" His magic did not work—his mind was too uncalm in the chaos.
Only a short distance remained before he would crash. He tightly closed his eyes and shielded his face.
A miracle happened. His wings adjusted to the flow of the wind and let him glide in an arc. He slightly opened his eyes and peeked.
He was gliding just above the tall trees, his legs brushing leaves and branches. He glanced at his wings, beating with subtle movement. A smile appeared on his face. Then, without wasting any more time, he flew toward the location where he had sensed the cursed beast.
---
Under the moonlight, a werewolf gnawed at flesh attached to a femur. Suddenly, its ears twitched. It dropped the bone and leaped aside.
"BOOOM!!!"
An explosion erupted where it had just been.
The werewolf bared its fangs and stared at the landing Pharon. "Grr… So, they sent a Daimon to kill me."
Pharon furrowed his brows. "A Daimon?"
The werewolf lowered its posture and spread its claws wide. Its red eyes locked onto him. "From your expression, it seems you don't even know what you are."
"As a knowledgeable being, let me tell you." It slowly moved toward him, circling while watching his every move. "Daimon are the Underworld's undead beings—neither demon nor spirit."
Under the cover of conversation, the werewolf charged divine energy into its body, preparing for battle.
Pharon acted along at first, but the description of a Daimon clicked something in his mind. "Underworld… undead."
As he stood frozen and distracted by his own thoughts, the werewolf suddenly lunged at him from behind in silence.
"Sand tomb…"
He whispered very softly. A vortex of sand rose and formed beneath him just as the werewolf's claws landed where he had been. The sand tomb dispersed with the impact.
"Hahahahaha!!!"
Laughter came from above. The werewolf gritted its fangs and glared upward. Pharon hovered in the air, laughing madly.
"I am truly a fool. A fool who couldn't recognize his own patron, even after so many clues." His laughter faded, and his smiling eyes sharpened into a gaze that looked down on the werewolf. "For providing valuable information, I will show you mercy. I'll grant you a painless death."
"In your dreams!"
The werewolf sprinted toward a tall tree, using it as a stepping stone to reach him. Its sharp claws slashed downward. Pharon glided lower, dodging by an inch, but the claws still grazed his hand, leaving a clean cut from which black blood flowed.
He did not just stand and watch. He shot a barrage of crimson flame orbs. The werewolf, suspended mid-air, was blasted by the continuous assault. Suddenly, a condensed golden ray pierced through the crimson orbs and struck Pharon, knocking him down to the ground.