With a thunderous boom, shattered stone, broken tiles, and debris were blasted skyward by a surge of force. Mars shot out from the explosion like a bolt of lightning. The blade he had wielded moments ago was gone, replaced by a suit of ornate armor. Within seconds, he stood once more before the demon Bird.
Bird stared at the armor in disbelief. Intricate patterns shimmered across its surface, golden light flowing faintly through the engravings. The full-body armor wrapped Mars completely, and his eyes now burned with fire.
"Your feet?" Bird asked.
Mars didn't rage. His fury and frustration only made him colder, more focused. The severed feet had already regenerated—an astonishing recovery that left Mars deeply surprised.
"My feet? Just a scratch. They're fine now. As long as you don't grind them to dust, they'll come back on their own."
"Severed limbs that regenerate on their own?" Mars was skeptical, but chose to accept the warning. "Next time, I'll make sure to grind them down."
"If there is a next time," Bird said, then gestured at the armor. "Mind telling me about that suit? From what I know, full plate like that takes half a day to put on—and that's with a team of trained servants. You got dressed faster than Susan undresses."
Susan—a succubus and Bird's bedmate for the past few centuries.
Mars smiled. "Who reveals the secrets of their weapons to an enemy?"
The armor shimmered, dissolving into a stream of dark light—like flowing water, like drifting mist. In moments, it transformed into a golden spear. This was its third form: spear.
Bird didn't wait for the transformation to finish. He leapt into action, magical light flaring around him—"Cat's Grace" and "Bull's Strength." Since magic had little effect on Mars, Bird cast it on himself.
Roaring, Bird soared into the air, gripping his greatsword with both hands, raising it high overhead. The magic enhanced his strength and speed, allowing him to leap higher and strike harder. Even a celestial messenger would be reduced to dust under such a blow.
But as Bird looked down mid-flight, his earlier confidence vanished. The strike was powerful—unstoppable, even—but only if it landed.
Mars had vanished again, just as Bird had leapt.
"Mage's Eye" activated once more, feeding Mars's image into Bird's mind. Behind Mars was the pale blue morning sky.
Sky?
Bird jerked his head upward, swinging his sword to block—but he was a moment too late.
In his vision, the sky was filled with starlight.
Through Mage's Eye, Bird saw the truth: Mars was descending from above, his silver spear multiplying—tenfold, a hundredfold. The starlight was the gleam of countless spearheads aimed at him.
The greatsword rang with a barrage of metallic clinks, like rain on a rooftop. Bird curled inward, using the wide blade as a shield, trying to block the onslaught.
The clash in midair lasted only a moment, but the ringing of steel echoed long after they landed.
Bird hit the ground like a torn banner, riddled with dozens of holes. One eye was gone. No human could survive such wounds.
But Bird wasn't human. He was a demon.
He landed, spun, and swung his sword without pause. The injuries seemed to have no effect. Black blood splattered onto the blade, igniting it with dark flame. Where the blood touched the ground, the earth withered and rotted.
This time, Bird didn't think. He didn't hesitate. He gave himself over to instinct, letting rage fill his body.
The demon unleashed his true power.
It was a reckless, brutal style of combat—pure destruction, fueled by unimaginable regeneration. In the Seven Hells, demons like Bird were known as berserkers. Mid-tier Abyssal fiends, but ones no sane creature dared provoke.
Who would willingly fight a lunatic?
Mars stepped back. He could pierce Bird's body a hundred times in an instant, but a demon that abandoned defense would inevitably land a hit.
Even if his armor turned to steel, Mars's body couldn't withstand such a blow.
The spear shimmered, flowing like liquid light in Mars's hands. Moments later, it vanished—replaced by a sword.
The weapon's fourth form: sword.
No more words were needed. Mars advanced, sword in hand, his body light as a willow, drifting with the wind.
It was like a butterfly fighting a rabid dog. Bird's attacks were savage, his roars deafening—but every strike hit only air. Mars danced around him, occasionally slicing or stabbing, leaving Bird bloodied and breathless.
His footwork and swordplay formed a deadly ballet. But Bird had no mind to admire it.
This won't work. If this keeps up, he'll carve me down piece by piece. Bird knew it—but had no answer. He could only roar:
"You damn rat! Stop circling! If you're a man, fight me head-on!"
To his surprise, Mars actually stopped. He drifted back, lips curling in amusement—like a cat toying with a mouse.
"Oh? And what would you have me do?"
Two spells were already prepared in Bird's mind.
You dare toy with a demon? Let's see who laughs last.
"You look fragile. I bet you can't take a single hit. So I ask you—can you stand still and let me point at you?"
"Point at me?" Mars raised an eyebrow.
"Yes. You don't move, I don't move. I'll just point. What, scared? Not man enough?"
Even Bird hadn't expected such a crude taunt to work.
Mars sneered. "Scared? Hardly. I'm curious to see what trick you've got."
The moment Mars spoke, Bird began chanting. The spell activated.
A high-tier necromantic spell—one of the most feared: Finger of Death.
Even dragons could fall to its power.
Bird pointed at Mars with one hand. Behind his back, the other hand formed complex gestures—preparing a second spell, just in case.
In the void behind Bird, a massive skeletal hand appeared, extending a single bony finger toward Mars.
Death arrived—silent, invisible, tasteless, scentless. It surged toward Mars like a tidal wave.
There was no dodging. No resisting.
It came like a pebble dropped into a lake, sending ripples through reality.
Bird didn't wait for Mars to fall. He activated his second spell.
Space tore open behind him, forming a portal.
Bird's final move: escape.
The Finger of Death struck Mars like a pebble in a pond—ripples, then stillness.
Aside from standing motionless, Mars showed no reaction. The ninth-tier spell had no effect.
Bird even suspected Mars wasn't frozen by the spell—but by emotion. It was absurd, but that's what Bird saw in his eyes.
Whatever the truth, when facing an opponent who could shrug off Finger of Death, fleeing was no disgrace. Not fleeing would be idiocy.
So Bird ran.
It should've been simple—step into the portal and vanish.
But as his legs crossed the threshold, he froze.
A blade pressed against his neck.
Damn it. Just one step. One more step and I'd be gone. But now, if I move forward, this blade will slice my throat open.
Bird could feel the death aura radiating from the weapon. His skin stung from its chill. The blade had tasted blood and souls—it whispered with the screams of the damned.
Through Mage's Eye, Bird saw the weapon clearly.
He swallowed hard and forced out a sentence:
"Hey, look, I just remembered something urgent. Had to leave in a hurry. Hope you're not mad. I only pointed at you, after all. That thing in your hand—is that a scythe? A reaper's scythe?"
Mars didn't get a chance to answer.
Bird moved.
He lunged backward, slamming his spine into Mars. From his back, white bone blades erupted—like gleaming bayonets.
If they connected, Mars would be shredded.
Mars sidestepped with ease, brushing past Bird like a dancer. With a graceful spin, they swapped positions—Bird outside the portal, Mars inside.
The scythe remained at Bird's neck.
"You can call it a scythe if you like," Mars said flatly. "Next time, wait until I finish speaking before you attack."
The scythe withdrew.
Bird's head flew into the air. Even as it soared, he kept shouting:
"You'll pay for this! I'll be back! Next time, we'll have tea first, discuss a few things, then fight! So don't run! Aaargh!"
His head hit the ground—mouth still moving.
The portal lost its power and began to close.
Just as the portal shrank to the size of a teacup, a hand suddenly reached through. It rummaged through Bird's corpse, yanked out a black orb, and vanished.
The portal closed. Two worlds were severed.
In the morning sunlight, the town was silent—only wind and wailing spirits remained. And a full glass of brandy, still untouched.
In the Withered Keep of the Bottomless Abyss, a small demon crawled out of a pool of rot, sobbing.
"Damn it. Bastard. Curse you to hell."
Bird spat every curse he could think of at Belric. Then he summoned his loyal servant.
"Susan! You filthy wench, get over here!"
A succubus hurried to his side. She had cloven hooves, a seductive face, and black horns. Her hair was fire, dancing atop her head. Flushed and breathless, she stumbled in, her oversized breasts nearly spilling from her disheveled clothes.
Susan stared at Bird, eyes wide.
"Bird—Master Bird. What… what happened to you?"
"What happened? You need to ask? I've got holes punched all over me, my flesh sliced to ribbons, my head flew thirty meters and smashed into the ground! I got killed on the Prime Material Plane!"
Susan exhaled in relief. Clearly, Bird wasn't lying. Neither demons nor devils can truly die on the Prime Plane. You might think you've killed one—but they'll resurrect in the Abyss, stripped of all power, reborn as lowly imps. Regaining their former strength takes ages. Devils are the same, except they respawn in the Seven Hells.
That's why, in the final moment, Bird had charged toward Mars—not to win, but to reach the portal. Even if his bone blades failed, he had to return to the other side.
"So… what would you like me to do, my prince? Little Imp Bird?" Susan asked sweetly.
Bird was now a lesser demon. His arms were thinner than his former manhood—though that, too, had shriveled to something resembling spider silk. Susan couldn't help but look down on him. It was instinct.
"You dare mock me? Did you forget your soul core is still in my hands? You want to die that badly?"
Susan forced a smile, though it was strained and ugly.
"Of course not. I'm your most loyal servant. Just say the word—I'll do anything." Even if you're now a tiny toothpick of a master, I could use my body like a cave to shelter you from the rain.
"Then go to the Prime Plane. I don't care how. Get my magic core back. My power. My weapon. My gem. Go, go, go, go!"
Susan scrambled away.
"Wait!" Bird called her back.
"Yes, Master?"
"From now on, when you speak to me, look me in the eyes. Not down there."
"Did I…?"
"You did! And you were laughing!"
"Sorry. I couldn't help it. It's just… so cute. A little cutie."
"Get out! Go!"
Susan vanished from sight.
As her footsteps faded, the stinking pool in the Withered Keep fell silent once more. Bird crouched in the shadows, brow furrowed.
He was thinking—about the future, and the past.
The future looked grim. Many wanted him dead, and now he'd lost his power. One wrong move, and he'd be erased.
As for the past, Bird replayed Belric's face in his mind—his voice, his fighting style, his strength. He carved Belric's image into his soul, again and again.
Ten thousand years? No. He would never forget.
This pain. This hatred. He would never forget.
Then Bird looked down at his crotch, tears welling in his eyes.
So small. He really could use Susan's body as a cave to hide from the rain.