Rearing Demons-Chapter 11: Ritual Blood Spilling; War

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Yur turned the small glass orb over in his palm, hesitation etched on his face. He didn't relish the idea of damaging his heart for a ritual—let alone one that might kill him if it went wrong.

[Host will not die! An Ashkavaal is very powerful!]

"How do you even know?" he snorted. "I'm the only Ashkavaal around." Sighing, he read through the detailed instructions, and his dread only grew. Not only would he have to offer a portion of his own heart, but the spell also demanded a great deal of his blood.

"Is this relic really that important?" he asked aloud. "You've given me plenty of rituals so far. Can't you just hand me everything I need, Zul?"

[I am incapable of providing rituals that do not affect the Host directly!]

[The Asheseed Relic grants access to rituals the Host can use against enemies! It's vital for your growth!]

He rubbed his brow, trying to grasp the difference. "Wait—if you can give me rituals that affect me, isn't that good enough?"

[The rituals I provide do not help Host in battles!]

"Ah, I see," he said slowly. "So I need external rituals to both attack and defend." That did make sense.

[The shop offers various Demon and Human rituals.]

[The Relic produces many more for free, through its fruits!]

"Sounds powerful," Yur admitted. He couldn't help but sigh. He clearly needed to grow stronger, and his cultivation seemed to hinge on these rituals. "All right, I'll do it. But this is definitely the last ritual for a while. I need to get out of this place. I'm tired of being stuck here."

Ever since he'd tasted freedom, he'd never truly left this small region of Zulmasharr. With his new wings, he figured he could at least attempt scaling the towering walls enclosing this area. But he didn't want to wander off half-prepared and die on his first adventure.

[Host, you are already a powerful Vashra!]

[A few more rituals will make exploration far safer!]

A thrill of excitement stirred in his chest. If this ritual went well, maybe he really could spread his wings and see the world beyond these desolate cliffs. Determined, he began the painstaking work of carving symbols into the ground—his own mutilation fueling each rune in the circle.

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A solitary human stood in a desolate clearing, confronted by a legion of grotesque demons. Shrouded in silence, he radiated an unsettling calm, his long spear strapped across his back.

His gaze swept over the horde before locking onto the largest among them—a looming, wolf-like abomination with no fur, its skin half-composed of mismatched human flesh. Strips of sinew and organ slop dripped from its body, held together by some unknown force rather than bone. Two bloody tails dragged behind it, each one oozing dark fluid as though it were a pulsing organ.

"Among those humans you captured, one belongs to me," the man said in a low, commanding tone. "Let her go, and I'll keep this from turning...unpleasant."

A throaty snarl erupted from the wolf-thing as it lumbered closer, flayed muscles twitching. "Hah! You'd challenge a Gralith demon?" Its hollow eyes gleamed with a predatory glint.

The man's lips curved into a faint sneer. "I know exactly what you are," he replied. "The question is whether you realize who you're dealing with."

"Powerful you may be," the demon said with a hideous grin, "but my fear for you is less than my hunger for those captives behind me."

The human exhaled, his patience waning. "I'll ask this once more," he warned, voice tight. "Release the woman, or I'll retrieve her by force."

The Gralith gave a derisive chuckle, its slick, naked skin quivering with silent amusement. "Come, then," it sneered, turning its malformed back on him. Blood spattered the ground from its dripping tails. "Enter Zulmasharr if you dare. I promise you a path."

The man's eyes narrowed as he watched the demon's legion shift aside, forming a twisted corridor into the breach behind them. It was a treacherous invitation—one that could so easily be a trap.

But with a final, steely glare, he strode forward, the demons' eyes following his every move. Their low growls and scraping claws seemed to echo, a foreboding promise of the horrors that awaited him in Zulmasharr.

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Yur collapsed to his knees, chest heaving from the effort of carving the final symbol. This new ritual circle was on another level entirely—twice as large and far more complex than the Sacrifice of a Hundred Demons. Lines and runes crisscrossed the rocky ground in an intricate web, every mark stained with his own blood.

"Damn it... That was brutal," he groaned, letting himself fall back for just a moment to catch his breath. Yet he knew there was no time to rest. The ritual demanded one last—and most daunting—sacrifice.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered, pushing to his feet. He tossed the Pouch of Holding out of harm's way and strode to the center of the sprawling circle. The lines beneath him pulsed faintly, shimmering with the crimson hue of demonic power.

Taking one final, steadying breath, Yur clenched his teeth and drove his hand through his own chest. A howl tore from his throat—louder than any cry he'd uttered before. For all his enhanced resilience, the sensation of gripping his own heart was a horror he could never truly prepare for.

[Host is severely damaged!]

[Host will die in 01:59!]

"Screw you, Zul!" he spat, voice ragged. His vision wavered, but he fought to stay focused. Tearing the still-beating organ free, he flung it onto the cold stone and jammed the glass orb inside it with shaking hands. Then, collapsing into a cross-legged posture, he fell silent.

[Beginning Ritual!]

A pregnant hush descended. Unlike his previous ceremonies, no flames flared to life—only a pale glow that started at the circle's outer rim and crept inward.

[Host will die in 01:09!]

Yur steadied his breathing. Stay awake, he reminded himself. The ritual couldn't stabilize if he lost consciousness. Time oozed by with agonizing slowness, each second punctuated by the pounding of his blood in his ears. Slowly, the circle brightened into a deep red fog, thickening around him until he could scarcely see beyond its swirling curtains.

Then, in a sudden hush, the scarlet mist thinned.

[Ritual Complete!]

[Host has lost a lot of blood—rest in the Bahirath!]

As the crimson haze faded, Yur realized with a start that his chest was whole again. He pressed a palm to the place where he'd torn out his heart just moments earlier—there wasn't so much as a scar. "This is... astounding," he murmured, struggling to comprehend how he'd just survived such a gruesome act.

His body still felt dangerously weak, though. Step by shaky step, he made his way down the rough-hewn tunnel to the Bahirath pools below. The heat of the crimson liquid hit him like a wall when he finally tumbled in, but it was a soothing warmth—a numbing balm to his ravaged nerves.

Floating on the surface, he let out a slow exhale. Feels good. He could sense his body eagerly drinking in the Bahirath's vitality, replenishing his spilled blood. Glancing up at the cavern's jagged ceiling, he allowed himself a moment of relief. For now, at least, he was alive—and immeasurably stronger for it.

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Stepping across the threshold into Zulmasharr, the spear-wielding human took in the sight of a writhing demon horde. The Gralith demon, a twisted wolf-like beast of patchwork flesh, stood among them, but even it paled beside the abomination at their center—a massive figure seated in a pool of blood and scattered entrails.

It resembled a grossly obese human, naked skin stretched to extremes. Flabby arms dangled so far they nearly scraped the ground, while its thick legs struggled to bear its immense weight. Bulging veins pulsed across its bloated stomach, yet the most disturbing part was its mouth: perpetually open, stuffed with gore—human and demon alike.

"So this is your real trump card?" the human murmured, gaze locked on the gargantuan demon. Flickers of green energy raced up the length of his spear, revealing the tension roiling beneath his calm facade.

A wet, squelching sound punctuated the demon's gluttony as it swallowed another hunk of bleeding flesh. "A Dyrmath," the man muttered, gripping his spear tighter. Rank Eight, he thought, mind flashing through what he knew of Zulmasharr's hierarchy. Dyrmath demons were second only to the apex of their world—chaotic monarchs of unparalleled power.

The creature paused its feast, letting a limp demon limb slip from its lips. "Human, why have you wandered into our domain?" it asked, words gargled by the crimson slick that coated its teeth. "I thought no cultivator of Rank Seven or higher was allowed here. Are we breaking the treaty?"

Standing tall, the man glared at the drooling monstrosity. "Demon King Yukinly," he intoned, "I've come for a human you've taken captive. That's all I want. Release her."

Yukinly's bloated belly jiggled with a rumbling chuckle. He spat out a half-chewed demon torso, then fixed a baleful gaze on his visitor. "And why would I do that?" he mocked. "After all, our captives have this habit of ending up dead whenever humans get involved..."

"Don't toy with me," the spear-wielder warned, leveling his weapon at the Demon King. "I don't care about your war, I just want her back. Give her to me, or I'll take her myself."

Yukinly boomed with laughter, the quivering folds of his stomach rippling like gelatin. "All alone, little human? You must be quite confident."

The man took a deliberate step forward. Instantly, a trio of demons materialized between him and the Demon King—Valgaths, each exuding an aura equal to the human's own Rank Seven might. Their collective presence pressed against him like a crushing tide.

"Understand one thing," Yukinly said, his voice now laced with cold menace. "Make a move on me, and we'll unleash an all-out assault on your world. My appetite demands fresh meat."

A wicked grin spread across his bloated cheeks as he reached behind himself with surprising swiftness, seizing a trembling figure by the arm. The captive's shriek tore through the cacophony of growls and snarls echoing in the cavernous space.

"Jillian!" the human snarled, heart hammering. "Release her this instant, or I'll kill every last one of you!"

Ignoring him, the demon lifted Jillian high as though she were nothing but a doll, opening his maw wide. Strands of saliva and blood dripped from its maw, the stench of rot filling the air.

"Damn it!" the man cursed, aura erupting in a blaze of green light. He surged past the three Valgaths, spear aimed straight at Yukinly's oversized torso. But two of the Valgaths slammed into him mid-stride, their combined weight driving him to the ground.

Their brutish bodies dwarfed even his robust frame, and the stone beneath them cracked from the impact. "Get... off!" he roared, unleashing another burst of energy. Though he managed to hurl them aside, it did only superficial damage, for their demonic hides were thick and resilient.

Above them, Jillian's frantic screams escalated as she slipped from Yukinly's grip, tumbling toward a gory pit below.

"No!" the man bellowed, funneling every ounce of power into his legs. The Valgaths recoiled from the shockwave of his aura, stumbling just enough for him to dart free. His speed shattered the sound barrier, creating a thunderous crack in the air.

In a blur, he caught Jillian's falling wrist, sweeping her into his arms and landing hard on a ledge overhead. With a single, swift motion, he kicked off the stone, propelling them both toward the distant exit. Within seconds, he was gone, leaving only a faint echo of his furious heartbeat.

The Valgaths stared, stunned. "Demon King—?"

Still perched in his vile throne of gore, Yukinly gave a serene smile. "Don't fret," he purred, his entire form abruptly blazing with red light. The folds of bloated flesh diminished, compacting into a sleek humanoid silhouette.

By the time the glow receded, a tall, slender figure with long gray hair and unnervingly handsome features stood in the monster's place.

"Now that he's gone and broken the rules," Yukinly said, voice dripping with satisfaction, "we prepare for invasion." He licked a stray droplet of blood from his lips, eyes shining with a sadistic thrill. "Time to feast!"