Rearing Demons-Chapter 21: Tharok Demon; Human Approaching

Yur sat upon the throne of bone and stone, his crimson gaze slowly sweeping over the demons gathered in their hushed kneel. Without speaking, he shut his eyes, letting the details of the newly acquired ritual seep into his mind. It was a process he'd come to recognize—his consciousness aligning with the grim instructions bound to his very blood.

"I see. So this is the Ritual of Demon Mangling..." he murmured at length, stirring from his thoughts. Rising from the throne, he descended to the center of the hall in slow, purposeful strides. His talons scraped the stone, leaving shallow gouges behind.

The ritual itself was simple yet gruesome: Yur needed to draw a blood circle—his own blood—then command his demons inside to fight until only one remained. That final survivor would absorb the flesh and essence of all the others, forming a stronger demon fused from many.

He flexed his claws, slicing neatly across his palm with emotionless precision.

A thin rivulet of blackish-red fluid dripped from the cut, though he barely registered any pain. So this is what it means to feel nothing, he reflected dully, kneeling to scrawl a wide, intricate pattern on the fortress floor. The demons watched in quivering silence, uncertain of what horror was unfolding.

For half an hour, the hall was consumed by the scratch of Yur's claws against stone and the quiet drip of his blood. At last, he stood and surveyed the massive circle, thick lines glistening with fresh crimson.

"All demons," he commanded in a low, cold tone, "come to the circle."

A rumbling echoed through the fortress—movement from every corridor, every chamber, as fiends of all shapes and sizes skittered, stomped, and slithered toward him.

Vashra with fused limbs, limping Nulith in various stages of mutilation, even crawling Imps dragging themselves across gore-slick floors. Yur returned to his throne, gazing down at the circle which now seethed with dozens upon dozens of demons.

His instruction was mercilessly straightforward. "Stay in the circle. Kill each other. The last one alive wins."

The effect was immediate and violent. The thunderous snarls of monsters tearing into one another filled the air, paired with the wet crunch of muscle and bone.

Blood slicked the stones, and shrieks of agony reverberated off the fortress walls. The stronger fiends overpowered the weak in moments; Morruks crushed Vashra skulls; Vashra ripped apart Nulith with savage glee.

In mere minutes, only three Morruks remained, each panting and dripping with gore.

Yur watched without flinching, detached as if observing a grim play. The demons circled one another, lips pulled back to reveal rows of fangs, eyes flashing with primal hate.

A massive, bull-like Morruk took the lead, standing on hind legs reminiscent of a horse's, its torso rippling with cords of sinew. A single horn jutted from its forehead, dull but devastating in force. Its bite, though lacking sharp teeth, inflicted excruciating damage through sheer crushing power.

The other two Morruks hesitated, but they had no choice. They lunged, only for the bull to catch them with brutal swipes of its forelimbs. One died, throat snapped under a powerful grip. The survivor struck back, clawing at the bull's flank in a desperate struggle, but the bull demon roared and bit down on its foe's skull, shattering bone in a final gory spatter.

Silence fell, save for the heavy breathing of the lone conqueror. Its hide was torn and oozing, but it had triumphed nonetheless.

Slowly, Yur descended from the throne, stepping over chunks of torn flesh and pools of warm blood. The stench of death thickened the air, yet he displayed no sign of disgust—if anything, the metallic smell stirred faint hunger pangs.

He halted before the exhausted bull demon, lifting a single finger. A fresh bead of his blood welled from the tip. "Open your mouth."

Snorting, the Morruk obeyed with near-frantic hunger, jaws parting to expose those crushing teeth. When Yur's blood dripped onto its tongue, the beast's crimson eyes rolled back and it let out a tortured bellow.

[Beginning Ritual!]

Lights blazed along the runes of the circle, pulsing in a heartbeat rhythm. The bull demon screamed, its call echoing through the fortress halls. Skin peeled away from muscle, twitching lumps of leftover flesh from the fallen demons slithered across the floor as if possessed. With a grotesque wet slurp, they merged with the bull's body. Dark fog—black and red—rose like a choking miasma, obscuring everything in swirling madness.

Still, Yur watched with an air of vague curiosity. He stepped back a pace, arms folded, as an infernal howl rattled stone columns. "Zul, how strong do you think this demon will become?" he asked idly, certain that the bull's transformation was reaching a fever pitch.

[Any demon made by the Ritual will remain loyal, even if it surpasses the Host's own strength!]

A small flicker of what might be relief flickered through Yur's dulled mind. Good. I won't have to worry about accidentally unleashing something that'll kill me. The fortress's remaining occupants, having fled to the corners of the room, cowered in utter terror.

The swirling fog thickened, leaving only roars and the sickening sounds of flesh warping. Despite the carnage, Yur felt only the faintest ripple of anticipation. Perhaps, he mused, this new creation might offer some glimmer of real excitement.

He exhaled into the oppressive silence, awaiting the moment the fog would clear and his newly forged abomination would reveal itself.

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It took Ris only a few hours to cross the rugged terrain and arrive at the Land of the Mother. The moment she stepped into the region, a tide of lesser demons rushed to confront her, howling and baring claws.

"How dull," she murmured, releasing a faint shimmer of her aura. In an instant, the creatures dissolved into crimson vapor, their howls of rage turning to gurgling whimpers. The explosion of blood splatter left the surroundings painted in deeper reds.

Ris surveyed the twisted tree line with an air of detached fascination. Despite the ominous setting—pools of blood, gore-caked branches—the vivid colors and abundance of life made the place strangely picturesque.

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"Hard to believe such a sinister land could look so... vibrant," she noted in a hushed tone.

Continuing deeper, she abruptly noticed a small, cat-like demon perched on a fallen log, regarding her with curious eyes. Unlike most of the fiends she'd seen, this creature looked adorable—furry, white with blue stripes, delicate paws. Ris recognized the sharp intelligence flickering behind its large, watery eyes.

"A Morruk, perhaps?" she mused, kneeling and beckoning. "Come here, little one."

In a blur, the tiny cat-demon teleported to her arm, maw stretched wide for a lethal bite. Without flinching, Ris simply caught it by the scruff. "No, no—that won't do," she said coolly. "Behave."

Trep trep.

The creature, a Trep Demon—one infamous for killing formidable foes—quaked under her steely gaze. An icy aura pressed down on it, sapping its will to resist.

"Don't fret," she murmured, her voice simultaneously frosty and oddly gentle. "As long as you behave, I won't kill you." Although her expression remained placid, the Trep sensed the lethal edge behind her promise. Meekly, it lowered its head.

In response, Ris let her fingertips dance across the air, forming a slender golden chain that gleamed briefly before snapping around the Trep's neck, then turning invisible. The demon flinched, ears flattening, but found no way to remove it.

"That's just to ensure you don't try anything stupid." She settled the trembling Trep on her shoulder and strolled on through the Land of the Mother. Demons scrabbled into existence from countless Mother Trees, only to be devoured or enslaved by stronger ones moments later. The cycle of birth and death played out in a frantic loop.

"A brutal place," she commented aloud, the Trep quivering whenever her cold voice vibrated through its new collar. "Hardly surprising these creatures outclass an average human in raw power—their entire existence hinges on survival from the second they're born."

Her goal remained to reach the Barren Canyon, yet she allowed herself time to observe the region's bizarre ecosystem. Every so often, she patted the Trep's head, ignoring its uneasy twitch.

Eventually, she spotted an imposing shape on the horizon—dark walls and spires jutting from behind a cluster of writhing trees. "A fortress?" Ris narrowed her eyes. Its stark silhouette cut through the haze of red and black like a defiant monument.

Intrigued, she altered course. "Let's see what awaits us there," she said quietly. The Trep gulped, resigned to follow wherever its unyielding new mistress chose to lead.

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Yur kept his gaze on the swirling maelstrom of red-and-black fog, watching as the final pieces of demon flesh coalesced into a single shape. It was nearly complete. Then an urgent alert from Zul caught his eye:

[Human Approaching!]

A flicker of perplexity crossed Yur's features. "A human?" he muttered. "What do you mean?"

[A human has been detected outside the fortress!]

[Host is advised to complete the ritual quickly!]

A faint surge of annoyance tugged at Yur's mind. "So it's someone strong enough that you'd warn me," he observed under his breath. And here I thought I had more time.

With a decisive nod, he strode across the blood-slick floor. Though halting the ritual prematurely would yield a less powerful demon, there was no help for it now.

He snapped his fingers, and the blood circle cracked apart. The swirling fog dissipated in an instant, revealing his newly forged creation. Yur studied the towering figure with unabashed curiosity. Standing nearly four meters tall, it sported large, leathery wings, a bull-like head crowned with two wicked horns, and a robust, humanoid torso. Its arms and legs ended in hooves rather than hands or feet. Despite its monstrous amalgamation, it looked more cohesive than typical Zulmasharr demons—fewer writhing limbs and mismatched parts.

[Host has created his first demon!]

[Rank 3: Tharok Demon!]

"A Rank Three demon, then," Yur remarked, faintly impressed. He couldn't help wondering how much stronger it might have been had the ritual not been cut short.

Another alert flashed:

[Warning, Warning!]

[Human's cultivation is Rank 5: Luminous Heart!]

[Host is advised to assume full human form!]

"Got it," he said quietly. His body shrank into a more compact silhouette. His once-colossal wings and orb faded from view, replaced by a lean, human-like figure that looked to be in his early twenties, despite Yur's actual age being much younger. Black hair framed eyes that turned equally black, and any trace of demonic visage vanished behind this new facade.

"All right, what about..." he began, glancing at the hulking Tharok Demon. Before he could finish, a voice rang out from behind.

"What have we here?"

Turning, he found himself face-to-face with a human girl—someone who'd somehow entered the fortress unannounced. Her presence radiated quiet intensity; clearly she was no ordinary bystander.