The Glitched Mage-Chapter 67: Damon

The Demon gritted his teeth, his body trembling as he fought against the crushing force bearing down on him—not just from Riven's blows, but from something far worse.

The air thickened, charged with an unseen power that pressed down like the weight of a collapsing sky. It coiled around him, suffocating, inescapable. Each breath felt like dragging air through stone, his limbs sluggish, his thoughts drowning in a slow, creeping haze.

A sharp, primal dread curled through his spine.

He willed his body to move, to rise, to resist—but it would not obey.

The weight was too much. The presence was too vast.

The crowd saw none of this.

To them, the Demon was simply dazed from the fight, struggling to his feet. They did not feel what he did — They did not feel Him.

This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.

Riven stood above him, his abyssal fire writhing beneath his skin, just barely contained. It flickered at the edges of his aura, unseen by mortal eyes but suffocating to those who could sense power—true, unrelenting power.

And then, Riven let it loose.

The pit darkened.

A pressure unlike anything this world had ever known crashed down upon the arena. The torches flickered violently, their once steady flames straining against something colder, something deeper, something vaster. The very ground beneath them trembled, as if the earth itself knew who stood upon it.

The spectators—loud and unruly just moments ago—froze. Their laughter died. Their drinks stilled in shaking hands. None of them understood why, but every instinct screamed the same thing.

Run.

They couldn't see it. Couldn't name it. Couldn't grasp it with their fragile, human understanding.

But they felt it.

It was the feeling of standing at the edge of a cliff, the wind whispering treacherously against their backs. The sensation of stepping into the ocean and knowing—with certainty—that something waited in the depths, unseen, ancient, watching. It was the slow, dawning horror of being prey before a predator, of being lesser before something great.

Of standing before a King.

Riven's true aura bled into existence, unfurling like a storm breaking across the sky. This wasn't just power. It was authority. The weight of the Abyss itself. It surged outward, swallowing the pit, bearing down upon one man with the full force of an unyielding tide.

And the Demon—the undefeated monster of the pits—buckled.

His body betrayed him, instinct forcing him to submit. He gritted his teeth, hands clawing at the dirt, resisting, fighting it with everything he had. He refused to kneel, refused to surrender, refused to bow his head like the countless men who had fallen before him.

But then, he made the mistake of looking up.

And he saw Riven's eyes.

Not the cold calculation of a fighter. Not the fiery determination of a warrior.

But something far, far worse.

The Abyss stared back at him.

Endless. Hollow. Eternal.

His muscles burned, his bones groaned in protest, his instincts howled at him to stop. But he pushed anyway, planting his foot against the dirt, forcing his battered body upward.

A last act of defiance. A final grasp at control.

Riven had seen enough.

He didn't move with anger. He didn't lash out with fury. His expression remained cold, unreadable, untouched by the spectacle of struggle before him. His aura did not waver.

He simply moved.

One step.

Then another.

And then—a final blow.

A single, brutal strike to the Demon's temple.

The impact was absolute.

The Demon's world shattered.

The last thing he saw was Riven's abyssal gaze—two voids, endless and consuming, staring into the very depths of his soul.

Then—darkness.

His body crashed into the dirt, unmoving.

The undefeated champion of the pits—the terror of countless battles, the man who had stood unchallenged—had fallen.

And the crowd—hundreds of voices that had once roared with life—stood in horrified silence.

Riven exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if brushing off dust. His aura retracted, sealing itself once more beneath his skin, leaving only the unsettling aftershock of something that should not exist in this world.

He turned, glancing toward his table.

Nyx was grinning—feral, delighted, eyes glinting like a predator who had just witnessed carnage.

Krux let out a slow breath, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "So much for keeping a low profile," he muttered, his tone hovering somewhere between awe and resignation.

Aria didn't speak. She didn't need to. Her gaze, sharp and unblinking, never left Riven.

She had felt it. The others had felt it. Even suppressed, even hidden beneath the surface, Riven's presence was undeniable.

Riven exhaled, the tension in the air thick, suffocating. Then, with no more care than one would give to a discarded object, he turned his back on the unconscious Demon.

"Get him," he said simply.

Krux smirked, standing from his seat. "With pleasure."

No one stopped them.

No one dared to.

No one moved as the Shadow King took back what was his.

—x—

After slipping the announcer a generous sum—enough to ensure his silence and a little extra to keep the crowd entertained with another round of drinks—the fight between Riven and The Demon faded into the background, as if it had never happened at all.

With Krux and Nyx each taking a side, they hauled the Demon's heavy form into the dense forest that bordered the small town, the thick canopy swallowing them in darkness as they moved deeper into the trees.

Reaching a small clearing, they unceremoniously dropped the Demon's body to the ground with a heavy thud. The impact stirred him, a low groan escaping his lips as he began to regain consciousness.

Nyx wasted no time. She nudged him sharply with the tip of her boot, her expression twisting with renewed irritation. "Yeah, wake up, you piece of shit," she snapped, crossing her arms. "You've got some explaining to do."

Damon groaned as he pushed himself upright, blinking blearily as he took in his surroundings. His vision settled on Nyx first, his dazed expression quickly morphing into delight. "Nyx… is that you?!" His head snapped to the side, eyes going wide as he recognized the others. "Krux and Aria too! Ah, it's so good to see you all again!" His grin was bright, completely at odds with the bruises forming on his face, like an overgrown child who had just found his lost friends.

"Shut it, Damon," Krux grumbled, arms crossed over his chest, his usual easy smirk absent. "You're gonna tell us why the hell you're in this backwater town, wasting your time beating up nobodies." His irritation sharpened, his voice edged with anger. "Your king summoned you, you idiot."

Damon—who until that moment had been positively beaming—froze. The happiness in his face dimmed as guilt settled into his features, his fists clenching at his sides. "Mal and I ascended to the human realm a little over a month ago," he muttered, not meeting their eyes. "I wanted to go to our king right away, but Mal insisted we had to do something first—something that would make us worthy of standing before him again."

Nyx sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Of course Mal did. That bastard always had to go above and beyond. What stupid plan did he come up with this time?"

Damon hesitated. "We've been gathering the lost. The ones who scattered when the kingdom fell." He finally lifted his head, his face grim but determined. "We're rebuilding, Nyx. We've gathered a strong following—those who still believe in our king. We've given them a purpose again — hope. But… it took longer than we thought."

Aria, who had been silently putting the pieces together, narrowed her eyes. "The group in the Wastes—the one that's been controlling the roads, burning warnings into merchants' wagons… That's you and Mal, isn't it?"

Damon nodded, his expression serious. "We've been building up supplies to keep everyone fed — the crowd is growing bigger by the day."

Silence settled over them.

Riven, who had kept his distance, allowing his generals to extract information first, finally stepped forward. His presence shifted the air—heavy, commanding. Damon stiffened immediately, his instincts flaring even before he fully processed what was happening.

"Who," Riven spoke, his voice deceptively calm, "asked you to do that?" He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable.

Damon turned to look at him for the first time.

And froze.

Recognition dawned, quickly followed by sheer, unfiltered terror. His red eyes widened, his limbs locking up as a violent tremor ran through his entire body. He had faced countless warriors, monsters, and horrors. He had stood unchallenged in battle, his strength feared.

None of it compared to the fear that seized him now.

"M-My King!" Damon choked out, his voice raw as he dropped to his knees, bowing so low his forehead pressed against the earth. "Forgive this foolish general for not recognizing you!"

Riven's boots stopped just in front of him. Damon dared not look up.

Then, without warning, something heavy pressed down on the back of his head.

Riven's boot.

He applied just enough pressure to force Damon's face further into the dirt, his tone still eerily calm. "I asked you a question."

Damon's fingers dug into the ground as pain flared through his skull. "Urk—! I… I followed Mal because I thought it would please you, my liege!" His voice was strained, but he forced the words out.

"You ignored your king's summons," Riven mused, as if considering the thought. Then, with a quiet, humorless chuckle, he leaned down, resting his arm lazily over the knee of the leg still pressing Damon into the dirt. "And you thought that would please me?"

Damon's breath hitched. "I-I only wished to prove our worth! To show you that we—"

"You assumed I needed proving." Riven's voice was soft, but it cut like a blade. "I don't need men who do as they please. I don't need those who ignore my command. I certainly don't need disobedient fools acting without my permission."

He lifted his boot and turned away. "Be gone."

Damon's heart stopped.

His blood ran cold.

Panic clawed at his throat, ripping through his body in a way no physical blow ever had. "N-No! No—please, my king!" His voice cracked as he scrambled forward, clawing at the dirt, desperate. "Please, grant me forgiveness! If you would only see what we've built—what we've done in the Wastes—you would be impressed! I swear it! Please, my king, forgive Mal and I just this once!"

Riven did not respond.

He did not slow.

He did not acknowledge the pleading.

Then—three consecutive thuds sounded behind him.

Riven halted, turning slowly.

Damon wasn't the only one kneeling anymore.

Nyx, Krux, and Aria had all dropped to the ground, their heads pressed low, their hands outstretched in unison.

"Please, grant your forgiveness just this once."

Their voices rang through the clearing.

"Please, grant your forgiveness just this once."

Again.

Over and over.

The chant did not waver.

Riven's expression darkened.

He stepped closer, gaze sweeping over the bowed figures of his generals. "What is this?" His voice was low, unimpressed. "You think if you all grovel together, I won't cast you all aside?"

"We dare not assume anything, my liege," Krux answered immediately, his voice quick, cautious. "But Damon is not without use. He possesses Earth mana—his abilities are tied to nature itself. He can build, shape, and fortify structures with ease. Think of what he could do in rebuilding your kingdom."

"Please, grant your forgiveness just this once," they echoed again.

"He is also invaluable in battle," Nyx added, her voice steady despite the tension. "Once he regains his full strength, he can take a ridiculous amount of damage—he's a shield, a frontline warrior. He may be an idiot, but his usefulness outweighs his stupidity."

"Please, grant your forgiveness just this once."

Riven inhaled deeply, exhaling through his nose. His gaze swept over them, and for a moment, he wondered if he had somehow acquired four loyal dogs instead of generals.

Silence stretched.

Then, finally, he sighed. "Take me to Mal," he ordered, voice flat. "Let me see what has been so important that it was worth ignoring my summons."

Damon's breath caught, his head snapping up. "Y-Yes! Right away, my liege!" He scrambled to his feet so fast he nearly tripped.

The other three generals released slow, relieved exhales as they rose to stand.

But Riven wasn't done.

His gaze flicked to them, sharp, warning. "I have told you before—I do not give mercy. Do not test me again."

The weight of his words settled over them.

"Yes, my liege," they responded in unison.

Riven ran a hand over his face before turning back to Damon, flicking his fingers in an impatient gesture.

"Lead the way."