Chapter 69 : Cradle of the Demon

In a scene torn straight from the pages of a nightmare, Curtis  found himself alone, shrouded in fog thick enough to drown the world. His companions had vanished without a trace, leaving behind only silence—and the whisper of a voice, soft and serpentine, that snapped his senses into razor-edged clarity.

Even the divine flames that had once lit his path flickered and died. For a fleeting heartbeat, Curtis  imagined some monstrous shadow soaring through the mists toward him, a delusion born of fear—but his sharpened senses denied it. There was no immediate threat nearby.

“Answer me… young sorcerer…”

The whisper came again, long and languid, curling like smoke around his mind. Curtis  couldn’t tell whether it belonged to a man or woman—it carried a strange, genderless cadence, like something not meant to be bound by flesh.

And yet… it beckoned him. Not in words, but in some subtle compulsion, like a hunger that bloomed from nowhere. The way the scent of a meal in the dead of night could stir the belly into betrayal.

Disgusting, Curtis  thought.

There was something unnatural at play. An emotional pull, a subliminal thread tugging at his will. Unsettled, he called out:

“Who are you?”

“You have come so far… and yet claim not to know me…?”

A hushed chuckle laced the voice now, thin and shadowed.

Truthfully, Curtis  hadn’t asked because he didn’t know. No beast, however clever, speaks in tongues. And one need only know what this place was called to guess the rest.

“You’re a demon.”

“Khh… huhuuhu…”

A sound like broken laughter echoed back—a tremulous giggle, as though between a sob and a snarl.

“A demon… is that what you call me? Young sorcerer, how can you… name me Evil?”

“Should I call you a Benevolent Demon instead?” Curtis  replied, unimpressed.

“You and I… we are cut from the same root… Do not deny it. We are both Ma—there is no good or evil in that…”

The demon’s words were not entirely without merit.

Curtis  had already heard the church’s doctrine from Myra herself: Ma—the arcane essence—was not inherently good or evil. If the gods were light, then Ma was the shadow cast behind it. One, the counterpart of the other.

In time, Ma had split—those who wielded it with order and control were called mages, their craft legitimized. Those who let it fester and twist became demons, marked for destruction. Not all Ma was poison, but not all poison was not Ma.

In that sense, the demon’s claim—they shared a common ancestry—was not a lie. At the very least, they had majored in the same school.

Maybe it was the voice—so haunting, so strangely beautiful—but it almost made sense.

After a pause, Curtis  asked evenly:

“So what is it you want?”

“Because we share the same root… I can fulfill your deepest desires…”

“…You mean you grant wishes?” Curtis  said dryly. “You’re not just lending an ear for fun, are you?”

“Heh… At last, some interest…”

“Answer the question.”

“Yes… truly, I can. If you seek dialogue… I shall open the path…”

With that final whisper, the suffocating fog trembled—and parted.

Sssst—

A narrow corridor formed, its edges swirling like silk in a breeze. The air cleared just enough to reveal a passageway ahead.

Curtis  narrowed his eyes, then stepped forward.

The trail led to a clearing—wider, thinner in mist—where the veil of the world seemed to unravel. There, suspended in the air like a wound in reality, yawned a black chasm, a hole carved into the very fabric of space. The Abyss.

But it was not the void that drew his eye—it was the being standing beneath it.

The figure was androgynous—beautiful in a way that defied labels, shrouded in a flowing cloak that revealed nothing of form or substance. Gender meant nothing here. The thing had merely shaped itself in an echo of humanity.

More accurately, this was no true demon, but a vessel—a projection or incarnation. Yet even a shadow of a demon bore the weight of its origin.

“You’ve come, young sorcerer.”

The voice, now fuller and clearer, echoed through the glade. Curtis  murmured:

“Much better. Your whispering earlier was annoying, to be honest.”

“Heh… I found it taxing as well. Thus, I allowed a face-to-face.”

With a twisted grin and laughter like splintered glass, the demon asked:

“So… have you thought it over?”

“This… wish of mine?”

“Indeed.”

“Can you truly grant it?”

“Of course. If the price is paid… anything is possible.”

Curtis  frowned.

“Hey, wait a minute. That’s not a wish. That’s a transaction.”

The demon blinked slowly, taken aback by the bluntness.

“Did you truly expect me to grant your desire without recompense?”

“You said we were kin—same root and all. I figured that was your way of saying you’d throw in something special.”

“…If you were disappointed, then I apologize. But it is what it is. All desire demands a cost.”

“What kind of cost, then?”

“That depends on what it is you seek.”

The demon regained its poise as Curtis  seemed to consider the offer. Its voice deepened.

“Tell me, young sorcerer… what is it your soul longs for? Gold? Fame? Power?”

Curtis  tilted his head. Then, as if idly, he tossed out a question:

“Suppose I asked for gold. Would you pile treasure at my feet?”

“There is a better way. Why conjure riches… when you could become powerful enough to take them?”

“Hmm… maybe.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Suppose I ask for fame. Will you spread my name across the continents?”

“Again—why bother? With power, your name shall write itself in history.”

“So that’s the trick,” Curtis  muttered. “Power’s the answer to everything.”

“Wise beyond your years, young sorcerer. You already understand how this world works.”

Curtis  fell silent. The longer the conversation went, the less trustworthy the demon seemed. His gaze sharpened—cold and calculating.

“So,” he said at last, “what if I ask for power?”

“Offer me a sacrifice.”
The demon spoke with unsettling ease—too casually, like one might suggest a drink. Curtis  furrowed his brow, an internal murmur rising. So this was the point all along.

“I assume you don’t mean livestock. You want people?”