Damn Reincarnation

Chapter 602: The Demon King of Destruction (1) [Bonus Image]

“Ah,” Eugene murmured, his voice tinged with an overt display of frailty as he shivered.

Molon was standing a few steps ahead of Eugene. He turned around, his voice filled with considerable tension, and asked, “What’s the matter?”

It was a situation tense enough to stiffen even Molon’s movements. It wasn’t only Molon who reacted to Eugene’s sudden exclamation. Sienna had been gripping her staff tightly and focusing intently when Eugene made the sound, causing her to jump in surprise as well.

She opened her eyes wide as she asked, “What? What’s suddenly gotten into you?”

Instead of replying, Eugene remained silent, embarrassed by the fervent reaction his involuntary response had elicited. Seeing Eugene falter, Molon looked back, puzzled.

“Hamel, why suddenly—” he began to inquire.

“Dismiss it,” Anise instructed from behind, sighing deeply as she raised her hand and smacked Eugene’s back hard. “He was about to spout nonsense without reading the room.”

“It’s not that I couldn’t read the mood. That’s not it. In fact, I was compelled by the atmosphere to speak nonsense,” Eugene retorted, his justification neither a lie nor an excuse.

He truly felt that way. He could feel that everyone was overwhelmed by suffocating pressure. They could all sense the tension of an impending end, and that constricted everyone’s breath.

“And it’s the stares from behind, too. Feels like they could bore a hole through my head,” Eugene grumbled as he looked back.

At the edge of the plains, in front of the city walls, was an enormous grouping of various armies led by the Divine Army. This army was positioned such that it sprawled far beyond the walls to the rear. All those soldiers were watching Eugene’s group heading towards the seal containing Destruction. Despite the considerable distance, flags fluttered, and cheers erupted as if they had seen him turn around. The powerful shouts vibrated through the plains, causing the very air to vibrate.

“They’re all wishing for your victory, Hamel. Why not wave back at least?” Anise suggested.

“How embarrassing,” Eugene muttered, though he waved his hand regardless. Another wave of cheers followed, and Eugene sighed deeply once more.

Their morale was high, at least in the army. There was little sense of the tension or fear of the imminent battle. However, that was mostly because many didn’t truly grasp the reality of the enemy they were about to face. The seal was still intact, and the Nur hadn’t yet poured forth. Eugene withdrew his gaze from the army and looked up to the sky.

Just as when he had battled the Demon King of Incarceration, a sun created by Eugene’s divine power shone in the sky over the plains. And it wasn’t just here. With Ciel’s help in the early morning, he had also conjured a sun over Lehainjar, beneath which stood Aman, the army of Ruhr, and the mercenary forces led by Ivic.

“The snowy fields seem somewhat precarious,” Eugene said.

Puffing out his chest with pride, Molon declared, “Aman is my descendant. To bear my blood means to be a brave and strong warrior, and those who follow him are the true heirs of Bayar.” Taking a deep breath, he continued, “Though I cannot fight alongside them, my descendants will ensure that the Nur cannot descend from the mountains.”

“Shouldn’t we worry about ourselves rather than others?” Sienna retorted, rolling her eyes and with a slight pout.

“And yet, you’ve arranged some of your spells here too,” Eugene responded.

Both she and Eugene were concerned for those left behind. But there was a limit to what they could prearrange from here. Staying behind to fight against the Nur was impossible. Ultimately, the only way to end the battle was to defeat the Demon King of Destruction. Eugene unclenched his tightly clenched fist.

The chains he had received from the Demon King of Incarceration appeared in his palm, trembling and shifting. The chains had vibrated like this ever since he had gripped them, resonating more and more as they neared the seal of Destruction. Eugene steadied his breath and looked forward.

What appeared in front of him was the massively enormous wall of chains before him.

He looked at Molon, who was standing slightly ahead. Molon nodded and stepped back upon meeting Eugene’s gaze. Next, he looked at Sienna, who stopped her chanting and moved to his side. Lastly, he looked behind at Anise, who clasped her rosary and stepped forward slightly.

All four of them, excluding Vermouth, stood before the wall of chains in unison, the chains in Eugene’s palm now vibrating more intensely. Cheers continued unabated in the distance. The brilliance of the Light could be felt without turning back, and it gently pushed against their backs.

Eugene stretched out the chain. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

Fwooosh!

From the top of the towering wall, the chains began to unravel and crumble. Countless intertwined fragments fell and scattered as black ash. The sinister energy contained within was released, and the sky rippled and then became tainted as if stained.

What was happening to the world couldn’t be fully witnessed as the chains in front of the group opened wide. Before Eugene and his companions could move from their spots, the gate made of chains engulfed them all.

They could no longer hear the sound of collapsing chains. Nor could they see the Nur, which had been filled to the brim inside the seal.

Eugene raised his head. The sky was not visible. There was no sun, no moon, just a white expanse. He looked down. He seemed to be standing on something, but it didn’t feel like ground. Like the sky, the earth too, was stark white. He was in the void he had seen several times before, the world Agaroth found at the end, the dead world.

This was inside the Demon King of Destruction. Destruction itself was a chaotic amalgamation of every color, yet the inside itself bore no color, only white.

“You’ve arrived quickly,” a voice said.

Eugene looked toward the source of the voice, not a bit surprised. The isolated figure of the Demon King of Incarceration stood before him.

“A wait with promise is rather bearable, isn’t it?” T Demon King of Incarceration murmured to himself with a chuckle.

Eugene stood still and stared at the Demon King of Incarceration. Even from a distance, he could tell that Incarceration was barely managing to stand — perhaps out of fear that if he sat down, he might never rise again.

“Despite your words, you don’t seem to be in good condition,” Eugene commented.

“It’s a seal I created by overexerting myself, so it’s inevitable. And… why would I need to be in good condition anyway?” the Demon King of Incarceration asked.

Slowly, the Demon King turned his head. His naturally pale face, usually devoid of much color, now looked ghostly pale, surpassing his usual pallor.

“Do you need my help any more than this to defeat Destruction?” Incarceration inquired.

“No.” Eugene shook his head without hesitation. “Your role in this battle is over.”

He then strode forward, and the void itself seemed to quiver at his steps.

“You,” Eugene said as he passed by the side of the Demon King of Incarceration, “just stand here and watch. Watch the end of all the compromises you made, the end of all the cycles you repeated while hoping for the next era.”

Aaaah….

A ghostly wail echoed from the trembling void. Hearing this, Eugene clenched his fist. Molon gritted his teeth, Sienna bit her lip, and Anise sighed.

“Do you still…,” the Demon King of Incarceration began, shaking his head. “Do you think you can save Vermouth?”

“How many times will you ask that? We think of nothing else,” Eugene replied lightly.

“I suppose so,” the Demon King said with a sigh.

He did not discuss what was possible or impossible. He did not speak of what he had seen or felt while bound to this place. The Demon King understood that his reflections and opinions held no value to these heroes.

Seeing, feeling, and deciding — that was not his role. The role of the Demon King of Incarceration was not to judge but to witness the outcome. Eugene was right. The Demon King’s task was merely to observe the end.

“There.”

The Demon King pointed ahead, towards the very heart of Destruction. It was an utterly alien site that could also be considered the origin of everything. Despite the vast passage of time, a wound there remained unhealed. This scar was the first and only scar that was etched after he became the Demon King of Destruction. It would remain unhealed, no matter how many times the world was reset and repeated.

Before becoming the Demon King of Destruction, he was known as Vermouth Lionheart. He had aspired to be the Hero, though he never became one, yet he was a man permitted to stand beside the Hero.

At the moment everyone had hoped for, when the Hero defeated the Demon King, the man stabbed the Hero in the back out of petty jealousy. He believed that once the Demon King was vanquished, the Hero would be eternally revered, and he, as a mere companion, would not share in the same glory. The throne of the Demon King had spurred the man’s ugly, worldly envy, and that day, a new Demon King was born.

“Vermouth.”

The scar was visible. Eugene remembered Vermouth and how the Demon King of Destruction came to be. Eugene knew from the memories that the Demon King of Incarceration had shown him what name Vermouth had been using before becoming the Demon King of Destruction. It was a memory devoid of need or value. Why did the origin of Destruction matter? To Eugene, it was not the origin but the death of Destruction that was important.

The name of Destruction? Vermouth Lionheart? Eugene had a terrible lack of interest in that. The Vermouth that the Demon King of Incarceration knew, and the Vermouth known to Eugene, Molon, Sienna, and Anise were different.

Vermouth Lionheart was the Hero. It did not matter that the Light did not acknowledge him, nor that Vermouth himself did not consider himself the Hero. Everyone else recognized and called Vermouth the Hero.

Betray a companion out of petty jealousy? That was something utterly inconceivable for the man known as Vermouth Lionheart, whom Eugene and his comrades knew.

Everyone knew it as the truth. Vermouth would never betray a companion. No, in fact, none of the five who traversed the Devildom together three hundred years ago would betray a companion. None would stab a friend in the back out of jealousy for their glory.

If one must blame Vermouth….

“You just kept your mouth shut and bore everything alone,” Eugene said, tilting his head slightly.

“You’ve also tormented me in my dreams for over a hundred years,” Molon said while stroking his beard.

“He even made me write eulogies while he wasn’t even dead,” Anise said with a grin and a nod.

“I almost really died when my heart was pierced,” Sienna muttered with a grimace.

“So, Vermouth,” Eugene said, his hand flaring on the side. With a whoosh, flames rose and enveloped his body. “Either apologize or make your excuses.”

A massive scar.

Near its center lay shattered chains scattered around. Vermouth was sitting on the throne he had occupied countless times. His form was different from the one that had descended a week ago. If that had been the guise of the Demon King of Destruction overlaid on Vermouth, the figure now before them….

Vermouth raised his head. His lips remained sealed. His dim golden eyes took them all in. In this colorless world, each of them shone with their own distinct light. His heart, which had forgotten agitation, throbbed uncontrollably. The wavering emotions gradually spread in front of him.

The light was dazzling. The four figures before him radiated a light he had longed for, a light that had desperately sustained his sanity through the three hundred lonely years in this void. It was the Light he yearned to approach but knew he could never, ever reach.

He felt intense emotions. Instinctively, he remembered the existence among those lights that had first inflicted a deep wound within him long ago.

He looked no further. He withdrew his gaze, for what he saw with his eyes could not be attained. The Light that had kept him sane until now, the emotions he currently felt, could not evoke a true appreciation in him. The screams echoing from the abyss would never escape his lips.

He looked outside. His kin were pouring out, yet he remained motionless. He knew why. It was because they were here. It was simple. If he killed them, he could move. If he killed them, the me screaming in the abyss could disappear, and he could become whole.

What then? There was no need to think about that. There was no need to contemplate the repetitiveness of the next era.

The Demon King of Destruction had no reason to destroy the world. He had never truly brought the world to ruin. The world always moved on to the next era, starting anew before the completion of destruction. The Demon King of Destruction had always, always, always repeated what he could never finish to the end.

Could he truly bring the world to ruin this time? He did not even entertain the thought. The instinct that had repetitively brought the world to the brink of destruction now stirred the man.

“Bastard,” Eugene cursed.

Colors entwined around Vermouth’s body. His hollow and murky eyes showed no emotion or will, no different from his lack of murderous intent. He did not emit any killing intent, only a dreadful, mind-breaking malevolence.

This now was not Vermouth.

From the beginning, that body was a split manifestation of the Demon King of Destruction. But it belonged to Vermouth, and he was inside.

“If I’m to make him speak, I need to make him come to his senses first,” Eugene surmised.

He chuckled dryly and gripped his sword.

Then, the Demon King of Destruction approached them.