Chapter 210: Believe What You Want

Hours later, Percival stood several yards back from the Alpha Gate, his boots anchored in the mud as he tightened the straps of his armor.

Beside him, Eristasia sat quietly on a wooden crate, glaring at the violent glowing crest engraved into her hand.

Percival seemed to be finishing off with his preparations. He had already sharpened all of his blades, even the Nameless which Eristasia had found interesting.

Once he was satisfied, he dragged Eristasia back to the front of the inn where a small crowd of Oldmarsh townspeople were huddled.

Among them was the town mayor. He was a weathered man with a missing finger and a labored face. On his hand was a leather pack filled with salted beef, hard bread, and a waterskin of clean water.

"You're truly going in there alone, sir?" the mayor asked, his voice shaking as he offered the pack. "We... we have nothing to offer you but this. No coin can match the courage it takes to step into an Alpha Gate. Especially one that smells of... whatever that is."

Percival, smelling the meat, took the pack with a steady hand and kept it in his inventory. "Keep your coin. I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. A town overrun with monsters is no use to me, and neither is a broken road. While I am inside, you will do exactly as I say."

The townsfolk looked at him, their eyes wide with desperate hope.

"You will establish a perimeter exactly fifty yards from this vortex," Percival instructed with a cold, demanding voice. "If you see the color of that Gate begin to swirl faster, or if the red blares brighter. You take your families and abandon this town immediately. That is the sign of a Gate breaking. If that happens, there will be nothing here for me to save when I return."

"And if it doesn't change?" a young woman whispered, her hands clutching a child's shoulder.

"Then you wait," Percival replied flatly. "I will be back. Do not attempt to send anyone after me, and do not let any traveling merchants near this place. Is that understood?"

"Understood, Mr. Awakener," the mayor said, bowing his head rigidly. "May the Gods watch over your steps."

Percival wanted to sigh at the mention of the gods, but he didn't want the mayor and these people to feel insulted. Nodding once at them, he turned to Eristasia and gestured toward the swirling red abyss. "Stand up. We're leaving."

Eristasia's body moved automatically. She stood, her legs trembling slightly from the forced motion. "You don't have to do this. Please. You are dragging me to my death, Percival. To enter a Demon Gate without a full party of powerful Awakeners is suicide."

"Then it's a good thing I brought an army of my own," Percival said. He caught her by the arm, keeping a firm grip on her bound wrists as they walked toward the rift. "Step through."

Eristasia grudgingly obeyed and together, they plunged into the Alpha Gate.

Once they stepped out into the Gate World, they came in instant contact with a dark realm. Nothing but the scent of wet leaves and fur filled the place.

There was no sky above, just a continuous dome of bruised purple clouds that weeping a chilling mist.

They stood at the edge of a massive, ancient forest. The trees were massive, their bark black as charcoal and weeping a thick, sap-like liquid that smelled faintly of old rot.

Moss-covered stone ruins plunged out from the earth like the ribs of a dead giant, half-buried under a carpet of dark, blood-red ferns. Every few seconds, the wind would pick up, howling loudly like a sad song.

"It's... it's too quiet," Eristasia whispered, terrified. Her fingers twitched behind her back, trying to summon even a trace of her wind magic, but Percival's crest kept her locked away. "What kind of place is this? This isn't just a beast's lair."

"The Gate World is called ⸢Midnight Howling⸥," Percival said, scanning the dark treeline with narrow eyes. "There's something different about Demon Gate Worlds compared to ordinary ones."

Eristasia eyed him. "I think it's pretty obvious. They have Demons inside."

Percival looked down at her, seeing the terror in her face even as she tried to hide it behind a prideful sneer. "Tell me, Lady Eristasia. What do you know about the gods?"

Eristasia raised a brow, caught off guard by the sudden question. She looked at him with confusion. "What kind of madness are you speaking of now? We are in a cursed place, and you want to discuss theology?"

"Just answer me," Percival commanded.

The Slave Crest pulsed once, spreading the magic through her skin and forced her words to flow whether she willed it or not.

"I… know what everyone knows," she stammered.

"And what is that?" Percival asked, his focus still on his surroundings.

Eristasia groaned, trying to fight the compulsion before ultimately giving in. "Before the dawn of mortals, the five architects of existence established the balance. Azrael created life and death. Mothiree designed the nature of things. Beltharion created peace through conflict and war, and Lilithis created time and art."

"But their brother, Azazel, was consumed by greed and dark desires. He sought to overthrow the heavens and rule humans. For his arrogance, he was cast down into the abyss, where he became the first Demon King. The monsters we fight today are the lingering rot of his rebellion."

Percival walked slowly, his boots crunching on the brittle red ferns as he listened. "Hmm. So even a matriarch of a noble house is left completely in the dark."

"What are you talking about?!" Eristasia retorted, her pride flaring momentarily through her fear. "It is the truth of the world! It is recorded in the holy scripts of all the God Temples!"

"Then the holy scripts might just be lying," Percival said, stopping before a gigantic stone archway. "I met a curious old man on one of my journeys."

Eristasia scoffed. "So you want me to believe this old man over written scripture."

Percival shrugged, studying the archway. "Believe what you want. I just want to tell a story for a change."

Eristasia, although surprised, made a grumpy expression.

"In the beginning," Percival began, "there was only Principius. You see, this Principius being wasn't male or female. It probably wasn't even a being at all. All it was was potential. Potential without identity. So it divided itself into six primordial energies, which became the gods."

He turned to face her, his blue eyes holding a cold, disturbing clarity. "Azrael, Beltharion, Lilithis, Mothiree, Azazel... and Asmodea. Goddess of Creation and Damnation."

Eristasia's breath hitched. "Asmodea? Who the hell is that? I've not heard of her name before"

"Of course you haven't," Percival said. "Because the gods went to great lengths to erase her from history. Asmodea, as the goddess of Creation and Damnation, took her power and created the first true living beings. Demons."

He walked past the archway, a few paces further, keeping a watchful eye on the dark shadows shifting between the black trees. "Demons were well… Demons. They were imperfect and maddened by their power. The other gods saw them as a threat to their rigid reality. They didn't want a creation they couldn't control. So, the five of them united, waged a war against Asmodea, and imprisoned her and her entire demonic lineage in the metaphysical tomb known as Purgatory."

"This doesn't make sense?" Eristasia interrupted skeptically. "What of Azazel?"

"Azazel didn't fall because of greed," Percival whispered. "He was the God of Emotion and Dominion. He rebelled because he was driven by guilt for what had happened to his sister. He descended to earth to crack the seals of Purgatory and free her. A Demon supposedly escaped from a crack that occurred when he descended. It mated with beasts and that was how Demonspawns were created."

Eristasia stared at him, her chest heaving as the gravity of his words settled into her mind. "You… No. You don't know what you're saying. You're making this all up."

"It's true," Percival said bluntly. "This system of power that we have was built by the Five Gods for mortals to protect ourselves. And these Gate Worlds aren't random accidents. They are the manifestations drawn from the gods' own essence. But that's already well known"

"Of course it is..." she breathed, shaking her head. "Are we playing seven lies and one truth here? Why would you tell me that last part?"

"Well," Percival thought about it. "I just thought I'd let you know that Asmodea has escaped purgatory and that is why these Demon Gate Worlds are appearing as of late."

Eristasia froze for a second, fearing that what he said made a lot of sense. "You're lying!" she said defensively. "All of that nonsense just can't be true."

Percival shrugged, entirely indifferent. " Like I said, believe what you want. Your belief doesn't change the truth, and it certainly won't stop the things living in this forest from tearing your throat out."

He stopped, his hand going to the hilt of the Basilisk Blade. "In this place, your standard wind magic is a liability. Demons are born from the mana of Asmodea itself. Physical attacks, standard slashes, and basic wind blades will just pass through them like smoke. If you attack them head-on with direct pressure, you'll do nothing but waste your stamina."

"Then what would you have me do?" she demanded, her voice trembling. "If my magic cannot hurt them, I am nothing more than meat for their teeth."

"Not quite," Percival said. "If you try to slash them, you'll fail. But if you can manipulate the air pressure around them—if you can create vacuums and compress the space they inhabit—you can crush their spirit forms. That is the only way your element has a chance of being useful to me."

Grrrrrrrrrrrrr!

They both snapped their heads to the terrifying sound.

From the shadows of the charcoal trees, three massive figures emerged. They stood nearly eight feet tall with green smoking bodies that formed the horrifying build of wolfmen.

Their eyes burned with the same sickening, greenish light that Demons had—the unmistakable color of Asmodea's power—and their long, clawed fingers scraped against the stone ruins, leaving deep, smoldering gouges in the rock.

⸢Threat Detected: Midnight Werewolves⸥

⸢Level: 75⸥

Percival slowly drew the Basilisk from his swordcase, engulfing the blade length with Soulfire.

"Get ready, Lady Eristasia," Percival muttered, his posture shifting into a lethal, grounded stance.

Eristasia glared at him with all the hate in her heart. "What choice do I have?!"