Chapter 1022 - 1021: Last Words

"He tore them off."

"But how? He didn’t even touch him."

The two Daemons who spoke in the audience stared at the arms lying on the stone. Beyond them, the Heart Reaper knelt in his own blood, screaming.

A spectator farther up the terrace leaned forward.

"Is he really a Prime Greater Demon?"

"That’s what they announced."

"Then what the fuck is the Heart Reaper doing?"

Nobody had an answer.

The violence itself was nothing unusual. Most of the spectators had seen worse, and some had done worse. They hadn’t expected the newcomer to be quite so ruthless, but that wasn’t what left them staring.

They had come to watch a Blessed of the Abyss deal with an unknown challenger.

Now the Blessed was the one without arms.

Joren’s cursed spirits were gone. His artifacts had failed him. Whatever he had attempted afterward had ended with him coughing blood and being forced onto his knees.

They also realized that Blackmoon had yet to draw a weapon or use an offensive ability other than wind blades.

None of them believed for once that the only offensive ability Blackmoon had was to unleash powerful wind blades mixed with a strange crimson lightning.

Several spectators exchanged uneasy glances. The name they hadn’t recognised before the duel was being repeated throughout the stands.

Above them, Ancestral Elder White Death watched Simon lower his hands.

"So he’s the ruthless sort."

"Anyone who carries Wrath can be ruthless when given a reason," Grand Elder Red Calamity replied. "Joren gave him several."

Their words remained within the gallery’s sound-blocking formation.

Grand Elder Golden Tyrant had returned to her seat. Her eyes followed the faint movements of power around Simon.

"He’s shown us Greed and Pride. We haven’t seen what he can do with Wrath, or the last one."

"I wonder which it is," Grand Elder Night Widow said.

Grand Elder Golden Tyrant shook her head.

"We recognised three because we possess the same sins. With four in one heart, their presence overlaps. I can sense something else, but I can’t separate it clearly enough to identify it."

"It’s either Envy or Gluttony," Grand Elder Night Widow murmured. "I’d like to know which."

"Perhaps his next opponent will give him a reason to use it," Grand Elder Red Calamity said.

Ancestral Elder Black Tide looked away from the fighting ground.

"Are we actually going to let him kill Joren?"

Ancestral Elder Black Mountain shifted in his seat.

"House Voss won’t take it well. Jorra is already dead. Losing two of their most promising descendants to the same person will be difficult to accept."

Grand Elder Red Calamity scoffed.

"They went after someone they couldn’t beat. Whose fault is that?"

"Theirs," Ancestral Elder Wild Hunt replied. "But that won’t make the family forgive him. If Blackmoon joins us, we’ll have to deal with their hatred inside our own walls."

Ancestral Elder Cinder Queen nodded.

"He’ll barely be a member before a powerful house wants him dead. That causes trouble for us as well as him."

Grand Elder Dread Crown spoke without taking his eyes off the arena.

"We’ll watch the duel."

"Grand Elder Dread Crown-"

"Whatever happens, we’ll deal with the consequences afterward."

Ancestral Elder Black Mountain frowned. Ancestral Elder Wild Hunt seemed no more satisfied.

Grand Elder Dread Crown turned toward them.

"And don’t forget. Despite whatever House Voss wants, the Abyss Sovereign’s Will is final."

That ended the discussion.

Ancestral Elder Black Tide pressed his lips together and looked down again.

Below, Joren’s screams had weakened into harsh, broken breaths.

Simon could hear curses between them.

"Bastard... you fucking..."

Joren tried to pull one knee beneath him. The stone scraped against it, but his body wouldn’t rise.

Simon’s Seed of Pride held him in place.

Blood ran down the remains of his coat. His demonic energy pressed against the wounds at his shoulders, slowing the bleeding, but every attempt to gather enough power to resist Simon scattered before he could use it.

He looked at one of his arms.

The black ring remained on its hand.

His fingers twitched against the ground, far beyond his reach.

Simon stepped around it and stopped directly in front of him.

Joren lifted his gaze.

The pain had made it difficult to think. All he could feel was the burning at his shoulders and the humiliation of kneeling before the boy who had killed his brother.

Then Simon spoke.

"Any last words?"

Joren’s pupils widened.

For a moment, even the pain seemed distant.

He was going to die.

The thought reached him with a clarity his anger hadn’t allowed before.

He had known this was a battle to the death. He had agreed in front of the council. But he had pictured Blackmoon lying on the floor, defeated, while the elders finally recognised the mistake of welcoming him.

Even after losing Grave Bell, he had expected Heart Blight to turn the fight.

Now there was nothing left between him and the Daemon standing above him.

Joren searched Simon’s face.

The crimson eyes held no anger. There was no strain, no sign that he was forcing himself to finish what he had started.

Simon looked at him as though he were already a corpse.

Joren’s mouth trembled.

’Surrender.’

The word came with sudden relief.

He could surrender.

He would lose the duel, but his arms could be restored. House Voss had resources. He could recover his strength and endure the humiliation.

He only needed to say it.

Joren drew breath, but Simon’s fingers moved.

The Seed of Pride answered, and the power holding Joren’s body tightened around his jaw.

His teeth closed with a sharp click.

The breath caught in his throat.

Joren froze.

He tried to open his mouth again. His lips wouldn’t part. His tongue pressed uselessly behind his teeth while the word he needed remained trapped inside.

’I surrender!’

Nothing came out.

His pale eyes darted toward the gallery. He tried to turn his head, to make some gesture the elders would recognise.

Simon held him facing forward.

Joren couldn’t lift a hand. He couldn’t even shake his head.

His eyes returned to the crimson ones before him.

Simon already knew that Joren would try to surrender.

He had watched Joren realise there was a way to survive, then taken it away.

A grin slowly spread across Simon’s face.

"Sorry. I lied."

Joren’s expression crumpled.

There had never been a chance to give him any last words.

The Chaos Blade appeared in Simon’s hand.

Its long black blade carried a faint crimson glow along the edge. Joren saw it lower toward his chest and tried to force every scrap of power he had left between himself and the sword.

A thin layer of demonic energy gathered beneath his torn coat.

Simon drove the blade forward.

Its tip broke through the defence and entered Joren’s heart.

Puchi!

His body jerked against the force holding it upright.

The scream never escaped.

Joren stared at Simon, his eyes wide with disbelief. The sword remained buried in his chest, and the demonic energy he had gathered began collapsing around it.

Simon’s hand was steady on the hilt.

For a few moments, Joren struggled to keep looking at him. The crimson eyes blurred, then the face behind them began slipping out of focus.

His legs stopped straining against the stone.

The light faded from his eyes.

Simon withdrew the Chaos Blade.

Only then did he release the power holding Joren upright.

The body tipped forward and struck the ruined floor.

Thud!