Chapter 1024 - 1023: The Price of Winning

Simon hadn’t sensed anyone behind him.

Not a footstep. Not a shadow approaching. The man had spoken from close enough to reach out and touch him.

He moved before the last word faded.

Wind swept across the broken floor, trailing with crimson sparks. Simon landed several dozen paces away and turned, one foot drawn back and a hand raised before his chest as he stood in a defensive position.

A tall man stood where he had just been.

His silver hair was cut short, and a long black coat hung from narrow shoulders. His right eye was pale grey. In the left socket sat a tiny, bone-white face with two black eyes of its own.

Its little mouth was open.

Simon stared for a moment, then examined the power the man was no longer bothering to conceal.

A Supreme Demon King.

His stomach tightened.

Through the Seed of Wrath, he could feel the anger beneath that expressionless face. The man’s killing intent was directed entirely at him, thick enough that the air between them seemed difficult to breathe.

Fearless kept his thoughts clear. Pride stirred in his heart, resisting the urge to lower his gaze.

However, he knew that neither would stop the man from killing him.

Simon exhaled.

"I won the duel. Why should I give up my spoils?"

"Because I’ll kill you if you don’t return my nephew’s body."

The reply came without hesitation.

The man didn’t raise his voice or reach for a weapon. He didn’t need to.

Simon could tell he meant it.

He glanced toward the arena exits, then up at the elders’ gallery.

All twelve were watching.

Grand Elder Dread Crown rested a hand beneath his chin. Grand Elder Golden Tyrant looked between the two Daemons with interest. Nobody rose.

"Waiting for them to save you?"

Simon returned his attention to the man.

"They may value you," the Daemon said. "But that doesn’t mean I can’t kill you before they stop me. I’ll accept whatever comes afterward."

Even his own death.

Simon understood the threat. He wasn’t being offered another duel or a chance to prove himself. The man was willing to die if that was what killing him cost.

He tilted his head slightly.

"May I know your name?"

A faint frown crossed the man’s face.

"Severin Voss."

Simon nodded.

Jorra and Joren’s uncle. The resemblance was easier to notice now that he was looking at the Daemon properly..

"Then you heard the conditions of the duel, Severin Voss?"

"I heard them."

"Your nephew challenged me. The council approved it. We both agreed that the survivor wouldn’t be punished for the other’s death."

"I’m asking for his corpse."

"You’re threatening to kill me for keeping it."

Severin’s right eye narrowed.

Simon allowed his voice to carry toward the terraces.

"If Joren had won, would my companions have been allowed to stand here and threaten him?"

"Your companions have nothing to do with this."

"Exactly. Neither did you until he lost."

A murmur passed through the lower stands.

Enigma looked up at the sound, then back at Simon.

The boy was watching Severin, but his words were meant for more than one listener.

"You think quoting the conditions will excuse what you did?" Severin asked.

"I think it would be useful to know which conditions count. Was I allowed to win?"

Severin took a step forward.

Simon adjusted his stance.

"I was told this battle would decide whether I could join The Abyss. Now I’m being threatened by the loser’s family. You can see why I’m confused."

"He did accept the duel," someone whispered.

"The council said the winner wouldn’t be punished."

Another voice answered more quietly.

"Does that not apply when it’s House Voss?"

Severin’s gaze shifted toward the stands.

Simon didn’t smile. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe a few spectators could protect him. But the elders were listening too, and this was happening beneath their seats.

There were people in that crowd who might one day face a member of a powerful house.

He had given them something to consider.

Severin looked back at him.

"Enough."

A cold pressure spread across the colosseum.

The murmuring stopped. A Daemon in the front row gripped his seat, while several ordinary demons farther up bent forward, struggling to draw a full breath.

Sonya’s expression hardened.

Severin didn’t look away from Simon.

"One more chance. Return his body, or die."

The pressure against Simon’s skin grew heavier.

He let out a long sigh.

"Why do the old always like to bully the young?"

"I won’t repeat myself."

"Fine. You can have him."

Simon reached into his spatial ring.

The severed arms appeared in his hands.

He threw them across the space between them.

Severin caught one in each hand. His gaze dropped immediately to Joren’s right wrist, and he turned it to examine the fingers.

The black ring remained where it had been, its crimson flame surrounding the Abyss’s emblem.

For a moment, Severin looked at nothing else.

Simon noticed.

’I see.’

He hadn’t examined the wounds. He hadn’t looked toward the other arm. Whatever else he wanted, that ring mattered enough to check first.

Severin stored the arms and raised his eyes.

"The rest of him."

Simon grinned.

Joren’s corpse appeared, its ruined coat hanging around the empty shoulders. Simon caught it by the neck and lifted it clear of the floor.

The legs dangled.

Several spectators leaned forward again despite the pressure that had silenced them.

Severin extended a hand, but Simon didn’t throw the body.

His fingers rested firmly beneath Joren’s jaw, the black wraps pressed against Joren’s pale skin.

He had intended to take what he wanted from this corpse in private. Now he would have to settle for doing it before handing the remains over.

Five seconds passed, and Severin frowned when he noticed that Simon had not given him the corpse.

"Give him to me."

"You asked for the corpse. It’s right here."

"Boy-"

He stopped.

Something was wrong with Joren’s face.

The cheeks had begun sinking.

At first, it looked as though Simon’s grip had pulled the skin strangely. Then the flesh around the mouth tightened, exposing the teeth.

Severin’s gaze dropped to the open coat.

Joren’s chest was shrinking.

The muscles beneath his skin thinned rapidly, and the outline of his ribs became sharper. His abdomen drew inward as though something was drinking him empty.

No blood ran down Simon’s arm. Nothing spilled onto the floor.

Where was it going?

Severin reached toward the corpse with his perception.

The remaining demonic energy was disappearing. So was the cursed energy clinging to the dead flesh. Even the faint trace of his nephew’s presence was fading.

At the same time, Blackmoon’s aura rose.

Severin’s right eye widened.

He had seen bodies burned, poisoned, and aged by curses. He had never seen one emptied like this.

The change was spreading too quickly.

He moved.

One moment he stood several dozen paces away. The next, his hand closed around what remained of Joren’s upper body.

Simon released the neck without resisting.

The force of Severin’s arrival tore loose fragments from the floor and sent them skidding around his boots.

Simon was already moving away.

Wind carried him across the ruined arena, crimson sparks flashing behind his legs. He didn’t stop until he reached the far corner beside the wall.

He wanted every stride he could get before Severin looked up.

The Supreme Demon King remained where he had seized the corpse.

It weighed almost nothing.

Joren’s head had fallen back, his mouth stretched open over dry teeth. Skin clung to the bones of his chest. His legs had withered inside trousers that now hung loosely around them.

He looked as though he had been dead for a century.

Severin searched the remains for the power that had filled them moments earlier.

Nothing remained.

The blood, the strength held in the flesh, the lingering demonic and cursed energy... all of it was gone.

He could barely recognise his nephew.

He was too late.

Simon had already devoured Joren.