Chapter 866 - 865: Not A Request

"What are you?"

Simon raised a brow.

"A demon," he replied calmly. "Isn’t that obvious?"

The God of War regarded him for a moment. Then his gaze lowered to Simon’s chest, as though the clothing and flesh between him and his Demon Heart were no obstruction at all.

"A very abnormal demon."

Simon did not answer. Behind the god, smoke drifted over the place where Darius had fallen. The blood was still there.

"A Supreme Infernal Heart," the god continued. "Yet your body is comparable to that of a Supreme Greater Demon. Reinforce it with enough of your demonic energy, and you can reach the physical capabilities of a Minor Demon Lord."

His iron-grey eyes narrowed slightly.

"That is not a small difference."

Simon kept the Chaos Blade at his side. Hearing his limits described so casually was unpleasant, especially by someone who could test them whenever he pleased.

"And the demonic energy itself..." The god studied him more closely. "Its purity and quality would shame many demons above your rank. Your reserves are far greater than an Infernal Heart should ordinarily hold. Even after fighting my chosen, you have that much remaining."

A faint current moved around Simon’s fingers.

"But quantity is the least interesting part. This is not merely demonic energy refined until it becomes purer. Its nature has changed."

The god tilted his head.

"What happened to your Chaos Flame?"

Simon raised a brow.

"Quite a few things."

There was no use lying to the god of war since he could see that his Chaos Flame was different from other demons.

"I can see that."

There was no irritation in the response. The god sounded interested, and Simon could not decide whether that was better than anger.

"Wind at S-grade," he continued. "Shadow. Fire. Earth. Ice... and space."

His gaze paused on Simon’s eyes.

"Six affinities. Fire and ice coexist without disturbing each other. Space occupies the same body without tearing apart the pathways accommodating everything else."

Simon narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything.

"Many demons would die if they possessed so many affinities like you, yet here you are, standing without any hint of pain or struggle."

The god’s gaze moved over his arms.

"Possessing an affinity does not mean your body can endure every consequence of using it. Yet you are not merely forcing these powers to remain together. Your body accommodates them."

Simon’s expression remained unchanged. The god could see the result. That did not mean he understood how Simon had reached it.

"Your control helps, of course."

For the first time, the God of War sounded almost thoughtful.

"Nothing moves without a purpose. You reinforce only what needs reinforcement. Withdraw energy the instant it is no longer required. Even while standing here, you regulate those currents of demonic energy without neglecting a single one."

He paused.

"That degree of control belongs among Demi-Gods and gods. Not Archfiends."

Simon watched the black crosses within the god’s eyes.

"If I put my pride aside," the god added, "your control over your own demonic energy is even finer than my control over my internal energies."

The admission came without embarrassment, but it did not make Simon relax.

A masterful grip on a dagger meant very little when the other person could bring down a mountain.

The god’s attention shifted to his horn.

"A One-Horned Demon crossed with a demonic cat. That is what your appearance suggests."

His brows drew together.

"Two lowly races. Yet the bloodline I sense is not what either should possess."

Simon remained silent.

"Hybridisation alone does not explain this. Mixing two weak bloodlines does not produce something capable of everything you have demonstrated."

The god looked at him for several breaths, curiosity deepening into faint bewilderment.

"What have you become?"

Simon had no intention of answering. He was beginning to understand how little privacy his body possessed beneath that gaze, and it reminded him of his past life whenever gods looked at him and dissected everything they knew about him without him telling them.

They behaved like they were omniscient.

"Then there is what you left in my chosen’s Sea of Consciousness."

The god lifted one hand toward his borrowed temple.

"Black mental energy. Death and decay within it. An unusual nature for a mind that remains so composed, and an unusual color for demons. The mental energy of demons is usually crimson, so why is yours black?"

Simon’s fingers rested more firmly against the hilt.

"I can feel the traces of your interference. You did not merely show him something false. You made his own mind explain away the truth."

The god lowered his hand.

"And now you stand before me with that same mind undisturbed."

A distant roar rose from the trenches, but neither looked toward it.

"An ordinary Archfiend would already be on its knees. A Greater Demon would fare little better. Even Demon Lords have bowed beneath my attention in this form."

His voice remained conversational.

"I occupy a mortal body, but that does not make the presence within it mortal."

Simon knew that better than he wished to.

"No fear in your face. No panic in your eyes. Not even the little waves of mental energy escaping you carry the worry I would expect."

The god leaned his head slightly to one side.

"How are you this calm?"

"Would panicking improve my situation?" Simon asked.

One eyebrow rose on Darius’s restored face. Then the God of War chuckled.

"No. But most beings do it anyway."

Simon said nothing. Fearless kept his mind clear, but it did not offer a way out of the encounter.

The god’s eyes lowered to the black sword.

"I have never seen that weapon."

His attention moved to the black wrappings covering Simon’s arms.

"Nor those."

"I doubt any god has seen every artifact in existence," Simon replied evenly.

The god gave him an amused look.

"You are remarkably comfortable correcting me."

"You asked what I was. I thought we were discussing things you did not know."

The amusement lingered, but his gaze had returned to the artifacts.

Simon wished it had not.

"The sword does not feel like an ordinary forged weapon," the god murmured. "And those wrappings do not feel like something made merely to protect your arms."

He studied the black strips around Simon’s fingers.

"There is a strange fire inside them, and it is deeply contained. My chosen’s phoenix recoiled from it."

Simon made no reply.

"Solace is gone," the god continued, glancing briefly at the ash on the road. "Yet neither of these artifacts bears damage from a clash with a divine weapon."

His eyes returned to the Chaos Blade.

"Why does this sword feel as though it could one day kill a god?"

The question was quiet.

"And those wrappings... as though their fire might eventually burn one to ashes?"

Simon’s expression did not change.

Neither artifact needed to acquire that potential.

The Chaos Blade could already kill a god. The Chaos Flames within the Chaos Wraps could already burn one to ashes. Simon’s present strength did not alter what the weapons themselves were capable of.

The God of War had sensed the danger without fully understanding it. Given enough time to study them properly, he would discover the difference.

Simon had no intention of providing that time.

"I have taken a liking to them," the god said.

His eyes lifted to Simon’s.

"I want both."

The words carried the same ease with which he had dismissed the battlefield.

Simon’s grip settled firmly around the Chaos Blade.

"Then you will have to remain disappointed."

The god’s faint smile did not disappear.

"I was not asking."

He raised his right hand.

The fingers straightened together, and he moved it diagonally through the air with no more effort than brushing dust from his borrowed armour.

Simon saw a flash.

A thin, slanted gleam crossed the space before him.

Then blood burst across the road.

SPLASH!

His eyes widened.

The Chaos Blade had not risen. His feet had not moved. The warning in his instincts reached him with the blow, leaving no moment in which to obey it.

A deep cut opened across his body.

For a fraction of a second, he remained standing, unable to reconcile the god’s unfinished gesture with the blood pouring from him.

Then his legs gave way.

Thud!

Simon struck the scorched ground, and blood spread rapidly beneath him.