The Damned Demon

The chamber pulsed with stillness.

The coiling tendrils of dark green mana that had once enveloped Asher like a cocoon had fully receded now, drawn back into his bones, his veins, his core. He exhaled, slow and silent, the breath of someone who had stared into an abyss and returned bearing its mark.

Level : 40

Rating Points : 0 / 5,472,500

HP : 227,710 / 227,710

MP : 53,090 / 53,090

STR : 38,902

DEF : 42,542

INT : 36,614

DEX : 17,823

Asher’s focus settled on the glowing numbers hovering in his mind—his stats, his soul’s echo forged through pain, fury, and relentless will.

Level: 40.

The number glared back at him like a proclamation.

The peak of Soul Tyrant.

A threshold few mortals had ever approached, let alone crossed across eons. Not long ago, the idea of even crossing past Level 34 had felt like a distant fable—something reserved for gods, myths, or the long-dead legends of history.

Now, he stood among them. Even in his past life, he never got to achieve this devilish level of strength.

His fingers flexed slowly, the overwhelming power humming just beneath his skin, coiled and waiting like a storm barely leashed.

Just remembering the stats he had earlier and comparing them to his present stats was like mocking his fragile past self.

He stared for a long moment, letting the weight of it all settle in.

The man he used to be—Cedric, the naive Hunter who thought he understood strength—wouldn’t even last seconds against him now. That version of himself would die without ever knowing why.

A dry breath left his lips, not quite a laugh, but something like it.

How many times had he clawed, begged, raged to be stronger? How many times had he been left behind, broken, and discarded?

And yet here he was—reborn through flame, darkness, and silence.

A being his past self would mistake for a god.

But Asher knew better.

This power wasn’t divine. It was earned. Carved into him with betrayal. Tempered with suffering. Hammered with death.

He didn’t feel triumphant. There was no celebration in reaching the summit—only a cold, bitter understanding of what it cost.

“To lose almost everything…”

The words echoed in his mind like a ghost.

But now, things would be different.

Now he would be the storm.

And the ones who would lose everything would be those who made him this way.

His hands clenched, dark green tendrils of mana writhing around his arms like serpents responding to their master. His aura, once faint and flickering, now pulsed with terrifying gravity.

No more weakness.

No more mercy.

With silent conviction,

He rose.

Stone cracked faintly beneath his boots as he stood, not with flourish or force—but with finality. His form was steady. His eyes, once alight with uncertainty, now burned a low, cold green. Like forest fire in winter. Controlled. Quiet. Deadly.

Across the room, Rebecca felt the shift in pressure. It wasn’t like before—not raw or explosive, but condensed, suffocating, absolute. Her lips parted without meaning to, breath catching as her heartbeat betrayed her. She had thought of a lot to say to him when he finally woke up, but now, after seeing him rise…she found herself speechless unexpectedly.

The man who now stood before them wasn’t the same Asher she had watched in meditation for days. This one had drowned in the depths of something ancient and had clawed his way back up—changed.

Just feeling his restrained aura was making her skin have goosebumps.

Skully, standing by the edge of the hall, watched with unmoving silence. The flickers of green magma threading his charred skeletal frame reflected faintly in the dead hollows of his eye sockets.

Asher turned his head slowly toward him. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was cold steel—sharpened and measured.

“…Is it enough?”

Skully’s head tilted just slightly.

“This strength,” Asher said. “Is it finally enough to satisfy you?”

The silence that followed was long. Heavy. Then Skully’s voice, dry and hollow like wind whispering through a tomb.

“You can never be strong enough. Not for what I have planned for you.”

Asher didn’t flinch. He merely stared back, expression unchanged. Yet he couldn’t tell if Skully was planning to use him for something bad. Either way he knew Skully’s help would come at a price.

Skully’s skeletal hand rose slowly, pointing toward the far end of the chamber.

“But you may test what you’ve become,” he said. “Valeria.”

Asher’s gaze flicked toward the figure stepping from the shadows. Valeria’s tall figure revealed itself from the shadows, her armor dull and dusted from days of silence. Her footsteps echoed across the floor with practiced weight.

Asher’s eyes narrowed slightly.

He noticed it. Skully hadn’t called her Eradicator—just Valeria. Did he also accept her change in name? Asher never expected that.

She came to a stop before him, her gaze steady but unchallenging, arms folding behind her back.

A silent agreement passed between them. There would be no ceremony. No posturing. Just truth.

Asher stepped forward, cracking his neck once as if shedding the last fragments of restraint.

Rebecca stood far off to the side, her eyes excitedly tracking every movement like a hunter observing a storm.

She was very eager to see who was stronger now since both were Soul Tyrants.

The air had changed again, gone from stillness to tension so thick it vibrated through her teeth.

Valeria’s stance shifted just slightly—just enough for Asher to read it.

Then she moved.

A blur. A crimson flash. Her fist came straight for his chest, guided by over a century of combat refinement. Fast enough to kill most dragons in a blink.

But Asher was already there.

Clang.

His forearm rose like an iron wall.

Her fist collided with him—and the world shook.

A violent shockwave erupted from the collision, exploding outward in a ring of compressed force. Dust lifted in a wave, the very air trembling. Stone cracked beneath them. Rebecca, despite being far back, skidded across the floor, boots scraping against the stone as she gritted her teeth against the pressure.

Even Skully’s long cloak fluttered gently in the invisible storm.

Valeria’s eyes narrowed. She had struck him with full intent. And he hadn’t moved an inch.

Asher didn’t say a word. His gaze never left hers.

Then he struck.

His fist arced upward, fast as a whip, weightless yet heavy as death.

Boom.

It slammed into Valeria’s stomach with a sound like stone shattering.

Her body launched backward like a missile. The air screamed as she rocketed across the hall, slamming into the iron-hardened wall with enough force to crack the black stone. The entire iron-like wall shuddered, spiderweb fractures splitting across it like glass under pressure.

Rebecca’s eyes went wide. The blow wasn’t just strong—it was devastating.

But Valeria didn’t groan. Didn’t cry out.

She stood.

Debris crumbled from the wall as she pushed herself upright, dust trailing from her shoulders as if brushed off like old memories. Her armor bent slightly at the impact point, but her gaze didn’t waver. Not even a flicker.

She stepped forward, fists tightening.

Asher knew Valeria had only tried to feel him out, and the real fight had yet to begin.

But he could finally sense the massive health pool she had,

HP : 240,830 / 240,830

Even after taking such a blow head-on, she had already healed herself.

However, Asher didn’t speak. He only raised his right hand.

From nothingness, his ring blade tore itself into existence—a ring-shaped weapon wreathed in dark green flames, spinning slowly in his grasp like a dragon testing the air. The damned flames hissed and crackled around its edge, licking at the void itself, hungry and alive. It pulsed in rhythm with his heart, resonating with the will of its master.

A subtle rumble rolled through the hall as Valeria, seeing the weapon appear, reached behind her back with practiced grace.

There, strapped across her spine, lay a blade vastly different in nature—a heavy sword, forged not for grace, but for finality. She drew it in one fluid motion, the dull blackened metal singing as it escaped its bindings, glowing with crimson veins. But before she turned to face Asher, she paused.

Underneath her cape, rubbing lazily against her neck, Twilight popped its head out.

Valeria slightly moved her sword away and looked at Twilight. The feline looked up at her and meowed—a cheerful, innocent little sound utterly unbothered by the tension that surrounded it.

Valeria gently bent down and placed Twilight aside near the wall while saying a command in a low voice, “Stay here.”

Twilight blinked slowly and turned away, tail swaying calmly as it padded off toward a safer corner of the hall.

And then—Valeria stood tall again.

Without a word, the two Soul Tyrants rushed toward each other, feet striking the stone like thunder.

A blur of crimson and flame.

A surge of damned mana and battle-forged steel.

The moment before impact felt eternal.

And then—

Clash.

They leapt into the air, their weapons colliding in a blinding explosion of force and mana.

The ring blade met the heavy sword mid-arc, and the hall screamed.

*BOOOOM!*

A wave of dark green fire erupted from the point of contact, crashing against Valeria’s mana like an ocean trying to devour a mountain. The resulting shockwave shattered the seemingly indestructible floor below them, cracks racing outward like spiderwebs of destruction.

And even a few hundred meters away—

Rebecca was launched.

Her body flew backward, her figure tearing through the air before she lost balance entirely. She hit the wall hard, a grunt escaping her lips as dust and debris rained from the ceiling.

She groaned, dragging herself back up with trembling arms. Her vision blurred with smoke and flame, but she forced herself to look forward.

And what she saw stole her breath.

Above the shattered battlefield, Asher and Valeria were still locked in midair, their weapons crackling with raw power. It wasn’t just strength. It was something more.

Something ancient. Terrifying. Almost divine.

Rebecca’s lips parted slowly, her voice barely a whisper.

“…Monsters…”

No—this wasn’t a battle between warriors.

It was a clash between gods in mortal flesh.

But then her lips slowly began to curve into a frenzied smile, her eyes glowing with a crazed light, realizing that the draconians and whoever had the unfortunate fate of being Asher’s enemy were going to wish they were dead!

Finally…she can hope to see this wretched world change for the better!