A mere minute had passed since the Sunstaff was activated.
One minute ago, the Wrath Demon held absolute dominance, tearing apart the Dungeon Book with its bare hands, poised to seize the dungeon's core. One minute later, most of its limbs lay scattered in the demonic pool, reduced to fragmented remains. The tables had turned once more between the Abyssal Visitor and its host. Silver blades fell like a storm of rain. Though the Archfiend's avatar was resilient, it shattered into fragments within this meat-grinder-like array of blades.
Limbs, horns, skull, spine, torso.
The massive head flew high into the air, crashing down at an angle into the demonic pool, sending up a considerable splash. The remaining torso stood unmoved, while Tashan continued her relentless strikes. Her heart was still as water during this task, devoid of emotion, focused solely on precise calculations of blade angles and the proportions of the Archfiend's remaining limbs. The demon's body was dismembered into eight pieces, each falling into the demonic pool with precise calculation. The scene was bloody, yet absurdly precise, like slicing noodles with a knife.
Only after the final fragment fell into the pool did Tasha land on the ground, breathing heavily.
Dismembering a great demon was no simple task.
Its body, hard as steel, served as the finest armor. Evolving from a rage demon specializing in close combat into a demon lord, its flesh rivaled that of a dragon. Without the defense-piercing magic of Saros, without the relentless silver blades blessed by divine favor, and without facing a mere clone of the rage demon, this brutal battle could never have ended in a mere minute—even with every possible strategy employed.
In truth, the battle was far from over.
Drops of demonic energy from the pool enveloped the Wrath Demon's flesh. Its fragment hadn't perished, writhing like a severed earthworm. Black blood spread through the azure pool, staining the crystalline waters like ink polluting a pristine lake. The severed chunks writhed ceaselessly. The Wrath Demon's head, eyes wide with fury, churned flesh in a desperate attempt to coalesce. Bubbling sounds grew louder, clouding the once-crystal-clear pool into murk. Each time the fragments neared union, a surge of energy shattered them anew.
Liquid magic churned within, waves crashing without wind, boiling furiously without heat. Everything in the pool was part of the dungeon itself, its will seething within the depths. Each droplet was a fighting unit, seeping into the demon's body, splitting every drop of blood, every piece of flesh, permeating every muscle fiber, every bone. The dungeon's core blazed crimson, illuminating the inhuman struggle within the pool.
The Wrath Demon Saimon roared.
Its face split in two, its throat torn into countless shreds, the howl born from its very soul. Though the Wrath Demon's body was immobilized, its soul raged uncontrollably, relentlessly assaulting the dungeon core. From the moment of contact until now, the assault had never ceased.
One minute had passed since the Sunstaff was activated. One minute since the Wrath Demon Lord's avatar touched the dungeon core. Only minutes remained before the entire dungeon changed hands. Only by using the core as bait could the Archfiend be trapped mid-transition, immobilized. Simultaneously, this placed the dungeon's vital point squarely in Simon's hands. The dungeon core was indeed defenseless. If Patriarch Samuel of the Saro Church and Tashar's combined assault failed to eliminate the Demon Lord's avatar before the dungeon changed hands, things would become extremely troublesome.
No guts, no glory. They had ultimately prevailed.
The boiling demonic pool gradually calmed. The Wrath Demon's final counterattack was successfully suppressed. Its limbs, like a shark too long out of water, slowly lost their vitality. Impurities settled and separated from the pool's waters. With each churning, the water grew clearer, as if invisible piranhas were devouring the debris within—much like dragon wings dismembering a demon, the dungeon's stomach digesting the corpse fragments.
Alas, this substance was far from palatable. Every thread of its power reeked of the Abyss.
The demonic soul deep within the core began its retreat.
A Greater Demon's soul could exist independently, but without a body to anchor it, this spirit could not linger long in the Material Plane. The avatar Simon had sent acted like a nail, allowing the demon soul—rejected by the plane—to temporarily remain here. Now that nail was being pulled out, and its soul would plummet back into the Abyss, whether it wished to or not.
The Wrath Demon Simon was utterly unwilling. Every corner of its soul seethed with fury, ready to explode at the slightest touch, its heat seemingly capable of spontaneous combustion. In the end, the corruption of the dungeon's core ceased. Simon's soul raged on, its attacks devoid of all plan or logic. Its will was fury itself. Until the very moment it was expelled from the Material Plane, this furious soul hurled the most venomous curses at Tasha.
Tasha believed curses without real power were utterly meaningless.
The Wrath Demon's avatar dissolved into mindless flesh, and Simon's soul was successfully banished back to the Abyss. The first fissure in the Abyssal passage had closed, temporarily preventing any other fiends from crossing over. Only now could Tasha turn her attention elsewhere.
The Invisible Hand sprang into action, swiftly gathering the torn pages scattered elsewhere and delivering them to the dungeon's core chamber. The same force pushed aside the broken pillar atop the Dungeon Book, transporting the tome before the magic pool.
The shattered Dungeon Book, along with all its pages, was cast into the pool.
The gradually calming pool began to boil once more. The corpse fragments of the Archfiend's avatar dissolved into a dark liquid, then surged toward Victor at the center. The scene resembled tossing a purifier into the pool, swiftly absorbing all darkness. The Dungeon Book unfurled each torn page, allowing murky droplets to seep into the parchment.
In the minutes preceding the Abyssal Visitor's arrival, Tashar and Victor had made numerous preparations.
They had devised this perilous plan, naturally anticipating its potential pitfalls. Both Victor and Tashar served as bait this time. The former Archfiend had previously instructed Tashar on what to do once the Dungeon Book was torn apart.
The Book of Dungeons served as Victor's soul vessel. Though powerless in combat, it possessed an advantage surpassing even the Wrath Demon's avatar: remarkable resilience. Devoid of flesh and bone, the book could endure greater damage. As long as it wasn't completely destroyed, survival—even recovery—remained possible.
"Torn pages can be reattached?" Tashar had asked in astonishment.
"Not the digested ones," Victor replied, his voice still tinged with resentment over Tashar 'consuming' those pages. "But those were given to you. If I refuse, digesting me isn't something I can accomplish in a moment. As long as it hasn't been completely devoured, even torn pages might recover—it only requires..."
...only sufficient material.
The Book of Dungeons was no ordinary tome. Its repair required neither glue, paste, nor staples. No materials suitable for mending Victor could be found in the Material Plane. Yet the demon who had inflicted the wound had delivered the most fitting raw material.
Digesting and dispersing the vessel of one Archfiend, reducing it to pure energy, could repair the vessel of another.
The remnants of the Wrath Demon Saemon decomposed at a visible pace, dissolving into that black energy. The murky power coalesced, surging toward Victor within the demonic pool. The Abyssal power that Tashan had refused to absorb now found an outlet, accelerating its transformation.
The torn pages trembled in the flowing water, fragments seeking their lost counterparts. The edges bonded together seamlessly. Within Tashan's dungeon, everything was under control—not a single shred was overlooked. They were all delivered into the magic pool, mending every scar on the pages. The jagged, torn edges were repaired and smoothed one by one. The yellow eyes within the spine narrowed contentedly. The Abyssal power that unsettled Tashan was a potent tonic for Victor.
Only upon witnessing this process succeed did Tashan exhale, his mind finally at ease.
It was over.
The dragon-winged figure moved to the corner of the room, lifting the exhausted Pope Salo from the floor. Samuel remained deathly pale, yet his eyes shone brightly at witnessing the great demon's defeat, like a mage who'd stayed up too late drinking too much cola.
"You've worked hard. We owe this to your help," Tasha said. "Thank you."
"Please don't say that. It was my honor to contribute what little I could," Samuel smiled, but quickly grew concerned. "Have we truly banished that demon?"
"For now," Tasha admitted frankly.
For now only. The fissure created by the passage's first tremor after reopening could send through but one soul. The scouting demon had been banished, and for the time being, the Abyss could send no further visitors. Yet as long as the passage remained open, the threat from the Abyss persisted.
What method had the martyrs of Erian used to banish the Abyss in the first place?
It seemed no one knew anymore.
"How much time do the living on the surface have left?" asked the Holy Son of Saro, frowning.
"At most five or six years, at least three or four," replied Tasha. "The exact timeframe requires further calculation by the mages."
"Within ten years..." Samuel nodded, his gaze drifting distant as he gave a wry smile. "Everyone thought we had more time."
"This isn't the end of the world," Tasha understood his meaning and answered decisively. "We will certainly have more time—after we resolve the Abyss."
The Holy Son of Saro smiled.
"Indeed," Samuel said. "The creatures of the earth fought the Abyss for millennia and drove it from Erian once. We can certainly do it a second time. It's always been this way, just as the sun rises after every night, unchanged for millennia."
He paused before adding, "I felt a strange excitement upon seeing the demon—that Saros's divine magic finally had a purpose... Alas, may Saros forgive my untimely enthusiasm."
Over the years, Samuel had grown mature and steady, his every gesture now bearing the bearing of a Pope. Only when he smiled with a touch of embarrassment now could one glimpse traces of his former reckless youth. Yet in the past, discovering his own secret delight at the demon's appearance would have tormented this morally scrupulous follower of Saro with relentless self-reproach. Now Samuel had reconciled with himself. Thoughts beyond his control were no longer something to condemn. Knowing his own course, he would not be lost on the road ahead.
The resolute Pope regained his composure. Straightening his posture, he bid farewell to Tashar and departed the dungeon's core.
After his departure, Tasha approached the pool of magic. The Dungeon Book's condition had improved significantly, its repair rate beginning to slow. Leaning over the edge, she asked, "Are you alright?"
The eyes on the book opened a slit, glancing at her. Victor spoke up, "Finally remembered me?"
"You seemed to be enjoying yourself, so I didn't want to interrupt," Tasha replied.
"You went and disturbed that guy lying there looking half-dead too, didn't you?" Victor remarked sarcastically.
A sour smell hit her, nearly making Tasha laugh out loud. She reached into the magic pool, but the pages slid away with the current, refusing her touch.
"You even thanked him," Victor grumbled, still holding a grudge. "The guy who refused to sign a contract, freeloading on territory to preach. You helped him up and thanked him. Why didn't you thank me?"
"Thanks," Tasha replied with a smile.
"Is that all you've got for me?" Victor retorted.
"Better to thank and send off guests early. Did you want him to linger?" Tasha countered. "We show proper courtesy to outsiders, but family can take it easy. Aren't we close enough to skip thank-you notes?"
Victor fell silent for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice sounded both pleased and bewildered: "Wait... I'm family? Since when?"
"Just a figure of speech."
"..."
The Book of Dungeons rolled over onto its back, turning its spine toward Tasha and falling silent. Tasha spent an unusually long time coaxing it patiently. This time, Victor had truly worked hard, and having just been torn apart, he seemed temporarily less sharp. She couldn't bring herself to scold the exhausted hero.
Once Victor settled down, Tasha asked again, "So how do you feel now?"
"Alright," Victor said lazily, like someone soaking in a hot bath after a marathon, too comfortable to speak.
The pages no longer shied away, and Tasha's hand, submerged in the pool, touched the book. Her fingertips glided over the cover of The Book of the Dungeon. The once-scratched leather surface had smoothed out again. As her thumb stroked the book, Victor emitted a string of indistinct murmurs. The content sounded like complaints, but the tone was anything but.
The syllables sounded like a cat purring when stroked under the chin until its limbs went limp, yet also carried a hint of... something suggestive.
"Why did you choose a book as your vessel?" Tasha asked.
"Mostly an accident," Victor replied. "I recall having a preference for humanoid vessels."
"Could I make you one?" Tasha wondered aloud. "Since reshaping books is possible, what about creating another body to house your soul?"
"Not enough material," Victor said.
"So a great demon's body can only patch a few pages?" Tasha recalled the height of the Wrath Demon Saimon. Even accounting for waste, that bulk should easily suffice to craft a book plus an ordinary humanoid form.
"What do you mean 'a few pages'? This is the Dungeon Book—my vessel!" Victor instantly bristled. "I was once a great demon, far superior to the likes of Saimon. How could his shoddy clone compare to me?"
"Mhm, couldn't." Tashu replied.
"Exactly! Such shoddy material is beneath me!" Victor declared proudly. "I'm only using this stuff to repair my vessel because I couldn't find anything else—a mere compromise!"
"Fine, fine, a compromise." Tashu said, nearly certain Victor had dropped another IQ point. He couldn't help but feel deep sympathy.
Thankfully, Victor hadn't lost his mind enough to forget the main issue. After his self-congratulatory rant, he remembered to explain why he couldn't recreate his body.
"A Great Demon's soul can temporarily come to the surface through a vessel, like Simon, who passed through the rift inhabiting a clone," Victor said. "But these hastily made temporary vessels not only don't last long, they can't even hold the entire soul of a Great Demon. Simon's true soul remains in the Abyss; only a fragment resides in the doppelganger. Most Archdevils used this method to come to the Material Plane, so even if killed here, they don't truly die—they merely return to the Abyss to recuperate."
Tasha nodded.
"I'm different. I... I'm probably already dead," Victor said.
"What did you remember?" Tasha asked.
"Nothing at all. But Simon said my body is in the Abyss," Victor shook his head in frustration. "At least in the Abyss, I am dead. There's no backup left there. The one on the surface is the main body."
It was like when the main server crashed, and the backup hard drive became the primary unit.
"To host a Great Demon's true form requires more 'material'—at the very least, something akin to a Great Demon's body. So it's not happening anytime soon," Victor said. "Cherish the present. Once I'm gone, I'm gone."
"In those places you don't remember, there are still all sorts of backups, right?" Tasha comforted him. "Who knows? A new backup might suddenly pop up one day."
"It's just... different," Victor muttered. "Right now, I don't have the Abyss's main body as a relay station. If this part of me gets destroyed, the other parts won't remember you... No, they'll never have known you. I don't want that." This time, it was Tasha who fell silent.
Despite the simplicity bordering on childishness of the words, she found herself unexpectedly moved. That left Tasha feeling a bit awkwardly flustered. On the other hand, she found the words rather ominous. In such unstable circumstances, it was best not to speak of one's own death over something so uncertain—especially with Victor's reputation for jinxing things still fresh in her mind (like how he'd just said "unless the Holy Child appears, blah blah blah" only for the once-in-a-millennium Saros Holy Child to show up moments later).
At this moment, patting her chest and declaring, "With me here, you absolutely won't die," would have been better. If this were a dating sim, such a line would surely be a major affection boost option. But Tasha was, in certain respects, a very unromantic person. She never made promises she couldn't guarantee.
"About what you mentioned earlier concerning the fissure," Tasha abruptly changed the subject. "The vibrations from opening the passage create the first fissure. For a brief moment, it's wide enough for an individual below Legendary rank to pass through. Does that mean the fissure has closed now?"
"Not closed, but it shouldn't be passable anymore," Victor replied. "The passage is single-use. Once it detects a soul passing through, it seals itself to others."
"Wait—we didn't destroy that Wrath Demon's partial soul earlier," Tasha frowned. "If that fragment escapes back and returns in another body, are we supposed to fight it again?"
"Of course not. Do you think I didn't consider that possibility?" Victor said smugly. "The fissure solidifies over time with each round trip. By the time that fragment returns, the Archfiend's avatar won't have the force to squeeze through. The main body might have a slim chance of crossing over, but it would be incredibly, incredibly foolish. Regardless of success, it would easily cause spatial turbulence—not the kind of minor warp where shadow demons dwell or mages might appear during spell mishaps. Participants, regardless of strength, could vanish forever with bad luck. What Archfiend would do such a thing..."
Victor fell silent.
The Book of Dungeons plunged into sudden stillness. The hall, moments ago filled with lighthearted chatter, now lay shrouded in an eerie, bone-chilling quiet—as if the shadow of a soaring eagle had swept over a forest teeming with playful birds. The uneasy premonition swiftly solidified from an intangible feeling into tangible reality. Tasha didn't need to ask; she sensed it too.
Tiny ripples appeared on the surface of the magic pool.
Like the patterns that form on a cup of water when you stand on a moving train. The ominous patterns spread in concentric layers, as if an earthquake were unfolding far away.
Yet Tasha felt no tremors. The ground remained still; it was the air that rippled.
Or rather, the space itself.
At the very spot where the Wrath Demon Saimon had been slain moments before, something was resonating. Strange currents stirred within the sealed chamber. A faint, unnatural red glow flickered in the dim, sparse space. Tasha felt a prickling pain on her skin, like needles piercing her flesh. Then, abruptly, the space itself tore apart.
There was no time to react. From sensing the fissure's shift to the space being torn apart, not even half a second passed. It felt like a heavy tank crashing into a wall at full speed. By the time you realized something was coming, the ruins of what had been a house were already crashing down on you, and beyond the room lay endless void.
A gale swept through the entire hall as the horned monster's head pierced the barrier. It appeared larger, more hideous, and far more ferocious than its previous incarnation. Fine cracks spread across its entire skull. Black blood seeped out at an alarming rate, drying and evaporating as crimson patterns twisted beneath its deep red skin, like molten lava flowing freely. The enraged monster widened its pitch-black eyes, locking onto Tashan and Victor nearby, and revealed a maniacal grin.
What kind of madman would force his way through the fissures with his true form? Having finally evolved into a demon lord, why risk death itself to rush to the other side of the passage a few years early, just to vent his rage?
A rage demon driven insane by being toyed with once more by his old rival, dismembered by the Nest Mother who had never taken him seriously, and now rampaging without regard for consequence.