Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Resumption of War

Gray—that is what he shall be called, for now.
The newly born killer demon stretched his body. Though the final completion had yet to be achieved, this vessel, forged from the essence of eleven killer demons, was perhaps far from perfect. Yet, in terms of resilience, it rivaled, if not surpassed, the higher fiends of comparable stature.
Still, it remained unfinished.
His chakra-derived talents amounted to but a single half-formed gift. What should have been the activation of the immortal Mistform was, in his hands, no more than a cloak of fog—a shroud to mask his form. Against ordinary swordbearers or those blessed by Radiance, this mist sufficed. But when faced with the great swordbearers or the Chosen, he found himself lacking.
Yet, through his new body, he sensed the final missing piece. There was no need to rush. First, he would deal with the intruders; then, he would complete his transformation.
When that time came, perhaps he would not reign supreme over Hemptica, but in the lower districts, he would be utterly invincible.
Inhale—exhale—
Inhale—exhale—
The killer demon breathed the fog in and out. He could not yet become one with it, but this veil was an extension of his body, perfectly hiding his form, allowing him to sense his enemies’ movements and disrupt their senses. It was no exaggeration to say that, so long as he stood within the mist and his adversary was not inherently his bane, he was invincible.
Still—he could not afford complacency.
The intruder who had destroyed the Dark Earth Mother likely possessed power at the highest tier, perhaps even sent by the terrors of the upper districts to cleanse the Dark Guild. Even if the Order and the Radiant ones were now locked in fierce battle with the chaos cultists, and thus unlikely to spare attention for lesser threats, the possibility remained. Should a great swordbearer or a Chosen intervene, he would have to flee into the Mist District under cover of fog.
Then, he would bide his time.
Had he devoured Number Twelve and gained the Mistform talent, he would have been far better equipped. Yet Twelve now hid behind the intruder; without first eliminating the intruder, completion was impossible. This was unlikely to be mere coincidence—Number Twelve must have sensed something, betrayed the Guild’s secrets, lured the intruder to the Dark Earth Mother’s lair, and forced Gray to break the shackles implanted in the killer demon’s body, granting him the chance to face Gray directly.
But—it was foolish.
Born of humanity’s wicked intellect, he was unlike his kin—a fiend of profound intelligence, versed in the tools of mankind, and naturally awakened to a terrifying talent: Parasite.
With this gift, he could effortlessly infiltrate the minds of any, save the Radiant ones, influencing their behavior, seizing control, and turning them into puppets who obeyed his every command. In the struggle for dominance over a body, he held an overwhelming advantage; anyone who opposed him was courting ruin.
If circumstances allowed, he did not doubt he could seize the body of a Radiant one and usurp their glory.
But there was no need to take such risks.
Gray set aside his distant ambitions and focused on the present.
The intruder’s true nature was unknown. He had no allies at hand. Releasing the killer demons to slaughter each other had quickly produced the perfect vessel for himself, but those who bore him hatred would not miss their chance to destroy his forces. He needed no vision to know that, under the killer demons’ rampage, the Dark Guild’s leadership had been annihilated. A few might have escaped, but with so few survivors, the Guild could not rebuild its administrative network. In essence, he was now utterly alone.
This unsettled him—a being who had always stood above others.
Yet, adaptation was not beyond him. As a fiend forged from the evil wisdom of generations of Guildmasters, he carried all their memories. Most were “big men” untested by battle, but a few were warriors forged in blood and steel. Through their memories, Gray could wield his vessel with skill, unleashing its full power.
Better still, one Guildmaster had once been a hunter.
The Mist District’s hunters lived dangerously, mortals who hunted fiends, even high fiends. Even weakened by the Seed’s order, slaying such creatures remained a tremendous feat, demanding not only superb will and skill in battle, but also keen tactical wisdom.
Thus, with the killer demon’s body, Gray became a veteran warrior, stronger than any killer demon.
Even when facing a great swordbearer or a Chosen, he was confident that, by manipulating the mist, he could escape. Once within the Mist District, his skills and cunning would ensure that not even the upper districts’ Radiant ones or swordbearers could trace his presence.
With these thoughts, the killer demon, shrouded in mist, crept closer to the intruder.
To avoid arousing suspicion, Gray carefully controlled the mist’s spread, making his approach seem as natural and unobtrusive as possible.
Meanwhile, he observed the intruders as they came into view.
A man and a woman.
They did not appear to possess the power of a great swordbearer.
Even so, the fiend, sly as a serpent, did not lower his guard. They had slain the Dark Earth Mother; even if they were not great swordbearers, they surely possessed abilities that threatened high fiends. Thus—he would seek to assassinate them.
Gray was never a fiend who relished direct combat, but that did not mean it was his weakness.
Perhaps by nature, he was less adept in frontal battle than the old hunter in his memories, but in cunning and guile, he was unmatched by any human.
After all, he was evil; evil was him; he was its incarnation.
Yet, alas—he had been discovered.
As the mist drew near, the killer demon easily noticed the change in the intruders’ expressions. They thought themselves subtle, but they could not deceive him. Through the flicker in their eyes and the unconscious reach toward their weapons, he understood: to expect them to lower their guard and then be swiftly cut down was unrealistic. His work would require greater finesse.
Step by step, he approached.
At last—
They encountered.
Gray did not strike; it was not yet the right moment. He waited, watching for the intruders to reveal a weakness.
A second, two, three...
Time trickled by. Gray stood at their side like a specter. The intruders were clever and vigilant, standing back to back as soon as the fog enveloped them, wary of attacks from any direction. In such a scenario, their defense was flawless. But now—they faced more than a normal threat. Their assassin was him, the evil will born from humanity’s darkness. He knew human weaknesses better than any.
No one could remain vigilant forever—no one.
Every human would lapse: muscle fatigue, a wandering mind, even—
A blink.
All of these were opportunities.
With patience, the intruders would inevitably falter.
And now—he finally saw it.
The male intruder blinked. His focus, so intense, wavered for a fleeting instant. Though imperceptible, for Gray, the killer demon, it was the unbridgeable gap between life and death.
Yet, he did not strike.
No reason—he simply did not.
His intuition warned him: this one was trouble; attacking him would bring chaos.
There was no logic, but in the crucial moment he trusted his instincts and delayed by just 0.033 seconds, missing the perfect chance.
Was it some ability?
Gray blinked, unsettled by the failure. For him, born of human evil, trusting intuition was unnatural. Thus, it was easy to deduce that the opponent possessed some disruptive power.
Should he still target him first?
He hesitated.
Through the killer demon’s eyes, it was clear the female intruder was more troublesome than her companion. Though not flawless, her openings were brief and minuscule—Gray had no confidence he could exploit them to deliver a fatal blow.
But—
If the male intruder possessed a disruptive power, what he saw and sensed might not be real. Perhaps, behind the woman’s apparent vigilance, the young, even slightly childlike man had set a trap with his ability, waiting for Gray to strike, triggering the ambush.
Thus—
He would attack directly.
After a moment’s hesitation, the killer demon emptied his mind.
(I sense an overwhelming advantage—let’s just charge straight in. —Laugh.)