Demonic Conqueror: Heroic Valor - Chapter 20.1, 20.2, 20.3

Author's Note:

7400 words! Enjoy.

--

The first wrench in their plan came when Armand Calloway left his house several hours earlier than expected.

Simon had figured that the man was more likely to go hunting than stay home and snooze, but this was barely nighttime. A decent number of people were still walking the streets of Caelryn. Hardly optimal conditions for a serial killer on the prowl – too many witnesses that could catch him in the act.

Initially, Simon felt a flash of concern, wondering if Armand had somehow found them out...yet those worries were expunged when he caught a glimpse of the man's face.

No trace could be seen of the detached layabout from before. Where there had once been apathetic indifference, there was now passion, boundless and cruel. His lips had spread up into a rapturous smile, stretching so wide that it was close to tearing his skin.

Calloway hadn't left early to throw off their plans – he just couldn't wait even a minute longer to indulge himself.

Tailing the killer as he searched for prey wasn't especially difficult. He still rarely bothered to check if anyone was following him. Armand was so tunnel-visioned that Simon and Katarina scarcely needed to put in effort to remain hidden.

However, the timing of it all put them in an awkward position. Finding the right moment to strike was going to be tricky.

While a direct confrontation might be inevitable, they would have preferred to ambush the madman. A Level 28 opponent didn't leave much room for margin of error. Hit him hard, hit him fast, and take him down in one fell swoop.

Yet that would mean unveiling Simon's Demonic arm and using Kill from afar. If it were in the dead of night, with no bystanders around, they would've already attacked Armand...but each street they followed him down had at least a few people nearby.

People who definitely wouldn't keep their mouth shut if they saw a Demon suddenly assault an 'innocent' man.

Wish I could just show them what I've seen with Sin Scry, Simon mused. Although they'd probably assume I was fabricating the visions to deceive them. Kat only grew to trust me under extreme circumstances – and honestly, based on what she's told me of Demons in general, she still shouldn't have. It'll be an uphill battle to–

Armand took off running like a bolt of lightning.

The change was so abrupt that neither Simon nor Katarina responded right away. One instant, they were leisurely shadowing their target; the next, he'd sprinted around the corner and out of view. He was fast – much faster than the both of them.

Horrified comprehension set in as they chased after him, realizing two all-important details. First, their moment of inaction had cost them ground that they desperately needed to make up.

And second, Armand still hadn't given any indication that he knew he was being followed. He wasn't running from them.

He was running at someone.

When Simon turned the corner, his feet slamming against Caelryn's dirt roads, the sight that unfolded before him was of little surprise. The street was empty save for a young, isolated, disheveled-looking boy...and Armand Calloway, his jeweled knife held high in the air, a portrait of pure bliss painted on his face.

Simon shapeshifted his arm and prepared to Kill. It wouldn't matter. The knife would come plunging down long before his spell had finished forming. His heart pumped with hot adrenaline as his mind coldly analyzed the situation, seeking a miracle he knew did not exist.

Thunk.


Armand froze in place. With his free hand, the murderer reached up to gingerly touch the crossbow bolt sticking out of his neck.

Katarina had shot him in the blink of an eye.

Simon allowed himself a modicum of relief. He'd underestimated how much the extra Dexterity would hasten her aim and precision. Guess a miracle isn't needed when you have allies to cover your bases.

The whisper of Kat's arrow rushing through air finally drew the isolated youth's attention. If the circumstances had been less dire, Simon would've thought the look on his face to be comical. He
wore the perplexed, disbelieving expression of someone who was beginning to understand – a bit too late – that his day was slightly different now than it'd been three seconds ago.

"RUN, YOU ABSOLUTE FOOL!" Kat bellowed. Her shout snapped the boy out of his stupor, prompting him to turn tail and flee as if his life depended on it, which it very much did.

Simon immediately reverted his arm to human form. I should be safe. They weren't focused on me, and Armand picked a street without anyone else around. The youth hadn't seen enough to blab, and the murderer was reasonably fixated on the arrow lodged in his throat. If they slew Calloway tonight, there wouldn't be witnesses left to spread gossip about Caelryn's new Demon in town.

The transmigrator was tempted to just charge up Kill and fire it while Armand's back was turned...yet that would only be a waste of MP. Simon didn't hold any delusions that the spell would find its mark now that Armand knew of his and Kat's presence.

Perhaps it still would've hit a normal person, but normal people didn't tend to examine a grievous crossbow injury with disdain rather than alarm.

"Perfect."

It wasn't the voice Simon had anticipated. Serial killers were supposed to sound creepy and off-kilter; like they were monsters dressed in human skin, feigning a pretense of civility until they could pull off the mask and unleash who they truly were inside. Armand just seemed...

Tired. As if he'd been planning all day to see his favorite band at a concert, and it had gotten canceled at the last second due to inclement weather.

"This was perfect," he droned, his body twitching with irritation. "Pristine." Blood oozed out of his neck wound, though not as much there should be. "Immaculate." He tilted his head to avoid another crossbow bolt. "A flawless moment in every way."

Dregs of unfathomable hatred crept into his tone. "And you've defiled it."

Armand turned around to face them. When he fixed his eyes upon Katarina, his anger stalled, then morphed into shock, before at last settling on amusement.

"Oh." A note of twinkling laughter escaped him. "Oh, oh. It's you."

Katarina's white-knuckled grip on her crossbow tightened. "You remember me."

"How could I forget The One Who Got Away?" Calloway gazed at her with something akin to reverence, as if she was a unique, cherished prize. "The shame burned that night. Red of hair and bold of wit, just a slip of a girl – yet you bested me then, when no one ever has."

He rubbed his fingers across his stomach, idly tracing the spot where Kat had stabbed him. "You know, it would be intolerable if more were like you. Don't think I could abide so many setbacks. Need the essence, you see. But one unexpected failure? That's special. That's variety."

Armand offered her a genuine smile. "I thank you. A life without the glamour of variety is no better than death."

His gratitude was punctuated by a third crossbow bolt flying towards him. Calloway dodged that one as well, moving mere inches to let it sail past.

In a quick, harsh motion, he reached up to remove the arrow still piercing his throat, barely flinching as scraps of flesh were torn out with it. Blood spurted from the open hole, yet its tide was already stemming, mana shining around the wound as it closed shut.

He's a spellcaster, Simon confirmed. At the very least, he can self-heal. That meant a battle of attrition was less favorable. Could still work, as Valtian warriors also required mana to empower their boosts of strength and speed, so gradually wearing him down might–

"Luck or skill?"

Calloway took a step forward. He raised his jewel-adorned dagger as moonlight reflected the nothingness in his hollow eyes. "How did you escape that night, Red-Haired One? Was it luck? Skill? Fate? Providence? Tell me. Tell me tell me. It's all I've thought about since."

Katarina answered by loading her crossbow with a fourth bolt. Simon unsheathed a longsword from its scabbard, taking a protective stance in front of her.

Neither of them entertained the slightest notion of fleeing. While it may have been smarter to retreat and regroup, come up with a safer plan, that would involve letting Armand roam free. Maybe even for a whole day.

Intolerable. Unacceptable. They couldn't stand to let him breathe for any longer. Katarina's loathing had far exceeded her self-preservation instincts, and Simon...

Truthfully? He just couldn't bring himself to feel worried. This wasn't like the Ravenous Wanderer, where they'd been forced into an impossible do-or-die fight against a hulking colossus. Armand was only a monster in spirit – not in form.

They could beat him. Would beat him.

And then they'd reap the rewards for a sinner well-slain.

Simon had vowed to not let his drive for EXP influence his decisions...but they were already committed to this fight. There was no harm in looking forward to what came after.

The Ravenous Wanderer was worth five Levels from combat and two bonus Levels from Heroic Valor, he recalled. Don't disappoint me, Calloway. You should be good for at least half of that.

"Oh, yes." As the murderer watched them ready for battle, the blissful grin of before returned to him. "That's how it should be. Speak my language. Dye my world with color. Show me your ESSENCE."

A sickly scent of decay assaulted Simon's nose.

Armand Calloway's skin began to ripple like water. The decay-smell intensified as his hair withered to the consistency of dry straw. Flecks of skin sloughed off and dissipated, revealing a gray, mottled pallor underneath. His pupils vanished like blue gems sinking beneath fetid muck, both eyes transforming into two pale silver orbs.

Yet despite his appearance, mana was surging within his body. Even from a distance, his power could be felt thrumming in the air, as if the rot within was strengthening him.

...Huh. Simon raised his eyebrows. I...see. Well.

Suppose I jumped the gun on him not being a monster.

He glanced at Katarina, hoping that she could shed some light on this development – but the woman looked as confused as he was. It was clear that she didn't have any idea what was happening to Calloway.

Simon turned towards the...man? Presumably? "Out of professional curiosity," he asked, "would you mind explaining what–"

An inhuman shriek sliced through the night. Like a puppet dragged along by its strings, Armand lunged at them, crossing the full length of the street in much too short a time.

"Barrier."

A shimmering rectangle of mana materialized in front of Simon and Katarina. Translucent, and shaded like the space between stars, it covered far past the height and width of their bodies.

Summoning the Demonic shield was the easiest thing in the world. Simon had been mentally prepping the spell since Armand began conversing with them, and his Fell mana was responding intuitively to his command.

There was no part of its arrogant nature that wanted this revolting creature to touch him.

40 MP should be sufficient. A Barrier fueled by 90 MP had delayed the Ravenous Wanderer's advance. Only briefly, but Armand wasn't remotely in the same weight class – not in Levels or his actual weight. Simon could afford to conserve more of his mana when defending.

His assumption was proven right a split-second later. Armand's knife clashed with the Barrier, scraping against the translucent rectangle with a sound of steel grinding stone. Strength bulged under the killer's putrefied skin, his limbs extending at painful-looking angles, so disjointed that his muscles rightfully should have torn apart.

The man himself had stopped moving. As much as Simon and Katarina were baffled by his change in appearance, Armand was equally dumbfounded by the Demonic arm now openly displayed. He'd been frozen stiff with shock.

Simon didn't waste the opportunity. You only got one 'Surprise! I'm a Demon!' moment per fight, and this was it.

Drop the shield. Grab him. Fell Harvest. He's fast, he'll stab me in retaliation, doesn't matter. Transmigrator's Body will keep me alive. Katarina can shoot him in the brain while I have him restrained. Drain, shoot, rinse and repeat. He reached forward–

And the Barrier shimmered, nearly fading entirely.

Simon paused. He hadn't given the command to cancel his spell yet. It would've been one thing if Armand had brute forced his way through the shield – that was within reasonable parameters – but this felt different. Rather than demolished, the Barrier was being...

Depleted.

Cognizant of the fact that his moment of surprise was slipping away, Simon grabbed Katarina and pulled her back. She hadn't anticipated that, but she didn't protest, having learned that questions were for after their lives were no longer in peril.

An eerie chill swept through the transmigrator as his Barrier disappeared. It was like a tiny fragment of something had been scooped out of him, making him feel just a little bit lesser than before.

Shoving down the dread threatening to rise up, he hastily checked his Character Sheet.

MP: 180 / 220

Just 40 MP gone. He'd only lost what it cost to form the Barrier – like if the spell had been destroyed normally. In time, his mana would regenerate, same as usual.

Those self-comforting thoughts did little to stop shivers from racing up and down his spine.

Fortunately, Armand hadn't pressed the attack. He was too busy staring at his dagger – which was now vibrating with a high-pitched keening sound, the jewels embedded in its hilt glowing fiercely.

Seconds went by as whatever conniption the knife was having seemed to subside. Its vibrating ceased, and the glow dulled to a healthy gleam.

Our one saving grace is that he's confused too. Simon rapidly organized his thoughts. Need info. He couldn't use Identify on Armand again, that would just produce an identical Description...but the dagger was fair game.

Mild pain burned behind his retinas as he Identified the weapon – another peculiar detail to examine later. The system window popped into view.

Name: Dagger of #####
Description: An Artifact powered by #####. Passively absorbs mana on contact. When injuring a living creature, significantly more mana and ### is absorbed.

All of a sudden, Simon felt immeasurably relieved that he hadn't let Calloway stab him in order to land a Fell Harvest.

"You're...a Demon?" The madman's head swiveled on an axis, turning to gaze upon Simon with astonishment. His voice was like maggots wriggling in their ears. "You have gifted me the joy of variety tonight, Fell-walker. Never would I have dreamed of supping on the essence of your kind."

"And I didn't expect you to 'shed your skin', so to speak, so we'll call it even." Simon affected a casual demeanor, as if he and Armand were two office workers chatting at the water cooler. "Do you have a name for what this is? You almost look like an undead – not sure if you've heard of those – but it isn't quite the same."

"This is me. I am me."

"Very helpful, appreciate the candor."

Katarina let out a noise of frustration, horror, and disbelief. It was probably meant to be the sound of a woman at her wit's end, but it came across more like a cat whose tail had been trod on.

"You just couldn't be satisfied with the nightmares you've already inflicted upon me," she seethed, her crossbow aimed directly between Armand's eyes. "Had to show me an even worse sight. Not a Fell Beast, not a Demon, so what are you?"

"I told you – I am me. I'm more like myself than I ever was before."

As if it were a newborn babe, Armand caressed the dagger in his hand. "This sharpness reveals who we are inside. Cuts are made, life spills out. No putting on airs then. No wants or dreams left when you're bleeding on the ground. And everything they lose–"

"You take," Simon finished. "That knife drains people's mana. It's how you've grown stronger."

That was the secondary underlying motivation he'd sensed during Sin Scry, yet failed to understand at the time. Armand wasn't just killing people for his own self-satisfaction – he was doing so to empower himself.

Which also explained how an untrained nobody had reached Level 28. By gorging himself on the mana of unsuspecting civilians, he'd far exceeded his natural limits.

Katarina gasped with revulsion as Calloway tilted his head. "You know of my treasure, Demon? Have you been watching me from the shadows?"

The man grinned, showing two rows of cracked teeth. "Perhaps you're like me as well? One who partakes of the grandeur and merriment that the night has to offer?"

"Hardly. When I assassinate someone, it's to achieve a specific goal. For example: removing a deranged murderer from the board before he can harm anyone else."

Simon hesitated, considering what he should say next. He was fine with keeping Calloway talking – letting people monologue could be a wellspring of vital information – but the man hadn't actually divulged much useful intel yet. His knife's mana-absorption properties had already been uncovered by Identify.

Katarina cut in. "Where did you find that blade?" she asked, with a dazed tone. "Artifacts aren't made to hurt people, let alone devour their mana!"

News to me, thought Simon. He'd been blasted by an Artifact filled with sacred mana once before – pretty sure that counted as 'hurting' someone. Then again, scared mana was harmless to humans, so Kat likely wasn't including Demons in her estimation.

Armand had the gall to laugh at them. "A hammer isn't made for bashing skulls, but when wielded in the right manner, it does the job well enough. Artifacts are merely tools, Red-Haired One. There's no laws that binds them against slaughter."

"Lady Victoria enacts restrictions on the Artifacts she creates."

"She didn't design this one. Helmund's imprisoned Artificers were responsible, I believe." He tapped a blood-red gem in the dagger's hilt. "Took it from a noble guard's pocket. He'd come to the lower districts for cheap booze and cheap thrills. Gave him so much more."

Armand's eyes widened with euphoria. "That was the night of my rebirth. When my treasure started peeling back the layers of who I'd tried to be – until only the truth remained."

He peered closer at her. "I showed you one such truth not long ago. It is why you sought out this Demon and made a Contract with him; for protection. You couldn't bear the burden of your own mortality."

"That's what you'd like to believe, isn't it?" Simon interjected.

The transmigrator stepped forward, clasping his arms behind his back. Katarina fell silent, staring at Armand with a piercing glare of disgust, seeming vaguely appreciative that she wouldn't have to speak with him any further.

"It's been a pleasure chatting with you," Simon lied. "Your knowledge of the dagger's origin was...enlightening. In exchange, I'd like to answer the question you voiced earlier: how Katarina managed to escape from you once before."

Calloway perked up. "Oh? How, pray tell? Did you interfere?"

"No. It wasn't me. Nor was it luck, skill, fate, providence, or anything else on your mind. The truth is honestly quite straightforward."

He smiled bright as the sun. "Your own ineptitude."

Seconds passed as Armand slowly grit his teeth. "What game are you playing, De–"

"It's an obvious answer, really. Very telling that you never came up with it yourself. You, with all your strength, under cover of darkness, ambushed a common footpad – no offense, Kat–"

"Some taken," she murmured.

"–Yet despite having the deck hilariously stacked in your favor, you failed. Of course, it couldn't just be that you're incompetent. That you're a fraud propped up by stolen mana. Her escape had to be an anomaly, a momentous occasion...because if it wasn't, then what does that make you?"

Perhaps Simon was being a tad hypocritical calling Armand a fraud, as the transmigrator was benefiting heavily from the god's system, but he'd earned his stripes with the slavers and the Ravenous Wanderer. Those were hard-fought victories where he'd put his life on the line.

And he doubted that Armand had ever purposely targeted someone who could hit back.

"Leeches all sing the same tune," Simon snapped, a sliver of anger filtering through. His clasped arms tightened behind his back. "You take, and you take, and you take, and then you venerate your parasitism as a sacred act. There's far too many your ilk in this world."

"I am not them – I am ME. You don't have any idea what I'm capable of, Fell creature."

"There it is. You want so badly to be important, to be recognized, to think that you're this...special existence. That's why you keep putting on airs and dressing up your killings as 'imparting truth' or whatever. To do otherwise would be admitting how miserable you are. Your self-image is so fragile that you've latched onto murder as a type of self-actualization. It would be pitiable if you weren't, well, you."

Armand went still. There wasn't even a hint of mirth left in his callous, deadened gaze. "Just what do you presume to know of me, Demon?"

Thanks to Identify and Sin Scry, quite a bit. "Enough that I'm not interested in hearing more from you," Simon professed. "When you've listened to one megalomaniacal rant, you've heard them all."

And he'd finished stalling for time anyway.

Hidden behind his back, and obscured by the encroaching darkness of night, Simon's right arm shone with a blackened Fell aura. He delved into the untapped depths of Channel Essence, grasping hold of a Skill that had been sitting unused on his Character Sheet for some time. Demonic mana always resonated with aggressive desire and high-risk situations – and right now, there were both of those in spades.

A large pattern began to form on the ground beneath Armand. It was the sigil of Kirkelas the Conqueror: five connected lines pointing upward in matching directions, like the edges of a thrusting trident. A circle closed around the sigil, brimming with energy as it took shape.

One second to form the circle. One second to charge with mana. One second to disappear, invisible to the naked eye.

Three seconds total for the Landmine to complete.

Boom.

Dust and dirt flew up into the air as the spell detonated. A blast akin to several sticks of dynamite had exploded from underground.

Unfortunately, gory pieces of Armand were not to be found amongst the debris. He'd dashed to the side a split-second before Landmine exploded, limbs contorting in an unnatural manner as his voice shrieked like nails on a chalkboard. The blast had clipped his left foot – annihilating the man's two smallest toes – but nothing beyond that.

Katarina yelped with surprise, glancing over at Simon to ensure that this was his doing. The transmigrator sighed as he gestured at her to prepare for battle.

Was hoping for more. If they'd managed to blow off Armand's feet, the fight would already be over. Even if he possessed the capacity to regenerate from a wound like that, they could've run him down before he healed, piercing his heart and brain as he tried to crawl away.

Yet Calloway had sensed the Landmine as it charged up. The spell was invisible once it completed, but the power within could still be detected by those sensitive to mana. That was something to keep in mind when employing it against future opponents.

Would it have succeeded if I'd put more than 50 MP into it? Simon pondered. Made the blast larger?

Tough to say. He'd never been able to cast Landmine until now, so he didn't have an accurate estimation of how big its explosion radius could get. Maybe dumping all of his mana in one go could've done the trick...

But if it had failed, then he would've been left with an infuriated Armand and 0 MP to his name. As things stood, he was still down to 130 out of 220 MP from just two spells.

Well, no matter. Simon wasn't even close to running out of ideas.

Armand charged at them with the fury of a rampaging bull. His eyes practically screamed murder as his knife raised up like an implement of holy vengeance. Crossbow bolts sailed through the air, dodged with contemptuous ease.

Simon hefted his longsword and held his ground. He studied Calloway's movements, looking to test a theory. Sharp steel rushed towards the transmigrator.

And a translucent Barrier flickered into being. Empowered by a scant 10 MP, it immediately cracked under the force of Armand's wild swing, breaking before it could be absorbed – yet resisting just long enough to put the killer off-balance.

Simon dispelled the shattering Barrier and stabbed forward, feeling a harsh gust of air beside him as the knife missed his face by inches. He performed a retreating strike, thrusting his longsword as he drew back.

The blade clipped Armand in his side. At the same time, a crossbow bolt perforated the man's ear and tore it to shreds. Calloway hissed like a feral beast, scurrying away with abrupt, jerking motions.

It was a short-lived victory. Before their eyes, Simon and Katarina witnessed both wounds heal in mere seconds. Mana radiated with an off-white brilliance as it restored Armand to his previous state, as if their narrowly-won bout had never happened.

"Testing my patience," he snarled. "Your novelty wears thin."

Katarina cursed under her breath, starting to worry – as Simon smiled, having confirmed a favorable hypothesis.

He's worse at this than I am.

Simon was acutely aware of his own combat inexperience. Earth's relatively cozy living hadn't exactly prepared him for death-defying battles of might and magic. It was why he supplemented his battle prowess with as much strategy and surprise as possible – because if things ever came down to a straight-up duel with an opponent of equal or greater Level, he would be in serious trouble.

Yet Armand was proof that he'd misjudged how low the bar could go. The man's movements were wide, sweeping, and full of waste. It went past having a flair for the dramatic, which would've at least been understandable. Rather, his telegraphed motions were clearly hindering his speed, turning a Level 28 adversary into someone just slow enough to react to.

It was as if he was relying on his mana more than his own body. The knife's pilfered bounty did most of the work for him, almost forcibly moving his limbs along.

Like a reanimated corpse.

All power and no skill, Simon thought, with zero drive to improve or change. I'd bet there isn't an ounce of strategizing going on in that head of his. If we can just hold on, then an opportunity will inevitably present itself. He'll make a mistake sooner or later.

The transmigrator felt a sense of calm settle over him like a warm cloak. It stayed there even as Armand renewed his assault, zipping across the street with a hurried, stilted gait, his mana-infused muscles compensating for his lack of grace. The dagger rose up–

Barrier. 10 MP used. Dodge the attack, riposte with a strike, retreat to safety.

Armand bared his teeth at them, rubbing at the fresh streaks of blood on his cheek and arm. His injuries were healing quickly, but he seemed unaccustomed to the pain. Wicked steel flashed out–

Barrier. 10 MP. Dodge, riposte, retreat.

100 MP remaining, Simon thought, as if noting how much food was left in his pantry. Armand hadn't attacked again yet – he was in the middle of hurling obscenities at them – so the transmigrator took advantage of the lapse in combat to re-cast Identify.

Name: Armand Calloway
Estimated Level: 26 (28 when at full mana capacity)

Due to Calloway healing his wounds and expending mana to boost his strength and speed, his Estimated Level had shrunk from 28 to 26. It was similar to what happened with the Ravenous Wanderer – weakened via attrition.

Although the language used was flipped. The Wanderer's Identify Description had been: 'Estimated Level: 39 (17 when not mana-gorged)'. Its lower Level was the baseline. For Armand, his higher Level was the baseline. If he fled and rested, his strength and Estimated Levels would return to 28.

Both of them were mana-thieves, so what was the difference? If you absorbed a person's mana and kept it within your body for a long time, did the change eventually become permanent?

Regardless, his Estimated Level had only decreased by two Levels. They'd yet to injure him in any major capacity. Simon would run out of MP long before Calloway exhausted his mana reserves, and then there would be little to prevent the blindingly fast killer from sinking his knife into soft, pliable flesh.

Still, the transmigrator felt no panic. This situation wasn't nearly as hopeless as their fiasco with the Ravenous Wanderer. Armand didn't warrant being treated as an object of fear.

Even jumping off the roof had been far worse.

Simon locked eyes with one of the monsters of Caelryn City, staring deep into a soulless void. The monster stared back, perhaps searching for a glimmer of apprehension...yet found only determination and scorn reflected at him. Snarling once more, he hunched down and–

"Why?"

Katarina's voice rang across the street as she stepped forward. Simon blinked with surprise, hastily moving to get back in front of her – he couldn't protect her from behind, Barrier's range limit was just several inches – then blinked again as she held out a hand to forestall him.

"Answer me." Katarina's gaze rapidly shifted back and forth. "I asked you why, murderer. Why do this? Why hunt people as if they were livestock? Why worsen the suffering of those who've already suffered so much?"

Calloway laughed at her, regaining some of his mental footing. "What charming naivety. You can't possibly unders–"

"I get it. You're heartless." Her response was caustic and filled with venom, although she spoke the words slowly, as if distracted by something. "But that's just an excuse. It explains nothing. I want to understand how you can walk the same streets as me, yet feel no sympathy for its people."

Eyes still shifting, Katarina's voice grew taut with suppressed emotion. "I won't claim to be perfect. I've lied, hurt, stolen...but it was all in service of my own survival. I'd never harm someone needlessly – especially people whose only wish is to see the next sunrise. Everyone here in the lower districts shares the struggle of growling stomachs and barren coinpurses. I know what they've been through, and you should too."

A desperate note entered her tone. "Doesn't that matter to you at all?"

Silence blanketed the moonlit street. Armand Calloway went perfectly still, unmoving except for the errant twitches and spasms wracking his body.

"And where were these people you speak of so fondly when I lived every day in empty torment?" His voice was mocking; whether towards Katarina or himself, Simon couldn't say. "You ask of 'Why', but why should I be expected to show mercy to those who looked through me as if I was a ghost? How arrogant you are to attempt to gain an understanding of me – to assume you could know what I think and feel."

Katarina chuckled bitterly. "I suppose you might be right. Maybe I am arrogant, if I thought speaking with you would produce anything of value. Maybe I am naive, if pointless cruelty can still surprise me."

She exhaled. Her eyes had stopped shifting. "But I'm not so arrogant or naive–"

With a muted twang, her crossbow fired.

"–That I won't learn from my mistakes."

Simon barely paid attention to the crossbow bolt as it sailed forward. Arrows wouldn't hit Calloway head-on. Both he and the murderer were more focused on listening to Katarina.

Neither noticed when the arrow started glowing a furious red.

As before, Armand leisurely dodged the bolt by tilting his head to the side – only for it to suddenly explode in a conflagration of heat and flame. The Fireball engulfed the left half of his face, searing skin and melting flesh.

A beast's demented howl echoed throughout the battlefield. Simon's mouth fell open as he watched Katarina load and fire another crossbow bolt, its arrowhead burning red mid-transit. Armand put more effort into dodging this one, leaping to the side as a second Fireball detonated in the space where he'd been.

She distracted him, got him talking, used the lull to access her Character Sheet–

With a shake of his head, Simon swiftly organized his thoughts. There would be time later to congratulate Katarina on her ascension to Valtia's first ever Arcane Rogue. Right now, she'd presented him with a golden opportunity.

He would not waste it.

The transmigrator sprinted forward. He didn't have long before Armand got his head back in the game. Katarina's Fireball bolts – Firebolts? – were definitely a change of pace, but Calloway was simply too fast for them to make any significant difference. Once the shock wore off, he would realize she still wasn't a threat.

Victory relied on these next few seconds.

As he ran, Simon extended his arm and began forming the intent to Kill. The air crackled with wrongness as pitch-black energy coalesced in his palm, heeding his command, eager to strike at an abhorrent creature of delusion and self-pity.

His dagger Artifact is the issue. It was the reason they couldn't attempt a Fell Harvest. The Skill took time to consume its target – time enough for Armand to make his displeasure known.

Transmigrator's Body meant that physical injuries were less of a concern for Simon, but he didn't want to find out what would happen if the dagger drained his mana to nothing...and then kept draining.

He empowered Kill with 40 MP, leaving just 60 remaining. While it probably would've taken upwards of 300 MP to slay Armand outright, a weaker variant should still stun him – thereby weakening his grip on the jeweled knife.

If I disarm him, we win.

Quick as a blur, Calloway dodged another exploding Firebolt. He would never be hit by a projectile he could see coming. Even when distracted, tagging him with Kill was a daunting prospect.

Yet Simon didn't hesitate before firing his spell. He aimed it at an empty space nearby.

Moments later, Armand moved into that exact spot to avoid Katarina's fourth Firebolt.

By now, the madman's focus had started to return. He'd regained enough of his concentration to notice the mass of Fell mana shooting straight towards him.

In the split-second before Kill connected, Armand desperately lashed out, slicing his dagger at the spell. Its blackened mana vanished – devoured by the Artifact.

And then everything went sideways.

A piercing screech assaulted Simon's eardrums. At first he thought it was Calloway putting his lungs through the ringer again, but no, this noise was actually emitting from the dagger. Like when it had absorbed the mana of a 50 MP Barrier, yet louder and more high-pitched.

The jewels embedded into its hilt were blazing with tortured luminescence, so dazzling that they hurt to look at. Whereas before the dagger's outburst had gradually subsided, now it only worsened, shining brighter and screaming louder. The Artifact vibrated like a leaf caught in a hurricane, rattling violently within Armand's grip, its screech rising to a crescendo–

Until it exploded.

There was no other way to describe it. The knife detonated as if a bomb had been inserted inside.

Simon skidded to a halt, narrowly avoiding the flurry of jagged metal shards that burst forth. Armand wasn't so lucky. His hand, arm, torso, and face were covered in sharp-edged fragments. One shard had punctured an eyeball.

He didn't care. The man's gaze was fixated entirely on where the dagger used to be, his expression stricken with grief.

For several long seconds, no one spoke a word. All three combatants were united in mutual astonishment.

The moment came to an end when Armand's head snapped up. His wrathful, one-eyed glare was directed at Simon. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" he thundered, in the voice of someone who'd lost everything.

An excellent question – to which Simon had no answer. How could he? If the native Valtians didn't have a clue as to why Fell mana had caused the dagger to combust, then the weeks-old transmigrator would hardly fare better.

But that wasn't his role. Fake it 'till you make it. Assuming the guise of an all-knowing Demon, he pushed a malevolent grin onto his face. "I took that which was most precious from you. Considering your nightly hobbies, you can scarcely complain when someone returns the favor."

The comment produced its intended effect. Rather than fleeing – which was a distinct possibility after losing his primary battle advantage – Armand Calloway charged at Simon with a roar of incandescent rage. He was upon him in the blink of an eye.

Fell Har–

Simon's outstretched arm was grabbed and twisted. The crick-crack of snapping bones twinkled like bell chimes. With dull agony burning at him, it was all the transmigrator could do to remain standing as Calloway's monstrous strength pressed down.

"I will hurt you for this," the man hissed. His breath smelt of mold and death. "I will hurt you unlike anyone I've hurt before."

Katarina shot an arrow at them – a regular one. Either she was out of MP, or she wasn't willing to catch Simon in the Firebolt's radius.

Armand dodged it with contemptuous ease. "No more!" He eyed the bolt warily as it sailed past. "Thrice you've beset me with blasts of mana!"

He had a point. Between the Landmine, the Firebolt, and the dagger, they'd subjected Armand to three separate explosions on this auspicious night. Simon may have even felt a smidgen of guilt if the man wasn't a literal serial killer.

But as he was...

"Want to go for four?"

With his free left arm, he latched onto Armand's wrist. Glove of Minor Strength. The Artifact activated, temporarily increasing his Strength by 15.

Simon clenched tightly with all the force that 37 Strength could muster, holding the man in place. His right arm shone with Demonic mana.

By the time Calloway realized what was happening, it was too late.

He was unable to free himself before the Landmine detonated beneath them.

--

Simon's ears had finally stopped ringing.

He was in surprisingly little pain. Partially from shock dulling his senses, and partially because his nerve endings had been cauterized.

Small mercies.

Nothing remained of the flesh below his ankles. He'd been standing directly on the Landmine's edge when it went off. Put all his leftover MP into it. Needed to make it big in case Calloway tried to escape the radius.

Casting a protecting Barrier below himself had also been an option...but that would've meant less MP for the Landmine. This was the only way to ensure success.

And ensure it, he had.

Not far away, Armand was laying on the ground, moaning with the understated wail of someone who couldn't comprehend what they were feeling. His condition looked no better than Simon's. Where there had once been a pair of worn-in boots, there were now only two meaty stumps with streaks of blood scattered nearby.

Would've been a cleaner victory if I'd managed to grab him with Fell Harvest, but oh well. That's what backup plans are for.

Although it technically wasn't a victory just yet. While their injuries were comparable, Simon would need a full night's sleep to recover from erasing his own feet. Conversely, Armand's ankles were already beginning to regenerate, his mana working overtime as it restored lost flesh and bone. If the transmigrator had been alone, this exchange would've been in Calloway's favor.

But he wasn't alone.

Katarina's knife descended on the murderer, slitting his throat in a brutal motion. His eyes went next, each one poked out like ruptured grapes. Then came his arms, wrists, legs – anything within cutting distance.

She relentlessly savaged his body, darting back after each attack, keeping just out of range. Armand fumbled for purchase, flailing wildly as he tried to grasp at her. His hands never came close to find their mark. He cried out in abject terror, unable to concentrate as a flurry of pain assailed him.

The scent of rot permeated the air as tainted blood started pooling under him.

Soon, his feet stopped regenerating. There was a limit to healing magic – it couldn't prioritize non-essential limbs when Katarina had just stabbed his heart four times.

"Sick of it!" Her voice was sharper than her knife, overflowing with bottomless hatred. "Life's tough enough as it is, yet people like you keep piling on the hardship! Sick of it, sick of it, SICK OF IT!"

Simon sat back and watched as a whirlwind of retribution overtook Armand. Periodically casting Identify, he observed as the man's Estimated Level ticked down. 23...19...14...8...

At Estimated Level 5, Armand stopped healing entirely.

Katarina kept cutting.

She didn't stop until he was less of a man and more of a lump of useless meat. He looked like he'd been run over by multiple lawnmowers. Ragged breaths bubbled up from Calloway's throat – the sole proof that he yet lived.

Panting heavily, Katarina turned to face Simon. Her body quivered with released tension and a conflicting storm of emotions. She seemed on the verge of manic laughter.

The sight of his two bloody stumps poured a damper on her zeal, savagery giving way to concern. "You're absolutely insane." She glanced at his self-inflicted maiming. "Will that heal?"

Simon grinned. "Just need a nap, and I'll be right as rain."

"Hah. Still insane, but...nicely done."

The two of them said nothing for a time, soaking in the moment. Armand's anguished groaning only enhanced it, like a beautiful symphony played just for them.

"Out of curiosity," Simon began, "when you stopped the fight to access your Character Sheet, was that inspired by me? Did you notice that he liked to talk after I took advantage of that to prepare my first Landmine?"

Katarina smirked. "Imitation is said to be a type of flattery."

"True enough." He gestured at Armand. "Care to do the honors?"

Her gaze flashed with vicious intent. Much to Simon's surprise, though, she shook her head and sighed. "Don't we get more EXP overall if you land the final blow? If I kill, it's split equally between us. If you kill, you receive the full EXP, and then half is duplicated and sent my way."

"According to Grant Boon's Description, yes."

"Then you finish him." She reached down, offering a hand to help him stand. "As much as it would be immensely satisfying to cut his strings...I'd rather not make Armand important than he is. He doesn't define me. Shouldn't need to be my hand holding the blade."

Simon wasn't going to turn down extra EXP. He leaned on Katarina's shoulder as they walked, hobbling forward on his stumps. Each step was slow, painful, and utterly worth it, bringing them to Calloway in short order.

The two of them loomed over the killer like effigies of gargoyles hewn from stone. They stared down with cold, pitiless eyes, ready to pass judgement on a wretched sinner.

"Please don't." Armand's unnatural voice had returned to normal. "I'm sorry. Won't hurt anyone. Leave me be. Please. Mercy."

It was remarkable how similar his fawning sounded to Irving the Waystation guard. In defeat, they were virtually identical.

That was typically how it went. People who never offered mercy to others would beg for it when threatened. Once you stripped away their veneer, that's all they were.

Just cowards pretending.

Simon contemplated what to say. He toyed with pithy one-liners, long-winded condemnations...

But Katarina had been right. Armand wasn't a defining moment – merely a stepping stone to greater things.

He didn't deserve to be acknowledged in his final moments.

Simon raised his transformed right arm. Its claws glimmered with anticipation.

"No, please, PLEASE–"

Fell Harvest.

--

Alert: Armand Calloway has been slain!

Your Level and Stats have increased!
Level: 13 → 16
Strength: 22 → 24
Dexterity: 26 → 28
Vitality: 23 → 25
Intelligence: 22 → 28

A powerful life has been Harvested!

Fell Harvest's Rank has Increased! 2 → 3
It will now add more stat points per Harvest!

3 stat points added to Unspent Points!

Alert: Heroic Valor's bonus has activated!

For hunting a feral beast stalking the streets of Caelryn City, you have received bonus EXP!

Your Level has increased!
Level: 16 → 18

8 stat points added to Unspent Points! Allocate them at will!


--

Thanks for reading!