∼ The Futility of the Weak ∼

Chapter - 010

Oren and Jasper had already sprung into motion, their weapons drawn. But Oren didn't even manage to take a swing at the demonic hound mauling his lover before a small bolt of purple flung him to the side, striking his chest with the force of a hammer.

Seeing his friend fall to the ground, Jasper barely spared himself enough presence of mind to dodge the sudden orange ball of fire that was chucked over the warlock's shoulder. But in doing so, the small arching ball of fire continued on to splash against the ground. Right in front of Lars who was struggling to get out his bow.

The ball exploded into a small cascade of liquidy fire that climbed onto his legs, eliciting a scream so shrill of which Jasper had never imagined the mute archer able to produce.

An impish cackle accompanied the archer's screams as the perpetrator of that small fireball made its red form known. The imp from before was right behind the warlock who now seemed entirely passive at the display of death and brutality before him, the demon juggling three orange fireballs like it all of this was some kind of funny game.

Jasper was at loss.

His friend lay seemingly unconscious, maybe even dead, on the ground beside Ailyn who now just gurgled limply on her own blood while the demon hound tore at her insides.

Lars was still producing that ungodly sound as his legs were being seared black by fire that seemingly couldn't be put out, and the skittish Fennik was so afraid that he was petrified in place, piss staining his cloth pants dark. He did finally move though when Jasper met his hopeless gaze. But only to scream in terror and stumble away pitifully in a desperate attempt to leave behind his dying comrades and escape to safety.

Jasper's heart croaked as his long friend left him for dead, not even sparing a single moment to hesitate. Yet, he didn't get far before a second bolt of purple flames struck him directly between the shoulder blades, sending him crashing to the ground with a gasp of pain.

Despair flooded Jasper's mind, and he felt the grip on his dagger falter. "You... you cannot do this!" He cried at the warlock. "People will know if we go missing, the-the baron will-"

"The baron? Hah!" The decadent man mocked something between a snort and a laugh. "Who exactly do you think is under whose thumb here? That limpdick is my bitch on a leash, and if I say sit, he will by the Seven sit when I gods' damned say so!"

He straightened his clothes, almost absentmindedly. "If he wants to stay alive for another few meager years of his pitiful life and hold onto that illusion of power that is his title, he will need my undivided help. No one is going to help you. No one is going to search for you. No one is going to miss you."

The warlock smirked as Jasper's momentary rage drained away like a broken dam shattered.

Disordered panic and fright flooded his mind, overpowering the fear just enough to not let the daggers slip from his hands, Jasper felt like a cornered animal with his heart aching in the face of the brutal deaths of his companions. Instead of rage, some sense of misplaced courage found him in his despair.

He met the warlock's gaze.

If he was really going to die, he was not going to do so without a fight.

Muscles tensed and he opened his mouth. "Die you fu-"

The rouge's words of defiance were abruptly cut off the instant a third bolt of purple fire hit him square in the face, putting an unceremonious end to his life as his body fell to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Not even managing to die fighting.

Watching the scene, now impassively, the warlock let the last sounds of death die with the archer who finally succumbed to his charred and seared body, the demonic imp fire extinguishing now that there was no more life to take and fuel it.

He strode in between the corpses in various states of gruesome displays. Kicking away the demon hound that was still gorging itself on the woman, the warlock stepped over her body and picked up the mortified and bound impling laying by her side.

"Fitz, start cleaning up this mess, I have matters of great import to attend to," The warlock said.

Subserviently, the imp bowed its head, "Yes, master." and scurried away.

Just as the warlock was about to turn and head into the rustic mansion hall entrance, the sound of a wheeze could be heard just a few paces away. Brow raising in surprise, he gave a glance to the prone form of the adventurer who had taken a [Demon Bolt] to the chest, laying unmoving on his side.

The warlock went over and placed his foot on the adventure's shoulder, pushing him on his back. Somehow, the man was still breathing. "Still alive, hm? Haven't immediately succumbed to the taint, how... interesting..." He mused to himself, scratching at the light stubble on his jaw. "Heh, might be fit or some further testing."

"Fitz, see to this one," He drew the attention of the imp's attention who had just come back with a bunch of cleaning utilities clutched to its chest. "Bandage his wounds and throw him in one of the cages, he might be of use. But if he dies before I get around to him, that's fine too."

"Right away, master!" The imp responded without missing beat.

With that taken care of, the warlock took one last deep inhalation of the smell of death, surveying the aftermath of the brief and very one-sided battle with an odd gleam in his eye. It had really been quite a while since he had gotten the opportunity to scratch that itch, after all, death and slaughter weren't really a luxury he could indulge in when he had to play a low profile.

Let alone revealing his identity to that pig of a baron had been a risky play if the Blessed of Virtue ever were to get wind of an unaffiliated warlock hiding out in a damned baron's backwater town, ripe for the picking. Or any of the many he had crossed during his time in Arcanum for that matter, as the magical institute no longer was at his back. But then again, he couldn't for the seven blazes spent a second in those decrepit mud huts they called houses and play it out as a peasant.

Celestials above, even this old shit hole posing as a 'mansion' wasn't something he would've placed even a single foot inside just a few years ago. Oh, how things had gone to utter shit. He sighed. Then again, it would seem the lords themselves had not yet forsaken him after all. This small and seemingly innocuous demon might just be the one ticket for him to the glory that he oh-so deserved. After all his painstaking work.

Forget the Borean low-life scum he had made a deal with, he didn't need their dirty money with this perfect specimen!

He would ascend, crawl out of the shadows from hence he had been cast, teach those pompous imbeciles back at the institute that they would indeed regret throwing someone of his potential and status to the wolves, and show that pointy-eared wench that he was not the powerless fool who she left and thought he was. He would show them all.

Exiting the hall, he waltzed into a dimly lit room that was about as run-down and dusty as the hallway. As if it had not been used in a decade. He found a descend of stairs hidden behind a thick wooden door, walking down them and into a basement that bordered on an undercroft, where menacing and insidious instruments littering its gloomy interior could only be seen by the few rays of the setting sun shining through the occasional window.

A smile once again reached his face as he walked with the impling clutched tight in his grasp. It was distinctly predatory and eerily gleeful in nature, sending shivers down the spine of the already terrifying demon. "What a marvelous creature you are, little one," He cooed almost lovingly, rounding a large desk at the far side of the room.

A large number of tools and baubles was bestrewn across the wooden table, but the warlock simply swept it all away with a sleeved arm, placing the demon to sit before the much larger human. He lifted a hand to trail the intricate marking over the demon's eye, and the impling was so petrified that it dared not even flinch at his touch.

"Despite being just a simple impling - you're a being of a major sin," He said. "An impling with the Mark of Pride. Oh, my days - and I thought I had seen everything." He shook his head with a laugh that was slightly maniacal.

"But now, you're much more special than just that, aren't you now?" His smile turned positively evil. "You're neither a summon, nor have you been evoked through any infernal ritual. But despite that, you are here - in the flesh, unshackled by the coil of demons, and daemons alike. I feel your energy, the demonic power within that small body of yours is truly here and not some lent power from a shackled soul in the infernal domains beyond." He paused thoughtfully.

"Now, how does that come about?" He began pacing around, still talking to the demon as if it could understand him. Which of course... it didn't. "Never in recorded history has something quite like you ever been. Your existence on our plane is unthinkable, impossible even, yet here you are..."

As he was walking, the gears in his head looked to be turning rapidly. "The potential is... staggering."

The warlock pulled forward what looked to be a domed birdcage of some sort from underneath the table. As if without any worry that the demon might retaliate, the man merely tugged at its bonds to release the knot, freeing it.

But the still petrified impling just watched the odd contraption despite it having regained its freedom. It looked on with apprehension before realizing what it actually was. Suddenly gone was the fear, replaced with an inexplicable surge of fury as the marking across its eye pulsed with a faint light that had it springing to its feet and trying its best to get close enough to at least take a chunk out of the creepy human's hand.

But the warlock moved too fast for the diminutive demon, and it suddenly found itself shoved into the cage with a firm push. "My, my - prideful indeed," He chuckled. "Now little one, go to sleep, will you?"

The impling, of course, understood nothing the man said, but that didn't seem to discourage him in the slightest. As if uncaring as to what might happen to his hand if it got too close, he stretched out his index finger towards the screeching impling beating at the bars.

And just as the enraged demon just thought it would be able to give this terrible man some ghastly scars or take a finger, it felt its body freeze once again, but this time not of fear or petrifaction - instead, from the immense surge of power that resonated with that of its own. It was the same type of energy that resided within the impling's demonic self, but the way that the aura of power billowed into the diminutive demon made it unable to do anything in sheer subservience to the warlock's considerable might.

The impling's mark tried its best to resist the power, but despite its own grandeur and rarity, it could not simply stand up in the immense difference in power between the two. Before it knew it, the small demon passed out as the torrents of the warlock's demonic mana had forcefully put it to sleep.

"We have a lot of work to do, you and me," He cooed, a smile on his face that promised nothing good for the future of this small creature in its small metal prison.