It soared faster than Relia's arrows. Simon raised his sword to block it, but he would've had more luck deflecting water with a knife. He could do nothing as the spellcast flames slammed into his chest.

  If he hadn't been nearly possessed by a demon less than a week ago, he would've called this the most painful occurrence of his life. But even with that adjusted frame of reference...it still hurt. It was as if he'd been sunburnt red as a tomato, pressed a curling iron against his torso, then stuck himself in an oven for good measure.

  Skin charred and flesh burnt as the aroma of cooked flesh permeated the crisp noontime air.

  HP: 46 / 90

  Numbers representing his body's health came to him automatically. The spell had erased close to half his HP in one go.

  With sobering clarity, Simon concluded that if he didn't do something very soon, he would fall to the next attack.

  My demonic arm...wouldn't help much here. It was only effective at close range, and Lucette was keeping her distance now, liable to retreat if he moved forward.

  The woman was already charging up another fireball, her eyes dancing with glee as she envisioned him burning like a lit pyre. Apparently, she wished to inflict the agonizing end of immolation on him. Getting stabbed in the heart would've been too much of a mercy.

  Need a good ranged option. Don't have one. He clenched his teeth. Unlike Lucette. She just *had* to know magic, be a mage.

  Why her, and not the rest of us?

  Casting spells didn't seem to be a matter of academic memorization. There were no complicated hand gestures or long incantations. Lucette seemed to be summoning the latent energy within herself by...concentrating? Visualizing the spell she wanted to create?

  Which implied that magic was – at least on some level – instinctual. A natural talent. Maybe practice still made perfect, but without an inborn aptitude for spellcasting, your efforts at learning it would amount to little more than wasted time. Simon doubted that the other slavers wouldn't have also learned lifesaving healing magic if it was as simple as 'think really hard'.

  You either had the knack, or you didn't.

  Simon didn't. Not once since entering Valtia had he been capable of conjuring even tiny embers, let alone devastating fireballs. Considering his sabotaged transmigration, and how he'd inherited the powers of a weakling nobody, he should have expected as much. It was looking increasingly certain that he would never be a mage.

  And not for a lack of trying. He'd spent a good chunk of his earlier wandering attempting to cast spells, at one point mimicking the exact stance, intonation, and mental focus that Lucette now exhibited. But while it was clearly working for her, he had only–

  Oh.

  A flash of insight illuminated his thoughts, and Simon realized where he'd misstepped.

  Lucette appeared to cast spells by drawing from a wellspring of mana inside her body. She would then shape that mana into whatever form she chose, such as bestowing it with curative properties, or heating it into a scorching flame.

  The process had to have limitations – everything did – but overall, it seemed fairly freeform. Spells could be helpful or harmful depending on the intent of the user. Magic was primarily a system of impartial creation.

  Human magic, at any rate.

  Simon had already encountered a different way.

  Oppressive, dominating, and pitiless. An aura of malice and arrogance, bereft of mercy. Imposing desires upon the world. Browbeating reality into submission. Bending the very nature of things to your will.

  That was the magic he'd felt from Kirkelas the Conqueror. The magic of Demons.

  And Simon had inherited their power as well.

  He took off running, sprinting towards Lucette as fast as he could. His right arm Shapeshifted, skin covering with silver-black scales and fingernails transforming into five wicked talons.

  The Fell-Touched human raised his demonic limb and pointed it directly at his prey.

  Who cared if he didn't have a natural aptitude for magic? Nothing about transmigration was natural. The gods' system was designed to take random people and turn them into champions by assimilating power from others.

  If Kirkelas had been capable of magic, which he obviously was...then Simon could use it now too.

  He just needed to use it correctly. The transmigrator had tried casting spells before...but in the human way. As if magic was a negotiation with reality, where the user offered up a portion of their MP in exchange for affecting the world around them.

  This time, Simon didn't negotiate. He didn't search inwards for mana or visualize a spell.

  He only made his intent known.

  Kill the slaver.

  It wasn't even a question. He had already subsumed the Conqueror's power. Demonic magic was his to wield as he saw fit.

  Kill the sinner.

  Let her crimes be punished. The penalty was death.

  Kill Lucette.

  So he decreed, as judge, jury, and executioner.

  The air crackled with a sense of inversion. As Simon ran forward, a pocket of pitch-black energy began coalescing in front of his right arm's palm. It was as dark as the starry void of the night sky, like entropy given form, seeming to annihilate the space it occupied. Demonic mana had answered his call.

  A grin no less demonic split across his face.

  He pushed the spell to grow stronger. Denser. If this was to carry out his will, then it needed to be better than an insignificant pocket of energy. He demanded that it strengthen further, ordering it to become a black hole large enough to devour the world.

  It didn't go that far, of course. Simon only had 50 MP work with. But it was the intent that mattered – and the magic responded in kind, the spell doubling in size until his mana reserves had been fully depleted.

  Demonic Skill Gained: Channel Essence!

  Lucette was no longer charging her second fireball. She had frozen the moment his arm shifted. The woman just stood there and watched, astonishment mixing with dread as demonic mana took shape before her widening eyes.

  "Goodbye."

  His voice echoed as his will was made manifest. Simon pushed, and the spell launched forward, erasing the air that it touched. Pitch-black energy rushed at a woman of pitch-black sins.

  And it struck true.

  The final effect was more subdued than Simon had hoped. Rather than his spell blasting through her torso, or simply snuffing the life out of her in an instant, it merely knocked Lucette to the ground. She was pale and gasping for air, yet very much alive.

  A result of his lacking mana, no doubt. He had ordered his spell to Kill, but when empowered by just two digits worth of MP, this was the best it could muster – knocking the target prone and sapping her strength.

  Lucette landed beside Ebris. She let out a strangled cry as she caught sight of his half-decapitated corpse, head lolling to the side like a partially opened blood dispenser, redness oozing out from the gaping hole in his neck. The man's gaze was vacant, yet the lingering tightness of his face told a story of shock, betrayal, and despair.

  She turned away from him in a panic...then happened to catch sight of Torben, his eyes bulging, foam and spittle dotting his mouth, limbs twisted into a pretzel of torment. Unsurprisingly, that also proved to be mildly distracting.

  Every moment she spent in her own personal horror exhibition was a moment where Simon just kept running forward. His enhanced Dexterity let him close the gap in record time – by his standards, anyway. Although his demonic spell hadn't outright killed Lucette, it'd still bought him several seconds of time.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  In a fight like this, that was virtually an eternity.

  The slaver wasted even more precious time by staring at his Shapeshifted arm. She seemed transfixed, as if he was a nightmare given flesh. "Can't be real," the woman whispered, her body trembling with unmitigated fear. "No no no no no NO!"

  Lucette's whispers rose to a scream. While his demonic magic had left her enervated, she still managed to thrust her longsword forward in a wild, frantic motion. Were she calm, composed, and in full control of her faculties, it would likely have skewered his heart.

  Instead, it stabbed him through the upper thigh. He didn't let the wound slow his advance.

  "NO! PLEA–"

  Simon reached down and grasped her shoulder with his demonic hand. Razor-sharp talons pierced human flesh, clutching her in an unyielding grip. That was when Lucette realized, far too late, that she should've just perished to his Kill spell, letting it instantly reduce her to withered husk.

  That would have been a kinder end.

  "Fell Harvest."

  Five seconds.

  The Skill drained Lucette for five excruciating seconds. Simon could see agony plain on her face as the slaver's mana – her life – flowed out from her body and into his arm.

  Inversely, he had never felt more energized and full of power. Her loss was his gain. More mana suffused his body with each passing second. It was like the joy of progress, yet combined with a cloying sense of nourishment, as if Lucette's essence was a refreshing drink guzzled through a straw.

  The feeling sickened him. He almost stopped the Harvest as pity flared within.

  Then he remembered Lucette's crimes, and his pity died a stillborn death in its cradle. After fifteen years of condemning innocent people to a lifetime of servitude and suffering...she could handle five seconds.

  At no point did the slaver struggle. Fell Harvest appeared to immobilize and lock her in place. She could only watch in terror as her life dwindled like a candle burnt down to its last few drops of wax.

  "Mon...ster."

  On the fifth second, the light completely vanished from Lucette's eyes. Her last word had been one final bit of hypocrisy.

  Fitting, he supposed.

  Alert: Lucette Drenoka has been slain!

  Your Level and Stats have increased!

  Level: 4 → 5

  Strength: 17 → 18

  Dexterity: 15 →16

  Intelligence: 5 → 7

  A life has been Harvested!

  1 stat point added to Unspent Points!

  Simon immediately dismissed the system notifications. He didn't have time to think about stat increases, new Skills, or his inevitable freakout over having killed people for the first time. Need to find–

  "You're a Demon."

  His heart sank as he turned to face a familiar voice.

  Relia was standing upright, her bow pointed at him. The woman's balance looked steady. There was a slight twitch to her hands, but otherwise, little indication remained that she'd recently been on death's door.

  Took too long to kill Lucette, Simon groused. Although he'd stolen all the antidotes from Ebris and Lucette's carriage as a precaution, he'd also known from the beginning that Relia's carriage might have more. It hadn't changed his plans. The poison should have rendered all of them helpless.

  Except that Lucette had turned out to have healing magic. By neutralizing her own poison and fighting Simon, she'd given Relia time to crawl over to the second carriage and chug some antidotes.

  Honestly, Relia still shouldn't have been capable of that much movement, but maybe she'd inherently resisted the poison. Like the opposite of Torben's abnormally adverse reaction. Without access to detailed medical records – or a targeted Identify, which he couldn't re-use on the slavers – it was impossible to predict exactly how foreign substances would affect people's bodies.

  Too many unknown variables. As usual, no plan survived contact with the enemy.

  Which was why being able to improvise was just as important.

  "I'm a Demon?" Simon raised his right arm, five blood-soaked talons glimmering in the sunlight. "What gave you that impression?"

  Relia visibly suppressed a shudder. Her hands quivered– not from poison, but fear.

  It immediately answered an all-important question: why hadn't she fired her bow yet? She had also spoken to him while he wasn't looking, alerting him to her presence. That was a prime opportunity for a sneak attack, and she'd thrown it away.

  Because she's scared out of her mind. Kirkelas hadn't been exaggerating about how Demons terrified the native humans of Valtia. Even if she ambushed me...Relia still doesn't think she could win.

  Funnily enough, Simon didn't think he could win, either. The slaver was in a very advantageous position. She was uninjured, higher-Level, at a safe distance, and had her bow at the ready.

  In contrast, Simon was heavily wounded from Lucette's fireball and thigh-stab. He probably couldn't close the gap before she riddled him with arrows. His MP had been replenished with Fell Harvest, so he could try for another Kill spell, but Relia might just dodge it. Lucette had mostly been hit due to being blindsided by his demonic arm's reveal.

  The more he thought of it, the less a direct confrontation appealed to him. If he could instead make her surrender, utilize his arm's intimidation factor to–

  "You killed them." Relia's voice was low. "Ebris. Lucette. Torben."

  Her tone hardened like permafrost. "Ardyn."

  The slaver's posture straightened – and Simon knew he'd lost her. That glare in her eyes wasn't one that could be intimidated or reasoned with. She fully expected to die alongside her comrades, her life willingly sacrificed just to make him bleed.

  "Quit pretending to be honorable," he said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "It doesn't suit you."

  Relia's grip on her bow tightened.

  Guess we're doing this, then. Simon prepared to sprint and dodge. Even if he got hit, Transmigrator's Body would patch him up later. Just had to protect his vitals and–

  *Thunk.*

  The noise caught them both off-guard. The sight was even more surprising. Simon skidded to a halt, truly baffled for the first time that day.

  It was with a look of distant, muted shock that Relia reached up to touch the crossbow bolt protruding from inside her forehead.

  "What...why..." Blood leaked down her face. "Can't...it..." Her words slurred, and her body dropped.

  "...Ardyn..."

  She spoke no more.

  Simon snapped out of it. His head whipped to the side, towards the direction that the bolt had come from.

  There, within the second carriage, was Katarina Cartier. The former prisoner stood free and unbound, holding a now-empty crossbow in her hands – pilfered from the bandits' treasure trove.

  She didn't even seem to notice him as she jumped out of the carriage and stalked forward. With unhurried steps, the woman strode up to Relia's soon-to-be-corpse. Katarina's eyes shone like two pools of bottomless hatred, long-buried emotions rising to the forefront, mingling with the fresh, raw injustice of the past few days.

  A bestial snarl exploded from her lungs as she kicked her captor in the face.

  "Couldn't leave us alone, could you?" She kicked again. "COULDN'T JUST LEAVE US ALONE!" Kick. "ALWAYS LIKE THIS! WE TRY GOING SOMEWHERE ELSE, AND YOU TYPES ARE STILL THERE!" Kick. There was a crunch this time. "SO CLOSE TO THE END, SANCTUARY IN VIEW, AND YOU HAD THE GALL TO OFFER FOOD, LOWER OUR GUARD!" She spat on the corpse. Then kicked it for good measure. "TWO-FACED MONSTER–"

  Upon shouting the phrase 'two-faced monster', Katarina froze. Her gaze slowly drifted towards Simon, as if suddenly remembering that he existed.

  He waved his demon arm in greeting. "Hi."

  Katarina made a sound like a dying raccoon.