Chapter 120 - Winds of Revolution

  Adam stood still, the silence surrounding him no longer peaceful but numbing—an oppressive stillness after the storm of divine and infernal voices, like the world itself was trying to process what had just happened. His body, though no longer crushed under cosmic pressure, still trembled with echoes of the moment. He had done it. He had rejected a patron. He had looked into the unblinking, cosmic eyes of a being beyond gods, felt its scalding judgment press against the very essence of his soul, and still had said no. It had taken every ounce of courage he possessed.

  He’d braced himself for the worst—retribution, obliteration, or worse—and when that fury had arrived, it had come not in wrath but in the form of an entity he didn’t even recognize: the woman crowned in flame. He didn’t know who she was or why she had helped him, or if that’s even what it could be called. But for now, 'The_Hunger' was gone. And what remained was only confusion, unease, and the gaze of two other impossible beings who still lingered in the broken fabric of the world.

  Malzaphir was laughing again. Loudly. Deeply. The sound was thunderous, echoing through the splintered foundations of the ruined chamber like the rattle of a thousand chains, each one laced with mockery and delight. The ArchDevil was clearly enjoying every second of what had just transpired. Meanwhile, the Overmind floated in eerie stillness, its enormous eye still locked on Adam.

  But something had shifted. The aggressive fury that had filled its gaze earlier was gone—replaced by a colder, deeper contemplation. When the Overmind finally spoke, it did so with the slow weight of inevitable consequence, its voice resounding from inside Adam’s skull like a whisper from the grave.

  “You are more foolish than I expected.”

  It said with stark clarity, neither disappointed nor angry—merely stating a fact.

  “There will be consequences. You will lose the boon you received from my master ‘The_Hunger’ in the previous world. That power will fade. And the entity you defied will not forget. It will hunt you. And I will not stop it.”

  Adam froze. The truth of those words struck deep. For all the courage he had managed to muster, the reality remained: he had defied something that could not be reasoned with, something that would return eventually. He had made an enemy of a force whose very nature was to consume. And no one—not even the Overmind—would stand between them if it came back for him. But then, the Elder Entity added something unexpected.

  “However... I will not leave you. You are my champion, for better or worse. My mark remains until the moment of your death. I did not choose you because I cared. I chose you because you survived. Because your mind endured what all others could not. That makes you... unique.”

  A strange warmth spread through Adam’s chest. Not hope—he wasn’t foolish enough to believe this meant protection—but perhaps... acknowledgment. No affection, no empathy. But something resembling trust. And in this world, that was a rare and precious currency. It was more than 'The_Hunger' had ever offered him.

  Malzaphir, no longer laughing, now leaned forward again, his hulking, chain-draped body creaking like old metal as he spoke in a lower, growling tone.

  “How dramatic. Truly, you humans are endlessly entertaining.”

  Then his grin widened once more, fanged and malicious, but not without charm.

  “Let me make you an offer. You refused the Glutton. Fine. But what if I gave you something to survive its vengeance? Just enough power to endure— the kind that bends reality in your favor.”

  The words rolled off his tongue like poison wrapped in sugar.

  “Power to tip the balance. Power to keep this game going.”

  Adam narrowed his eyes.

  “And what would you want in return?”

  Malzaphir’s smile sharpened into something more dangerous.

  “Your essence. Not your soul. Not your life. I want a fragment of who you are. Your scent, your flavor, your nature. Something I can keep. You are amusing, Vile Human. I want to taste that amusement forever.”

  Before Adam could respond, the Overmind stirred, its tentacles twitching like a breeze was passing through dimensions unseen. It spoke again, this time more directly, more urgently.

  “Do as you please, but remember: you are still my vessel. No other entity may control you. If you give away your essence, you give away something uniquely human. Something you will never recover. Even I understand that much.”

  Malzaphir tilted his head, a deep chuckle rumbling through his throat.

  “Oh? I didn’t think you were one to share.”

  He gave a low, amused growl.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t break your favorite toy. I just want to hold a piece of it.”

  Adam's mind raced. He hated everything about the situation. The idea of giving any part of himself to a Devil—it went against everything he believed in after being manipulated time and time again during the previous scenarios. And more than that, he had always fought to stay whole, to retain his identity, even as the world stripped pieces of him away and added multiple other races to himself. But this wasn’t a simple trade. If the Overmind was right—and it probably was—'The_Hunger' would come for him again. He had to be ready, and for that he needed help.

  And then... something sparked in him.

  An idea. A mad, brilliant, reckless idea. It was the kind of thought that wouldn’t have occurred to him a month ago—before he had been thrown into deathly scenarios, divine schemes, and hellish diplomacy. He turned slowly toward Malzaphir and, with a steady breath, spoke. Adam drew in a slow, shallow breath, forcing his trembling voice into stillness. Then, with a firmness that surprised even himself, he finally spoke.

  “I have a better deal.”

  He said, his tone low but unwavering. Malzaphir’s grin froze mid-motion, flickering with curiosity at the shift in tone. Adam’s gaze sharpened.

  “I don’t want just enough power to survive. I want all of it. Everything you can give. Not a sliver, not a temporary boost—everything. As much of your strength as my body can take without falling apart. I want your guidance when I need it, your voice when the situation demands it. And I want it to be your essence, not mine, that is bound to me. Not the other way around.”

  He let the silence hang, sharp and heavy, watching the ArchDevil closely.

  “That’s the contract I want.”

  For a heartbeat, the chamber was still. Then Malzaphir burst out laughing—an uproarious, thunderous howl of amusement that shook the entire broken sanctum. The sound was like blades scraping over molten iron, a delighted mockery that echoed through every wall.

  “What do you imagine you have that could possibly pay for such demands? Your soul? Your mind? Not even those would suffice, boy!”

  The ArchDevil rasped through his laughter, his voice cracked with glee, thick with condescension and wonder at the absurdity of the request. And yet, Adam raised his hand, stopping him cold.

  “No.”

  He said, steady now.

  “You said it yourself. Since the moment you appeared, all you’ve done is laugh. Smile. Taunt. You’re not here for power. You have more than enough of that. You’re here because you’re bored. Because you want something that amuses you, that’s the reason you wanted my essence. You want novelty... You want entertainment.”

  The ArchDevil narrowed his glowing eyes.

  “So that’s what I’m offering… Me. My journey. My fights, my failures, my victories, and everything in between. From this moment until the day I die, I’ll give you a show. A spectacle. I’ll live the kind of life that no human, no demon, no god has ever lived before. Do you want amusement? Then watch me. Follow me. I’ll break this system and stitch it back together, and you’ll be there for every single second of it. That’s my offer. Lifetime entertainment. From the only human insane enough to strike a deal with a devil like you on equal terms.”

  Malzaphir stared at the boy and then… He laughed like never before.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  The world shifted all at once. In the span of a heartbeat, everything snapped back into motion, as if the universe had suddenly remembered it had to breathe. For those still conscious when time had been halted, the change was jarring—one moment they had been locked in an incomprehensible standstill between a supreme entity and a dead god, and the next, it was all gone. The oppressive weight in the air had vanished. The sky no longer groaned with cosmic tension. The pressure that had nearly crushed their lungs and minds evaporated as though it had never been.

  The platform stood silent. The great circle of ritualistic blood had faded. The demon’s monstrous presence was nothing but a distant memory. And at the center of it all, surrounded by broken silence and the uncertain eyes of every survivor present, Adam remained on one knee, his breath ragged, body trembling, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone pale. He looked like a man who had just survived the end of the world alone.

  And yet… none of them could see the truth.

  They did not see the thin veil of miasma gathering just above his right shoulder. They could not hear the subtle rasp of a dozen teeth grinding in anticipation, nor the gurgle of laughter that bubbled forth from the small, floating mass of shadows and fangs that hovered over Adam’s body like a parasite. From within that haze, the whisper came—not in the ears, but directly into the nerves, like venom crawling under the skin. The mouth on the miasma twisted into a crooked grin as Malzaphir’s essence spoke directly to him, its tone as gleeful as it was sinister.

  “Remember our contract, Vile Human.”

  The voice purred.

  “What you receive from me will not come all at once. It will arrive gradually. Your body is fragile, laughably so. I will feed you power in drops, only as much as you can handle—and no more. If your spine cracks under it, that’s your problem.”

  It paused, savoring the taste of its own amusement before continuing.

  “And know this… at the very moment you stop entertaining me, I am free to revoke our contract. Irreversibly. No second chances. No renegotiations. I am not your ally. I am your audience. I help you only when it makes the show better.”

  Adam didn’t look up. He just exhaled slowly, the taste of iron and ash still clinging to the back of his throat.

  “I know.”

  He muttered under his breath, barely audible.

  “You don’t need to remind me.”

  The miasma laughed again, the sound curling like smoke through the inside of his skull.

  “Oh, but I do. Your kind forgets so easily, but... before I go, I’ll leave you with something. A little gift.”

  It hissed, each word coiling with delight.

  “A token of my interest. A way to make things a bit more exciting.”

  Adam’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t have time to ask what it meant, because that was when the screaming started.

  It cut through the silence like a blade—high-pitched, ragged, agonized. All heads snapped toward the source, still dazed, minds slow to react after what they had just witnessed. One of the Vampire Lords, still standing atop the platform beside the remnants of the blood circle, had dropped to his knees, clutching at his chest. His elegant robes twisted with every spasm of pain as his mouth opened wide in a tortured howl.

  And then—his skin erupted in azure flame. The fire didn’t spread like a normal blaze. It engulfed him instantly, consuming flesh, blood, and bone in an unnatural flash that didn’t even leave time for anyone to intervene. The remaining Lords stared in horror, frozen in place, their instincts drowned beneath confusion and disbelief. The nobles below did not move. They couldn’t. Their minds were still recovering from the sheer magnitude of the entities that had just vanished. And in that terrible silence, broken only by the sound of flames crackling against the air, the Lord’s body disintegrated. There was no explosion. No final curse. Just a growing pile of blue-tinted ashes where once a being of immense power had stood.

  The moment the unnatural flames had consumed the vampire, several translucent system screens burst into view before Adam’s eyes—then immediately before Drake’s and Angela’s as well. Each message glowing in sharp hues of blue and white, as if mocking the gravity of what had just occurred. The first line was already enough to stiffen Adam’s spine.

  His breath caught as his eyes scanned the next line.

  That was the last thing he read before it hit… The pain came all at once, like a spear of lightning driven through his sternum and twisting deep into his soul. It was unlike any ordinary injury—it wasn’t physical in the way flesh tore or bones cracked. It was internal, spiritual, as if something alien had been forcibly fused into the essence of who he was.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Instantly, his entire body rebelled. His skin felt like it was burning from the inside out, his bones aching, his blood boiling in his veins. It reminded him with disturbing clarity of that moment in the second scenario—back when he’d first encountered the agonizing backlash of uncontrolled necrotic spirits clawing out of his body, threatening to rip him apart in a flood of pain. But that had been then.

  Now, even as the searing torture coursed through him, he remained kneeling, gritting his teeth, his eyes twitching but never shutting. He had endured worse. Barely. The only reason he didn’t collapse or scream in agony was that, against all logic, he had become a little bit used to this level of torment. His experiences—each brutal, unnatural, soul-breaking—had forged in him a tolerance that now held his sanity together by threads. New messages blinked into existence in front of him, dancing mockingly as the pain spread through his core.

  Adam’s breath faltered. The pain continued to grow, not fading with time but intensifying—spreading like wildfire across his nervous system. Then came the next line.

  The boy didn’t think, he couldn’t think. Everything inside him screamed as two fundamentally incompatible forces—divine purity and cursed corruption—warred in the depths of his soul, seeking to erase the other. It was like two universes colliding within a single, fragile shell. Instinct, fear, and every shred of strategy he’d ever learned took over. Adam roared in his own mind, forcing the command forward with a desperation that rang through every corner of his being.

  “Seal it now!”

  And his parasite responded immediately.

  The result was instant, and the pain vanished. Like a switch had been thrown, the torrent of divine agony ceased, and for the first time in what felt like hours, Adam gasped sharply for air. His chest rose and fell in violent heaves, his hand clutched tightly against his ribs, his pulse racing in his ears.

  Still kneeling, Adam’s breath had just begun to steady, but the pain that had raged inside him left a phantom echo in every fiber of his being. A part of him knew that something fundamental had shifted—several things, in fact. His entire body felt unfamiliar, not in pain, but foreign, as if rewired beneath the skin. With trembling fingers, he brought up his status window, needing to know exactly what had changed, what had been broken, or rebuilt.

  The system screen materialized before his eyes, glowing faintly with that clinical, uncaring light, and as he read through the lines one by one, an eerie calm settled over him—not because the information was comforting, but because after all that he had endured in three different nightmare scenarios, not even this could surprise him anymore. Instead, there was only a weary sigh that escaped his lips as his gaze moved steadily downward, accepting the consequences he could not escape.

  That alone made his stomach tighten. Sacradevil? The word was new. The implications, far-reaching. He’d always known he was turning more and more into something inhuman, something twisted between life and death, and now into something that even the system had to rename entirely. The species wasn’t standard—it was a variant, custom, forged by the influence of outside forces. The description that followed only deepened the weight of what he had become.

  It was a really useful ability, but Adam received no benefits from it—no resistance, no hidden edge—nothing. The divine essence sat buried inside him, inert and isolated, because any attempt to let it flow freely would immediately clash with the cursed energy in his body. The system had made it clear: the collision would be lethal. And so, if he ever wanted to access that innate trait, he would have to find a way to channel divine energy in a manner that wouldn’t ignite the volatile storm within him. A way to let both forces coexist, even if only barely. Until then, the skill was nothing more than a warning label.

  Then his eyes landed on the next lines. And his breath caught.

  Adam nearly choked on his own breath. The contradiction was almost laughable. A class meant for holy knights grafted into a body that was anything but holy. It was like dressing a corpse in priestly robes and calling it sacred. Worse still, he couldn’t even use it. The class sat locked away like a sealed vault, mocking him from within the interface… Then came the last set of changes, and they hit harder than any blow.

  Adam’s breath was still unsteady as he closed his status window, the last remnants of the pain ebbing away with every shaky inhale. His body felt heavier now, not just from the weight of what had been added to him, but from what had nearly consumed him.

  Even with the divine energy now sealed deep within by his parasite’s emergency trigger, the aftershocks still rippled through his senses. He knew full well that he had barely stabilized. Without the sealing skill, his internal energy clash would have likely torn him apart from the inside out. And yet, as he stood there amid the wreckage of powers too great to fully comprehend, he felt a strange calm. This wasn’t unfamiliar anymore. Catastrophe was a rhythm his body had begun to memorize.

  Still, many unresolved issues were gnawing at the back of his mind. He briefly considered using [Skill Devourer] on the sealed abilities, particularly [Divine Energy Manifestation], but the uncertainty was too high. He didn’t know if trying to devour a sealed skill would simply fail, damage him, or worse—unseal it prematurely, that was the reason he didn’t even tried it with [Mark of the Damned]. That kind of risk, especially now, wasn’t one he could afford. His new race remained an unknown as well. [Sacradevil Demi-JiangLich (variant)]. He couldn’t access any meaningful data from the system regarding it, and while he didn’t feel drastically different in function, he knew better than to believe nothing had changed. He just hadn’t had the chance to test it yet.

  Looking out over the platform, he saw the other Vampire Lords beginning to stir, confused and shaken, some of them still frozen in shock near the scorched ashes where Lucian had once stood. None of them could make sense of what had happened, and for once, Adam didn’t blame them. The very fabric of reality had nearly torn apart in front of their eyes. His gaze dropped to the groups below—his teammates and the WNATN members were finally tending to the unconscious, checking on those who had collapsed. He spotted Chloe and Sebastian being held up carefully by Katya and Li, while Angela and Drake both had serious expressions, eyes fixed on their own status screens. No doubt they too had received system messages they weren’t ready to share aloud just yet.

  But amid the chaos, something else caught his attention—something quiet, subtle, and far more dangerous. Emir stood alone a little farther back, his small frame steady, his face blank. But in his hands, he held one of his [Interdimensional Containment Cubes], and what radiated from within was unmistakable. Even sealed inside, Adam could sense it clear as daylight: it was Noctharis’ energy. The oppressive malice and corrosive presence of a Great Demon Lord—contained. Perfectly stabilized. By a child. It sent a ripple of disbelief through him. Had Emir done that on his own? The idea was beyond impressive.

  Without hesitation, Adam activated [Hivemind] and sent a direct mental message to Abbess, asking her to bring Emir to him immediately. There was no need for words—she moved with pure efficiency, vanishing in a blur of movement and appearing beside Emir a second later. With one arm wrapped around his waist, she launched into the air with enough force to part the air in their wake, landing with inhuman grace beside Adam at the top of the platform.

  “Thank you.”

  Adam said aloud, his voice steady, if still strained from what he’d just endured. Abbess offered a slight nod and took a step back. The boy turned to Emir and knelt slightly to meet his eyes, his tone softer now.

  “That was spectacular. I don’t know how you managed it, but you did something no one else here could have done. I’ll ask for the full story later… but for now, may I borrow the cube?”

  Emir blinked, still recovering from the mental strain, but nodded and held it out to him without hesitation. The moment Adam took the cube, he felt it. The weight was immense, to the point that he had to immediately enhance his strength to stabilize it in his hands. The cube pulsed like a captured storm, and now that he held it, he could feel even more. That thing wasn’t just corrupted energy. It was a raw imprint, echoes of Noctharis’ essence itself.

  Without wasting another second, Adam let out a slow breath and, for the first time, activated [Devilish Energy Manifestation]. A wave of refined, pact-bound energy surged through him, pouring down his arms and into the cube. The manifestation took shape almost immediately. The black mist around the cube darkened, twisted, and then exploded outward in a swirl of cursed power as a towering silhouette emerged—one molded from devilish force, mimicking Noctharis’ form, though less overwhelming and not nearly as colossal. Still, it bore the unmistakable visage: the horned, goat-like head, the leathery wings, and the broad chest of the Great Demon Lord.

  The room was silent. Every conscious vampire in the hall turned in unison, their gazes drawn to the impossible image now towering behind Adam. The Lords froze where they stood. Even the Elders—those who had not spoken a single word since their ceremony’s interruption—lifted their heads.

  Under the weight of every gaze in that hall, Adam knew he had no choice but to keep going. He stood tall, ignoring the ache in his bones and the knot of secondhand embarrassment curling inside his stomach like a fist. He wasn’t a showman by nature. He didn’t enjoy theatrics. But this wasn’t about enjoyment, not his, at least.

  His energy flared outward in measured pulses, shaping the corrupted illusion of Noctharis behind him into a more refined, towering icon—majestic, commanding, with flowing outlines of flame and shadow dancing at the edges. The effect was undeniable. Even the platform beneath his feet seemed to hum in resonance, and the oppressive atmosphere worked in his favor. He let the influence of his titles cascade out [Ghostmarked Warden: Bound and Cursed], then [Lord of Vampires], and even [Malzaphir's Contractor]. The result was an overwhelming pressure, not painful, but suffocatingly real.

  “My name is Adam Scholar.”

  He began. His voice deepened and amplified with a cursed resonance, clear and commanding as it echoed through the cathedral-like chamber.

  “And I stand here not by accident, not by coincidence, but by design. The Great Demon Lord Noctharis, the very god your kind called upon in desperation, has chosen me. He did not destroy me. He did not consume me. He accepted me.”

  He could feel his throat drying with each word, but he pressed on. No hesitation. No weakness.

  “I have been marked. Not as a servant—but as a guide. A shepherd to lead this broken race out of the shadows into which you have been thrown. You crave salvation. You crave power. You crave a future.”

  The illusion of Noctharis behind him flickered with brilliance, wings spreading wide in a silent display of reverence and wrath.

  “Then look no further. I will be the one to lead you. Not because I desire it. But because it must be done. And I am the only one who can carry that burden.”

  The silence that followed was absolute. Not a soul moved. Even the Lords stood like statues, caught between awe and disbelief. The Elders were motionless, their dark hoods concealing the subtle tremors in their limbs. The energy Adam projected had a weight of finality to it, a claim laid bare before them with such force that not even the proudest among them dared interrupt. His own heart, however, pounded wildly. Sweat formed at his temples. This entire speech was agonizing to deliver—too dramatic, too arrogant for someone like him. But he couldn’t back down. Not now.

  Then, from the far end of the grand hall, just beneath the shattered arch of the palace entrance, a voice rang out.

  “Yes!”

  It cried with fervor.

  “If any among us were worthy of becoming the chosen of our new god, it would be him!”

  Adam turned sharply toward the source, blinking in disbelief. There, at the threshold, stood Vaelric.

  He was no longer alone. Dozens more vampires had gathered behind him, most still recovering from the chaos that had shaken the palace to its core. Their clothes were torn, soot stained their skin, and yet there was a strange light in their eyes—a light that burned with awe. Some of them dropped to one knee without needing another word.

  Adam’s mind struggled to keep up. Vaelric had returned. But how? Why now? And then the answer hit him like a blade across the back of his thoughts.

  “If a descendant of Her High Majesty, Crimson Monarch Lilith, has acknowledged the miracle we have just witnessed.”

  One of the Elders declared solemnly.

  “Then we too accept it. We submit ourselves to this new order. To this new Lord.”

  The other Elders echoed him in unison, voices blending in a chilling chorus. But wait… Descendant… of the Crimson Monarch?

  The realization left Adam cold. His vision trembled for just a second as the implications crashed into him. What had he just heard? But before he could think it a bit more, one by one, the Lords followed the example of the Elders. Some slowly, others immediately. They fell to their knees like dominos, centuries of pride and station stripped away in the face of spectacle and prophecy fulfilled. Then came the nobles. Then, their servants. And then even the newly arrived stragglers from Morvael. In less than a minute, everyone—everyone—was kneeling before him.

  Adam didn’t speak… He couldn’t.

  His mind was still anchored to Vaelric’s revelation, as if it had cleaved a clean wound through the entire logic structure of his thoughts. A descendant of Lilith? Why the hell had someone like that been wasting away in a ruined village? Why hadn't he said anything before? Why—

  But the moment was broken before he could finish the thought. A familiar sound rang out. A sharp, digital chime.

  And then, in front of every user present—his team, WNATN, and Adam himself—a translucent blue system screen bloomed into existence. A message from the system itself.

  Q: Hey, why didn't Adam fulfill the requirements for his Personal Subplot, 'Pact with the Underworld' after the pact with Malzaphir?

  A: Well, that's because, ironically, a Devil is not tied to either the Underworld of that scenario nor with Luminferma.

  Q: Hey, the Hidden Subplot says "player" instead of "user". Is that a mistake?

  A: Nope, it's intentional.