Demon Academia:SSS Fallen Berserker

Pain lanced through Daemon Fallenstar's skull like a red-hot poker, jerking him from unconsciousness with violent suddenness.

His eyes snapped open, but the world remained frustratingly blurred, shapes and shadows bleeding together in his compromised vision.

The metallic taste of blood coated his tongue, and something warm and sticky had dried against his cheek.

His body felt heavy, as if invisible chains held him down against cold stone.

Voices drifted through the haze.

Two men speaking in urgent, hushed tones. Their words came too fast for his addled mind to fully process, but the tension in their voices was unmistakable. Something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Teleportation matrix was calibrated for a Class-A demon, not some..."

"Your system malfunctioned, don't blame my calculations."

"It was supposed to be Gustav, not this scrawny human..."

Daemon tried to focus, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

Gradually, the world around him began to take shape.

He was lying on what felt like an altar, the stone surface rough and uneven beneath his back.

The air was thick with the smell of incense and something else, something metallic and foul that made his stomach churn.

As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the vaulted ceiling above him, carved with intricate symbols that seemed to writhe and shift in the dim light.

This was definitely a temple of some kind, though unlike any he'd seen before.

The architecture was ancient, Norse in style, with massive stone pillars that disappeared into shadow.

A wet, squelching sound to his left made him turn his head.

On the floor beside the altar lay the carcass of a creature that defied description, part bird, part cow, with wings that would have been majestic in life but now lay crumpled and torn.

Its body had been drained of blood, leaving behind only gray, desiccated flesh. The sight made bile rise in Daemon's throat.

The voices stopped abruptly.

He could feel their eyes on him, studying him with the intensity of predators evaluating prey.

"Well, well," came a hoarse voice from the shadows. "Our guest is finally awake."

Daemon tried to sit up, but his body refused to obey.

His limbs felt leaden, as if some invisible force was holding him to the altar.

Panic began to creep in as he realized he was completely helpless.

"You performed the ritual poorly," the hoarse voice continued, addressing someone else. "The teleportation was supposed to bring us a wanted demon, not this unknown human."

"My system was malfunctioning," came the defensive reply from a younger-sounding man. "The coordinates were precise, but something interfered with the summoning circle."

"And what would you call this, then?" The first voice was thick with sarcasm and frustration.

Daemon turned his head toward the speakers, squinting through the gloom. He could make out two silhouettes, one tall and lean, the other shorter but bulkier, with something massive adorning his head.

The details remained frustratingly unclear, his poor eyesight making it impossible to distinguish features.

"Hello!" Daemon called out, his voice cracking from disuse. "Where the hell am I?"

The two figures stepped forward, moving with the fluid grace of predators.

They stood at the foot of the altar, studying him with an intensity that made his skin crawl.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken threat.

Suddenly, the taller figure raised his hand, fingers moving in a complex pattern.

A massive wave of water materialized from thin air, crashing down on Daemon and the altar with tremendous force.

The shock of the cold water broke whatever hold had been keeping him pinned, and he rolled off the altar, hitting the stone floor hard.

Sputtering and gasping, Daemon struggled to his hands and knees, water streaming from his hair and clothes. "What the hell was that for?" he shouted, anger overriding his fear as he shook his hair.

"The Lamassu blood was binding you to the altar," the water-wielder explained, his voice carrying a note of casual indifference. "Nearly impossible to break without a proper cleansing ritual." He paused, studying Daemon with curious blue eyes. "Who are you, and why were you brought here instead of the demon runaway Gustav?"

The name hit Daemon like a physical blow.

Gustav.

The creature that had torn through the village, leaving nothing but death and destruction in its wake. "Gustav attacked a village," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was the sole survivor."

Suddenly, flames erupted from torches mounted along the temple walls, casting dancing shadows across the ancient stone.

The sudden illumination revealed the true magnificence of the structure, soaring arches carved with intricate Norse runes, massive pillars that seemed to support the very sky, and walls decorated with scenes of mythological battles.

At the far end of the temple, a statue of some figure stood in shadow, his expression one of perpetual mischief and malice.

Despite everything, Daemon found himself momentarily awed by the sheer grandeur of the place.

The craftsmanship was beyond anything he'd ever seen, each detail carved with obsessive precision.

"Did you kill Gustav?" The question came from the shorter figure, his voice rough as gravel. Now that the torches were lit, Daemon could see the massive turban that crowned his head, ornate with jewels and precious metals.

Daemon's mind raced.

These men were clearly dangerous, and he had no idea what their intentions were.

Trust was a luxury he couldn't afford. "No," he lied smoothly. "A small group of soldiers fought him. I was unconscious when it happened."

The turbaned man swore under his breath, the words lost in a language Daemon didn't recognize.

The water-wielder shook his head in disgust. "Gustav was weaker than we thought, losing to mere humans."

At the mention of Gustav's defeat, Daemon's memories flashed back to the carnage, the screams, the blood, the way the creature had torn through innocent people like they were made of paper.

His stomach churned, and he had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting.

"Where am I?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. "And why were you searching for Gustav?"

The water-wielder stepped forward, his loose shirt rippling in the torchlight. His blonde hair caught the flame's glow, and his blue eyes held a mixture of curiosity and calculation. "My name is Kiend," he said. "I'm human, like you, a bounty hunter by trade. My companion here is a demon."

Daemon's eyes immediately snapped to the turbaned figure, who returned his stare with cold, predatory interest.

There was something ancient and terrible in those eyes, something that spoke of mystery.

Kiend moved between them, breaking the hostile stare. "You're in a temple of Loki," he explained. "Our plan was to teleport Gustav to the altar, bind him with the Lamassu's blood, and let my friend here finish him off. Instead, we got an unconscious human." He paused, studying Daemon's face. "We're headed to the city. Would you like to accompany us?"

"What circle are we in?" Daemon asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

The demon's eyes narrowed. "The ninth circle, of course," he growled. "The teleportation wouldn't have worked from different circles."

Relief flooded through Daemon's system. The ninth circle, he was still in familiar territory, still in the realm of the recently damned. "I'm a new soul," he said, crafting his story carefully. "Barely survived a werewolf attack. I was injured and being escorted to join the others when Gustav showed up."

Kiend's expression softened slightly. "You're lucky, then," he said. "If you were being escorted, they'll assume you're dead now. You can do whatever you want, no one will be looking for you."

The implications of that statement weren't lost on Daemon. Freedom in hell was a rare commodity, and apparently, he'd just been handed it on a silver platter.