Rearing Demons

Yur gazed at his updated profile, puzzling over the new information. One thing jumped out immediately: he now had a last name—Ashkavaal—even though he had never possessed one before.

[Host's bloodline is equivalent to a family line!]

He nodded at Zul's explanation, then turned his attention to the title "Mal's Successor." He didn't know much about this "Mal," but the system implied that his future was bound up in whatever legacy Mal left behind.

Next, he opened the detailed entries for his newly awakened powers:

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Ashkavaal

The Ashkavaal has been forged by Yur, the successor of Mal, through an ancient and forbidden ritual of unimaginable sacrifice. Mal's blood became the foundation of the bloodline, imbuing his descendants with the power to control fire, blood, and rituals.

It is whispered that the bloodline's power thrives on sacrifice, demanding blood as both fuel and offering. The flames of Ashkavaal are not ordinary fire—they burn with the essence of life itself, consuming and reshaping all they touch.

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Reading that description stirred excitement in Yur's chest. "This is so cool," he muttered, relishing each line. He then moved on to the second entry:

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Cinerath; Wrathful Ashe

A ashen-grey orb engulfed in eternal flames, Cinerath is a hybrid Essence Orb fuelled by blood and sacrifice. It empowers rituals and its destructive fire, but its hunger for essence is insatiable.

Unique Abilities

Ritual Embedding, Incineration

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He tapped on the Unique Abilities section:

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Ritual Embedding

Cinerath can place ritual circles directly into living creatures, turning their bodies into vessels for curses and sacrifices!

Incineration

Cinerath's flames can directly burn an enemies Orb and Blood!

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"That's insane!" Yur exclaimed, rereading the abilities until he felt he grasped them. I can embed ritual circles in living things…?

He decided to test out his transformed body. First, he flexed his wings—each one bearing strange, shrieking faces molded into their membranes. The movements came naturally, like using a long-familiar limb. Next came his tail. The barbed tip followed his commands effortlessly, swishing through the air without difficulty. Even his black, flame-like hair stirred at his will, though the sensation was brand new.

"Can I fly?" he wondered aloud. He began to flap his wings, creating a gust of wind beneath him. Slowly, he rose a meter off the ground. "I'm doing it!" he cheered, only to lose balance and drop hard onto his rear.

"Ouch!" he hissed, rubbing his bruised backside. The tail was unscathed, but the impact still stung. 

Undeterred, he tried a few more times. Each attempt ended the same way—eventually he fatigued, and his brief moments of flight grew even shorter.

[Host must practice daily!]

"I know that, Zul," he grumbled. Standing up, he turned his attention to his tail. "Let's see how sharp this thing is." He maneuvered the tip toward his hand, giving it a light prod. To his surprise, it easily punctured his skin—something a normal weapon would struggle to do now that his flesh was so tough.

"Whoa," he breathed. He recalled how even conventional swords might fail to wound him now. This tail is no joke.

A sudden idea made him hurry over to the tiny hole that led to the Bahirath cluster. He noticed his speed had dramatically increased—his legs felt far stronger than before. "This is a crazy improvement," he remarked, his excitement building.

[Host contains a unique bloodline!]

[Each evolution shall increase Host's abilities exponentially!]

He grinned. "Not long ago I was a slave, and now I'm…some powerful demon."

Standing before the hole, he stabbed downward with the tail. Crack. The rock and hard-packed dirt parted as though made of soft clay. "Nice," he said, nodding in satisfaction. But after a few strikes, he frowned. "This is still too slow…"

[Host has increased strength!]

[Use claws and fists!]

"Oh, right!" Yur glanced at his hands, which were now larger and tipped with razor-sharp claws. He wanted to be cautious—what if his claws broke like fingernails? That would hurt. Gently, he pressed a single claw against the ground, applying more and more pressure until it sank in. "All right, so it's more like a part of my bone structure," he murmured, rotating his hand at different angles to see if the claws might snap. They held strong.

A savage grin spread across his face. "Time for a drink!" Dropping into a crouch, he launched into a flurry of strikes, claws tearing through earth and rock with ease. He alternated between punching, clawing, and raking, clearing larger chunks as he went.

"Finally!" he gasped after a while, pulling one last rock free to widen the opening. The ground fell away, revealing a network of smaller tunnels that led to multiple Bahirath pools below. "There are so many!"

The drop was only a few meters, and then he could see a sort of natural staircase spiraling deeper down, where the pools sat dozens of meters below. "I'll check it out soon. I'm starving," he announced to no one in particular.

He rushed back to the Imp Mother tree, where a fresh scattering of newborn imps crawled or squirmed in pools of blood. Grabbing them one by one, he chomped down, delighted to discover his fangs were now sharp enough to rend flesh effortlessly. The imps barely had time to shriek before their lifeblood filled his mouth.

After devouring around a dozen, he finally felt his hunger subside. Exhaustion gnawed at him—he'd been working nonstop since his transformation, and the day before had been equally grueling. 

With a weary sigh, he leaned against the black trunk of the Imp Mother, using his folded hands as a makeshift pillow.

"Just a little rest," he muttered, shutting his grey eyes. Despite the grotesque sights and the coppery smell of fresh blood, he felt a strange sense of comfort—far different from the terror and desperation that once ruled his life. Here, at least, he held the power.

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"How goes the battle with the Demons?" A man asked, taking a leisurely sip of tea. Before him knelt a small group of masked figures.

"Sect Leader," one of them began in a measured tone, "the situation remains stable for now. We've had a few skirmishes, but the Rank 6 Gralith leading the demon armies keeps their forces in check. Though, they're refusing to release our captives unless we free theirs first."

The Sect Leader's eyes narrowed. "Are the other sects still holding demon captives?"

"They've tried releasing some," the masked figure replied, voice tight with frustration, "but each time, the demons manage to kill those captives secretly and then blame it on us. It's infuriating."

"So that's their tactic…" The Sect Leader frowned, setting aside his tea cup. "Maintain the borders as they are. Don't respond to their provocations. They may kill a few prisoners, but they won't eliminate them all. They're not ready for an all-out war yet."

"Understood, Sect Leader." With a subtle bow, the masked person vanished at his command.

Alone once again, the Sect Leader exhaled a quiet sigh. "These demons," he muttered, lifting the tea to his lips, "they really are a irritable."