As Arakil floated in the void of space, he had plenty of time to explore and contemplate his new form. That is after he finished reorganizing everything as he had originally set out to do.
He discovered that they hadn't done much besides sealing him within the grimoire and a small restriction on his available Mana tacked on almost as an afterthought. Perhaps they had thought Arakil had already set up severe restrictions for the book's future occupant, but other than a simple suggestion of "Do not kill your owner," there wasn't much. The singular exception was a strict compulsion to never destroy any of the knowledge or information contained within the book. Like a true hoarder, Arakil felt that willingly destroying any knowledge was a sin, no matter how insignificant.
After spending significant time compulsively organizing everything and doing a second revision, Arakil was finally ready to start on his situation. Since he could freely add his knowledge to the pages within, he planned to start setting up magic circles to handle various functions. The first was a simple telepathy spell, as he certainly lacked a means of communicating, and giving his beloved book a mouth felt far too eldritch for the current situation. Not to mention, getting rid of it later would not be worth the hassle.
It would have been a simple task, but he was again lost in his obsessive need to perfect it. That's not to say he inscribed it incorrectly or with mistakes, no, but it could be improved! So what would have been a simple telepathy spell soon had a translation spell attached, which was then enhanced to also translate feelings and intent for those rare species that didn't have a language or were more animalistic.
He'd already gone above and beyond, yet he still sought to further it and added a Mana-gathering array, which again he tweaked beyond reason until it was in perfect equilibrium; not a single drop of Mana would be wasted in collection or usage.
Arakil always struggled to keep track of time, and now, without a body that occasionally partook in mortal delights, the fault was turned up to eleven. Which was why he hadn't even realized that someone had found him floating in space.
***
Amongst the flaming ruins of a once-advanced civilization lay a flawless book. Toxic fallout laid waste to the biological life on the tiny dwarf planet, and the undead walked the streets. Gazing down upon the book with disdain was a goddess dressed in golden battle armor, her full plate greave and boot placed firmly atop the book.
"Hear me out... I know it looks bad, but this isn't entirely my fault." Arakil said sheepishly.
"Barely two centuries have passed, and you've already destroyed a civilization!" Saraiel's voice dripped with fury, her anger palpable in the air.
"Hey! I didn't even cast any of the spells responsible for this. That was all on the space pirates!" Arakil tried to defend himself. "And I had absolutely nothing to do with the toxic fallout! Who in their right mind tries to use radiation against zombies!?"
"Yet who was it that gave them that information!?" Saraiel demanded.
"I mean... I am a book." Arakil countered.
"You willingly translated dangerous and evil magic for them..." Saraiel said, her patience rapidly running dry.
"Well, I figured a book of all magical knowledge should be universally readable. I simply tweaked my ultimate translation spell to also work for text."
"You corrected their mistakes..." Saraiel spat out, on the verge of cracking.
"Look... I can't handle sloppy workmanship; it insults everyone who uses Mana."
"Enough! Clearly, we need to be more stringent with your sentence." She declared, pressing the heel of her boot down harder. "A constraint on who can open you up will do perfectly, yes... Something like only those pure of heart will hopefully lead you down the right path."
"But-"
"Silence! It has been decided." She decreed.
Once again, the divine judgment settled upon Arakil. He felt the heavenly chains binding him tightly, and to make matters worse, they were interfering with his beautiful telepathy spell circle. Thankfully, it didn't break or dismantle the inscribed spell, but now he could only converse if his book was open!
He immediately began trying to make the corrections, but tragedy struck when it seemed that everything he had accomplished or planned to do was now restricted to his book being open. The sole anomaly was his sight, provided by the eye on the front cover. Since it was his only source of external stimuli, he started working on fixing it. There was no way he would settle for mere mundane sight! No, he would craft the most complex Magesight imaginable.
***
Demons were flooding into the celestial plane, the forces of good and evil waging bloody war right on the doorsteps of divinity. Blood-red portals ripped through the fabric of reality to allow the invading armies entry, and it was all orchestrated by a mighty Demon Lord who commanded his armies to slaughter the angels.
The giant Demon Lord stood imposingly in his flaming black armor, towering over all with his immense, muscular frame. His armor crackled with dark, fiery energy, emitting an eerie glow that consumed the very light around it. Jagged spikes adorned his shoulder pauldrons, and the intimidating horns of a demonic helm crowned his head.
From beneath the shadows of his helmet, piercing eyes of molten crimson blazed with infernal fury, exuding a sense of malevolence so palpable that it sent shivers down the spines of all who dared to meet his gaze. With every step, the ground trembled beneath his immense weight, and the air seemed to ripple with the intense heat emanating from his dark, imposing form. In his right arm, he grasped a massive Zweihander with pale green flames radiating off the blade and countless enchanted runes across its blade and hilt. He held an open grimoire in his left hand, its endless pages fluttering with immense arcane energy.
While the opposing troops clashed, the Demon Lord began targeting the angelic generals and lesser deities trying to command the troops. Things were looking grim for the forces of light when a golden archway of divinity emerged. Flying out at top speed was a familiar woman in golden armor, angelic wings, and a halo burning with righteous fury. She immediately clashed with the Demon Lord, wielding a massive golden hammer brimming with divinity and the flames of judgment. Arakil always teased her by saying that it looked like a giant gavel. It took her only a mere moment to recognize the book held by the Demon Lord, and a look of shock appeared on her face.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
"Arakil! How have you escaped your bindings!?" Saraiel demanded.
"What do you mean? Your handiwork is still in place; I've done no such thing." Arakil said with a sigh, at once again being blamed.
"You're consorting with a Demon Lord! How is he pure of heart?!"
"His heart is pure!" Arakil countered, expecting the obvious rebuttal. "Sure, it's pure evil. But, in fairness, you didn't exactly specify..."
"It. Was. Implied!" Saraiel shouted through grunts and gritted teeth as she continued to fight against the demon lord.
"No, no. Words are important in these kinds of things. I even tried to warn you about being so loosey-goosey with the phrasing."
"D-don't lecture me!" She shouted, outraged. "Regardless, you should have never consorted with a Demon Lord! That was one of your few remaining principles; you had slain countless of them in the past!"
The Demon Lord looked taken aback by such a declaration and briefly turned his gaze towards the book in his grasp, almost as if saying, "Really?"
"Hey man, no offense, but I was offered some really good spells to remove some of your predecessors. Besides, we have a deal, and you've added plenty of new spells to my book. I keep my promises."
Oddly, the Demon Lord looked relieved at that declaration, while Saraiel looked outraged. Six more angelic wings burst from her back, and her halo sprouted into a complex divine magic circle nearly encompassing the sky.
Damn it, looks like her divine privilege got authorized early. What rotten timing. Arakil cursed to himself.
The Demon Lord drew magic from the tome and his minions, his size swelling to unprecedented heights, and he brought his Zweihander down like a collapsing skyscraper directed towards the goddess. The pale green flames on the blade erupted as if bringing the end-times, an apocalypse in its own right, but Saraiel showed no concern as she thrust her arm outwards with a singular swiping motion. A golden, transcendent light erupted from her and banished the Demon Lord in its entirety; an explosion of radiant light began erupting from every Demon soldier, and like a cleansing wave, the evil corruption was removed from the divine gates.
The grimoire fell to the ground, bouncing a few times and shrinking to its original size before landing open with its pages facing the surface. Again, Saraiel strode over and harshly pressed her boot against the book's spine.
"Well, shit," Arakil said grumpily.
"Pure of heart, with goodness and righteousness!" She decreed, interrupting him before he could talk. She then kicked the book, which flipped through the air a few times before being sealed shut with chains again and falling through another portal.
Arakil sighed. Saraiel must have been extremely upset with him, unwilling to exchange a few words before banishing him again. At least he got a lot of new spells and knowledge to now organize from the now-deceased Demon Lord.
***
Children and nuns cowered under the wooden pews, huddled together, praying for safety while quietly sobbing. The doors to the main cathedral were barred and sealed for their safety, yet the consistent sound of battle could be heard outside, a constant reminder of their dire situation.
Meanwhile, the Saintess of Purity was outside the cathedral, striding along the walkways and defending it from the invaders' twisted, shadowy forms. Despite being a Saintess, a chosen goddess and, in theory, having the highest position available, her attire was relatively unadorned, closely resembling a nun's dress with perhaps a few extra embroideries. She weaved her hands fluidly and cast off a spell that lanced through one of the shadowy invaders. Her graceful form was awe-inspiring as she wasted no movement between each new spell, and her long golden hair flowed like a gentle stream.
To any onlookers, this was a baffling sight to behold. One of the goddess's main tenets was peace, and their order was strictly pacifist and focused only on the art of healing. Yet here was the icon of their order casually slaying monsters and defending the last bastion of their order. To those of not mortal origin, they would have noticed that the Saintess had already moved on from this world. Lodged into her left breast and pierced through her heart was an unblemished grimoire.
Onwards, she marched, magical energy rippling from her form as she weaved from spell to spell, vanquishing the endless swarms of invading darkness. Finally, she found the source of their invasion, a dark rift hidden from prying eyes in a shadowy recess. With more fluid gestures, she began her work of sealing it.
She began attempting to make secondary gestures interlace with the primary ones to cast a divination scry to locate the origin, but something seemed amiss as she frowned deeply. She gave up on the secondary gestures and instead alternated with a different spell form and proceeded with verbal casting instead. When the reality crack was mended and the source found, she shook her head and looked at her hands with disgruntlement.
"I would like to say these hands are too meaty for my use, but unfortunately, I think I've just grown rusty after nearly an eon of inactivity." She said disheartedly. "Or perhaps it's been longer... I've undoubtedly lost track of time during my periods of sealed slumber."
A familiar golden archway appeared, and Saraiel stepped forth. Unlike previously, she wasn't emblazoned with the flames of judgment and instead looked somewhat confused.
"Why was my presence called for..." Saraiel said with a tinge of exhaustion.
"Greetings, Saraiel." The Saintess said, doing a small curtsy.
Saraiel blinked a few times as she stared at the peculiar sight; she was about to return the polite greeting when her eyes widened in shock. "Arakil!?"
"Aww. I had hoped it would have taken you longer to realize it was me." Arakil replied, putting on an almost bratty pout with the Saintess' commandeered body.
"No... You corrupted a Saintess? Of Purity no less!?" Saraiel cried out in outrage.
"I'm honestly getting tired of being blamed for everything..." Arakil replied through the Saintess, shaking her head and waving her hand dismissively. "No. She sought my aid when her people were being slaughtered, but her tenets were too strict, and she couldn't make use of any of my teachings herself. In the end, she begged me for some way to save them and sacrificed her body to give me a vessel to use."
Saraiel actually seemed taken aback by that, and since judgment was her domain, she could sense the truth of his words.
"I apologize for the false accusation." She said, actually giving a tiny bow of respect. "Strange that shadow fiends would attack followers of Purity, though..."
"It wasn't them. Well, not directly, anyway. They were lured here." Arakil replied with a frown.
"Lured? By who?" Saraiel asked curiously.
"The Cult of Pestilence."
"That's a bold accusation to make. I presume you have some evidence?"
The Saintess' head nodded.
"Very well. If you'll come with me, perhaps we can reach some form of compromise regarding your situation. Maybe we can also try to get an investigation authorized," Saraiel offered diplomatically.
"No." Arakil immediately rejected, a grim yet determined expression on the Saintess' face.
"No?" Saraiel said, a tiny flame of anger igniting at being so stubbornly refused.
"You heard me. No. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it. As long as the Cult of Pestilence still breathes, it remains unfulfilled, and I'm a man of my word." Arakil replied, determined.
"You cannot just interfere in mortal lives like that! There are rules to be followed!" Saraiel angrily protested.
"For you, maybe. But last I checked, I was stripped of my minor deity title." Arakil replied with a smirk.
Saraiel's golden armor immediately materialized on her. "You cannot. I won't allow it."
A bark of laughter erupted from the Saintess' mouth. "I'd like to see you try without your divine privilege!"
Rage burned in her eyes at the insult, and her hammer materialized in golden flames. She moved to charge when a complex magical circle emanated beneath the Saintess' feet.
Saraiel was shocked. Had she been played? When did Arakil have the time to establish such a complex formation and hide it from her sight? She found her body suddenly frozen in place as if time had simply ceased on everything except her head. Even with Arakil's knowledge, this seemed far too much for the mortal body he occupied to produce.
"Have you truly gone mad? You had a genuine chance at redemption, and now you throw it all away!" Saraiel screamed.
"She had such immense talent and a genuine desire for knowledge. And I was forced to snuff her out before the fiends claimed her." Arakil said, staring at the Saintess' hands. "I will keep my promise and ensure her people get to see another day. They need saving now, unhindered by the uncaring timeline of your godly politics."
Saraiel tried to protest, but a portal tore apart reality, and the Saintess walked through it. A look of grim determination uncharacteristically plastered on such an innocent face.
Saraiel cursed until she finally was free from the magical prison. Unfortunately, Arakil was right; she could not match him at present, as he had seemingly regained tremendous amounts of his former power. To stop him, she would need to pursue access to her divine privilege, and unless he did something extremely drastic, that was a lengthy process.