That night, the atmosphere was tense as Arayn and Alice entered an elder's room. In the center stood a figure draped in dark robes, crimson and black. His name was Darius Vex, an Infernal Council member of high standing, second only to the High Sovereign in the cult. His silver hair framed a face that showed age, but his sharp amber eyes seemed to watch everything around him carefully.

Arayn stood confidently before him. Alice, standing beside him, felt the weight of the moment but remained composed.

Darius studied Arayn closely, clearly not impressed by his boldness. "You have quite a nerve, young man, standing before me like this," he remarked. "What is it you want?"

"I want to make Alice the successor of the Crimson Sun," Arayn replied, "It’s the best move for the future of the cult."

Darius raised an eyebrow. "Why Alice? Why not you?"

"Because I owe her," Arayn said without hesitation. "She helped me when I was at my lowest. Now, it's time to raise her to the highest position in the cult."

Alice was caught off guard by his words. She hadn’t expected him to say something like that, and for a brief moment, she felt something warm in her chest.

Darius studied them both, clearly weighing his options. "And how do you plan to make this happen?"

Arayn grinned slightly as he explained his plan.

After listening, Darius chuckled. "You’re more capable than I thought. I have misjudged you, Arayn Azael."

"I’m glad I exceeded your expectations," Arayn replied. "Now, I will give you the chance to join my cause."

Darius leaned forward, his gaze sharp. "Liking you and supporting you are two different things. A plan means nothing if the one behind it can’t follow through."

Arayn’s smile remained. "And how would I prove my worth?"

Darius’s smile widened. "Defeat the demon I summon. If you succeed, I will back you. If you fail, then my support is out of the question."

"Agreed," Arayn said confidently, knowing this was just another obstacle in his way.

Darius gave a slight nod, clearly pleased with Arayn's resolve. "Let’s see if your actions match your words, Arayn."

---

Arayn led the descent into the Ritual Crypts, his footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stone stairs. The air grew heavier with every step, suffused with an oppressive weight that seemed to sink into their very bones.

The walls bore infernal runes, their red light casting distorted shapes across the uneven stone. The patterns etched into the surface seemed to pulse, as though charged with a dark energy. Deep scratches marred the stone, remnants of long-forgotten rituals.

Alice followed closely behind. Her hand hovered near her weapon, her sharp eyes scanning the shadows that seemed too still. "I hope no spy is following us."

Darius brought up the rear, holding a lantern that barely pushed back the darkness. The weak glow illuminated the carvings on the walls, but the deeper recesses of the crypt swallowed the light. "Rest assured, my lady. With this old man here, no one will dare to do it."

Arayn paused, his gaze sweeping the corridor ahead. "I say let them follow us. It's natural for moths to be attracted to light," he replied.

As they pressed deeper, every sound was magnified, each step resounding like a distant drumbeat. Somewhere ahead, a noise rumbled low and constant, its origin obscured. Whether it came from a creature or the crypt itself, none of them could tell.

A group of cultists appeared from the shadows, their dark robes rustling faintly. One of them stepped forward. "My lord, what have we done to deserve such an honor as your lordly presence?"

Darius didn’t even look at them. "I’m not here to explain myself to you."

Alice, however, was more engaged. She stepped forward and explained, "We’re here for personal matters. You don’t need to worry about it. Stay away from the room we’re heading into. Do not approach."

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The cultists exchanged uneasy glances before reluctantly stepping aside. Despite complying, their gaze lingered curiously.

The trio reached one of the deeper chambers, where the entrance was veiled by magical wards. These wards formed a glowing barrier, their shapes shifting unpredictably between jagged lines and fluid spirals. The faint buzz of their energy hinted at a potent defense against intruders unworthy of entry.

As the trio stepped into the chamber, the entrance sealed shut behind them. Arayn halted. He summoned his status window, the glowing interface highlighting Intelligence and Charisma stats. These were the keys to bending the will of demons.

After thinking that his stats were enough, he observed the chamber. The ancient stone walls bore the craftsmanship of a long-lost civilization, yet they were marred by newer demonic symbols. The glow from the runes on the floor cast long, eerie shadows.

Darius strode to the center of the chamber. He extended his arms, his voice rising in a chant that seemed to draw the very air into its rhythm.

"Zaal'tir, servant of the Abyssal Depths, hear this call. By blood and shadow, by pact and flame, I summon thee to this mortal plane."

As he chanted, he began placing the artifacts around the summoning circle. A blackened goblet, its rim encrusted with dried blood. A shard of obsidian, etched with faint runic symbols. Charred feathers, their edges still smoldering.

At the circle’s center, Darius raised a ceremonial blade, its surface engraved with writhing demonic glyphs. Fresh blood dripped from its edge, hissing as it struck the floor and sent faint ripples of energy through the glowing sigils. He placed the blade carefully on the central rune, its crimson offering seeping into the grooves of the symbol as if feeding the ritual itself.

The summoning circle ignited with a blazing glow, its runes flaring brighter than before. The chamber trembled under the force of the magic as tendrils of energy coiled and writhed. Slowly, a figure began to take form within the circle—a demon emerging from the void, its body shifting between ethereal and solid.

Alice stood nearby, her expression torn between intrigue and unease. Her hands hovered close to her weapons, her tension barely hidden as she braced for the unexpected. Arayn remained motionless, his stance unwavering. His gaze stayed fixed on the demon.

The chamber quaked as the summoning circle reached its zenith. A rift tore open at its center, spilling searing crimson light and sulfurous smoke. The figure that emerged dwarfed even the tallest mortal men. Twisted horns jutted from its elongated skull, and molten cracks snaked across its hulking, armored frame. Its claws twitched, and an aura of pure menace radiated from its monstrous form.

As the summoning neared completion, the glowing runes of the circle suddenly dimmed and shattered. The demon's glowing eyes flared as it snarled.

"You dare summon me with this feeble ritual, only to destroy my anchor?" it spat, its words directed at Darius. "You imbecile! You've severed my path back to the Netherworld!"

Darius folded his arms, unperturbed by the demon's rage. His expression remained stern as he responded, "Watch your tongue, beast. You can return to the Netherworld—if you succeed in killing that young man." He pointed at Arayn, standing silently at the edge of the chamber.

The demon's blazing gaze shifted to Arayn, annoyance etched in its every movement. It sneered, but its tension eased upon seeing him. "I have heard the terms of the contract, mortal. If you break it, you forfeit your life, no matter your level of power."

Darius smirked, turning to Arayn with mockery in his tone. "Well then, Arayn. Are you truly prepared for this? Or was your confidence misplaced all along?"

Arayn met Darius’s taunt with a calm gaze. "I’ll defeat it," he said simply, "And I’ll do it with only one ability."

"Arrogant whelp," Zaal'tir growled, his molten eyes narrowing. "You think yourself untouchable."

Arayn didn’t respond. He charged. Two red fangs materialized in his grasp—[Cursed Fangs]. Their surfaces glowed as he closed the distance.

Zaal'tir swung a massive claw, aiming to cleave Arayn in two, but the man ducked under it, the air rippling from the force of the strike. Sparks erupted as Arayn's blades collided with the demon's armored forearm, leaving shallow gashes across its infernal plating.

"You’re slow," Arayn said. He darted to the side, forcing Zaal'tir to pivot, the demon’s heavy steps cracking the chamber’s stone floor.

Zaal'tir snarled, lashing out again with greater force. Arayn weaved through the attacks like water. His blades found their mark, carving wounds into the demon’s thick hide.

The demon roared in frustration, his claws swiping at empty air as Arayn danced out of reach. "This room!" Zaal'tir bellowed. "It’s too small for a proper fight!"

Arayn smirked, sidestepping another swing before retaliating with a flurry of slashes that left the demon staggering. "Excuses already?" he said. "Maybe you’re just not as powerful as you claim."

Zaal'tir roared in frustration, his clawed hand sweeping downward as tendrils of shadow erupted from the ground. The [Shadow Bind] snaked around Arayn’s arms and legs, tightening like living chains to hold him in place. Without hesitation, Zaal’tir inhaled deeply, his chest swelling unnaturally, and unleashed a torrent of green flames—a [Nether Breath] so searing that the very air around it warped.

Arayn’s eyes narrowed, his voice calm as he chanted in an ancient demonic tongue, "Kharz'othan vyr, uthar’vashar zhaor." The [Cursed Fangs] in his grip glowed faintly, responding to the invocation. In an instant, the fangs elongated unnaturally, tearing into the stone floor as they propelled Arayn to the side. The infernal breath scorched the space where he had stood moments before, leaving nothing but molten rock.

Darius took a step back, his eyes wide. "The ancient demonic language?" he muttered, disbelief coloring his voice. "He’s actually learned it?"

The ancient demonic language wasn’t just a forgotten dialect—it was a means to manipulate the very essence of demonic abilities, reshaping them into something entirely new. For an acolyte like Arayn, who should have been limited to basic techniques, this mastery bordered on the impossible.

Without hesitation, Arayn pivoted, one of the elongated fangs still glowing with energy. He hurled it toward Zaal’tir. The fang spiraled through the air before striking its target and detonated. The explosion sent a shockwave rippling through the chamber, shattering nearby stonework and enveloping Zaal’tir in a cloud of dust and fiery embers.