Feyrith’s and Lillian’s yelling display caught the eyes of Yéros, whose face flushed red in anger. He faced the two with furious eyes and bashed his staff on the ground.

“How dare you try to pull something off in the presence of the one above all?!” Yéros shouted. “We will make an example out of you, heretics!”

He gestured, and a large beast trotted from within the army. It was about the same size as the giant Lillian faced, but this monster’s presence was leagues above that of a mere giant.

A Tarasque if Feyrith remembered it correctly, its spiky back, dragon-like jaw and beady eyes, stomping on his puny existence.

The Tarasque charged forward with great speed, its maw wide open, ready to finish Feyrith within a single bite.

“Close your eyes, contractor.” The devil spoke.

At the devil’s words, Feyrith closed his eyes, met with the familiar sight. The tome he picked up earlier was still in front of him, rested on the same pedestal as earlier. The devil was there, looking at Feyrith with a curious expression.

The lingering danger of an incoming monster charging toward him, he walked up to the tome and opened it up, new information fed to him. Skimming through the pages, he opened a page with the subtitle Energy Restoration. Not thinking much about it, he placed his hands over the page and opened his eyes.

Holding out his palms, eyes dull, he spoke. “Overgrowth.”

Tendrils of plant emerged from the ground, writhing, and grabbing on to the (monster). It then squeezed tightly, thorns growing out of their sides as it squeezed tighter and tighter. The monster grew pale, as it struggled, in time and Feyrith stood there, staring at it. The monster’s body exploded into bloody bits, blood splattering to the sky and all over the hall.

Then, a green hue formed around the tendrils, as the monster’s body slowly shrivelled.

It was like a vampire sucking on blood, the vitality left in the monster drained until empty; The blood on the ground sucked up like water.

Like it was never there in the first place. The tendrils disappeared into green mist, returning to Feyrith. There were still large holes in the ground, but not much in terms of vegetation.

Pure, unbridled obliteration. The monster that had charged toward him had not only passed, but was erased from existence, its corpse used as fertiliser for the tendrils.

He moved on quickly and held his palms out once more, as his eyes closed and the tome that was in front of him before, still there, on the same page he had cast.

Then, the page slowly disintegrated, turning into scraps before his very eyes. Letting it happen, he flipped through the pages once more, and opened a brand-new section. Assimilation.

He opened his eyes and right before him, a forest formed. It was not like a fairy tale, neither well kempt nor pretty, but wild and prickly. An incredible sight, to say the very least, a wild forest in the middle of a royal palace.

Feyrith’s mind synced with the forest, as he commanded it with a single movement of his hand. Then, he spread open his arms to truly activate the skill’s ability, leaving himself to the forest’s whims.

A peal of wood from a stemming twig ingrained itself into Feyrith’s bones, wrapping around them to form a barricade. Stiff yet flexible, though in this paradox, an equal word would be strength. The tendrils of wood bloomed with mana; the spring refilled by droplets of rain.

In the centre, a tree formed, gathering in a piece of soil as a sprout grew forth. A seedling whose pot cracked to release its roots.

He was alive once more, gold transmuting into aged copper heading forth with splendour and might.

What were the properties of mist? Untouchable, but pervading. Formless, but defined. Everything and nothing all at once, as it was earlier, a paradox. There was only one question that the mist asked Feyrith. What do you want?

Power. Power. Power. He chanted in his mind.

A spear formed in his hand, as large as his whole body. It was crafted with a white-coloured wood, coiled around like two snakes.

Whoosh!

With his reinforced body, he threw the spear across the room, the white constructs arcing through the air. Then, mid-air, it exploded into sharp, splinters of the spear spreading throughout the room.

The ground cracked, and monsters were slain. Fury filled the faces of the cultists as their army was ripped to shreds. Bloodlust and annoyance, but none of it matched the look of hunger in Feyrith’s eyes.

He hadn’t yet realised what the devil meant by a price, but this feeling in his chest was certainly it. Hunger, an instinct to destroy and devour everything around him. He felt inhuman almost, a ravenous beast in its skin. To destroy and to rampage, something about those two things filled him. They made him whole. In contrast to the worst pain, they were the greatest pleasure. The feeling of normalcy.

BOOM!

He kicked off the ground, a new weapon in his hand. This time, a pistol, in the fashion of old detective shows. This too was made of wood, thorns and vines wrapping around the barrel.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Bullet hell, shower after shower of thorns falling out of the sky, with every shot, a fiend or monster put to death. Blood splattered, and Demiurge’s incarnation began to cry. Its high-pitched weeps spread throughout the hall and spread to the sky, as with its rage, the false god gained its wings. White feathered pearls, omniscient and all-powerful.

Its aura strengthened, suffocating the room further.

Feyrith stood still, his face and body faced down on the ground. His eyes were blank and so was his mind, filled with the sound of hunger.

Two beasts. Ravenous carnage, deathly beasts. As they faced once more, a thunderclap rang out.

With a swipe of his arms, thorns protruded from the ground, a wave of misty blades making its way toward Demiurge. It too attacked, a beam of pure white light gathering above its face.

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BOOM!

There was nothing surrounding Feyrith. The people and monsters gone from his sight. Tunnel vision at its highest, another price he had to pay for this power.

He ran forward with blades of wind trailing behind him, all of them cast in the split second he went forward. Even tier-1 spells were powerful when given enough of them.

They went forth in droves and collected impact after impact toward Demiurge. There were no sounds for the sonic boomesque speed of the spells Feyrith cast, a lull before a storm.

He jumped to the sky, and another spear formed in his hand, not quite as large as the previous one, but glorious none the less. A powerful lunge down, as he aimed for Demiurge’s head, hunger taking over his mind.

CRASH!

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As the world came to a halt, Lillian watched as the glimmer in Feyrith’s eyes faded away. Like his life was being drained away, replaced neither with solemness nor determination, but dullness.

It was then when something else caught her attention, Yéros yelling at her and Feyrith for speaking to each other, sending a gigantic beast to slay both her and Feyrith.

She obviously felt fear, but could do naught as her legs were glued to the ground below. Neither quivering nor determined, she just stood there, glued in place.

It seemed hopeless, that feeling of being drained of everything was still constant in everything she felt. Could her mother save Feyrith?

Most likely, seeing as the monster was a mere Tarasque, but as she cocked her head, Adelaide too was still, her eyes lifeless as she stared at the charging Tarasque. It was no good. Demiurge had got to her as well.

She didn’t know what it was Feyrith did expect for injure himself, but he was likely to die here without a miracle. An emptiness filled her chest at those thoughts, feelings she thought that she had long forgotten. There was nothing she could do, though. It seems like Servant’s lucky streak had worn off, or at least the one she knew about.

It was then where Feyrith raised his arms, his mouth moving in a mumble. The Tarasque which continued to charge at him suddenly stopped in place, as tendrils of root emerged from the ground, wrapping around the creature’s body and squeezing it.

Thorns, then death, then the absorption, where the creature’s body was drained for all. As it was worth, leaving behind a shrivelled, empty corpse.

Only then did the shock hit her, as Feyrith stood over the shrivelled corpse of the seemingly impossible odds, his eyes closed. If that wasn’t enough, a forest sprang out of the ground, this time truly consuming the Tarasque, all the bits of its body completely gone.

As Feyrith swiped his fingers, his entire figure looked terrifying to Lillian, as she came to the realisation that all of this was due to him. Soon, that feeling of fear turned into excitement, a chance to win this battle. Energy built up in her body, but she did move just yet, continuing to spectate the battlefield.

Feyrith moved forward, faster than he had ever shown himself capable of. Of course, it wasn’t only her watching all of this unfold, as the frozen bodies of the nearby people soon turned into expressions of shock. Sylvia especially wide-eyed at her son’s appearance.

The battle was the opposite of everything Lillian expected of Feyrith. Instead of being graceful as he was just earlier, he moved more like a rabid animal, clawing and rampaging, using brute force to move forward in battle.

He used magic, of course, but not as much as his use of weaponry and physical attacks. None of his movements were refined or especially interesting, but the power behind every one of them was certainly admirable.

Lillian did not even get to process the transformation of Demiurge’s form. It was sudden and unexpected, much like Feyrith’s performance. Even the cult members and leaders were shocked by the sight, only now seeing a physical embodiment of the one they worshipped.

Demiurge and Feyrith clashed, the two of them meeting in close combat.

Feyrith lunged and jumped at every opportunity he got, using wooden weapons that appeared out of thin air to attack Demiurge.

With every attack, Lillian began noticing that Feyrith became more and more reckless, more brutal in his attacks. Even his eyes, which from afar could be seen to have changed colours, looked voracious. Like a hungry beast looking down on its prey.

His body became more and more battered by the second, blood dripping down on the destroyed floor.

Then, out of nowhere, Adelaide and Sylvia began to move. Thawed out, they went forward at about the same time, Adelaide drawing a spear, and Sylvia sending her army forward.

Adelaide charged straight at the Demiurge, going up next to Feyrith to attack. That’s when something unexpected happened.

Feyrith attacked Adelaide, the one closest to him, with a rain of wind blades. She, of course, was able to avoid them, but the occurrence was odd.

That oddity continued when Sylvia sent her spectral knights forward, as Feyrith began to attack them too. His focus seemed to have shifted from Demiurge to them, to whoever was closest to him.

It was then where his eyes seemed truly crazed. Bleary, wide, and unstable. He manifested spears and guns and used them against the knights and Adelaide, charging at them with all his might.

Lillian wasn’t confused, but conflicted. Feyrith was in a state of rampage, just as she had thought. With the sudden burst of power he had gained, it would be easy to assume that the toll to the power was heavy as well.

She didn’t know what to do. Should she just watch and hope Feyrith went back to normal? The faint possibility of him suddenly regaining his senses and go back to attacking Demiurge. Or, should she stop him, outing a secret she wouldn’t reveal even if Silverveil and her entire family were killed, but stopping the cultists.

She recalled her memories of Uriel’s temple, and the time she stole a quick glance at her status window. She would have never believed what she saw written there. The same class she had obtained in-game, without any description or information. Candidate.

This time, along with the class, was a skill she had obtained.

She was able to use it once every 200 days, and had been saving it for any important battles. This was, in her definition, not an important battle, rather a minor one.

Should she use this important skill now, or save it until next time, that was something she had no idea about. Though, when she saw Feyrith fight Adelaide and Sylvia, she realised that maybe this battle was important after all. Demiurge wasn’t much of a threat, at least for now, but Feyrith certainly was.

With no other choice, and control returning to her body, she picked up her sword and walked forward toward battle, the world passing by her.

Let’s do this.

Right in front of everyone, she raised her blade up high in the air. Feyrith might have thought he was the one who was going to end the battle, but it seemed like she would have to steal his spotlight.

The skill was nameless, but its description was very clear. With conviction came miracles, and it would grant those miracles.

Her conviction placed on her blade; she closed her eyes to take in the sound around her. At a moment of brief silence, she cut down, much to everyone’s surprise, as Demiurge simply disappeared.

Of course, miracles always came with a pricethe death, and this was not an expectation. For with ground,death of Demiurge, disaster only sprung more.

Feyrith stopped moving and limped to the ground not unconscious, but empty. Flames then burst and consumed his forest. At that moment, the world thawed, and conflict began to brew, louder than ever. The cultist began to move again, and the monsters started to rampage once more.

The world spun on its head, but that wasn’t where the price stopped. There was one more reason Lillian never wanted to use this skill.

Explosion rang around her, forming a ring of flame, so hot that they blocked her from the outside world. She was not protected, but imprisoned, with only death to await her. Rushing out would simply be foolish, and not something she would try to attempt. So, she sat on the ground, when a faint silhouette came rushing toward her.

From outside the ring, a recovered Feyrith, seeing explosions go off around Lillian, took off running, once more escaping the grasp of both Sylvia and Adelaide.

His hands reached out toward her, and Lillian smiled. Flattered that her rival would reach out to save her life. Flames came closer to the centre and consumed her, as a mechanical voice fell on deaf ears.

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Feyrith ran with all his remaining might. The cost had been too large, and he had hurt too many people. His rival had sacrificed herself in a shocking dissolution of Demiurge, and it was all for his sake. He couldn’t say this wasn’t the ending he deserved. History is written by side of those who won and survived. Sadly, he wasn’t quite there.

He reached out his hand toward Lillian, the last thing he felt capable of before the end of his story. The devil was silent, its voice gone from Feyrith’s head, the reason unclear. If it was due to this mistake, then what was he to do?

His eyes dimmed, losing most of their colour and vigour, as the world disappeared. He reached his hand out for nothing, no one there to save, just like always. For some reason, he remained cool, even as his very world crumbled, eyes cold and blood frozen over. He closed his eyes for what he thought would be the last time, and let the world consume him.