Chapter 484: Descent (2)
In the past, at the orphanage, Oliver had witnessed a woman giving birth.
It wasn’t a common occurrence, but it did happen occasionally.
Some women with nowhere to go—no home, no family, and no one to help them—came to the orphanage to give birth.
There were mainly two reasons for this: because they had no other place to seek assistance, or to immediately entrust the newborn to the orphanage.
The orphanage director did not refuse them. Assisting with childbirth was troublesome, but there were benefits like reputation, new funding, and so on.
Moreover, if the mother died during childbirth, her clothes, belongings, teeth, and hair could bring in a tidy extra income.
It was, in its own way, a rational deal.
However, even so, assisting with childbirth was still a task that required a lot of effort.
That’s why, whenever the orphanage staff were short-handed, Oliver helped with the process.
Though Oliver was indeed an unpleasant and unlucky child, he was also strangely calm and would carry out any assigned task in any situation.
Thanks to that, Oliver was able to witness the birth of a new life with his own eyes.
At the time, he hadn’t felt anything special about it. It was akin to a seed not sprouting on barren land.
The cries for help, the screams during childbirth, the blood, the baby’s cries—none of it evoked any feelings in Oliver.
That, however, was why he was able to assist so well.
Despite that, there were times when Oliver occasionally took an interest in childbirth.
It was when the mother held the newborn in her arms. At that moment, the emotions emanating from the women were pure, clear, and warm—feelings that could never be found at the orphanage.
Back then, Oliver didn’t know the word to define it, but now he could.
Perhaps, "sacred" would be a fitting description.
The process of a new life coming into the world and the emotions that arose from it felt sacred.
It was something sacred.
However, what unfolded before Oliver’s eyes now was the exact opposite.
It was profane and blasphemous.
Though similar to childbirth, it was bringing forth not life, but death.
“Aaaaah...!! Aaaaaargh...!!!”
The red-skinned girl, her belly swollen while the rest of her body was emaciated and shriveled, screamed with cracked and chapped lips.
She struggled, flailing her withered limbs to escape the pain, but her arms and legs were forcibly restrained in a posture suitable for childbirth, as though something was holding her down.
“Kuh...! ...!!”
The screams, swelling like a balloon, reached their limit and then burst with a pop as she coughed up fresh blood. The girl silently screamed, her throat ruined, until her mouth tore open.
“Ueeek!!”
One of the Pinkmen couldn’t endure the sight and vomited onto the ground.
It wasn’t because he was weak-stomached. Everyone here was considered elite in their organization.
It was just that the scene before them had gone far beyond what anyone could tolerate.
All they could do now, including Oliver, was to helplessly watch the spectacle unfold before them.
“Grrrk...!”
The red-skinned girl, who had been silently screaming, made an expression that was no longer human as blood foamed at her mouth.
Her legs, already spread wide, were forced even further apart, beyond the limits of human anatomy, while her grotesquely swollen belly trembled violently as something within struggled to emerge.
With a splatter...
The first thing to appear was a foot.
It was a foot, covered in a mix of murky blood and flesh.
The foot emerged very slowly, taking nearly several tens of seconds to reveal the ankle.
“...”
Everyone froze in place, unable to do anything in the face of this unreal sight, while the girl arched her back to the limit, desperately trying to escape the agony.
Snap.
Eventually, her spine broke.
And yet, somehow, the girl did not die, nor did she lose consciousness, nor was she released from her suffering. She remained trapped by something indistinct and faint.
Oliver instinctively understood.
Until this ritual ended, there would be no peace for her, and even after the ritual, no peace awaited her. All that remained for her was pain—unbearable, sacrilegious pain.
The red-skinned figures who had surrounded the girl in a circle continued chanting their profane prayer even faster, while the bonfire roared fiercely, sending hot winds in all directions.
The temperature inside steadily rose.
Thud... Thud. Thud.
A Pinkman collapsed with blood trickling from his ears, and two others, drenched in sweat, fell to the ground.
Now, only a single-digit number of both Holy Knights and Pinkmen remained.
Yet, no one paid any attention to them, overwhelmed by an indescribable fear and fascination.
Shuaaa...! Thud thud!
The leg, which had been slowly emerging, suddenly shot out from the calf like an explosion, scattering blood and flesh everywhere.
Everyone’s pupils widened, and at that moment, the wildly flickering bonfire went out with a whoosh, plunging the area into complete darkness.
The only things that could be felt were the air saturated with heat, the girl's renewed screams, and the red-skinned figures’ chanting.
None of these sounds belonged to the realm of reality or should even exist.
Fwoosh!
The bonfire briefly flared up.
A fully emerged leg and a partially emerged head could be seen.
Thud!
The bonfire went out again, and darkness swallowed everything once more.
The screams faded, leaving only the accursed prayer echoing clearly.
Fwoosh!
The bonfire briefly flared up.
A leg, a head, and one arm had come out into the world.
Thud!
The bonfire went out again, and darkness swallowed everything once more.
The screams had vanished, leaving only the cursed prayer ringing loudly.
Fwoosh!
The bonfire briefly flared up.
Standing there was a figure made of blood and flesh, emaciated like a dried corpse.
Thud!
The bonfire went out again, and darkness swallowed everything once more.
The cursed prayer grew louder, filling the space, then abruptly ceased.
Fwoosh!
A flame ignited again, but this time, it wasn’t the bonfire.
The man composed of blood and flesh had ignited on his own, dispelling the surrounding darkness.
The air reeked of burning flesh, and the stifling heat distorted the space as it heated the interior.
The environment rapidly approached its worst state.
Everyone staggered and vomited amid the chaos, but Oliver kept his eyes on what stood before him—an entity he could only describe as a "demon."
It was different. It was unlike the demon he encountered during his encounter with Joseph or even the Flesh Chef.
If those demons were mere reflections on the water’s surface, this one, though only a part, had a tangible presence. For some reason, Oliver instinctively understood this.
Crackle.
The yellow, orange, and red flames gradually died down, revealing the demon's charred body.
The blackened skin, the dried, twisted form, and the cracks covering its entire body resembled wood that had been struck by lightning.
The demon, shaped like a human log, stood there emanating a faint glow. Then, as cracks formed on its burnt and melted face, eye sockets and a mouth emerged.
Flames resembling lightning flickered within the hollow eye sockets, while thick smoke billowed from the fissured mouth.
The first thing the demon did with its newly-formed mouth was inhale...
Sssss...
...and then exhale.
Fwoosh.
And at that moment, all the remaining Pinkmen burned to death where they stood.
...
The Pinkmen burned to death, leaving not a single one alive.
Even witnessing it firsthand, it was hard to believe. It was beyond comprehension.
Oliver glanced at Ricky, who had been standing alive right next to him, and thought about what had just transpired.
A demon had emerged from the girl's body, ignited in flames, and then took a deep breath.
As it exhaled, a scorching wind blew, intense enough to burn flesh. The Holy Knights employed Holy Magic to stabilize their bodies and minds, then rushed forward to erect a great wall of light.
Oliver and the Pinkmen hid behind it.
Up to that point, everything was clear. However, what followed was incomprehensible—almost impossible to believe.
The scorching wind that shook the air melted and burned the golden light wall.
It was like pouring hot water over a wall made of ice.
The Holy Knights, the Pinkmen, and Oliver all watched this in shock, while each scrambled to activate various defenses out of sheer survival instinct.
The Holy Knights donned armor made of Holy Magic, the Pinkmen reinforced their bodies with magic, and Oliver added ice magic to his black suit.
It was a technique he rarely used because it wasn't often useful, but he was confident in its power.
None of it mattered.
The fiery breath of the demon burned and melted even the Holy Knights' armor of light, and it easily overpowered Oliver's ice armor.
The Holy Knights fell to their knees, feeling their lungs burn from the intense heat, while the Pinkmen, who had only strengthened their bodies, burned to death on the spot without any visible flames.
Their bodies dried up as if all moisture and fat had evaporated, their skin turning a charred black.
Whether they had rotted, dried, or burned, it was impossible to tell from their grotesque forms.
As everyone suffered in the silence, tormented by the intensifying heat, Oliver noticed something.
The demon, standing with its fissured mouth agape, seemed to be adjusting its breathing.
The sight alone made his eyes burn and his hair stand on end, yet Oliver could tell the demon was deliberately controlling its breath for the sake of those present.
A truly bizarre scene.
Yet, that bizarre sight was real. The fact that the temperature had gradually lowered to a bearable level for humans was evidence of it.
It was still hot, but at least it was survivable.
“Grrrrr...”
One by one, the Holy Knights who had been kneeling stood up again.
Despite the horrendous heat gnawing at their bodies and minds, their duty as Holy Knights compelled them to rise.
Oliver was genuinely impressed, having witnessed the pain they endured up close. Truly remarkable.
At the same time, he was also impressed by the demon. It had merely breathed and yet had burned people alive and brought Holy Knights to their knees.
Holy Knights were supposed to be the ones who fought against demons, yet they stood no chance.
The difference in power was as stark as that between an ant and a human.
‘Could this summoned demon be particularly strong?’
Oliver speculated, but then shook his head inwardly.
Based on his intuition, there was little difference between this demon and the ones he had encountered before, like the old man on the horse or the Flesh Chef.
Though it was just a hunch, Oliver felt sure of it.
In other words, any demon could likely kill a Holy Knight just by breathing.
It didn’t make sense. This went completely against everything Oliver had learned.
That left only two possibilities.
Either what Oliver knew was wrong, or there was still something he didn’t understand.
‘Could it be part of this?’
Oliver's curiosity sparked.
Why was it that he seemed to feel less pain than others? To be honest, he found it bearable.
He wondered if it was thanks to eating the Flesh Chef’s meat, but that wasn’t the case.
When he saw the burnt Pinkmen and the unscathed Holy Knights suffering from the scorching pain, he realized that the heat from the demon’s breath was not purely physical but rather conceptual... something of a higher order.
It wasn’t something that could be endured simply by having a sturdier body.
It seemed to be something more fundamental...
Tap.
The unnamed demon straightened up and looked in Oliver's direction.
A being capable of killing with its breath was showing manners.
Oliver thought it might just be his imagination, but it seemed as though the demon was looking directly at him.
Their eyes met, and the demon began to walk toward him with long strides.
Each step left blackened, burning footprints on the ground, and the surrounding scenery shimmered and distorted with the intense heat.
The Holy Knights could only stand there, unable to even think about fighting back.
Tap.
The demon stopped right in front of Oliver.
It stared at him with its blazing eyes, then placed a hand on its chest and bowed courteously.
Everyone held their breath—everyone except Oliver.
Though just as confused as the others, Oliver reciprocated the gesture, bowing in return. It was only proper.
The demon seemed pleased, and with a mischievous grin, it took Oliver's right hand and pressed his hand's back to its own forehead.
Without any flame, Oliver's right arm began to burn.