Elysium's Multiverse

Chapter 42

Jalel raised an eyebrow from where he pretended to be dead, cocooned on the hellscape floor in some rather pathetic bindings while a lowly harpy ate his entrails. They had made it through the poorly executed “bad guy” with only slight amounts of smirking whenever the inexperienced warlock wasn’t looking. Even if Jalel did secretly hope for Riven’s demise and actually kind of was the bad guy, so to speak. He’d faked death pretty well, even if it’d been someone his own level witnessing it, but the fun was now over. He’d give his report back to the queen as instructed, and he’d tag Riven’s soul for when the barriers on the newly integrated world faltered in years to come, but the report wouldn’t be anything worth mentioning. Not in Jalel’s opinion. Riven’s performance had been subpar.

And, of course, Jalel would completely leave out the part about Riven acquiring that shard of original sin. That was far too valuable a piece of information to give even to his matriarch, because Jalel wanted it for himself one day. How Riven had gone about acquiring it was something Jalel couldn’t even begin to guess at.

True, Jalel had intervened and stopped the stone from binding to his cousin—forcing the demon in the miracle stone to remain there until Jalel was done assessing the youngster. True, Jalel had also stolen mana from Riven during the last fight in order to press him harder. He’d even stopped Riven’s normal flesh regeneration so that the young man, many centuries younger than Jalel, couldn’t repair his body at a normal rate. Part of this was to truly evaluate Riven, yes, but part of it had been in hopes that Riven would simply die so he could rip the sin out and acquire it. However, the system’s warning curses had been stacking with each intervention, and the last one had been so severe that Jalel could only quiver at the thought of what would happen should he actually be responsible for Riven’s death. Jalel had pushed the system’s limits to the outer boundary, and now he was sure that any further intervention would definitely mean his own death. If he let Riven die here and the system considered it Jalel’s fault, he was done for.

So disappointment was the only outcome. Sheer disappointment. As soon as the queen had sensed Riven’s presence shift from the outer rim to a nearby hellscape realm, she’d sent Jalel to investigate in what was no doubt a system trial.

Regardless, Riven hadn’t even detected the aura fluctuations that’d suppressed him, hadn’t even had a hint. He literally had zero aura detection, which was baffling to Jalel. Based on what he’d witnessed when experimenting with blood magic early on in the venture through Negrada, he could say that Riven had a decent grasp of how to utilize blood magic but nothing overtly impressive. Riven wasn’t nearly at the level at which he could be brought anywhere near the other counts lest they tear him limb from limb—and that wouldn’t be acceptable, because after this tutorial was over, Jalel would be the one to strike the killing blow in some sort of freak accident or “situational mishap.”

So he’d play the queen’s game for now and report like a good little nephew. Riven had the gift; Jalel had literally watched it happen in front of his very eyes. Malignant Prophecy was something all of the royal bloodline had, and though he couldn’t entirely make out Riven’s vision, he could still tell he’d used it to save that worthless peasant girl. Yet Jalel could barely wrap his head around the fact that someone of their blood would be so…just so goddamn worthless. Ideologies, combat prowess, and fundamental decision-making in high-stress environments were all just way off.

Perhaps he was being too hard on Riven. Jalel had been trained by the best and brightest of their empire since birth and could have dealt with these opponents as a mere child, but Riven—to Jalel’s knowledge—had only just been introduced to a violent life. He didn’t even know what he was yet, which was actually quite funny to think about and caused Jalel to smirk.

Perhaps that’s why he’d let the girl go, acquiring a malignancy point for something so lowly. To save the life of mere cattle with such a gift was unheard-of, yet to Riven, that girl had been one of his own. They were the same, in Riven’s eyes. But in truth, they were an entirely different species from human.

Jalel sighed and shook his head, merely letting out a little bit of aura to shred the annoyingly loud harpy feeding on his guts. It evaporated in an instant—unnoticed by any of the other combatants, turning to a red mist with not even a screech to let its passing be known. His eyes glowed a bright crimson and he ended the suppression on Riven’s body, immediately seeing Riven’s flesh beginning to mend itself and the mana restore at a rapid pace. The stone in Riven’s pocket reacted as well when Jalel’s mana coils let up and allowed contact, then there was a flash of power when the demon finally reached out into Riven’s soul.

Jalel rolled his eyes as the light in them dimmed to an unnatural brown color, and he went back to playing dead, letting his intestines lie out on the ground in splendid and fashionable designs like the artwork he used to paint with bodies of cattle back in his youth. He grimaced when he realized the curses applied to him by the system for interfering in the trial were still there, eating away at his stats and traits like rabid dogs, and it was likely he’d have to spend a fortune on spiritual fruits in order to get rid of them. Messing around in system-sponsored events without permission was a big no-no, and the residual curses would cost even a powerful prince of the empire such as himself an enormous sum of money that’d likely bankrupt him in the short term.

No doubt he’d have to check up on this little initiate again in the future, too, if Riven managed to survive the integration. Jalel’s part to play in Riven’s life was far from over. Perhaps Riven would die in that time and spare Jalel the effort, and perhaps then he’d be able to come collect his future prize a century or two later, but Jalel would not be caught again interfering with Riven’s trials until the integration was done. He also needed to present himself as a dutiful, loyal servant to Her Majesty lest she suspect something was amiss—and he’d even do what needed to be done to help Riven along the way as much as the system allowed to avoid suspicion, at least until the system parameters were off-line and the defenses were down. Until the moment came, he would not be seen as the one who failed her. Oh, no, the queen would have his head for that, no doubt, as she already had big plans for this unexpected heir to appear so suddenly. It’d already thrown the nobility into a frenzy, and Jalel had no wish to draw pointed glances or daggers in the night should he do something as stupid as to harm one of the queen’s pawns and other nephews before Riven’s time played out to her satisfaction.

Well…at least he’d play the part until the time was right.

Riven was suddenly cast into a dark and endless void, devoid of any light, as he stood on solid ground. It was startling, going so suddenly from lying on the ground to being in an upright position—but he also quickly noticed that the pain was gone. He looked down but was still unable to see as his hands patted his bare body down. Again, he was wearing no clothes, and a chilling sensation rippled across his skin as his fingers made contact.

That’s when a low and menacing growl echoed throughout the darkness.

The deep, guttural voice berated his senses like a typhoon. Not only did he hear it, but he could feel the power behind it, like it had been a physical object that’d slapped him upside the head. A familiar, warm sensation began to spread across his body very much like what he’d felt in his pocket just seconds before—but this time it was from all around him.

Riven whirled around, trying to figure out where the noise had come from—but still saw nothing. He wasn’t scared, though…not nearly as scared as he should have been. He’d already mentally prepared and resigned himself to death just moments before this, and being taken from the harpy to wherever he was now was more of a relief than anything else.

Riven hesitantly called out into the shadows, “Hello?”

There was only silence, and Riven furrowed his brows to consider his situation. “Am I dead? Did I just die?”

The deep and guttural voice chuckled slightly, this time from his right—and a second later he felt a hot breath on his neck…only to turn his head just as it disappeared.

An image blinked into existence directly in front of him, and Riven was staring at his prone body, curled up in pain as the harpy’s striking talons descended upon him in extremely slow motion. It was so slow, in fact, that he guessed he was watching somewhere around one one-thousandth of a second or even less.

Another low growl echoed out across the shadow, this time…a little closer.

Riven’s eyes slowly went right in the direction of the sound, and using the light of the conjured image…he finally saw it. His eyes went wide, and he scanned the creature up and down in awe as his hands dropped to his side. Dear God… Was this the miracle stone’s work in play? Was that why he’d felt that warm sensation from his pocket? If this creature was what the miracle stone contained, it certainly didn’t look like an infant. The stone had called it an infant Hellscape Brutalisk, but this creature was a full-on brute. What in the seven hells would this thing look like when fully grown?!

“Uh… Why, hello there. What’s your name?” He extended a hand hesitantly but put on a bright smile and nodded in confidence. “Mine is Riven.”

Multiple rows of obsidian teeth glistened in the dim light as a hand many times the size of Riven’s reached out and gently touched his hand with a single razor-tipped claw. The demon let out another deep, guttural echo and then withdrew the hand back into the darkness.

Riven kept his smile up, despite the lack of words on the demon’s part, but he was definitely a little intimidated by the huge creature. He hadn’t been attacked, though, and if he had to guess, this was almost definitely the demon bound to the miracle stone he was carrying…and there was only one reason he’d be here without this creature attacking if that was the case. He shook his head to clear it and clasped his hands behind his back with a brave and hopeful huff. “Let me guess… You’re wanting a contract?”

The rows of teeth were exposed more as the demon’s smile widened in the shadows—flames billowing in the back of its throat. Then the creature withdrew farther into the darkness, obscuring it completely while Riven waited patiently for it to explain.

Another pause, and then the demon uttered another deep growl as it raised a hand toward him. In an instant, a scroll of purple miasma exploded and unfurled in front of Riven—words being written out in red flames across the miasmic parchment at incredible speed.

Azmoth? That was his name? Well, the contract was very, very to the point. It didn’t have anything Riven could pick out that rang any alarm bells. There wasn’t any reason to say no. According to Athela, contracts with summoners were a way for demons to become more powerful without any actual danger to themselves, so perhaps that’s all this really was—a win-win situation.

An irritated grunt from the darkness caused him to look back over his shoulder. He chuckled at the demon’s obvious urgency as he went over its offer…but then took a serious and hard look at the harpy back in the image. His smile faded, and his fists clenched.

“I know why you’re approaching me now, of all times—a little late, if you ask me. But why would I say anything but yes? You have yourself a deal, Azmoth. It’s nice to make your acquaintance, and hopefully I’m not dead by the time you get there.”

Riven hit the Yes for acceptance, and the purple miasma of the contract faded.

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