Chapter 80: Shadows of Divine and Damned

Once readying himself to attack Lara again, Karlahee suddenly froze and stepped back. Then, like a caterpillar crushed underfoot, he contorted in agony.

“…Ugh!”

“What the—? Why is he acting like that…?”

Lara, as if having witnessed something unspeakable, slowly retreated. Just as she was about to slip out of the room, the door burst open and a Young Demon strode in. One of his legs was in a cast, and a smudge of green blood marred his bandaged leg.

“I sensed erratic magical energy from somewhere… Heh, I see. He’s been drinking Black Transformation Wine.”

“Black Transformation Wine?”

Uncertain of what was unfolding, Lara watched as the Young Demon extended his hand to point at a bottle—the very same drink Rahi had downed earlier.

“This is the finest wine enjoyed solely by the Demon Realm aristocracy, heh. It’s infused with magic; it poses no threat to demons but would be fatal to an ordinary human if gulped down… heh-heh.”

“Don’t beat around the bush—speak up quickly!”

“A human body is too weak a vessel for such magic. Heh… the magical surge will soon spiral out of control.”

“Then what will happen to Rahi?!”

“…He’ll be consumed by the magic. Heh.”

Before the Young Demon could finish speaking, a sphere of black energy began coalescing around Rahi. That accursed orb—Lara glared at it with bitter, icy eyes—as it enclosed Rahi, who floated in midair, curled upon himself.

“He’s not going to strip down in there, is he…?”

“Maybe you’ve seen too many transformation stories. Heh, heh-heh.”

“No, our lord used to appear completely naked in there!”

“The only way to halt the magic’s rampage is for the host to regain his senses. Heh-heh. Magic naturally dominates its host’s mind… so if he comes to his senses, the magic will seep out on its own.”

‘What a diversion…’

Lara’s eyes hardened further. At that moment, a powerful gust of wind swept around the dark orb, quickly infusing Rahi’s body with swirling energy.

* * *

“Kraaaargh!”

Deep within a temple’s underground depths—a hidden torture chamber where agonized cries echoed relentlessly—the dank air was heavy with the stench of blood, making it nearly impossible for the faint-hearted to last even five minutes.

There, three figures stood: a demon chained to a chair, the Pope with his neatly braided blonde hair—an odd sight in this grim setting—and the silver-haired Saint Elina V.

“I’ll ask again.”

The Pope, standing before the bound demon, demanded,

“How do we reach the Demon Realm?”

“…Heh, I don’t have any useful information to hand over to a pathetic human wretch like you. Heh-heh.”

“Then what can we do?”

Mikhail smiled helplessly as, even before the demon could register his twisted smirk, pain struck. A line of Sacred Power shot straight from his navel and slammed into the demon’s ruptured knee.

“Aaaaargh! Ugh…!! Aaah!!”

Ignoring the demon’s shrieks, Mikhail unleashed his Sacred Power. After all, he’d donned that crop top with purpose. Splashes of green blood spattered on his exposed midriff.

“I’ve had enough mercy. Speak up and tell me how to get to the Demon Realm—now.”

Mikhail gazed down at the demon, who emitted a pained groan with his shattered left knee. There was not an ounce of compassion in his icy stare.

Before Mikhail could unleash more power, Saint Elina V stepped in.

“Enough! Continue using your Sacred Power like this, and the divine authority bestowed upon you by God will soon vanish.”

“I know that all too well, Saint—so don’t get in my way.”

“Then why go this far?”

Saint Elina V couldn’t fathom his reasoning. Typically, if the Male Lead were in peril, the Female Lead would reveal some hidden, transformative charm. Unless she had become the Demon King’s bride, there was no justification for such extreme measures when he was right beside her.

Perhaps reading her confusion, Mikhail adopted the gentle mien of the affable Pope, his soft smile tinged with something eerie.

“I grew tired of pretending to be the kind Pope. This cursed Sacred Power has left me with congenital illness, and I’ve grown sick of it. I wouldn’t mind if it all just disappeared.”

“Are you serious…?”

“Yes. Still, such formidable power should at least serve a purpose in my life.”

No sooner had Mikhail infused his power than a burst of white light erupted from his navel. It shattered the orb binding the demon, while the surrounding magical energy condensed into a thin, gleaming blade that darted toward Mikhail’s neck.

In an instant, a cut grazed his nape, and his unkempt light-golden hair cascaded aside as the wound deepened.

“Resisting until the bitter end…”

Mikhail grimaced as scalding pain flared along his neck, soon followed by a chilling numbness in his lower abdomen.

“Kch.”

He had overexerted himself. Though he realized he’d pushed past his limits, he felt no dampness—rather, a refreshing cleanliness akin to the calm after a morning change.

‘Could it be… it’s finally over?’

It seemed that the infinite Sacred Power once bestowed on him had finally been exhausted.

All the discomfort of summer, the hassle of constant garment changes, the worry over lingering odors, and even being unable to visit the pool or sea—everything ended today. The boundless Sacred Power that tormented him, along with his lifelong ailment, vanished as soon as his body’s resilience gave out.

A thrilling sense of liberation surged through Mikhail. It felt almost unjust that a lifetime spent suffering to maintain his sanctity might finally be rewarded.

Then it happened. As the demon’s final, desperate cry faded away, streams of magical energy began drifting from its body—flowing straight toward Mikhail through his wounded flesh.

“…What is this.”

Saint Elina V stared in disbelief as vast quantities of magical energy were absorbed through his wounds. Simultaneously, the cut at his neck began healing at an alarming rate.

“Kch…! My heart…”

“Your Holiness!”

Mikhail collapsed to his knees on the cold floor, clutching his left chest tightly. His bosom—by any measure, at least a 75C if such things mattered—was strained in his grasp.

Saint Elina V’s worried eyes locked onto him.

“It seems the magical energy has concentrated in your left chest. We must extract it immediately, or your heart will endure further strain…”

“Wait a moment… kch. Please, do nothing…”

“But if you keep this up, your life is at risk…”

“…No, it’s fine…I can hold on.”

Though his heart burned as if ablaze, Mikhail resolutely rebuffed Saint Elina V’s attempts to save him.

Mikhail knew all too well that magic—the antithesis of Sacred Power—was a malevolent force. Yet whether it was Sacred Power or magic, both always surged into a host only as far as his body could contain. Had his body been unable to cope, his heart would have been utterly destroyed.

After all, pain was an old acquaintance. He preferred his heart to suffer rather than his bladder. That, somehow, felt more right.

Gradually, as equilibrium returned, the pain faded and a serene calm began to envelop him.

“Your Holiness…?”

Saint Elina V called out to the man lying prone on the floor. As she stepped nearer, a sudden gust tousled a cascade of silver hair nearby.

With her long lashes brushing her hair, she closed her eyes for a moment. When the wind subsided and she opened them again, a colossal portal had materialized before her—astonishingly, a gateway to the Demon Realm.

And just beneath the portal, the very Mikhail who had collapsed moments before nonchalantly sat up. He slowly raised his head, his eyes opening from beneath his disheveled, light-golden hair.

“Looks like this power’s still with me.”

His blood-red eyes mirrored the world beyond the portal.

* * *

On a night cloaked in utter darkness, a man slipped through the rear gate of the Duke Liniat Family estate.

A tall figure, dripping dark, inky water, stepped inside with his entire body stained pitch black. Clad in filth and repulsive grime, his once radiant golden hair had long succumbed to a dark, tarnished hue.

“Ah… I want more.”

A sly, predatory smile pulled at his lips. As he wandered down a long corridor, his crazed eyes locked onto a maid.

“I’m feeling restless… Come on, over here.”

The maid, carrying a basket piled high with laundry, dropped it at the sound of his deep, commanding voice as a massive hand suddenly smothered her face.

“Once you taste it, you can’t escape its snare… I want more. More, much more…!”

“Eek!”

Horrified by the sticky substance that instantly covered her face, the maid toppled backward. Her piercing scream reverberated off the ceiling—it was unmistakably the work of a nefarious Satan.

Despite her fears of scorched flesh or peeled skin, her face remained unscathed; only, the substance soon began to drip feebly from it.

“Pah, pah.”

As the maid spat out the slimy black matter, the dim corridor was suddenly illuminated. Servants and the head maid rushed out.

“What’s going on here?!”

The head maid glared at the two figures standing in the middle of the corridor—one a novice maid freshly arrived, the other someone she recognized all too well.