The Demon Against The Heavens - 225 The Slave Seal

Helial’s body lay on an expanse of blackened earth. In several places, the force of the blow had reduced the rocks to sand, and the excessive heat had melted the sand and turned it into glass.

Helial’s back rested on a rounded glass spike.

Without even the strength to use his neck muscles, he moved his eyes to the lower part of his body. He couldn’t hold a moan of pain

A leg. His left leg had been blown off by of the blow he had received.

But he felt the lack of something else. A tingling in his left biceps made his eyes move towards his ar… his left arm was gone too.

Practically half of his body had been destroyed by Pseudonym’s attack. A gurgling of blood reached his throat. He wasn’t sure, but he had the impression that his face had also been partially destroyed.

The mere fact that he was still conscious was a miracle in itself.

Blood covered the ground and what was left of the rocks.

With a cough, Helial vomited a lump of blood.

Now, he had had the demonstration of Pseudonym’s true strength.

When the armour had launched his attack, both had reached the Late stage of the Fourth Phase. So it could be said that the only thing that decided the fight was their knowledge of their own Skills.

Although someone might have argued that Helial’s training had been shorter, since he was younger than Pseudonym, he knew that this was not the case.

Helial had lived another life thanks to Alexander and had trained several times with Iblis, the greatest Devil ever existed in the whole universe.

Logically, Helial should have far exceeded Pseudonym, once they were both at the same Phase.

Still, he had discovered, all too violently, that this was not the case.

As Helial reflected bitterly on his end, a shadow took shape from the ash clouding the rest of the plain. But … until a few minutes before, Helial was sure of it, there had been hills around them. The clash between the two monsters had completely transformed the territory within a radius of kilometres.

Pseudonym’s armour emerged from the sand cloud, torn in several places. Even before Helial could think of being able to discover the identity of Pseudonym, steel began to reform, to join and to cover every inch of skin. It seemed to have a life of its own.

A huge vertical gash stretched from Pseudonym’s hip to just below his neck. The legend of Orma had defeated Helial in an overwhelming way, but he too had suffered a considerable injury. The black armour barely made it possible to distinguish the bloodstains, but his slow gait was a demonstration of the damage he had received.

Pseudonym’s steps were light and imperceptible, but limping. Only the rattling of his armour betrayed his presence.

There were no flames anymore, nor did the terrifying Aura come from his body anymore. It was as if he were a normal person, without even a hint of Mana.

Coming close to Helial, he saw his opponent’s dismembered body. Helial’s bowels spilled out of his body, falling to the ground.

The hideous and bloody scene did not shake Pseudonym at all, and he kept staring Helial in the eye.

Behind the armour, Helial perceived a gaze capable of penetrating the recesses of his soul.

“Twenty-four hours won’t be enough to recover, I’m afraid,” laughed Helial, before bursting into a coughing fit.

He coughed several times, pouring blackish blood on his coat, already impregnated with blood.

Once he died, he would have 24 hours during which he could have been brought back to life. And not only that: if in that time he had been killed again, he would no longer have had the chance to be brought back to life. Below Immortality, one could only die once every 24 hours, provided that residues of his body remained.

Furthermore, the extent of the damage decided how long it would take for a full recovery. Even once resurrected, Helial would have had to spend several days stabilizing his Aura and clearing up his Mana to avoid developing further damage in the future.

If he had not concentrated on making his foundations stable and solid, once he had advanced in level he would have risked going the wrong way. Above all Helial, who was walking on a unique Way and who was exploring it for first, had to be very careful not to deviate and not be tempted by benefits useful only in the short term.

Pseudonym looked at Helial’s equipment and frowned. Everything was completely destroyed, except for two things. It seemed that Helial’s crown was glued to his head and had not suffered any damage; it was still rusty, but whole. Even the cloak, which Pseudonym imagined would burn, had not caught even a grain of dust since the beginning of the clash.

How is it possible that the crown is still intact? And shouldn’t the cloak have been torn to shreds? Murmured the black-armoured warrior to himself.

Helial slowly raised an arm towards Pseudonym, the only arm left. He held out his hand slightly and turned his gaze to the enemy who had defeated him.

“I have the feeling that our lives will be tied for a long time,” laughed the young man, trying to use his last breaths to say something meaningful.

But the breathing became more and more laboured. With all his strength, Helial raised his arm again and motioned for Pseudonym to grab his hand.

Watching the trembling hand, Pseudonym quickly reached out before Helial’s arm fell to the ground. He squeezed it very hard.

A satisfied smile was hidden under Pseudonym’s black helmet. No one had ever given him so many problems, especially someone from a lower Phase than his own. Not even the direct descendants of Orma’s strong powers were able to pose a threat to him. Yet this little boy, appeared out of nowhere, had made him feel alive again.

The helmet bent slightly, in a sign of assent and respect. His opponent had remained alive even after receiving the blow of Black Sun, it was practically a miracle!

Lately, Pseudonym feared having reached a bottleneck in his cultivation. Having no noteworthy opponent, he felt he was alone on the summit and could not go higher. Once he became the best, the strongest, he was facing stagnation.

“There is no best one, there is who makes himself better,” said Helial looking at Pseudonym’s dark helmet.

With a handshake, the two signed a pact of friendship and rivalry.

A few dozen meters away were Lumia, Circe, Snowflake and the others. Pseudonym’s devastating blow had destroyed all the vegetation, had even eliminated the hills, but they were still alive. Iblis had shielded them with his immense power.

The scene of Pseudonym holding the hand of a mauled Helial was something truly touching. Even if only for a moment, they too had been able to perceive Pseudonym’s bottomless loneliness finally losing consistency.

The mist surrounding the legendary figure of Orma’s most incredible warrior was clearing.

What had caused it was an unsettling creature that was now languishing on the once grassy ground.

A dismembered man and an armour standing in front of him were shaking hands.

The man was lying against the rounded glass spike and his face was dirty and stained with blood. Helial had already closed his eyes and his muscles were relaxing.

From the sky, a ray of light bathed his face, making his eyes open suddenly.

I almost forgot, thought Helial with his last strength.

He took a deep breath, while his deep blue eyes fixed on the black armour.

Closing his eyes again, he used his last moments to recite a formula in his mind.

In a split second, the hands of the two began to shine like a rising sun.

Pseudonym felt an electric current running through his hand, then his Meridians and finally his Soul.

He widened his eyes, not understanding what was happening. Was Helial deceiving him, attacking him with his last breath? No, it couldn’t be. He had a completely positive feeling.

Pseudonym felt a great burning sensation on the back of his hand and looked around, finally perceiving the presence of Helial’s friends.

Moving his palm quickly around him, the armour created a completely black shield, which hid him and Helial. It would be better if this remained a secret between the two of them. Now there would be no prying eye.

He let go of Helial’s arm and removed the black gauntlet, showing a pink-skinned hand with sharp fingers.

Pseudonym remembered a Helial very different from the one that was in front of him now. When the Human had arrived at Orma, he had been like a piece of ice. The Champion could not have known that after reaching the state of the Emperor and experiencing a new life thanks to Alexander, Helial had managed to change his character. Slowly, he was becoming a different person, more alive. He was coming to regain the life that had been torn away from him by Hades, who was responsible for all the suffering that his younger brother had had to endure for an entire decade.

Lying on the ground, dismembered, a happy smile rested on the face of Helial, who had already closed his eyes and seemed finally at peace.

Helial’s last words had touched the strings of Pseudonym’s heart. Although the latter thought he was now a granite block, he felt a great weight on his heart. Those were emotions, something he hadn’t felt for a long time.

Helial let out a long sigh, and Pseudonym thought it was the last. Instead Helial whispered something else: “Save me and I will save you.”

A flash of light started from Helial’s hand and touched Pseudonym’s skin.

The Slave Seal on the skin of the legend of Orma vanished.

The Slave Seal… was gone!?

Taking off the other gauntlet, Pseudonym stroked his hands in disbelief.

He turned his head in the direction of Helial, who was no longer breathing, while a crowd of mixed feelings tore at his stomach.