Even I, with all my centuries of mastery, could not change my nature so completely.
No...
No one is supposed to be able to do such a thing.
This creature... it was performing the impossible.
It was as if a mortal could rearrange their organs at will—putting their heart where their lungs should be.
Such things did not happen. Such things could not happen.
Yet, here it stood, defying every natural law.
And then, the audacious mutt attacked me once more. Its blackened hair flared, and arcs of dark lightning licked the barren earth.
Its eyes shone with a feral intensity, as if the very spirit of defiance coursed through its veins.
Such impudence.
No matter what trick it wielded, I would put it down. And yet, for the first time in ages, my resolve was met with a strange and unsettling excitement.
*
This time, the mutt moved with unnerving speed, reacting to my strikes as if it had learned the rhythm of my attacks.
Its movements were sharp, deliberate—and worse still, it appeared as if it was absorbing the damage.
It wasn't that it endured them; it devoured them. Each hit I delivered seemed to bolster the wolf, denying me the satisfaction of dealing the wounds I intended.
Even among the Great 14 Powers of Mortal and Darkness, none had ever contended with me so effectively.
Those vaunted champions might dodge my blows, perhaps even match me in a drawn-out battle. But they lacked the absurd efficiency of this creature.
My attacks, which came from the very void of non-existence, should have been impossible to perceive—let alone counter.
And yet, this lesser being—this cur—managed it.
It wasn't even as strong as the weakest of those mighty fourteen, but its unpredictability and its bizarre ability to consume damage made it... troublesome.
The thought chafed at my pride, and a dark resolve settled within me.
Very well.
I would take this confrontation seriously.
I began targeting its blind spots, my assaults manifesting with the kind of audacity only a supreme being could muster.
I weaved through the air, a flicker at the edge of perception, striking where its defenses faltered. And though the mutt maintained its pace, I saw it—the faint cracks in its form.
Its breathing had quickened, and its limbs moved a fraction slower. Its defenses, once near impenetrable to me, began to slip.
Heh. It was tiring.
Ah, yes. It was battling me.
It was only a matter of time.
I saw my chance—a sliver of an opening at it side.
With a will of steel, I manifested at its flank, my fist already in motion. The wind bowed to the force of my strike, a certain promise of annihilation.
BAMMM!
A sickening crunch resounded through the desolate wasteland. But sadly, it was not its bones that shattered.
Result: I took a devastating punch.
Pain bloomed across my face—a foreign, unwelcome sensation.
And for the first time in my life—and I've been around for four millennia—I tasted my own blood.
Blood lightly dripped from my nose.
The mutt stood firm.
But its expression mirrored my own shock, though it recovered quickly, its eyes darting around in sudden panic.
Ah... it had only just noticed.
The girl was no longer strapped to its back.
It twisted its head frantically, its wild eyes finding her a short distance away.
The scene seemed to drain the fight from it, and for a moment, we stood still, the desert wind curling around us like a noose.
Inconceivable.
Why do I need to summon more strength from my main body, just to end buzzing flies?
How had I... managed to receive such damage in a mere five minutes' fight against inferiors?
My pride howled in fury.
I, Sarvest—the very stand-in for Satanas on this cursed surface—was being toyed with. My own strength, normally sufficient to lay waste to civilizations, now felt... insufficient.
Drawing from my main body, I summoned more power.
An echo of my true form stirred, filling my vessel to the brim with ancient malice and evil cursed energy.
Shadows thickened, the air grew frigid, and the clouds seemed to darken before my presence.
It appeared I had misjudged the situation.
The girl was a problem, yes—but this wolf, this creature with the audacity to mar my flesh and shatter my pride... its future was a paradox of mystery, and I had no room for uncertainty.
It has to die.
*
My arm knit itself back together, flesh and bone reforming with a subtle crackle of dark energy. I moved to combat them again—this time, with no restraint.
But before I could close the distance—
Kling! Kling! Kling! Kling!
Four strikes, swift and surgical, landed on my head, chest, and neck. The blade—a scythe—moved with a dancer's grace and a hangman's precision. A frigid sting bit into my form, and I staggered back.
Blood.
My blood. Again.
I could feel the damage, seeping into me like poison. But it was... minor, yes, but in my current state…
That mutt's ceaseless biting at my defenses had left cracks, and that earlier punch… it still rang in my skull like a damned cursed bell.
My regeneration had only mended flesh, not the dissonance within.
But who, in the name of all unholy, dared to intervene?
I turned, slowly, my eyes narrowing against the pale light of the wasteland.
Standing between me and my prey was a pale figure cloaked in shadows, draped in a mist that reeked of death and beyond.
Her utterly pale fingers clutched a scythe two times her size, its blade gleaming with a whisper of the afterlife.
A death reaper.
A servant of Pluto, perhaps?
Or Yami?
It mattered not.
Whatever underworld overseer had sent her, they would regret it.
Sigh.
This was distasteful. A rotten turn of events.
On any other day, I would have batted her aside like a newborn rodent. But now, with my strength waning, this was a problem.
I've never found myself in this kind of position.
Before me stood three obstacles:
A wholly unworthy mutt with an ability I could not fully comprehend.
A little girl with a tale yet untold, brimming with potential and danger.
And now, a nigh god-level death reaper, poised to deliver judgment.
A lesser being would naturally have despaired.
Hmmm.
My pride bristled, but wisdom urged caution.
The wasteland stretched around us, barren and echoing, as if the world itself awaited my next move.
I needed to weigh my options with the levelheaded calculation of a serpent. One misstep and I might taste defeat—a bitter taste I had never known.
But make no mistake, I would rather consume this entire wasteland, swallow the sun, and devour the heavens before I let such a fate befall me.
The reaper raised her scythe, and as she brought it down her side, it tore the space there, opening a deep purple gate.
Was she summoning more help?
Or were they just…