The night was heavy with silence.
The moon hung low, a bloodshot sliver behind a curtain of mist. Within the stillness of the Vasco estate, Aden lay atop his bed—sheets untouched, armor discarded, breath slow but never truly relaxed. Sleep hadn't come easy since the Bastion, and tonight was no different. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling as shadows gathered in the corners of the room like whispering ghosts.
Then it came again.
The voice.
Not a scream, not a command—but a whisper threaded through the marrow of his bones.
"You've grown bolder… Vasco."
Aden sat up. The room around him had blurred at the edges. The walls stretched and melted, replaced by pulsing black stone and a deep red mist. He was no longer in the estate. He stood in a realm not bound by physical law—a pocket of wrath incarnate.
But this time, Aden had a different plan.
A throne of broken swords loomed ahead, and seated upon it was Egmund.
No longer a formless storm. No longer a snarling demon.
Tonight, he took on a more human guise—tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in black armor with crimson veins coursing through it like molten blood. His face was sharp, cruelly handsome, but eyes… those eyes burned like suns lost in their own fury.
"You called me here?" Aden asked.
Egmund tilted his head.
"I answered. There is a difference."
Aden walked forward, hands behind his back. "I've been thinking about you."
"Oh?" A deep, guttural chuckle. "Am I haunting your dreams already?"
"You fought humans before, didn't you? Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands." Aden stopped just short of the throne. "Your technique… your fury… they weren't just instinct. They were art."
Egmund's expression shifted.
Something between suspicion… and satisfaction.
"Hmph. Art," he echoed. "No one's called it that in centuries. They only see the aftermath. Blood. Screams. Fire."
"I see discipline," Aden said smoothly. "I see strategy. Showmanship. You weren't just a beast of war. You were a master of it."
The compliment hung in the air like incense.
Egmund slowly rose from the throne, towering over Aden. But for the first time, his posture wasn't predatory—it was curious.
"Most hosts beg me to sleep. You... want to talk?"
Aden shrugged. "What's the point of sharing a body with a legend if I can't learn anything?"
Egmund narrowed his eyes. "Flattery. That's a new tactic."
"Really?...," Aden smiled. "I want to see how you fought. Truly fought. The memory from the trial... wasn't enough. That was me flailing under your weight. I want to witness you."
But there was a difference, Egmund had already fallen for it.
Egmund stepped closer. The mist coiled around his legs like smoke. For a moment, the ancient wrath stirred—rising, pulsing. Then it settled again.
Egmund was over the top from hearing aden's praises.
"…Fine," Egmund said, waving a hand. "You want a show? I'll give you one."
The realm shifted.
Suddenly, they stood upon a battlefield of ash. Corpses stretched across the earth—knights, mages, beasts, and more, all mutilated beyond recognition. In the sky, fire rained like arrows. At the center of it all stood Egmund, wielding a blade too massive for mortal hands, surrounded by enemies who dared not take a step forward.
He looked like a god of war, sculpted from agony and vengeance.
Egmund turned to Aden and smirked. "Watch."
And then he moved.
What followed wasn't a battle. It was an execution.
Each swing of his blade cleaved through flesh and steel alike. He countered spells with mere growls of power, shattered barriers with stomps, and danced between strikes with inhuman grace. But most terrifying of all was the precision. Every motion served a purpose. Every movement ended a life.
When the simulation ended, they stood in silence again—back in the subrealm, surrounded by that eternal mist.
Aden let out a slow breath, eyes gleaming.
"You didn't fight like a demon," he said softly. "You fought like a king."
Egmund laughed.
A real, echoing laugh.
"Even the Demon King never said that to me," he muttered. "He called me 'dog'... 'executioner'... 'tool.' But king? Hah! You might just be mad enough to be worthy of me."
Aden stepped closer, his tone casual. "So why not join me willingly?"
Egmund blinked. "Willingly... Join you?"
Aden kept talking, as if he hadn't said anything strange. "You don't have to possess me. You don't have to fight for dominance. We could strike a pact— shared strength, shared ambition."
Egmund studied him.
Slowly.
Like a hawk watching prey that might just bite back.
"…You're smarter than you look."
"I get that a lot."
Another silence.
Then, Egmund extended his hand. Not clawed. Not monstrous. Just a hand.
"Until the day we clash again, human," he said. "We walk together."
Aden took the hand, his grip firm.
But in his mind, he was already planning.
Egmund was powerful. Old. Respected by demons, feared by men.
But in the end, he was still a tool.
Aden would use him.
Until there was no one left to stand in his way.
And if Egmund ever turned on him—
He would burn him out, just like any other parasite.
As they parted, Egmund spoke one final time:
"One day, I'll rise to challenge you again. Until then… struggle."
And Aden, smiling faintly, replied:
"Looking forward to it, partner."