Chapter 556: Planned
“You do not know for what you ask,” Sievan said. Unlike every other sound, Sievan’s words did not vanish into the endless void surrounding the obsidian platform they stood on. Every one of his words echoed through the air, commanding attention with the presence of a king. “You seek to steal from those whose power eclipses yours like a mountain to a grain of sand.”
Wizen’s lips pulled back in a cold smile. Sticky, who stood several feet behind him, swallowed nervously as Wizen met Sievan’s gaze without flinching.
“The more I am told that something is impossible to attain, the more convinced I become that it isn’t. There is a manner in which a soul can be returned to life. I know it. I have seen records of it, spawned from the existence of your own followers.”
“There is a difference between preventing a soul from passing on and retrieving one from what waits beyond,” Sievan said, crossing his arms behind his back. “They are not one and the same.”
“But it is possible. Not once have you said otherwise,” Wizen said. The key in his hand hummed with crimson energy and he pointed it at the Demon Lord. “It would be a trivial matter for you to open the path. I would prefer it that way, but I have brought sufficient power to challenge even you.”
“Yes,” Sievan said, his head tilting to the side in observation. “I know of the artifact you bear. The power does not belong to you.”
“It does not,” Wizen agreed. “But I wield it, nonetheless. It seems our paths were already set. If you will not do what I ask, then I will take the power to do it myself. Step back, girl.”
Sticky glanced nervously from Wizen to Sievan. She swayed slightly in place, then pressed a hand to her chest and winced. She slunk back a step, moving closer to the edge of the platform and farther from the rising tension in the air, and sank down, hugging her knees to her chest.
The air around Wizen’s key thrummed. Runic pressure exploded around Wizen with such force that the obsidian beneath him shattered. Large fragments of it snapped up around him and were lifted into the air, taking flight as they were caught up in a building maelstrom of power surrounding the mage.
Claws of crimson light cut through the air and crawled into Wizen’s arm, biting deep into his flesh. His veins burned with energy and Wizen’s teeth ground in pain.
Sievan made no move to stop Wizen. The demon watched on in complete silence, his expression no different than it had been moments ago. It was impossible to tell if he was even watching Wizen.
Wind howled through the void and Wizen lifted into the air. The inside of his body lit with brilliant flashes of red lightning that ripped out through his skin and filled the air with their buzzing energy.
Pressure roiled off Wizen. Loud cracks rang out as more of the obsidian beneath him shattered, but the power was entirely contained within a ten-foot sphere around Wizen, not so much as getting close to touching Sticky or Sievan.
Wizen lifted a hand. Molten red whips of energy lashed across the ground and twisted around him like the tendrils of a burning eldritch being.
“You do not fear my magic,” Wizen said. His words boomed through the void and bolts of red lightning slipped free from his tongue and curled up around the sides of his face like smoke as he talked.
“No,” Sievan replied. “I do not fear you, Woven Man. There is only one thing in life that I fear, and it is not you.”
“Then you are a fool.”
Wizen brought his hands down. Red tendrils shot forward.
They seemed to carve through reality itself. Jagged cracks raced out around them, sending brilliant white light spilling in from a void beyond.
Sievan lifted a hand.
The energy vanished before it could reach him. Reality mended itself with a pop, returning to the same state it had been instants before.
“To you, I am Death,” Sievan said softly. “Are you certain you wish to do this? Snuffing one lesser than me does not bring any satisfaction. It is a waste of what could be a worthy end.”
“There is no worthier end than this,” Wizen replied, his voice as cold as ice. “And you have not witnessed the full extent of my strength.”
Black smoke poured forth from the sky and formed into a massive palm the size of a three-story building. It crashed down on Wizen, who thrust his own palm upward. White energy ignited at his palm.
A brilliant crack split through the air as their magic connected. There was a brilliant flash — and Sievan’s magic evaporated.
Power roared all around Wizen and tore through the stage around him, but it continued to keep a wide berth from Sticky, who watched on in awe, eyes wide, lips parted in disbelief.
A mortal was holding his own against the Lord of Death.
“You wield powers that are too great for you to control,” Sievan said. “You grow closer to my domain, Woven Man. It is not too late for you to spend what you have left.”
“I have already spent it,” Wizen snarled. He brought his hands together with a loud clap. Jagged white lightning tore out through the air from between his palms, swirls of black flame and gray energy twisting within it.
The strange magic slammed into Sievan and launched the Archdemon off his feet with an earthshaking explosion. There was only a brief instant for Sievan to look surprised before he vanished into the void.
Sticky’s mouth dropped fully open. “You did it?”
“No,” Wizen replied. “Not yet. He still does not view me as an opponent.”
“Because you are not one.” Sievan’s voice echoed through the darkness. Streamers of black smoke poured out from the darkness and onto the stage. The Demon Lord’s body reformed. Smoke curled off his chest, and a tiny white crack glistened on his stomach where Wizen’s magic had hit him. “And you do not attempt to be one. You have only utilized a small portion of your strength, even as your body crumbles.”
“I’m saving the rest for something more important,” Wizen replied. “Fight me, Sievan. In true. Let me witness your true strength, Lord of Death. Mortal I may be, but you will not be able to defeat me with anything less.”
Sievan didn’t get a chance to answer.
A thrum ran through the air.
Bright purple magic shimmered, drawing a line in the air. It expanded outward to form a large, rectangular portal. A towering demon clad in black armor stepped through the portal, a massive, chipped sword slung over his shoulder.
Wizen’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Not at the demon, but at who came after him.
A woman with bright red hair and green robes.
A demon girl whose hands ended in slight claws — claws that Wizen had felt wrapped around his own wrist just a short time ago, back in the mortal realm.
And, after them, a man with a huge grimoire slung over his shoulder.
Wizen’s skin prickled. It was the other wielder of Weave.
Impossible. Sievan planned for this?
“Ah,” Sievan said with a satisfied smile. “It seems the rest of our guests have arrived. Now we can get started.”