Dark Parasyte
Chapter 61: The Duke’s Lessons

Chapter 61: The Duke’s Lessons

Corvin’s days were passing in relative ease and rare relaxation, though the ease was usually dependent on one variable: whether or not Valyne decided to invade his schedule. But today, for the most part, was peaceful. The sky was clear, painted in soft blues, and the ravens above the valley flew in wide, lazy circles, their caws echoing like lazy chimes.

In the formal dining hall, Corvin sat alone, enjoying a rare occasion: a perfectly seared steak, tender and rich, paired with something far more exotic, Ranch Sauce.

Yes, Ranch. Of all things.

It had taken days of experimentation, some tragically bad tastings, and more than a few maids who were convinced he had lost his mind. But he’d done it. The flavor was smooth and tangy, creamy with a hint of herbs. It reminded him of something faint and distant from his former life, a taste that should’ve been forgotten, comforting, absurd, and strangely personal.

He didn’t often take joy in such small things, but in this moment, he was almost... satisfied.

That was, until the door opened and trouble in the form of Valyne entered.

She walked like she owned the world, her long silver blonde hair in a braid that danced over one shoulder, robes clinging to her curves in all the wrong ways to be ignored. She didn’t speak immediately. Instead, her eyes went straight to his plate.

She approached slowly, stopping just short of the table, her gaze narrowing at the sauce.

Corvin, already cutting a slice, gave her a sideways glance. Without a word, he extended the fork toward her.

She accepted it without comment.

Dipping the slice into the sauce, she brought it to her lips. Cherry red, soft and plump. He had to look away for a second as she bit in and chewed thoughtfully.

Then, her eyes widened, shining like twin still lakes under moonlight.

"What is this?" she asked breathlessly.

"Ranch," he replied, deadpan.

"Ranch? What sort of cursed name... give me another bite."

Instead, Corvin stood silently, stored both the sauce and the steak to his inventory with a single gesture, and turned on his heel.

"Hey!" Valyne called. "You arch devil of an Elf!"

He kept walking, silent.

"I swear, I will find a Space Mage with higher affinity than Kaelyn and learn to create my own storage space! Do you hear me?!" Her voice echoed through the corridor.

"I will steal all the ’barn’ sauce from this bird perched castle! Every drop of it!"

Corvin stopped mid step, turned slowly, and walked back to her. Each step deliberate. His gaze unreadable.

Valyne stiffened as he closed the distance. She lifted her chin instinctively, but the moment he leaned in, her breath hitched. Their noses nearly touched.

Her voice faltered into silence.

He lifted a single finger to the corner of her mouth, wiping away a small smear of ranch. The moment stilled.

Corvin brought the finger to his lips and tasted the sauce.

His eyes locked with hers, cool and intense.

"I’ll teach you Space Magic," he said, voice low, "if you promise to stop this ridiculous behavior."

Valyne blinked. Once. Twice.

Her pulse thrummed louder than she liked. His scent was clean, snow and pine and his presence overwhelming. Elves were known for their grace, their aloof beauty, but Corvin was something else. Larger than life. Stronger than sense. As breathtaking as the moons over the high forests.

And he... he was looking at her.

She swallowed. "What if I promise... to consider it?"

Corvin tilted his head. "Then I will consider giving you back the sauce."

She narrowed her eyes. "Cruel. Absolutely cruel."

"Queen of Dramatic Reactions," he replied.

Valyne crossed her arms, flustered but trying to mask it with a scowl. "Fine. But only because the sauce is tasty."

"That’s a start."

Just then, Kaelyn popped her head into the hall from the side door. "Are you two.. oh. I see. Romantic kissing situation."

Corvin didn’t even turn. "If you value your life, Kaelyn, don’t say another word."

Kaelyn backed away slowly. "Understood, Your raven ness."

Corvin sighed. It was going to be one of those days again.

--

The next morning arrived with a peaceful breeze curling through the upper halls of Raven’s Nest. In one of the meeting chambers quiet, sunlit, and comfortably furnished with tapestries and crystal candleholders. Valyne was already seated and prepared. Two notebooks were stacked neatly in front of her, quills ready. Her back was perfectly straight, her expression carved in focus.

It was the first of their private lessons.

Corvin entered the room a moment later, half expecting to see her pacing and agitated. Instead, she looked... calm. Suspiciously calm.

That calm, however, didn’t last long.

Just as he was about to speak, the door slammed open with theatrical flair.

"Wait!" Kaelyn burst in, breathless and slightly disheveled, a smudge of ink across one cheek and scrolls spilling from her bag. "You can’t have space magic lessons without me!"

Valyne blinked slowly. "And the reason for that?." She asked.

"I’m an actual space mage," Kaelyn answered, planting her hands on her hips. "I need these lessons more than you do."

Valyne tilted her head, gaze half lidded, unimpressed. Then, to Corvin’s surprise, she simply nodded. "Fair enough."

Corvin exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "What is happening to my castle..."

The women took their seats, each with a notebook open, ready, and gazes fixed on him like hawks. Not the bloodthirsty kind, but the academically aggressive kind.

A pair of elven grey eyes, another pair of vibrant azure blue.

He cleared his throat. "Right. Let’s begin."

He lifted his hand, conjuring a thin, glimmering strand of space magic along his fingertip. It shimmered faintly, like a filament drawn from starlight, woven tight with impossible delicacy. The thread hummed softly, vibrating in tune with the ambient flow of magic around them.

"This," he began, "is the foundation. A simple thread. Space isn’t about brute force, it’s about weaving reality itself, bending distances, reshaping flow. Think of it like embroidery on the fabric of existence. If you force it, you’ll collapse the thread. If you hesitate, it will vanish."

They both nodded, visibly intrigued.

"The trick," Corvin continued, pacing slowly, "is to feel the void. Not the absence of something, but the presence of possibility. Space is an unfinished sentence. You’re deciding how it ends."

Kaelyn’s fingers fluttered in the air, already trying to mimic the thread. Her first attempt fizzled. The second wobbled like wet parchment. The third was passable, slightly crude, but stable.

"Much better," Corvin noted. "More intention, less force."

Valyne, on the other hand, stared at her palm with furrowed brows. Nothing happened. No shimmer, no flicker. She tried again. And again.

"It’s like trying to catch smoke with a fork," she muttered through clenched teeth.

Corvin moved beside her. "You’re trying too hard. Let go of the structure. Space doesn’t follow form. It follows intent. You’re not commanding, it’s a conversation."

He gently took her hand in his, palm upward. Her skin was warm, her pulse steady despite her visible tension. Corvin’s other hand formed the thread again. Graceful, elegant, soft in its luminance.

"Feel this, feel the aether shaping." he said softly. "Don’t mimic, mirror."

Valyne’s eyes weren’t on the magic.

They were on him.

His presence was overwhelming at this distance. The quiet command in his voice, the sharp lines of his face, the faint scent that always seemed to linger on him. It made her forget the lesson for a brief moment.

"I’m trying," she said, voice quieter than intended.

"You’re overthinking," he murmured.

"You’re distracting," she shot back.

He raised a brow, amused. "That’s a new excuse."

She narrowed her eyes. "Shut up and teach."

He smirked but obliged. "Watch the aether forming the thread. Don’t force your will, lend it. Invite the weave. Let it agree to form."

Their hands moved together. Space magic trailed between their fingers like silk threads caught in moonlight. A faint pulse echoed between them. For a heartbeat, Valyne managed a flicker, a glint of potential curling at her fingertips.

Kaelyn, watching from the side with her chin resting on her palm, whispered, "This is either a spellcasting lesson or a very slow romance scroll."

Corvin didn’t react.

But inside, he acknowledged a quiet, irritating truth: Valyne truly was the epitome of Elven beauty. Regal and sharp, proud and brilliant. And worse, he was starting to notice her in ways he shouldn’t.

The way her mouth tilted when she concentrated. The way her eyes sharpened when challenged. The way she burned so vividly in a world full of ash.

Valyne, meanwhile, stared at the flickering thread on her palm, newly conjured. For the first time in years, she felt like an apprentice again. Not because she lacked skill, but because he had shown her something deeper than technique, something primal.

"Again," she whispered, not looking at him.

Corvin’s smirk deepened.

"Good. Again."

--

While romance simmered gently within the quiet halls of Raven’s Nest, another storm howled elsewhere, far to the southeast, beyond the molten ridges and sulfurous skies of Nefrath. There, blood didn’t just stain the ground, it sizzled into steam, fed the soil, and painted the air red. The screams of the fallen echoed against obsidian cliffs, carried on winds thick with the stench of brimstone and scorched ambition.

The battlefield was a cratered ruin of screaming stone and charred bone. Towering corpses of once proud demons lay broken, their jagged crowns shattered, black ichor leaking from ruined eyes. Carved spires of bone jutted from the ground where once thrones stood. The sky overhead cracked with purple lightning, illuminating the slaughter below in violent pulses.

In the center of the devastation stood Ravathos the Grey.

He knelt amid the carnage, horns slick with gore, his chest rising and falling in slow, victorious rhythm. His wings were scorched and torn, yet still flexed with arrogant strength. In his clawed hands, he held the still warm heart of a Dark Sovereign. The fifth he’d slain since the conflict began. Ravathos sank his teeth into the pulsing organ without ceremony, chewing through flesh and malice alike.

With every bite, his body absorbed the raw hatred, ambition, and power of his defeated kin. Each chew filled his veins with searing flame, blackening his soul and deepening the cracks of his obsidian flesh. He devoured not just the flesh, but the sin. The essence of another demon swam in his blood now, tangled with greed, wrath, and pride. The very fuel of ascension.

Around him, lower ranked demons dared not approach. They lingered at the edges of the battlefield, watching with wide, fearful eyes as Ravathos consumed.

Behind him, the shattered remains of Korvath’s latest conquest smoldered. The great Archdemon had ’allowed’ his two Demon lords to have the hands after keeping the body to himself.

Ravathos did not complain.

He never did.

As the final bite slid down his throat, a shudder passed through him. Bones lengthened. Shoulders widened. Horns grew darker, thicker, more jagged. Flames erupted briefly from the sockets of his eyes, casting demonic runes into the scorched earth around him.

He rose slowly, savoring the weight of his evolution. The ground cracked beneath his feet, groaning under his growing presence.

He was no longer a Dark Sovereign.

He was the newest Demon Lord of Nefrath.

Lightning lanced across the sky above, painting the clouds in crimson light. The air thickened around him, pressure shifting as if the realm itself acknowledged his transformation.

Ravathos smiled, a cruel thing, all jagged teeth and blood slicked joy. His maw dripped black blood and the scent of death lingered to him.

He turned his gaze northward, toward the invisible line that divided demonkind from the rest of the world.

"Oh... shadow spawn," he murmured to the burning air, voice low with something between affection and hunger. "How I wish you were here to enjoy the carnage. To see me rise, and feel the madness you’ve created."

His eyes flared with unnatural light. In the distance, one of the lesser demon commanders fell to his knees from the weight of the aura now pouring off Ravathos in waves.

Above him, ash rained down like snow, slow and quiet.

In Nefrath, it was a good day.