Death Heir's Devouring System
Chapter 40: The Taint Grows

Chapter 40: The Taint Grows

"A whole flock," he muttered, counting five Ashfeathers soaring through the sky, their crimson eyes locked onto his figure.

It was far from ideal to be attacked by several abominations at once, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice. It was bound to happen sooner or later — and if so, it was better the battle took place on his own terms.

Acting like their kin, the Ashfeathers dipped low in unison, cutting a smooth arc as they accelerated.

Azrael gripped his scythe tightly in anticipation.

Then he moved.

He dashed to the left, his scythe already flaring through the air, its edge tracing a deadly arc meant to sever everything in its path.

The first two monsters missed him by a large margin, the third and fourth by a hair’s breadth. But the last one was quite unfortunate. Due to its blinding speed, it wasn’t able to change course or slow down in time. As a result, it flew straight into Azrael’s strike.

[Corrupt soul has been devoured. The taint in your soul grows darker.]

He didn’t pay much attention to the words of the system. The instant he confirmed his foe was dead, he turned.

The remaining four abominations were already descending on him from behind.

Relaxing his knees, he dropped to the ground. His hair ruffled as the monsters passed right over him.

’It’s good that these things are not the smartest in the bunch. If they were to attack me from more than one angle, I would be screwed,’

When they attacked for the third time, he called forth Mother Needle once more, managing to stab one of the monsters in the stomach.

[You have devoured a Remembrance: Ashfeather]

A subtle smile tugged at his lips, pleased with the gain. But he didn’t let himself get distracted.

One by one, the birds fell, staining the ashen sand with their blood.

Azrael was left standing, surrounded by the corpses of several abominations.

"Would using the Teapot to take a bath or shower work?" he muttered, seeing his bloodied figure. He had yet to be injured, so he didn’t think of using the cigar for its healing capabilities.

Taking a glance at his system, he stared at the Remembrance. Just like he had been told, there appeared three options under it: Purification, Absorption, and Submission Ritual.

’I will deal with this later. First comes raising my Corruption,’ he thought, waiting for another flock to appear.

Thanks to the fresh corpses around him, another flock arrived before long. Azrael dispatched them, leaving the last one alive.

He took a brief glance at his Corruption:

Corruption Progression: [90/100] _{f r\eew,eb novel.c(o)(m)}

Despite being at 90, he didn’t feel any kind of drawbacks — most likely due to his high Purity.

’Last one,’ his eyes narrowed, seeing the last Ashfeather shoot toward him like an arrow.

Since he had grown somewhat used to the way these things moved and fought, he was able to predict its trajectory — his slash going right for the being’s neck. A second later, it was beheaded.

Corruption Progression: [100/100]

[The Corrupted power in your soul has reached full saturation.]

[Evolution commencing...]

"Of course," he groaned, collapsing to his knees. Unlike with his Purity, Corruption didn’t wait for him to be ready.

’Had it not been for Seraphina before, I would have gone mad for sure,’ he mused, trying to think of something else other than the inhuman pain.

This wasn’t like when he was evolving his Purity. There wasn’t black matter to be cleansed from his body. Instead, his veins turned pitch black as the Corruption rooted deeper into every fiber of his being.

However, with the pain came the power. His physical appearance didn’t change, but his abilities sure did. He was becoming stronger, faster... as well as more unpredictable and unstable.

Once the process was done, Azrael’s eyes locked onto his Corruption:

Corruption Rank: [Twisted]

Corruption Progression: [0/100]

Corruption Description: [A taint resides in your soul. Your mind has yet to submit... for now.]

’So from now on, Warped abominations will not increase my Corruption Progression, while Twisted ones would do so only by one,’

Skill: [Blood Manipulation]

Skill Rank: [Twisted (Tied)]

"This better be worth it," he muttered, taking a few steps toward the blood spilled on the ashen sand.

He extended his hand and willed for the skill to work. The veins on his forehead bulged as the blood slowly began to move, trying to form into shape. Sadly, however, after a second the connection was cut, and it fell to the ground.

’Maybe it’s better if I use my own blood?’ He theorized, making another cut on his finger since the last had long disappeared thanks to his improved healing capabilities.

Just as he thought, his own blood was significantly easier to control. He was able to shape it into a very small dagger, no longer than his finger, and hurled it.

"This can make weapons alright," he hardened the blood to seal the cut — not wanting to lose more than necessary.

With his gains secured, he shot forward toward the closest tower.

Just before the sun dipped behind the horizon, he was able to enter. The first thing he did was make sure there was no enemy around or in the tower.

After this, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"Activate Submission Ritual."

The second he willed to enter the Remembrance, he found himself in a black void — standing on a seamless, endless even ground.

There was nothing in sight: no mountain, sky, sun, or darkness. It was both unnatural and eerie.

The only thing before him was the Ashfeather, which had opened its beak to let out a screech before ascending in the sky.

Azrael flicked his finger several times, but not a single one of his items appeared.

’Well, that is to be expected,’

There was a reason he didn’t feel the slightest bit worried. When someone entered a Submission Ritual, their consciousness was transported to another realm. Which meant that no matter what injuries they sustained there, they would have no impact on their real body or mind. As long as a Chosen was able to defeat the being they had challenged to a duel, they would be considered victorious — whether the battle was a close call or a complete annihilation.

And battles where he didn’t have to worry about his well-being were his favorite, he could go all out without having to think about the consequences.

Without hesitation he bit his left arm and used his teeth to tear a chunk of it, making a large wound from which blood began to fall.

"Making a scythe is still too hard, sadly."

His blood obeyed his command. It began to move, reshaping itself into a menacing dagger. The moment the blade solidified, it became clear that its sharpness wasn’t inferior to any forged blade.

"Hey," Azrael exhaled, taking a step forward, meeting the abomination that was flying toward him like a missile with hatred in its eyes.

"I’ve always wanted to fly, and taking into account where I’m stuck right now, I’ll need that ability more than ever."

A subtle smile appeared on his face.

"So it’s time to make you mine."