Demonic Devourer's Development

In the end, I decided to screw this. Maybe the familiar ground made me bolder, but I was eager to test God of Rogues' mettle… and then decide if I got rid of enough anger to be able to negotiate with him.

I swooped in, with wind whistling in my ears and my most valuable item—the tome of magic—safely stored away from anyone's eyes in my torso. That made me less flexible, but I couldn't leave the book that was my ticket out of Hell lying anywhere away.

I was still a good distance away when the faint noise and the movement at the edge of his vision alerted the scoundrel and he forgot about his previous thoughts.

He didn't recognise me—I could tell from his face even without having to peek into his thoughts. I was just another demon for him, one that he expected to dispatch easily with a few slashes of the daggers he pulled out of their sheaths.

When I got close enough to aim, I halted my descent and sent off a volley of wind blades at him, grinning all the while. How would he deal with someone who could shoot him from afar? Even a god needed some magic to reach an opponent who flew meters above his head with a short dagger!

"Demon, you decided to come at me at a very inconvenient moment… So don't blame me for what I will do with you," God of Rogues muttered as dodged the attack with ease and grace that I found myself envying a little.

The demon sage was still as unmoving as before, but his eyes were trained on me now.

I just raised my claws for another volley, when with a speed that preceded that of his thoughts, God of Rogues threw one of his daggers straight at me. It spun in the air like a gleaming moon, forcing me to throw my next volley at it instead of the deity.

But it didn't stop the weapon. God of Rogues jerked his hand, made a motion with his fingers as if pulling for an invisible thread, and the dagger changed its trajectory mid-air, avoiding the wind blades and going straight for my neck.

'Master, I sense that there's a magic thread of sorts connected to the dagger!' Pest spoke in my head. 'He must be able to make the dagger fly in circles around you!'

Seemed like it. The dagger, after being hit by a wind blade, didn't even stop spinning. Instead, it flew in an arch, and towards my neck again. Through my mental projection, I knew, though, that decapitating me wasn't God of Rogues' plan. That would, after all, just force my soul out of my body, which in Hell meant way less than it did in the mortal realm.

No, God of Rogues wanted to sever my spinal column, rendering me completely paralysed below the neck. And all of that with a single dagger that was rapidly approaching. I didn't have time to waste on thinking longer.

In the last moment before it could reach my spine, I raised all my hands in an attempt to catch the weapon.

My orichalcum armour was not much of a barrier for the wickedly sharp metal, and neither was my viscous flesh, but there was one dagger and four arms, and they slowed it enough that I could bring down my jaws on the dagger's blade and gulp it down in a single bite.

Then I grinned again at the stunned scoundrel god. Finally, there was some recognition in his eyes. And anger. The satisfaction of seeing him understand that I just ate—ah, so apparently the daggers were made of adamant, and enchanted by Goddess of Wizards, and were a part of a set that really shone only together, and also his signature item…

That explained why it was worth so much EXP. A good million from a simple dagger!

Yeah, God of Rogues was cross with me, alright. But now he was also wary, because I was no random demon—and he just heard some very disturbing things about me. Basically, the same things that Bishop told me, in fact, but from an eyewitness.

I glanced at the serene demon sage. Who knew? Maybe I should've killed him when I took his house. Maybe it was good that I didn't attack him—if he was a supposed sage, who knew if he turned out to be more powerful than me, somehow?

My mind and memory, for some reason, tried to associate sages with powerful people, whether or not they were old.

God of Rogues didn't throw his second dagger at me while I flew closer, though he was tempted—and I knew the dagger wasn't the only thrown weapon at his disposal. I hovered a five meters away—comfortable enough for a conversation, and for pouncing.

"Devourer, I presume?" God of Rogues asked me, twirling the dagger in his hand. He stood in a relaxed pose, but it was one from which he could instantly spring into action. "I admit, this is the last place I expected to see you. Nice wings, by the way. Prettier than your previous ones. Don't fit with your muzzle much, though."

I bared my teeth in a ferocious grimace. "We both know I won't be winning any beauty contests, God of Rogues. But neither will you."

"Will I, because?" God of Rogues arched his brows. His eyes were glued to me even when he turned his head aside a little. When I didn't respond, he added, "I mean, this sounds like a half of a threat. 'But neither will you, because I will rip you apart!' or something to that extent."

"No, you don't need my help to be ugly." I cackled at my own joke, but then sobered. Mocking the scoundrel was fun, but if I kept on with this, we will just end fighting to the death.. And I wanted to use him, after all. "Fancy telling me, what's so interesting you were talking with that dried demon?"

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