Chapter 79: Torturing the Torturer Demon.
The night spread over the now destroyed Conrad’s fort, like a dark mantle.
Sin and Selene hung in the sky with a cold and serene brightness that bathed everything with a silvery and slightly green light.
Lloyd’s "office" was bathed in that light, which filtered softly through the curtains illuminating the furniture, which seemed to whisper stories of past generations: the walls were lined with dark wood, worn by years, and on them lined shelves full of books with cracked covers, rolled scrolls and ancient manuscripts whose yellowed margins testified to the passage of time.
Among them, some volumes seemed too heavy for any adult, and yet there they were, carefully ordered as if waiting for someone worthy to consult them.
Lloyd still hadn’t read all those documents, however, he couldn’t say his curiosity wasn’t piqued to discover them.
However that place wasn’t especially welcoming. It was a fort where death and torture had been daily bread for years.
Who knows what kind of atrocities had been documented there.
The floor, of cold and uneven stone, creaked slightly at the slightest movement, and the furniture’s shadows stretched capriciously under the moons’ light. A large carpet embroidered with intricate geometric patterns covered the center, cushioning steps and giving the room an air of mystery and seclusion.
On a robust table of dark wood and crossed by deep cracks, rested an object that seemed to defy logic and common sense: a demonic sword and Belial’s cell.
Its blade wasn’t smooth or perfect, but jagged and rough, as if each edge told a story of ancient battles and spilled blood. The colors dancing on its metal were strange and disturbing; reddish and orange tones mixed with dark reflections, and sometimes it seemed to emit a faint glow, as if its own essence beat with its own life.
It almost seemed the edge had absorbed the blood of its enemies during the long time Belial was locked there.
Though the truth is those colors were property of Belial’s demonic energy. An ominous energy with the sinister property of tearing and twisting its prey’s psyche.
With it he had parasitized the minds of thousands of warriors for hundreds of eras. But the cruelest side of this energy, was that in its pure state it was capable of instilling incredible pain.
A torment Lloyd himself had had to experience.
What made the scene even more disturbing were the chains holding it: Gleipnir, chains of a deep dark purple that coiled firmly around the sword, holding it tightly, though one could feel that hold wasn’t entirely secure.
Each link seemed forged with ancient power, and at the slightest carelessness, the sword could free itself and move by its own will.
Though that was only in appearance. Gleipnir was quite secure. Lloyd knew it.
While it wasn’t even the shadow of what it had become, when it was classified as a legendary artifact.
The truth is now, being a mythic artifact, it was still quite reliable as a means of restraint.
Lloyd was sitting in front of that table, a boy with dark hair that fell messily over his forehead, and green eyes that reflected Sin and Selene’s light, shining with unusual curiosity and an intelligence that made it difficult to remember him as a common child.
After all he wasn’t. He was someone who had transmigrated. Not a simple child.
His attire, black with purple details, was carefully tailored and revealed his noble status, though the way he settled in the chair, slightly hunched over the table, denoted he didn’t feel completely limited by formalities.
The room smelled of old books, waxed wood and a metallic touch mixed with burned flesh that seemed to come from the sword.
On the table, besides Belial, were disorganized documents, some with handwritten notes in dark ink, documents, incriminating records and open scrolls, as if Lloyd were in the middle of silent study.
Each object in the room seemed to have a purpose, a story or memory linked to it, and the combination of all that created a unique atmosphere.
Though what was obvious, is the importance of other mundane objects paled before the presence of the sword containing Belial.
The moons’ reflection on the sword and the shelves’ crystals generated flashes and dancing shadows covering the walls, as if the room itself breathed with its own life.
It was a place of secrets, of contained power and silences that weighed as much as the chain restraining Belial, a setting that seemed to wait for the right moment to reveal its mysteries.
The room’s stillness broke so subtly that, for an instant, it would have gone unnoticed by anyone not paying attention.
A slight tremor ran through the table’s surface, barely perceptible, as if the wood had sighed. However, it wasn’t the table. It was the sword.
At first it was a small movement, almost shy, a slight shudder that made Gleipnir’s chains clink with a dry and muffled sound.
Then came another, more intense, more decided. The links tensed, rubbing against each other with a harsh screech, while the jagged blade vibrated with an energy that didn’t seem to belong to this world.
Lloyd didn’t move. His green eyes remained fixed on the sword, attentive, expectant.
The tremor increased.
The chains tensed even more, digging against the irregular blade, as if trying to contain something pushing from within. And then it happened.
On the hilt, right where the blackened wood joined the dark metal, the surface began to deform.
It wasn’t a crack or break, but something more... organic. The texture changed, softening, twisting on itself until, little by little, it opened.
An eye.
An eye formed on the sword’s handle, moist, shiny, with a reddish iris that contracted violently upon encountering the moons’ light.
It blinked once, clumsily, as if not accustomed to existing, and then fixed on Lloyd.
The silence lasted barely a second.
"What... is this...?"
The voice didn’t come from any specific place, and yet filled the room. It was harsh, charged with irritation, with a deep nuance that seemed to drag from some dark corner.
"What the hell is this?"
The eye moved abruptly, scanning the table, the chains, the entire room, until fixing back on the child.
"Why am I tied up?" the voice spat, now louder, sharper. "Who do you think you are, damn brat? Do you know who you’re dealing with? Damn it, hadn’t I killed you???"
The chains vibrated when the sword tried to move more forcefully. The metal screeched, but didn’t yield.
"Release me right now!!! With how hard it was for me to find a host... wait, don’t tell me you... never mind!" it growled. "Tear off these chains or I swear when I’m free I’m going to tear off your skin little by little. I’ll make you suffer with my demonic energy, you’ll feel a pain that will drive you mad!"
Lloyd tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something curious rather than threatening.
He didn’t pay much attention to the sword’s babbling, and only demanded what he wanted.
"I want your true name," he said calmly.
There was a brief silence.
Then, a laugh.
It wasn’t a happy laugh, not even mocking. It was a laugh charged with contempt.
"My... true name?" the voice repeated, with a tone oscillating between incredulity and mockery. "You? A child? A disgusting half-breed? You think I’m going to give you that?"
The eye narrowed.
"You don’t even understand what you’re asking. You couldn’t even understand it! It’s not something your ear can understand."
The pressure on the chains increased again, as if the sword wanted to reaffirm its own will.
"Besides, giving my name is surrendering," it continued, with a hint of threat. "It’s becoming your pet. Your tool. Something you can use whenever you feel like it. Do you really think I’m going to yield after having spent years and years in this disgusting sword? I prefer death."
The air seemed to cool.
"Break me if you want, I prefer that to that."
Lloyd didn’t respond immediately.
His expression changed barely a bit, just enough for a slight smile to draw on his lips.
"I see."
He leaned slightly forward, resting his elbow on the table quite calmly.
"Then I suppose you leave me no other option."
The sword’s eye contracted.
"Other option...?"
Lloyd took a breath, as if about to say something important.
And then he spoke.
"Little kittens cuddled in a soft blanket, meowing softly while falling asleep..."
The effect was immediate. The sword shuddered violently.
[+50 V.P]
"What... what are you saying...?" the voice growled, suddenly tense.
But Lloyd continued, undisturbed.
"Puppies wobbling while trying to walk for the first time... their little tails wagging nonstop..."
The chains’ screeching became louder.
[+150 V.P]
"Shut up. ENOUGH! ARE YOU SICK OR WHAT? WHAT KIND OF BARBARITIES ARE YOU SAYING? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR SANITY!!!??"
"A field full of flowers under the sun, butterflies flying calmly, a warm breeze..."
[+75 V.P]
"SHUT UP! DISGUSTING! THAT’S DISGUSTING!"
The reaction was brutal.
The eye contracted until almost disappearing, trembling unnaturally. The voice, before firm and arrogant, was now charged with a repulsion hard to hide.
"Stop..." it spat, now with an exhausted tone, as if having lost strength. "Stop right now..."
Lloyd observed it calmly, almost curiously.
"Ah, it does work. It’s more fun testing it in person."
He had read about it. In that novel that was now his reality, demons couldn’t stand the "cute." It wasn’t a simple annoyance. It was something deeper, something that clashed directly with their own nature. An ontological antithesis, something that defied their nature.
Something that caused them a sensation close to the purest disgust a sane person would feel seeing gore scenes.
Like looking at something that shouldn’t exist. For them, it could even compare to what a human would feel seeing a Lovecraftian horror entity.
"I can continue," Lloyd said, with a soft voice. "I have many more descriptions."
The eye looked at him with pure hatred.
"You’re... disgusting..."
"Maybe. But it was you who dared touch MY Alice. Now, it’s fair you pay the consequences, don’t you think?"
The child’s smile didn’t disappear.
"Now tell me... What will you do?"
