His instincts roared in the back of his mind, a primal warning that the demoness standing before him was seconds away from striking. "Good instincts, but instincts alone? Tsk."
She clicked her tongue, tilting her head as if appraising him. "That will not be enough."
Oswald swallowed hard, the weight of her gaze settling over him like a shroud. His fingers twitched against his sword. What is she waiting for? If she’s gonna kill me, she should just do it already.
"You planning to talk me to death, or are you actually gonna do something?" Oswald taunted. Better to die with my head up than cowering like some gutter rat.
The Animus Spirit let out a low chuckle. "Ah… there it is, the little bite, the little fire. I like that."
In the space of a breath, darkness coiled around her outstretched hand, congealing into the shape of a blade. It was unlike any sword Oswald had ever seen, its color an abyssal black that seemed to swallow the very light around it.
Then she moved. Oswald barely registered the flicker of motion before searing agony tore through his chest. The force of the slash sent him staggering, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth as his vision swam. Before he could fully comprehend the wound, another wave of pain erupted in his stomach.
A strangled gasp escaped him as his knees threatened to buckle. His sword slipped slightly in his grip, fingers twitching as red spread across his clothes. He coughed, crimson splattering against the rippling blood-soaked ground.
The Animus Spirit tilted her head, her smirk widening as she wrenched the blade free. Oswald crumpled, his body folding as he barely caught himself on one knee.
"If this is all you can do… then you should never have come here."
Oswald coughed, tasting blood, his vision swimming at the edges. He forced his gaze upward, the world shifting, unstable. The demoness stood over him, poised, her weapon already angled for the next strike, like she had all the time in the world.
His fingers dug into the earth, wet and cold, dirt grinding beneath his nails. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs barely responded. Move, damn it. Move!
The blade descended. And then, to Oswald's surprise, time stilled.
Oswald could see every tiny motion, every shift in the demoness’s stance, the way her sword cleaved through the air with terrifying precision. The pain that had consumed him only moments before was… gone. Instead, a strange, boundless energy surged through his veins, a feeling of weightless, limitless power that thrummed through his limbs.
He had no idea how long this moment would last, but he knew what he had to do. Now or never! With a sharp inhale, Oswald tightened his grip around his sword and lunged.
His blade found its mark, plunging deep into the demoness’s neck. The sensation was almost surreal.
But the instant steel met flesh, time snapped back into motion. The demoness’s eyes widened, her lips parting in a soundless gasp as her weapon faltered, her knees buckling beneath her.
Pain soon returned. Oswald’s body convulsed as every ounce of damage he had sustained crashed over him at once. He swayed, legs screaming for relief, but he refused to collapse just yet. Can't… lose… now.
Oswald’s chest heaved, his breath rasping against the blood pooling in his lungs. His vision swam, a haze of agony and exhaustion clouding the edges, yet he forced himself to look up at the demoness. She's smiling?
Her lips curled into an expression not of pain or fear, but of amusement. Even with his sword buried in her throat, she appeared completely confident. Slowly, her fingers rose to the blade impaling her neck.
"Not bad," she murmured.
Oswald's fingers twitched against his hilt as he watched in horror. The wound that should have been fatal was closing before his very eyes, the flesh knitting itself back together in an unnatural, seamless flow. The next second, she grasped the sword and wrenched it free.
The Animus Spirit regarded the blood dripping from the edge, then wiped it clean against the dark fabric of her sleeve, utterly indifferent to what should have been a fatal strike. Her smirk widened as she tilted her head. "Ah… you are a tenacious fighter, yes? This, I will grant you."
Rage ignited in Oswald’s chest, burning hotter than any wound. She’s messing with me.
In an instant, the pain that had wracked Oswald’s body melted away. One moment, agony burned through his limbs; the next, it vanished like smoke in the wind. His torn flesh knitted itself back together. Even the blood on his tunic reversed its course, sinking back into his body as though time itself had unraveled.
Oswald sucked in a sharp breath, his chest rising and falling as he flexed his fingers. Strength surged through him, every ache erased, every wound restored. Huh? I feel… fine?
He staggered slightly, disbelief warring with instinct. This wasn’t normal by any stretch, but there was no time for doubt, there was still someone Oswald needed to deal with. “What the fuck are you?”
She laughed. Not a polite chuckle or a cruel cackle. This was something richer, something brimming with amusement. “Oh? Have you truly not figured it out yet?”
Oswald gritted his teeth. "I know you're my Animus Spirit or whatever, but I wanna know more than just that."
Her smirk widened, amusement dancing in her crimson eye. “Very well, I shall make things clear, yes?”
With a slow, languid motion, she lifted a hand and gestured toward him, as if even explaining this was beneath her. “You are an idiot.”
Then, she pointed to herself. “And I am a demon.”
Oswald didn’t so much as bat an eye. Yeah, no shit. Horns, black wings, and a smug grin that said she was enjoying this far too much, she almost perfectly fitted just about every description and story he’d ever heard about demons.
What did throw him off, though, was how human she looked. The way she carried herself, the expressions that flickered across her face, the way she spoke with a blend of mockery and something that almost felt... familiar. He hadn’t expected that.
“Dp all demons look like you?” Oswald asked.
The demoness let out an exaggerated scoff, rolling her eye. “How would you feel if I asked whether all humans looked like you?”
“Yeah, alright. That was a dumb question.”
“I expected nothing less from someone like you.”
Oswald huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Nice try, but you’re gonna have to do better than that. I’ve been through too much to get shaken up by a few insults.”
The demoness clapped her hands together once, slow and mocking. “Oh, how inspiring. Then perhaps you should try asking better questions, yes? Or shall we simply return to fighting?”
Oswald crossed his arms, leveling her with a look. “Fine. Then what’s your name?”
"Foolish human, names are a powerful thing where I am from. What makes you think I'd give you my name so easily?"
“I don’t like talkin’ to people I don’t know.”
“Then it is a good thing I am not a person, is it not?”
Oswald tried his best to think about the demoness's words. If she really wanted me dead, she could’ve done it by now. So why play this game?
A sigh cut through his thoughts, bored and expectant. “Are you just going to stand there and gawk at me, boy? Or do you intend to make this encounter worth my time?”
Oswald gave a small shake of his head, grounding himself. “Someone wanted me to come here. Said I needed to talk to you.”
“Oh? And who, I wonder, has the audacity to send you to face me?”
"Selene Whiteheart."
“Ah. Now that is interesting. Either she is bolder than I expected… or she simply does not care whether you live or die.”
“I'm sure she knew I’d do fine.”
“Did she? Either way, you are a fool for coming here.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because you seek to control me, yes? And that is something I will not allow.”
“That’s only fair, considerin’ you keep tryin’ to take over my body every time I take off my eyepatch.”
"And that is only because you rarely use my power for anything worthwhile. So when the opportunity arises, I will seize it.”
“Yeah? Well, I don’t like it when someone controls my body.”
“And I do not enjoy watching a fool stumble through existence, squandering the gifts he possesses. Yet, here we are.”
Oswald exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing down the irritation clawing at his ribs. If she’s tryin’ to piss me off, she’s doin’ a damn good job of it.
"You act like you hold all the cards, but I know better."
“Oh? Then enlighten me, boy.”
"If you wanted me gone, you’d have done it already. So either you got a reason not to kill me… or you can’t kill me.”
A pause. A brief, fleeting one, but he caught it.
“That is correct,” she admitted, albeit reluctantly.
Oswald let out a short, dry laugh. “Since I can’t get rid of you either, guess we’re stuck together. Might as well set some terms.”
The demoness smiled. “Oh, how charming. You wish to establish rules, yes?"
“You got a problem with that?”
“No, no, of course not. I adore rules. Shall we write them in a little book? Perhaps seal them with a handshake, yes?"
“Huh?"
The demoness blinked. Then, for a moment, she just stared at him. “You—” She stopped, pressing her fingers against her temple. “Boy, do you ever recognize sarcasm?”
He squinted at her. “You were jokin’?”
A long, suffering silence stretched between them before she exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “By the fallen lords…”
Oswald shifted his weight onto his back foot, watching her with mild impatience. “So are you gonna listen or not?”
She dropped her hand and regarded him with something resembling exhaustion. “Very well, enlighten me. What rules do you wish to impose upon a being such as myself?”
"Hold on, before we negotiate proper, I want your name."
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"Still grasping for power you do not understand, yes? I will not give you my name."
"Then we don’t negotiate. I ain’t making a deal with someone I don't even really know."
The demoness exhaled sharply through her nose, the sound carrying the frayed edges of her dwindling patience. Her fingers curled around the hilt of her sword. "You absolute imbecile, I may not be able to kill you, but rest assured, I can make you wish I could."
Oswald met her gaze, raising his shortsword. "Fuck off, I ain't afraid of you. Never was, never will."
The words left his lips before he could think twice. If I can't die here, then I got nothin' to lose.
In the blink of an eye, the demoness lunged. Oswald's shortsword met her black blade with a thunderous clang. He barely had time to brace before she twisted her blade, disengaging then striking again.
He parried, but the impact sent shockwaves up his arms, numbing his fingers. Her attacks never stopped, a relentless storm of slashes, thrusts, and counters, each one faster than the last. No mortal fighter could move like this. Every attack was honed to an unnatural precision.
Despite this, Oswald fought back with everything he could muster. He struggled even as the demoness's blade found his side, tearing through flesh.
But before his mind could even register the pain, his skin knit itself back together. He was completely healed.
The demoness continued slicing deep into his thigh. Yet, his body refused to stay wounded. The injury sealed, muscle reforming as if the attack had never happened. I'll do this for as long as it takes.
The fight gradually turned into a vicious cycle. Oswald attacked, the demoness dodged. She struck, he fell. He rose, only for her blade to carve into him once more. Over and over, the cycle of combat repeated.
Time lost meaning. Seconds bled into minutes. Minutes stretched into something longer. He had no way of knowing how long they had been fighting.
Oswald's body no longer felt his own. He moved on instinct alone, reacting before his thoughts could catch up. There was no strategy anymore, no careful planning, just the next block, the next strike, the next wound that would heal before pain could truly set in.
I… gotta keep fightin'. Oswald should have collapsed by now. Any normal person would have succumbed to exhaustion, but he didn’t. His body refused to break. Each time he fell, his legs carried him back up. Each time he was run through, his wounds stitched themselves back together.
The demoness continued the fight regardless, but something had changed. At the start, she looked like she was enjoying their duel.
Every strike had been sharpened by cruel delight, every clash of their blades filled with an unspoken hunger. She had tested him, pushed him, eager to see how much he could endure. Now, that hunger dulled.
Seeing a chance to strike, Oswald ducked low, sweeping his sword in a brutal arc. His blade cut deep, biting into her ribs. Blood splattered across the ground, but the demoness barely reacted. No hiss of pain, no sharp intake of breath.
She simply looked down at the wound, watching as dark blood leaked from the gash. She then flicked her gaze back to him, and without much fanfare, buried her sword in his chest.
Oswald gasped as the blade tore through him. His knees wavered, but he caught himself before he could collapse.
The hole in his chest sealed shut, flesh knitting together once more. The demoness exhaled through her nose. Another stab. Another clean cut. Oswald barely had time to raise his weapon before she slashed a wound across his shoulder.
However, Oswald could tell that the demoness had stopped trying. Her movements were still efficient, but hollow. She still fought with inhuman capability, but the excitement was gone.
With a final clash, their blades locked for an instant before both fighters stepped back. Oswald’s chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. Sweat stung his eyes, mixing with the grime and blood smeared across his face. Across from him, the demoness barely looked winded. If anything, she looked bored.
A sigh slipped past her lips. "Do you want to stop?"
Oswald swayed but he forced himself to straighten, spitting a thick glob of blood onto the ground before meeting her gaze. "Not… until you tell me your damn name."
For a moment, the demoness's head tilted ever so slightly. Then, at last, she introduced herself. "Zvarah Soulbane."
Oswald let out a breathless chuckle, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. "Didn’t expect you to just give it to me like that."
Zvarah shrugged as her wounds stitched themselves closed. "I underestimated your tenacity, that is all."
Oswald exhaled sharply as his own wounds followed suit, sealing over as if they had never existed. But still, he planted his feet firmly. "I’ll fight you for all eternity if I have to."
Zvarah sighed again before driving her sword into the ground. "Now I know better than to fight someone who has nothing to lose."
"What do you mean?" Oswald asked.
Her crimson eye gleamed as she regarded him with something close to pity. "I have seen your life, Oswald. Even if you cover your right eye with that pitiful scrap of cloth, I see everything. No parents. No real friends you can trust. No home to return to. Nothing."
Oswald didn’t bristle at her words, didn’t spit back some half-hearted denial. Instead, a dry, bitter laugh escaped his lips. He reached for his shortsword, not to fight, but to sheath it. "You’re not wrong, I don’t really have much to hold onto."
"Then tell me, boy, why fight so hard?"
"Cause I’ve been surviving my whole damn life, but I dunno if I’ve ever really lived. When I was a kid, I used to sneak into the city, steal whatever I could get my hands on. Then I’d slip back into the slums, dodging guards just to eat scraps. But every time I saw other kids runnin’ around, playin’ together, walkin’ home with their folks… I hated ‘em for it."
"I wanted a family. Wanted an easier life. But I never got a damn choice. So I did what I had to. Stole. Conned. Broke into houses and ran before anyone woke up. And eventually… I killed. Just did whatever a street rat had to do to stay alive."
Oswald lifted his chin. "But now? I wanna be somebody. And I don’t give a damn what I gotta do to make that happen."
Slowly, Zvarah's lips curled into a smirk. “If nothing else, I respect your resolve.” She lifted her sword from the ground, resting the flat of the blade against her shoulder as renewed interest sparked in her crimson eye. “So, about that contract…”
“If we’re doing this, it has to be fair. No tricks,” Oswald said.
Zvarah let out a soft chuckle. “That depends on what fair means to you, yes?”
“Simple. If I don’t like what’s in the contract, then it ain't happening."
“And you believe you’re in a position to make that sort of demand?”
Oswald rolled his shoulders, already feeling his strength creeping back. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we? I ain’t asking for special treatment. Just a fair deal. If fairness doesn’t sit well with you, we can go back to fighting.”
Zvarah exhaled sharply, tapping her fingers against the hilt of her sword. “Tsk. Fighting you over and over would be a dreadful bore. Very well, I shall negotiate with you properly.”
"First thing I want, you gotta stop suckin’ the life outta me. Every time I use this damn eye, I feel like I’m gettin’ worse and worse after."
“You wish for me to stop killing you?”
“Yeah. That’s the first thing I want.”
A sigh slipped past Zvarah's lips. “You misunderstand, boy. I do not kill you, I take from you."
Oswald narrowed his eyes. “That’s the same damn thing.”
“Is it? If I wanted to kill you, I would have just done so from the day you were born, yes?"
“That ain’t the point."
Zvarah waved a hand dismissively. “A necessary cost. You do not provide enough souls for me to sustain myself, so I take what I require from your own.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me that before?”
"Would you have listened? Would you have cared? I think not. Besides, you ought to be grateful, yes? You have wielded my power all this time, all without ever providing enough for me."
Oswald’s jaw clenched, irritation flaring hot in his chest. She’s actin’ like I was just supposed to know all this from the start. “Ain’t no way I could’ve known how many souls you needed. If I had, I would’ve—”
Zvarah’s smirk widened, cutting him off before he could finish. “Oh? And would you have killed more had you known?”
Oswald fell silent. He held her gaze, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the tension between them thick enough to smother the air itself.
Then, his lips parted. “I’d do what it takes to live.”
Something flickered in Zvarah’s crimson eye: approval, amusement, curiosity? It was hard to tell. But she smiled regardless. “Then let us test that resolve.”
She stepped forward, closing the space between them, and lifted a finger, pointing it toward his chest. “If you are serious, then you must pledge to me a soul a day, starting from the moment you leave this place.”
Oswald’s fingers twitched at his sides. “Hold on, do monsters count?”
"Ah… I see. You are having second thoughts about killing, after all, yes?"
"I’ve killed plenty of people, but I’d rather know all my options first."
Her smirk remained, but there was something sharper about it now. “Very well. Monster souls can be… suitable. But weaker ones will not do. I will only accept monsters strong enough to rival a human soul, or those greater still.”
“In that case, to make things fair, I want to pay up at the end of every thirty days.” Oswald said.
Zvarah’s smile vanished. “Unacceptable.”
“Even loan sharks give me time to pay. What, you worse than them?”
A flicker of something sharp passed through her crimson eye, her lips pressing into a thin line. Yea, she didn’t like that one bit.
Her fingers curled tighter around her sword before she exhaled, slow and measured. “Tsk. You test my patience, boy.”
“I just want a fair deal. I’ll pay up the souls in time, and you quit tryin’ to drain the life outta me.”
“Fine. But in exchange, should you fail to meet your tribute within the agreed time, I reserve the right to claim your soul immediately, yes?”
“That’s fine. I ain’t gonna let you get anywhere close. So, we got a deal or what?”
She regarded him in silence, her crimson eye trailing over him, like she was weighing whether it was worth driving her sword through his chest just to make a point. Then, with obvious reluctance, she sighed. “I am not pleased with your terms… but I shall accept them, yes.”
"Good enough for me." Oswald said.
“Now, I shall add your dues to the system accordingly.”
“The system?”
“Tell me, boy, do you even know how to use the system?”
“Nope, I dunno what it even is.”
A sharp exhale slipped past her lips, halfway between frustration and disappointment. “Of course you do not.”
She stepped closer, lifting her hand slightly, like she was about to pluck something from thin air, before lowering it again. “Then listen well. Focus. Reach deep within yourself and see.”
Oswald raised a brow. “You’re just talkin’ nonsense now.”
Zvarah smirked. “It is far easier for you to witness it than for me to explain, yes? Now, do as I said.”
Oswald clenched his jaw, forcing down the urge to snap back. Fine, ain't like I got much to lose from doin' this.
He shut his eyes, breathing slow and steady, and tried to do what she said. He had no clue what he was even looking for, but he focused anyway. His thoughts drifted, past the aches in his muscles, past the exhaustion clawing at his bones, past the lingering buzz of whatever this place was.
Then, something shifted. Like a lock clicking open. Words formed in the air, hovering in his vision like they had always been there.
Souls: 0
Resonance: 1
Invocations: ???
Days until Tribute: 30
Skills:
- True Sight (Tier 1: Grants the ability to see through darkness and illusion magic)
- Gaze of Doom (Tier 1: When activated, drains the life force of any target that makes direct eye contact)
- Exalted Trance (Tier 1: Temporarily increases bloodlust after each kill. Stacks with consecutive kills.)
Oswald’s breath caught. The words weren’t written anywhere physical, but he saw them all the same, as though they existed just outside the bounds of reality.
“This is the system?"
“Now you see it, yes?”
“Yeah. But what is this? How’s this just… appearing in my head?”
“Listen carefully, because I'm not going to repeat myself. The system is a framework by which your power and my power are governed. It has always been present, you simply never bothered to look.”
“I only started seeing this system stuff after I met Selene the first time.”
“Then she merely helped you look. You could have done it yourself, eventually.”
Oswald shrugged. There were bigger things to focus on. “Alright, then. Can you explain what all of this actually means?”
Zvarah cocked her head, watching him with something that hovered between amusement and condescension. “Do you truly have no idea?”
“Nope, I'm lost here.”
A long, suffering sigh left Zvarah’s lips, but she answered him anyway. “Souls are simple. The system tracks how many you have collected, how much you have killed.”
“However, I will only track souls that hold proper value. The weak are of no use to me. A soul must be at least equal to that of a human's for it to be counted. Stronger monsters will be worth far more. Some could be ten times the worth of a human soul… perhaps even more.”
Oswald nodded slowly, turning that over in his mind. So it ain't just about numbers. Quality matters too.
After a brief pause, he asked, “And the rest of it?”
“Resonance measures the connection between you and me. The stronger it becomes, the stronger we become.”
That makes sense. Oswald had already felt something shift between them since stepping into this place. There was no doubt their bond had grown in some way.
“And ‘days until tribute’ is exactly what it says. The number of days you have left until your next payment of souls is due. It always counts down.”
His gaze flicked back to the system floating in his vision. One thing still stood out. “And what about invocations?”
Zvarah’s smirk returned, though there was something almost teasing about it this time. “That… you will know in time.”
“Why are you dodgin’ that one?”
“Because it is beyond you right now. You will not reach that point for quite some time. So, instead of dwelling on it, I will tell you about what does concern you: skills.”
"Go on."
“The system only tracks skills related to the Animus and myself. For example, things like swordsmanship, crafting, and even magic that does not require an Animus will not be recorded. Those are your own to develop as you see fit."
Oswald absorbed the information carefully, his fingers unconsciously curling at his sides. So the system ain’t some all-knowing force that tracks everything I do. Good to know.
He ran through everything she’d told him in his head. Souls count my kills, but only if they’re strong enough. Resonance makes us both stronger. My skills are just the ones tied to the Animus. And the countdown… well, that’s just a clock ticking over my head.
“Alright. Thanks for explaining.”
Zvarah clicked her tongue. “No need for gratitude. It only means you are slightly less ignorant than before.”
Oswald rolled his eye, but instead of snapping back, he hesitated. The boy shifted his weight slightly, then met her gaze with a more serious expression.
“Actually, can you help me get stronger?”
"That depends, what are you willing to do for that strength?”