Chapter 54 - Maphel’tan (1)

Pitch-black demonic energy seeped out of the rift. Through the torn space, a presence of profound malice made itself felt.

Ilea gazed into the air.

"It looks like everything went well."

The furry imp cried out, his eyes brimming with anticipation.

"I feel boundless wickedness! Doom manifests upon this earth! Worship him!"

He prostrated himself. At that same moment, a pitch-black hand emerged, clawing through the rift. Starting with an arm, an entire body slowly stretched out of it. The more of the figure came into view, the more rapture filled the imp's face.

"Truly, the embodiment of malice! Doom made flesh!"

The unspeakably fiendish being emerged in full: an aberration clad in a pitch-black carapace. Red tattoos wrapped around his entire body as he looked down at them all with a baleful gaze. His appearance inspired terror in humans and awe in Demons.

Indeed, tension crept across Gaf's face. Yohan, who had been a mere imp not long ago, had changed far too much. Now he truly looked like a Demon of the Apocalypse.

Ilea rose onto her tiptoes to compare her height with Yohan's.

"You've grown taller again."

In Demon form, Yohan was now roughly Gaf's size. He had acquired a build that could fairly be called enormous.

Yohan chuckled.

"The air really is fresher up here. Have you been keeping this luxury to yourself all this time, Gaf? Selfish bastard."

The lighthearted joke eased some of the wariness from Gaf's face. He spoke.

"Nonsense. You're a Demon. You find a foul stench more refreshing than clean air."

Ilea gave a little laugh.

"He's not wrong. From your perspective, Yohan, you'd better hurry and fill the world with the stench of rotting flesh and blood."

The imp, who had been listening, shouted,

"I shall contribute to that great evil deed! I shall blanket the world in the fragrance of burning corpses!"

Raguel shrank back a little at the horrific conversation. The corners of Yohan's mouth stretched upward into a mischievous smile.

"Will you join in too, Raguel?"

"P-please leave me out of it."

"I can't do that. I have a momentous task in mind for you."

"A task? Where did that suddenly come from..."

"Scribe of the Book of Doom. One day, you will chronicle the end of the world in detail."

He needed someone to write Chapter Thirteen of the Book of Doom. Raguel was perfect. As a bookworm, he would probably have a fair talent for writing, too.

Kaiaze had already given him a Demon to do the writing, but Yohan did not find it particularly trustworthy. Ultimately, it was Kaiaze's subordinate.

'I need someone of my own.'

No one besides Raguel came to mind.

"W-what if I don't want to?"

"Naturally, you have no right to refuse. Getting defiant again, are you? Perhaps it's because you haven't had an airplane ride lately."

To Raguel, an airplane ride was synonymous with terror. Whenever Yohan grabbed him and took flight, he would scream himself hoarse. As those frightening memories crept back, his spirit wilted.

Unable to watch any longer, Ilea patted Raguel on the back.

"Don't worry so much, younger master. It's all a joke. Yohan has no intention of destroying the world."

Raguel turned his blind eyes toward Yohan, as though asking whether that was true. Yohan chuckled.

"Quite the opposite. Black hands will save this world."

Ilea clapped her hands theatrically.

"My, so helping Yohan means helping save the world. Congratulations in advance, younger master. History will remember you as a hero."

Raguel muttered awkwardly,

"Someone like me, a hero? Hardly."

Yohan flashed a mischievous smile.

"You don't like that? How about an archvillain, then? An archvillain who sold out the world. I could describe you that way in my Book of Doom."

The imp let out an admiring cry.

"A blasphemer! An apostate forsaken even by the Great Saint! The leader of a demonic cult spreading the Apostle's will!"

Raguel shouted, almost convulsing,

"N-no! I don't want that!"

Yohan's expression softened, and his tone grew a little more serious.

"Then write your own story. I'll entrust the Book of Doom to you. All you have to do is record everything you see and hear. Though I'll have to review it, of course."

Raguel sighed.

"I feel like you're drawing me in again, Yohan."

Ilea nodded.

"He's always like that."

Yohan shrugged.

"Truly a perfect Demon. I'm sure everyone agrees."

The imp flailed his arms and legs ceaselessly.

"The very model of a Demon!"

Countless more jokes followed. Everyone was laughing and talking.

Gaf watched them in silence. Here they were, peacefully trading jokes in an underground study that might as well have been the very heart of evil. He could only feel bewildered.

Yohan addressed the silent Gaf.

"Come to think of it, I had something to show you."

Demonic energy began condensing in Yohan's hand. Black mist intertwined like tangled threads, taking shape. Something long and enormous gradually solidified, finally revealing its true form.

A corrupted sacred relic. The pure-white holy spear had become a dark-crimson fell spear, now held in Yohan's hand. Its blade, once a source of holy power, brimmed with nothing but an eerie, spectral aura. Anyone could tell it was a demonic treasure.

Gaf examined the spear.

"So this is the spear you said you'd acquired?"

"Yes. The holy spear... No, the fell spear Espada now. I need spearmanship suited to it."

"Whatever spear you wield, the fundamentals are always the same. Just follow the training program."

Yohan chuckled.

"I'll take that to heart. It's advice from the mercenary who slew the monstrous bird Korukus, after all."

Gaf cleared his throat, apparently embarrassed. Ilea's eyes curved into a playful smile.

"As expected of you, Father. A feat worthy of the Lion of the East."

Gaf immediately changed the subject.

"That's all in the past. Anyway, Espada is hardly a fitting name for a fell spear."

Ilea nodded.

"Espada means 'vanguard of the Holy War' in the ancient tongue. It certainly is an awkward name for a fell spear."

Yohan responded indifferently.

"I don't see why a name matters."

Raguel spoke up cautiously.

"I-it does matter. Whether it belongs to a person or a thing, a name ultimately represents its identity. If the Book of Doom records a fell spear called Espada, someone is bound to find that strange."

Yohan chuckled.

"Playing the scribe already? Very well. You come up with a name for it, then."

After a moment's thought, Raguel murmured,

"... Turabak."

Ilea let out a small exclamation.

"That means 'vanguard of chaos.' But how do you know the ancient tongue?"

"I've read a few books on it. There are plenty of forbidden books in the study, too."

Reading forbidden books was classified as one of the seven sins.

"How bold of you. Still, thanks to that, we have a name for the fell spear."

The fell spear Turabak. It was quite a good name.

Yohan patted Raguel's shoulder approvingly.

"You really do have a talent for this. I'll be counting on you."

Raguel scratched his head.

"It was nothing. It just came to me, so I said it."

The imp, who had been listening, ventured to speak.

"O great End, since the subject has arisen, might this vile creature make one request?"

"I'll hear it."

"P-please bestow a name upon me as well."

Come to think of it, Yohan had promised to name him.

A chill passed across Ilea's face. She spoke coldly.

"Do you even understand what it means to receive a name from an Apostle?"

All petty spirits were obsessed with names. A designation bestowed by a high-ranking Demon, or an epithet earned through evil deeds, made them unique beings. To petty spirits, born without consequence and vanishing in vain, nothing mattered more than establishing an identity of their own.

A name bestowed by an Apostle was more than that: it was proof of being a great being's thrall. Such an honor was far beyond a mere petty spirit's station.

Somewhat crestfallen, the imp spoke.

"I am not yet worthy. I know that. But I did pass the Apostle's trial. I was a little lucky... No, very lucky, but still."

In the southwestern quarantine zone, Yohan had promised to accept the imp as his thrall if he returned alive. The imp had survived against the odds, and now it was Yohan's turn to keep his promise.

Ilea sneered.

"Without me, you would have been dragged off by the Church and killed."

The imp could not deny it. He looked up at Yohan.

"The witch speaks nothing but the truth. O great End, I shall prove myself and ask for a name again someday."

Yohan's expression darkened. His voice turned chilling.

"Do you two mean to make me go back on my word? I made a promise, so I will keep it. That is all."

The imp prostrated himself deeply, hiding his expression.

"O great End! This vile creature offers you his soul and flesh!"

Ilea seemed displeased, but did not press her objections.

Yohan thought for a moment.

'A name that represents his identity.'

He recalled why he had brought the imp along. There was no real reason, actually. Interest. That was about the extent of his motivation.

'Let's not overthink it.'

Yohan spoke.

"Clown should do. Raguel, what's the word for clown in the demonic tongue?"

"I don't know much of the demonic tongue yet... I'm sorry."

Ilea answered instead.

"Zal’karin. There isn't really a word for clown, but 'comedian' should come close."

The corners of Yohan's mouth rose in satisfaction.

"Good. From this moment on, his name is Zal’karin."

At that instant, demonic energy reached out from Yohan's body and enveloped the imp. A contract of thralldom. Just as a mark had once been engraved on Grian, an identical brand appeared on the imp.

A fiendish figure bearing a scythe. The emblem representing Yohan was stamped upon Zal’karin's forehead. Zal’karin was now an Apostle's thrall.

His eyes blazed with a frenzied light. Demonic energy surged from his entire body, and eerie, maniacal laughter spilled from his mouth. He was convulsing with joy.

Ignoring him, Ilea spoke to Yohan.

"Now it's your turn."

"What do you mean?"

"Even a mere petty spirit has a name. We can't have an Apostle remain nameless. Nor can we keep calling you Yohan when you're like this."

Whether in Demon or human form, he had been using the same name: Yohan. It was extremely dangerous. It gave someone the perfect thread to follow.

Yohan nodded.

"I'd been wondering what to do about that. We might as well decide now."

"Would you let me handle it? I'll make you one in the demonic tongue."

Yohan had no objection.

"Please do."

Ilea pondered for a moment. Then a blue haze rose from her hand. Highly pure mana began writing in the air.

Maphelept: contradictory, deceived, discordance.

Velrutan: Demon, wickedness, blasphemer.

"Together, they make Maphel’tan. What do you think?"

A contradictory Demon, a deceived wickedness. It was a name that clearly represented Yohan's identity.

Raguel murmured,

"... Maphel’tan. In other words, someone who pretends to be evil."

It fit Yohan perfectly: he was playing the part of evil.

Yohan nodded.

"Not bad. I gladly accept the name."

At that same moment, every Book of Doom in the world blazed purple.

『 All evil, let us sing. The first utterance of the End is Maphel’tan. Hypocrites, fall silent before that name. Break your tongues, and swallow blood in place of words. Your god will not listen anyway. 』

The name of the thirteenth end was being inscribed upon the world.