A voice, ancient and mysterious, thundered: "Glutton… One unquenched of hunger… inspirer of waste in times of plenty— The Devourer— The Insatiable— The Great Consuming Disaster—" The pronouncement ceased, its words reverberating into the vast distance before slowly fading out.
Balair stood bare, his body without an article of clothing; he paid it no mind, the severe headache making itself known, taking more priority, slowly clutching his head. A piercing agony shot through his head, as if nails were being driven into his skull.
"Ugh," he groaned, his eyes narrowing against the immense pain. His entire body felt engulfed in molten lava, sharp needles pricking every inch of his skin. The sensation was particularly vicious in his abdomen and back. Then, a chilling realisation struck him: the gruesome wound that had branded his midsection. The numbness he'd felt earlier was gone, the slow, warm trickling vanished. All that remained was this searing torment he felt all over. Frantically, he moved his hands to his abdomen, searching for a hole, for anything, the warmth of blood, but his fingers found only smooth, unbroken skin. His desperate hunt for a wound proved fruitless. He didn't know whether to feel relief or despair.
Am I dead? he wondered, looking around. Only an endless expanse of nothing greeted him, a thick black hue swirling within the void. He shifted his gaze to the 'floor' beneath him. It felt strange; he couldn't discern if he stood or floated. More intrigued by his surroundings than his aching bare body or his miraculously healed wound, he tried to move. He lifted a foot, intending to take a step, only to suddenly begin an endless fall towards a bottomless abyss.
"Ahhhhhhh!" he screamed as the descent began. He only stopped when he noticed he'd been falling for what felt like an eternity. Looking around again, he realised it only seemed as though he was falling; in reality, he hadn't moved an inch. He didn't know how, but he felt it. This space was slowly becoming intimately connected to him, a sense hauntingly familiar to him yet utterly alien.
And so, he remained in that bizarre limbo, oblivious to the events unfolding outside of it.
All he could do in that space was think, and thoughts of him failing the people who depended on him flooded his mind, a depression hitting him squarely as he thought of having left Dustin and Jim to their fates, ones that seemed rather bleak.
What if he had done more? Could he have done more? Did he do his best? Thoughts of his parents lingered in his head. If he were actually dead, what would life be for his parents, who have already put everything into him? Has he utterly failed the people who trusted him the most in the world? He thought endlessly as he curled into himself this the pain in his head becoming irrelevant in the face of his death
Meanwhile, in the gallery
The demon stood, arms raised, hands instinctively covering its face in defence. The new pressure from Balair felt like a physical assault, consuming even its own brutish aura. Their ferocious powers clashed, the wallpaper lining the gallery walls ripping off with explosive force. The air filled with creaks and groans as doors across the gallery violently forced themselves open, yielding to the raw pressure pulsing from Balair. The demon's crimson aura was being ferociosly devoured by the emerald power radiating from Balair.
"Who do you think you are! You cursed cre–" The demon shrieked, veins bulging on its face. It struggled to even complete its statement, its voice cracking with undeniable terror. The arrogant smile it had perpetually worn was wiped clean from its features. It knew, with chilling certainty, that it had to take this fight seriously, or its long, arguably successful existence would end here where it stood.
As if to compound its mounting list of problems, Balair began to move forward, slowly, deliberately. Each heavy step gouged a boot-sized visible dent into the concrete floor. The emerald hue emanating from his eyes pulsed and flickered with every stride, and the pressure emanating from him intensified with each inch he gained. The walls around them began to shake violently.
The demon was already struggling to remain upright, each ragged breath drawing in less oxygen than the last. It didn't need oxygen to survive, but its host did. And it desperately needed Jim's body to even stand a chance of escaping this impossible situation.
CRACK! Thud! CRUMBLE!
A loud crack resounded. The demon's legs buckled, shattered by the sheer pressure, sending it flat onto the ground, blood splattering and instantly flattening on the ground, unable to defy the immense pressure. Around them, the roof and walls crumbled inward, moonlight flooding the devastated scene, electrical wiring sparking in the background as light bulbs shattered. Dustin lay buried beneath heaps of concrete and even parts of the demon's form. Balair now stood directly over the defenceless demon, glaring menacingly as it let out heavy heaves, struggling to even draw breath. He raised an outstretched hand, and debris peeled away from the demon's body, obediently floating an inch above the ground. As Balair slowly drew his hand back, the demon followed, struggling violently against the invisible force that held it captive. It didn't know what was about to happen, but it recoiled from the unknown horror.
Slowly, Balair clamped onto the demon's head, forcing its mouth open. Dried blood clung to his hands as he brought his face closer to its own. His mouth opened wide, and a red, shadowy hue flowed from the demon into him. The demon writhed, thrashing desperately to free itself from Balair's grip. The emerald flicker in Balair's eyes only intensified as he continued his consumption. A fading crimson light emanated from the demon's eyes as it was devoured. Its body went limp as the last of its energy was taken. Jim's eyes, previously glowing crimson, now slowly transitioned to a gentle, serene blue, mirroring the colour of the essence Balair was actively consuming. Balair's face lit up, a look of profound, unsettling enjoyment settling upon him as he savoured this new, strange new thing. Meanwhile, Jim's briefly calm face suddenly turned turbulent as his body thrashed violently, his face contorted in agony as his very spirit was now being devoured by Balair.
"I think that does it, boy," a deep, commanding voice announced. A hulking figure appeared behind Balair, striking him sharply in the back of the head, attempting to immobilise him. The blow, however, caused no damage. Instead, it merely drew Balair's attention to the intruder as he released Jim's body, which fell with a soft thud, calm slowly returning to his face. Moonlight briefly illuminated Balair's face, revealing a sadistic glint in his eyes as he turned to face the intruder. He seemed, oddly, quite pleased by his appearance like he had been expecting him to show up, flaring up the pressure he had been exerting all this time.
"Oh? That didn't stop you? You mad, vile thing! I'd suggest you go down with this; I won't sully my hands with the blood of a good sapling," the voice declared, not deterred in the slightest by Balair's show of strength. He struck Balair again, this time with such immense force that a small crater formed around Balair, his eyes rolling back as he slumped to the ground.
"Sir Noah! We've found the other cadet we sensed earlier! His vitals are alright—just some internal bleeding!" another voice called out. The speaker walks toward Noah and the two bodies he stands beside, away from a group of five other people, all clad in uniforms strikingly different from the PPA's personnel: brilliant white, shining brightly under the moonlight.
"That's alright, take a look at these two and stop the bleeding on that one", Noah commanded, firmly pointing at Jim.
"Quite the body for a cadet", he murmured to himself, slightly massaging the hand he used to immobilise Balair. It looked a bit bruised from the impact.
"Did you say something, Sir?" the man now skilfully attending to Jim, asked, not even raising his head to address Noah.
"It's nothing, Mimir. Just finish up and write a report to the Capital. Don't include the boy in the report; just say I handled the threat. And if they ask for more information, remind them of our squad composition. I'm off to meet the head of this district, so link up with me at her estate," Noah instructed. He lowered his hands and walked away slowly, trusting the coordination of his squad.
"You heard the Cap! Move! Take care of the wounded! We need to finish up here quickly and meet up with the captain! I need two more hands here, and one to check on the boy with fewer injuries!" Mimir barked orders. His team moved in sync with every word, no wasted movements. They worked like well-oiled machines, repeating actions they had probably carried out countless times over.