Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion-Chapter 114: The Beast That Bowed

The corrupted mana beast stood like a storm if it had flesh, its hunched frame radiating raw, hateful power.

It towered over Ian by more than two heads, the sinews beneath its cracked, blackened hide twitching with restrained rage.

Its shoulders rippled with unnatural muscle, and jagged bone jutted from its spine like spears carved by fire.

The exposed parts of its flesh were webbed with glowing crimson veins—pulses of corrupted mana that seethed and coiled with every breath it took.

Its eyes were what made it monstrous.

They were no longer the primal gaze of a beast—no flicker of instinct or thought.

Instead, two burning, demonic suns peered out of the sockets, smoldering with pain, madness, and fury.

Steam hissed from its nostrils as it paced, claws raking the scorched arena floor, tail thrashing like a whip of iron and bone.

But before Ian, it hesitated.

A low growl vibrated the air, more wary than triumphant.

Above, the gallery brimmed with tension.

Every subjugator, every mage, every warrior and blood-bought observer held their breath. The audience had grown silent, but the silence was not peaceful—it crackled with anticipation.

This was the eleventh combatant. The last ten were nothing but stains on the arena floor.

And now stood a man in black—unarmored, unblinking.

A shadow dressed in flesh.

Elsewhere, seated amid the swells of onlookers, Selene gripped the railing tightly. Her pale eyes flicked from the monster to the lone figure beneath it.

They heard the whispers from the crowd but couldn’t believe it.

"That’s him," someone whispered nearby, half in awe, half in disbelief. "The demon who slaughters the righteous. The Prophet of Death."

Dain furrowed his brow. "Prophet of what now?"

Selene turned, confusion playing across her features. "Wait. Him? That’s Ian?"

Loras, ever silent, leaned forward, lips parting just slightly.

"I thought it when i heared his name, but didn’t want to believe it,"

Selene swallowed. "That can’t be. And we traveled with him and survived?"

Dain gave a dry laugh. "He also never tripped, never got tired, and slept with one eye open."

Then Ian moved.

Not quick, just a step.

He stepped forward with a deliberate slowness, black cloak trailing like spilled ink behind him. His presence shifted the air—dense, cold, final.

[Aura of Decay]

A pulse emanated from him—quiet at first, like a hush rolling over dead fields. The ground beneath his boots darkened, blood seeping from ancient cracks in the stone.

The corrupted beast flinched, claws skidding to a stop mid-stride.

A wave of invisible dread spilled from Ian’s body.

Not just death—decay.

Flesh that remembered rot.

Magic that tasted of old graves and forgotten tombs.

The beast staggered.

This was the upgraded Version of [Aura of Decay]

Its growl wavered into a whimper. freeωebnovēl.c૦m

Its burning eyes dimmed—not in brightness, but in confidence. The audience above began to shift in their seats as discomfort spread like a fog.

Even Dain felt it, clutching his chest. "What... what is that? It’s like my soul wants to leave."

Ian stood unmoved in the center of the storm, and the beast... lowered.

Its snarl died in its throat.

Steam hissed from its mouth, and its claws folded under as it slowly, painfully, lowered itself to the blood-slicked floor. Its head dipped, the great horns nearly brushing the earth.

The crowd erupted.

"WHAT IS THAT?!"

"Is it rigged?! That can’t be real!"

"Impossible! That THING tore through ten subjugators!"

But it wasn’t over.

Ian stepped forward, calmly, each footfall measured like ritual.

He crouched beside the creature, reaching out.

His fingers, calloused and blood-worn, pressed against the beast’s mane—coarse, wiry strands that hissed faintly with mana corruption.

Ian’s voice was soft.

"You’re hurting, aren’t you?"

The beast did not flinch.

"The demon mutation... it burns. You weren’t always like this."

The creature raised its head, just slightly.

Their eyes met.

Not master and beast.

Like Ashvaleth and him.

But kindred, trapped by a fate neither asked for.

"Do you want me to have you?" Ian whispered.

The creature exhaled, a long, shuddering breath. And then it lowered its head again—fully this time.

Yielding.

"I’ll put you out of your misery."

The words were both promise and farewell.

Ian placed his hand against the beast’s skull.

There was no scream. No struggle.

Just a ripple of voidlight.

A flicker of gray-flame, like a memory being released.

And then the beast was gone.

Its body collapsed gently. The corruption dissipated like steam rising off stone.

And from its heart, a soul emerged—massive, dark, and tangled with sorrow. It hovered for a breath’s span.

Ian drew it in.

Not as a glutton.

But as a mourner.

The arena went mad.

Chaos erupted from the stands.

Screams. Accusations. Chants.

They all flew around the colosseum, accusation from heretics and even men who had stopped believing in the gods a long time ago.

"HE’S A DEMON!"

"He didn’t kill it! He took it!"

"That wasn’t a fight! That was Demoncraft!"

"That’s not magic! That’s heresy!"

From the heretic seats, the figures of the Sanctum of Light rose in fury. The High Censor stood, his voice booming across the gathering like a blade drawn in church.

"BEHOLD! THE DEMONBLADE! THE PROPHECY FULFILLED!"

"HE IS EVIL INCARNATE! A BLADE THAT FEEDS! THE PROPHET OF DEATH!"

"IAN IS THE END!"

Mages shouted over one another.

An inquisitor screamed for excommunication.

And in the midst of it all—

Ian stood, utterly still, staring into nothing.

Far below the main sanctum, in the shadowed recess of the stands, two siblings leaned against a pillar.

Smiles and recognition on their face.

"Well," she said, voice amused, "he’s got a knack for upsetting people, doesn’t he?"

"Indeed he does. Shame we missed the rest of his journey."

The beast lay dead at his feet.

And Ian?

He looked at the chaos above with nothing in his eyes.

Not pride.

Not anger.

Just a tired familiarity.

As though this wasn’t the first time the world called him demon—

Because it wasn’t.

And it wouldn’t be the last.