Damn Reincarnation

Not even a faint whisper of Tempest's voice could be heard from the moment the fall began. Eugene raised his head to look upward, where the gradually receding “door” revealed itself. It wasn't Eugene who had opened it. Rather, the door had opened of its own accord before inviting Eugene in.

Eugene lowered his gaze without becoming flustered. Despite straining his eyes, he could only see an abyss of immeasurable depth before him. He could not see what lay below at the bottom of the chasm. And it wasn't just below — the door that had been visible when he had raised his head had vanished as well, and darkness enveloped the surroundings as he scanned side to side.

Then, the scenery morphed in an instant.

Ruins were all he could see.

Lifting his head to peer farther yielded no better results.

Everywhere he looked, destruction prevailed. The sky was gray as if laden with dense clouds — but it was merely an illusion.

The expanse overhead, blanketing this world, bore a resemblance to the sky, yet was not the sky.

Consequently, neither the sun nor stars existed beyond it. It could have been that way, perhaps since the beginning of this world. Eugene felt a turmoil bubbling deep within his chest as he descended to the ground.

Slowly, he surveyed the surroundings. The remnants of collapsed buildings around him appeared both familiar and foreign. Eugene nudged a fallen wall gently.

With a mere touch, the wall crumbled violently, the sound echoing resoundingly in this desolate world. He listened intently, expecting a response, yet no movements or reactions greeted the spreading noise.

"Figures," Eugene murmured with a bitter smile.

What had he been expecting? That someone might still remain in this barren, silent world? That was an utterly absurd, not to mention cruel, thought.

His heart continued to rage, and his mind was in turmoil. It wasn’t a result of the recoil from Ignition. It wasn’t an issue with his body. Instead, his soul was being shaken to its very core. Despite the lack of discernible paths in the ruins, Eugene instinctively knew where the roads lay and where he should head.

But his steps faltered. His very will was shaking.

As he had told Tempest, he feared what revelations this place might offer. Perhaps it would be better not to see, to remain capable without the burden of understanding?

"No, I can't,” Eugene told himself resolutely.

He grasped his wavering heart and forced his reluctant feet forward. Doubting his ability to handle it? Handle what?

‘The truth,’ he admitted to himself.

Eugene gritted his teeth.

All that appeared before him were ruins shattered beyond recognition. Yet, if he ventured a bit further, he would come across something assuring, something that would evoke his self-awareness.

Eugene knew of a time when this ruin was not a ruin, a time when this now lifeless world brimmed with vitality.

A time long past when this city had been under the rule of the Demon King.

The Demon King of Fury had four children — their names somewhat escaped him. However, these names differed from those Hamel remembered. However, they weren’t different beings from those that the Demon King of Fury had adopted and nurtured three hundred years ago.

Kamash, Oberon, Sein, and Iris — they had all been bloodborne children of Fury many ages ago.

All four had met their end in this city.

Flames of war had fiercely engulfed the town, and though the Demon King of Fury resisted vehemently, he ultimately succumbed to defeat. At the moment the city was seized, he chose flight, but his offspring threw themselves into the chaos, hoping to preserve their father's life.

The war ceased with the Demon King's retreat. The humans enslaved by the demonfolk were liberated, their tears flowing as they venerated the figure who had brought an end to the war.

And what stood before Eugene was…. It was a symbol of a radiant era, an embodiment of salvation once revered by the people of the city.

Eugene gazed forward while standing tall.

It had once shimmered brilliantly, always immaculate and untouched even by a speck of dust. Every day, as the bell tolled at noon, the square filled with devotees offering prayers, and countless pilgrims journeyed from afar to witness it. People yearned to become beacons illuminating the era and would fervently pledge their oaths before it.

“…..” Eugene silently looked ahead as he remembered the past.

The figure before Eugene was now an ancient statue.

To be completely honest, it was far from a beautiful sight.

It couldn’t be helped, however. The statue had been carved in the tumultuous moments following the city’s liberation by artisans who had been enslaved by the Demon King and the demonfolk. Due to their prolonged enslavement, a deep-seated hatred and fury had been ingrained within the artisans.

Such emotions naturally found expression through their chisel and hammer and saturated the statue. It bore an ugliness reflecting the wrath and bitterness they held towards the Demon King and the demons, an ugliness that could not be beautified.

When the statue was first completed, despite not having flesh or blood mingled into its materials, a stench of blood pervaded the air around it.

But that was a story from too long ago.

Now, the statue had lost its former glory, along with the fading of the brilliant era. It was now laden with dust and marred by cracks and chips. It no longer shone with its radiant aura.

Eugene surveyed the mound made of demon corpses. The sculpted faces once depicted with pain and horror were largely eroded by time, muddled and broken.

Eugene slowly raised his gaze and fixed his eyes on something above the mound.

There sat a man, a blunt great sword slung over his shoulder.

It was Agaroth, the God of War.

It was the man who had been given such a title.

Eugene remembered the time when the statue was first created. The artisans had channeled rage, hatred, and murderous intent while carving the demon corpses but infused joy, faith, and hope when shaping Agaroth.

It couldn't be helped, for Agaroth was indeed the savior of this city. Had he not ushered in the war, the city would have remained under the tyrannical rule of the Demon King of Fury indefinitely.

Agaroth—

He had cherished this statue, though he never showed it openly. He found it somewhat embarrassing to overtly admire a grand depiction of oneself.

When the statue was first unveiled, Agaroth had maintained a stern façade amidst the liberated, joyous citizens. He had been unable to laugh openly.

“Ah….”

Eugene felt a surge of nausea. It came as a pulsating ache in his head. Gasping for air, he clutched at his chest.

He was seemingly alone in this place, yet his ears were inundated with a cacophony of sounds echoing in his mind — the clash of metal, sounds of slicing, piercing, and breaking, cries of anguish, booming war cries, the clinking of liquor glasses, and laughter.

Everything he heard was the sound of war.

He gritted his teeth tightly and forced himself to lift his head once more.

Before him stood the shattered statue, its meticulously carved face now hardly recognizable. Trying to visualize Agaroth's face from the fragmented figure seemed an impossible task.

Yet, Eugene remembered vividly how pristine it used to be. He didn't even need to imagine Agaroth's face.

Seated upon a mound of corpses was a man he had glimpsed even in the Dark Room, a sight granted through Agaroth's Ring. He had stolen a glimpse into Agaroth's memories.

But had he really stolen a glimpse?

Eugene raised his hands and traced the contours of his own face.

It was different.

Despite both of them having two eyes, a nose, and a mouth, the faces of Agaroth and Eugene Lionheart bore no resemblance. Nor did it resemble that of Hamel Dynas.

Yet, the three were the same, distinct in flesh but identical in spirit.

"It’s me," Eugene murmured.

He let his hands fall.

"I was Agaroth." Eugene’s voice was quiet as he voiced a long-forgotten truth.

The Church of Light was the predominant religion of this era. According to their holy text, the God of Light was the first being to be deemed a god in this world.

In a distant past, before civilization dawned on the continent, before the existence of the Demon Kings, a time so ancient that the boundaries between demons, monsters, and beasts were indistinguishable that all of them were simply referred to as monsters. During that period, the sun brightened the sky, yet when night fell, humans could only cower silently in the darkness, for the fire of that age, although hot, could not emit light.

Humans had been profoundly frail compared to the monsters.

Every monster was birthed from darkness, and they were the masters of the night. The frail humans united to stand against them but to no avail.

As more humans were consumed and fear of the monsters grew, the days shortened while the nights lengthened. This resulted in an increase in the number of monsters and a decline in the human population.

Just as hope seemed completely lost, a divine light descended from the heavens. A god appeared. He dispelled the darkness and gifted brightness to the mere warm flame, rewriting history into the age now known to all.

This was the history of the current era.

This was the period after the era of myths when Agaroth lived.

Eugene couldn't fathom how this era blossomed. The memories surfacing pertained to a much more ancient time, a time — how should he word it — that somewhat resembled the situation three hundred years ago.

The demons and Demon Kings resided on the other end of the continent. They had lived among themselves, with a clear demarcation existing between the world of humans and demons.

Then, at one point, the Demon Kings and the demons crossed the boundary. They invaded, conquered, and ruled over the human world.

It was at such a time that Agaroth was born, a time bubbling with resistance against the invasion and dominance of the Demon Kings. A young Agaroth took up a sword and stepped bravely onto the battlefield.

He had spent the majority of his life on the battlefield.

He had experienced defeats, yet victories were significantly more numerous. Every enemy faced in battle belonged to the demon race. Agaroth's blade had sought out many Demon Kings, each known by different names, and many met their end at his hand.

"I'm not sure if you recall," a voice approached, resonating with an impending doom. “You failed to kill the Demon King of Fury. You would have won had you fought him, but the Demon King of Fury fled before a battle could take place.

The sound of chains dragging echoed ominously in the background.

“After losing everything, the Demon King of Fury came to me and begged. He abandoned his pride and bowed in submission. He begged for only a single desire to be fulfilled. Do you know what that was?”

“Revenge,” Eugene responded without turning around.

The Demon King of Incarceration raised his gaze, removing his attention from Eugene’s back and fixating his eyes on the ancient, weathered statue.

The Demon King of Incarceration crafted a chair from chains. With a stoic expression, he seated himself.

“But he failed to achieve even that,” he said in a neutral tone.

Eugene clenched his fists tightly.

Agaroth had once embarked on a daunting venture to conquer the Devildom completely. He had never doubted the feasibility of such an endeavor. As the Demon King of Incarceration said, Agaroth had been revered as the God of War in that era. He had been born a human but had attained godhood through divine adoration and widespread reverence.

With followers who sang hymns of holy wars, donned in armor, and wielding swords, Agaroth sought to eradicate all the Demon Kings and their kind from the world, aspiring for an absolute dominion over the Devildom.

“But as it always is, the end arrived abruptly. It came before the Demon King of Fury could seek you out, before you, revered as the God of War, could march against me with a drawn sword. The end of everything came unexpectedly,” the Demon King of Incarceration continued his narration.

Eugene remembered well.

True “monsters” had emerged from the other end of the world.

The monsters were devoid of reason. They did not seek to conquer and instill fear into humans but to mindlessly slaughter. The monsters were driven not by a sense of purpose but by a primal urge for violence, a horrifying nature that stood as both their rationale and innate disposition.

As these monsters poured forth, countless human lives were extinguished. Agaroth, who was preparing for the next battle, having defeated the Demon King of Fury, found himself not heading towards the Demon Lord of Incarceration as intended but instead thrust into a war against these incomprehensible monsters.

He achieved numerous victories. The monsters were even easier to conquer compared to the Demon Kings.

But when the act of killing and attaining victory became a “natural” sequence, things changed.

Memories from the Dark Room began to overlay with his memories.

Eugene recalled the sight of an unimaginably large heap of corpses — hundreds, no thousands — scattered across the battlefield like common trash.

He remembered.

A turmoil of intermingled colors without clear form plagued his vision, a sight too complex to be comprehended or perhaps, something he refused to understand.

Just as it had happened three hundred years ago, the emergence of the Demon King of Destruction plunged everything into despair.

The Demon King of Destruction had been an existence one should never engage in battle, a Demon King unlike any other, a form built from pure despair and fear. Yet, the crucial difference from three hundred years ago was that Agaroth had refused to flee.

Although a whirlpool of desperation and terror had threatened to take control, Agaroth had lunged into destruction. Every soldier who followed Agaroth did so with relentless trust, marching forward even as fear evoked screams of horror from within them.

“Your war was long, yet it ultimately ended in defeat,” explained the Demon King of Incarceration.

Death.

The Demon King of Incarceration continued, “You knelt before the inevitable destruction, an adversary you could never defy. The beasts of destruction slaughtered not only your followers but every individual of that era.”

Eugene turned his head to see the Demon King of Incarceration.

Seated on a throne forged from chains, the Demon King of Incarceration tilted his head, remarking with an idle gesture, “The Demon King is accustomed to it.”

“..…” Eugene just silently listened to the tale of his past life.

“Even the Demon King of Fury had to come to terms with it, eventually. Destruction always comes suddenly... as an inescapable law. Even the Demon Kings can do little at that moment,” continued the Demon King of Incarceration.

“Is that why you remained here?” asked Eugene.

“It was an agreement with the Demon King of Fury,” responded the Demon King of Incarceration.

“You had no reason to grant him that,” retorted Eugene.

“A reason…?” A rare smile appeared on the Demon King of Incarceration’s face. “It's not your place to judge. The Demon King of Fury asked. I presented my terms, and thus, a deal was struck and a promise formed. That is all there is to it.”

The Demon King of Fury had a vested interest in this city. It was here that he had faced defeat, fled, and lost his children.

“I incarcerated the status and the dark power of the Demon King of Fury in this city so that someday, as he wished… someone worthy, a ‘child’ of his line, could inherit them when they reached these waters,” explained the Demon King of Incarceration.

“What about the Demon King of Fury from three hundred years ago?” asked Eugene.

“The Demon King of Fury that met her end at your hands today asked me the same question,” responded the Demon King of Incarceration.

The Demon King of Incarceration had refused to respond to the inquiry. However, there was no reason not to give an answer anymore.

“It was a contract.”

Iris had yearned for an answer to that question.

Had the Demon King of Incarceration given an answer, Iris would not have stayed in these waters. She had lingered here to hear the truth from him.

“The Demon King of Fury made a pact with me. He wished that when he was reborn, he would retain all the memories from his previous life.”

At this response, Eugene’s lips twitched.

“It wasn’t a difficult request. It was far simpler than sealing away the demon king’s power and status with the city, especially for me. In the end, he reincarnated as a demon, just as he wished, while retaining his past life’s memories. He gathered power to rediscover the self from his recollections and became a Demon King once more,” explained the Demon King of Incarceration.

“..…” Eugene listened without a word as he processed the information.

“The payment was received in the form of a soul,” said the Demon King of Incarceration with a smile. “As is often the case, the soul is the entity itself. To trade it, one needs a firm agreement and submission. It’s impossible for a Demon King to take possession of the soul of another Demon King. Typically, entities such as Demon Kings choose total annihilation over submission.”

“Was it you?” Eugene managed to open his mouth with difficulty. “Was it not Vermouth who reincarnated me, but you?”

“Doubting Vermouth?” the Demon King of Incarceration asked while retaining his smile. “Or, does it discomfort you to think that your soul and memories were tampered with by a Demon King like me?”