Sudden Transformation

"And you. Do you listen to him, or to His Highness Beelzebub, our great King of All Demons?" Ichaint turned to the two low-ranking demons behind him.

The ten million circling flies seemed to have been encouraged, buzzing even louder than before.

Buzz buzz buzz. Buzz buzz buzz. Buzz buzz buzz.

"Your Grace, we meant no such thing." The other low-ranking demon spoke. The left half of his body was made of something black-red like solidified lava, and his left fist was as large as a cauldron.

Ichaint glanced at him, finding the fellow somewhat familiar.

"I am Amiladu."

Noticing Ichaint's gaze, he lowered his head respectfully. "I attended your training."

The brawny demon's voice suddenly became gentle, like a massive bell trying to perform light music. Tenderly, he recited, "The splendid robes of your youth, so envied by all..."

"Will become tattered rags that none will care to see..." Thirteen-Line Poem of the Violent Dead. I really did teach him, Ichaint thought.

"Shut up, Amiladu." Andras said irritably. His subordinate's sudden poetry recital had severely undermined his authority as leader.

"Captain... how about we..." Bile said quietly.

How about you retreat and meet me at the next intersection? Ichaint smiled at Andras.

The stench of decay drifted through the air. The flies cheered.

One of the demon captain's claws still rested on the hilt of his sword, but those narrow gray eyes clearly revealed hesitation.

"Fine." After a while, Andras said hoarsely.

"Fine, then act on your own." He repeated bitterly, "We'll meet at the Flesh-Forging Pool. Don't do anything unnecessary."

No problem. I definitely will, Ichaint thought.

But he did not get the chance to say it aloud.

At some point, Nese had moved closer and urgently bumped his arm.

"Boss..."

"Don't interrupt my farewell with Duke Andras, Villed."

Once I say that, we can leave... Ichaint shot Nese an interrupting glance and found that the sorcerer looked as though he had been dazed by the sun.

He looked back up at Andras.

The demon captain's crow-gray eyes were also staring at him in alarm, wide and round.

Only then did he realize something dazzling was shining before his eyes.

A familiar energy fluctuation surrounded him.

No.

It was not surrounding him.

It was emanating from him...

He lowered his head, and holy white light filled his vision in an instant.

It was coming from himself.

His entire body was radiating holy energy of order.

Ichaint felt his mind go blank as well. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Goodbye slip away from beside his feet and shrink to one side.

Chaos... order... whatever is up there...

"Your wings..." Nese reminded him in a low voice by his ear, as though things were not chaotic enough already.

Ichaint mechanically turned his head to look.

On the wings emerging beneath his shoulder blades, rows upon rows of full, beautiful feathers were packed tightly together, gleaming with holy light. Everything looked perfectly normal and beautiful.

Except they were white.

White.

Whi—

—

He touched his own face. The demon's rough, hard, thick skin was gone, replaced by skin as tender as a newborn baby's.

Only angels had skin like that...

He forgot to lower his hand.

Kill him. How could he believe this?

Buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz... Whoosh!

Like informants who had just uncovered critical information, the ten million flies scattered in every direction.

"The power of order... the appearance of an angel..."

A snake-like hiss leaked from Andras's shrill throat.

He stared at Ichaint, the expression on his face shifting from confusion to shock, then to righteous fury.

"Traitor! No! An angel spy!"

With a sharp scrape, he drew the sword at his waist—the sword that could cut through all discord—and raised it. Its cold sword gleam pointed at Ichaint.

"Ichaint! I don't care who you are... I don't know how you deceived me... You will be punished!"

This was completely beyond Ichaint's understanding. He had a fairly clear idea of what he was capable of.

Nese's analysis of his power domain had been correct. The energy type that little sorcerer had failed to identify was also far removed from order.

There was absolutely not a trace of angelic power of order within him. Not innately, nor acquired later...

He was a one-hundred-percent demon. He could hardly believe that one day he would have to explain such a thing.

For a moment, he even wanted to suspect that he had dealt with Keir too often and somehow caught that decrepit, antiquated aura.

But reason swiftly prevailed. His experience and knowledge told him that was absolutely impossible.

"Wait. I need to figure out what is going on." He raised a hand to Andras.

This time, he was telling the absolute truth.

But unlike lies, no one was willing to believe him this time.

Andras maintained his guarded stance, the tip of his sword aimed at him as he slowly approached. "Bile! Amiladu!" Keeping his eyes on Ichaint, he shouted, "Heed the enforcer's command!"

The two low-ranking demons snapped out of their daze at the sudden burst of holy radiance.

"This... Duke..." Bile's thick brows knitted together.

"Your Grace... why are you an angel..." Amiladu asked in a trembling voice.

"What are you waiting for?" Andras shrieked.

"By order of the King of All Demons, defectors, collaborators with the enemy, and those who violate military orders may be executed on the spot!"

The situation had taken a sharp turn for the worse, beyond recovery.

Goodbye bared teeth as large as spindles and leaped back to its master's side, a deep growl rolling from its throat.

Ichaint gave Nese a discreet hand signal.

Nese did not understand demon hand signals. He thought it meant "run," when it actually meant, "If necessary, fight. Adapt to the situation."

"I'm not running," Nese said, loyally and entirely unnecessarily.

The deafening roar of a vicious lion came from behind.

Bile.

The lion-bodied demon no longer hesitated. Bracing his limbs against the air currents in midair, he kicked off. His already enormous body abruptly swelled to three times its size, and a ring of thick, thorn-like mane burst forth around his collar. Jagged teeth filled his gaping maw as he swept up a fiery wind and pounced at Ichaint from the side and rear.

"My apologies, Your Grace," Amiladu said, a helpless look of guilt flashing across his face.

He took a heavy step forward with his right leg. The pile of rotten flesh beneath his feet was immediately crushed into a deep pit, debris scattering everywhere. The solidified lava on the left half of his body trembled as he swung his vein-bulging left fist. With a flicker, he dodged the hellhound's pounce and abruptly appeared twenty feet ahead of where he had been, striking toward Ichaint's lower back.

Chunks of lava shattered.

That punch came later yet arrived first. In an instant, that enormous, ugly fist had blasted toward Ichaint's back.

Ichaint pressed down with both wings and shot upward, evading the two attacks from behind.

He looked up to find a sharp point of sword light pressed against his chest.

Andras's Enforcer's Sword. The Sword That Cuts Through All Discord.

The next chapter will explain what caused this sudden transformation.

Some of you may have already guessed based on the previous plot :)

Thirteen-Line Poem of the Violent Dead was later copied by someone named Shakespeare, who even added another line to it. (Serious face)