Demon Evolution System

Chapter 6

Miles tumbled down, sliding down the slopes. He was bleeding profusely but in a desperate attempt to survive he tried to climb his way back. The rocks scraped and cut his hands as tried crawling back up . Behind him, the wolves surged forward, relentless. Pain screamed through every nerve in his body as claws and teeth raked at him. One latched onto his ankle, yanking him backward. Miles kicked with all his strength, but another wolf lunged, clamping onto his arm.

He gritted his teeth and scrambled up the steep incline, fingers tearing at rock and soil. Each step was agony. Blood seeped from his wound, soaking his clothes. The wolves’ snarls were deafening, their breath hot and ragged as they closed in, but Miles refused to surrender.

He remembered everything—his struggles, the endless taunts, the betrayals, the years of proving himself. He would not die here as a pawn. With a growl, he jammed his dagger into a jagged rock, pulling himself up inch by inch, fighting every pull, every bite, every shred of exhaustion threatening to drag him down.

Another hellhound lunged at him snapping at his neck. Miles barely had time to react, feeling teeth graze his skin. Instinct took over. He thrust the dagger into one of the wolf’s eyes. The head howled, staggering back, but the other two pressed in without hesitation.

Miles’ chest heaved, body trembling. Blood from the wolves and his own wound dripped on the floor.

“ Don't come any closer!” he warned, pointing his daggers at the hounds that were snarling at him. “ Stay back. Stay away from me.”

The three headed wolf eyes locked on the rune, resting in miles pocket and Miles followed its gaze. It was at that moment he realized that the wolf was after the rune all along. “Damn it!” He gritted his teeth as recalled that he hadn't kept the rune inside the bag due to the sudden appearance of the three headed wolf.

In a swift movement, The three headed wolf charged forward and swatted Miles against the wall with the back of its paw

Miles crashed against the wall with a heavy impact causing many of his bones to break. He could barely keep his eyes open at this point and he could only lay helplessly on the ground as the hellhounds were closing in on him.

His demise was inevitable at this point and he could only scoff at his miserable fate. The only thought evading his mind was his sister and how she would survive without him.

If only he wasn't so weak.

If he had awakened a powerful ability then he wouldn't have to die a dog's death.

His mind was filled with so much despair and hate.

As the rune became even more soaked in Miles' blood it flared violently, bright as molten fire, and the world around him dissolved into darkness.

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the cave. The jagged rocks, the wolves, his injuries—they were gone. He stood suspended in a vast, endless void—no ground beneath his feet, no sky above his head. The air itself seemed viscous, pressing against his skin, seeping into his lungs with every breath. It was neither hot nor cold, but something deeper, older. A pressure that did not crush the body, but the will.

Darkness did not feel empty.

It felt heavy.

At the far end of the hall, was a massive obsidian throne. Its form was shrouded in darkness, features obscured, but power radiated from it in waves that made Miles’ knees buckle slightly. It was carved from something that looked like crystallized darkness, jagged and brutal, as if the world itself had been broken and shaped into a seat.

Upon it sat a figure cloaked in shadow, long limbs relaxed, one elbow resting casually on the armrest. . His skin looked like cracked onyx, veins glowing faintly beneath it like molten magma trapped under stone. Twin horns curved backward from his temples, fractured at the tips, as though they had been broken in some forgotten war.

Eyes like dying stars.

“Well,” the figure said, voice smooth and ancient, layered with quiet amusement. “I finally found you..”

“Is this hell ?” Miles asked, his voice shaky and confused.

The figure leaned forward slightly, shadows peeling back just enough for Miles to see sharp features and a smile that did not belong to anything human. “ You're pretty close with that assumption, but this place is within your subconsciousness. I have been waiting for you for a long time.”

Miles’ heart skipped. “Waiting…for me? What are you talking about? Who…who are you”

The throne creaked as the figure rose to his feet. The movement was slow, deliberate—and strained. Cracks spider-webbed across his body with the sound of grinding stone.

Miles noticed it then.

The instability.

The figure form flickered, edges blurring, as if reality itself struggled to keep him intact.

Yet, the moment he stood, pressure slammed down on Miles like a mountain. His instincts screamed. His body wanted to kneel—no, submit—but he clenched his fists and stayed upright.

“My identity doesn't matter much. I have very little time,” the figure said, his tone shifting—less playful, more strained. The crimson glow of his eyes flickered briefly. “Maintaining this form is… draining. I am running on the last fragments of my demonic energy so we have very little time.”

By this time the figure was standing right in front of miles towering over.

“ How very disappointing. You are weak and not exactly what I was hoping for,” he said bluntly.

Miles flinched—but the figure wasn’t finished.

“Even though you have no talent worth mentioning and yet…” His eyes narrowed. “You keep walking forward. You keep stepping into places you know will kill you.”

Images flashed around them—Miles carrying heavy packs through monster-infested zones, enduring insults, crawling through pain, standing back up again and again.

“You have been walking the path of death for a long time,” the figure continued. “That persistence… that refusal to collapse… is a quality of demons. I suppose these qualities of yours will suffice since I don't have the luxury to be picky.”

Miles clenched his jaw. “ What do you want from me?” “

“Not what I want from you but what I can do for you. I know how weak you are, Miles Reed. I know you have no chance of surviving the reality you live in—not without change.”

Miles’ eyes widened slightly upon hearing his name.

“I am offering you my legacy and powers,” the figure said at last.

Miles’ heartbeat thundered in his ears.

“…And the cost?” he asked.

The figure chuckled. “Your humanity.”

Miles forced himself to meet those crimson eyes. “If I refuse?”

The figure's smile faded.

“Then you die,” he said flatly. “Your body is currently being torn apart by demonic wolves. Unless you have another way to deal with that, this conversation ends very shortly.”

Miles’ breath hitched.

Miles’ chest tightened. “And if I accept?”

The figure gaze burned.

“You walk a road soaked in blood. You will suffer. You will lose pieces of yourself. You will be feared. Hated. Hunted.”

He paused.

“But you will live.”

Miles laughed bitterly.

“You don’t leave me much of a choice.”

The Demon King inclined his head.

“Survival rarely does.”

He gestured, and the void trembled violently.

“I have spent centuries maintaining this rune,” the Demon King said quietly. “Clinging to existence with the last scraps of my demonic energy. Waiting for a vessel worthy of bearing my legacy.”

His form flickered violently now.

“If you reject me,” he continued, “I will vanish. But what is that loss to you?”

Miles’ hands trembled.

Thoughts surged into his mind. For years he had struggled for survival in a world that showed no mercy to the weak. Despite all his efforts he had always been treated with contempt and deceit.

A chance to obtain power was before him but to sacrifice his humanity was too much of a sacrifice.

“…Even if I accept,” Miles said quietly, “my life won’t get easier, will it?”

The figure grin returned—wide, sharp, delighted.

“No,” he said. “It will become far worse. I'm only giving you an opportunity but its up to you to survive.”

Miles closed his eyes. Then he laughed. A broken, breathless sound. “Figures.”

He opened his eyes again, his resolve burning through the fear.

“I’ll take it,” Miles said. “Whatever it is. I’ll take it.”

The figure's eyes flared.

“The Demon King’s eyes flared brilliantly.

“Good.”

The throne shattered into crimson fragments.

Energy erupted.

Miles screamed as fire tore through his veins—not burning flesh, but rewriting it. His bones cracked and reforged. His muscles screamed as something alien coiled around them, tightening, strengthening.

Symbols burned into his skin, then vanished beneath it.

The Demon King smiled—wide, satisfied.

“Prove yourself,” he whispered.

And then—

He vanished.