He immediately fell to his knees, scraping his nails along the harsh metal of the armour, dragging lines through the bloody seal on its back. The armour trembled and thrashed as he did so, but slowly, it became limp, and the rest of it crashed to the ground unceremoniously.
I was… correct.
But was this my own intuition, or was my success the result of Lark's Gambit?
Now, keeled over the armour, Artemis finally came to terms with how much damaged he had suffered during the fight. He had been too enamored with the idea of survival by defeating the hollow armour that he had forgotten that he also had to survive after the fact.
Cuts littered his arms, shoulders, and face, and his leg had been torn to shreds by the skeletal beast previously, not to mention that he had suffered the dagger wound to his hand. There was nearly as much blood on the ground as there was water, and considering the makeup of the skeletal beasts and the armour, it was certainly all his own.
Is this really all I can do, rely on the one thing that ruined me…?
And still yet, falter...?
He collapsed into the black water, feeling its cold sting lapping up against his tattered leg. He grimaced, burying his forehead into the ground as he stifled a sob.
There might have been some severe punishment for those who mistook their privileges and shunned them. Maybe that was what he had been experiencing in that moment. But he hadn't been trying to shirk the life of a Royal, he only thought that he would lose it all if they had seen what he had become.
And now, he truly had become a Frail Prince. A weak, broken man lying in the wet soil.
What was Prince-like about him now?
It was likely because he wasn't even the King's real son. He was only some stray dog that had been picked up, taught to obey the real Prince's orders and commands at all costs. And that boy had become his brother, someone he truly considered the most important to him.
But the King had always been sure to have him know he was nothing like that boy, his brother. That was because they did not share the same blood, the same lineage. He had no lineage, he was only here because of Fate.
And because of that cruel, bastard teacher of his, that Fate was bound to be solitary, lest he become the ire of anyone who took notice of his particularly Daemonic nature. Or, at least, the Spirit he harbored.
And a Spirit Contract was signed for life. It wasn't as if he could take it back. If it were possible, Artemis would have done it a thousand times over.
He had been brought up fearing Daemonic influence. The Church of Saint Cade and Saint Sonetto were very clear about their teaches regarding Daemonic Spirits. After all, these churches were havens for Spirits to gather, and were often a hub-point for those licensed to Contract with them to find what fitted their needs best. Of course, this was usually due to luck…
But what was certain was that there was never a Daemonic Spirit present, not anywhere near those Churches. They were the sort of things that were said to dwell in ancient, abandoned ruins, in dark, mysterious places that no sort of child should go. They were terrifying bedtime stories, terrible creatures.
And they all had a vile, malicious cost tied into their Contracts.
If Artemis had known this, he never would had gone along with his Teacher's will.
But over time, his fear had become different. It wasn't a fear of being called Demonic in nature, it wasn't the fear of being vilified or hunted as a Beast by any sort of Church. It was the fear that he was truly, slowly becoming the useless Prince.
No matter how much he trained in solitude, how his body grew with age, this never left him.
And it had become far too late for him to go back. He could never return to how things were beyond that day.
He suddenly felt a sudden sharp pain across the length of his wounds, like tiny needles sinking into his flesh. Glancing up towards his hand, he saw that the gash in his palm had been coated over with a dark-obsidian sheen. Touching against it, it felt tough, firm, and gravelly. The water had… turned to stone…
It was the same for his leg, which had been effectively torn to pieces. Black lines of craggy stone ran across where blood had been spilling, now completely sealing them off. His entire leg was coated with these stones.
But why? What had caused the water to turn to stone? Would it harm him further?
He felt weak, and the pain was still significant. He was sure his face had grown pale, and the dark circles underneath his eyes were already constant, so they couldn't exactly worsen…
…but he was no longer bleeding out.
He felt some odd, messed-up sense of relief surge through his heart.
Even if the stones were harmful, they were at least helping him in the short term.
And if he was no longer a dead man, then there was no point in lying in wait.
He had to keep moving.
Artemis had first caught a glimpse of it during the fight, but there was another creature present. He had been far too busy trying to survive against the living armour that he hadn't thought about it much, but it was starting to wear on his nerves. Standing atop a nearby building, Artemis saw a flickering silhouette.
This lone shadow, its terribly thin visage, it stared directly at him. It had a pair of sickening bright-yellow eyes, pupils glaring in the darkness.
Its very presence sent shivers down Artemis's spine. But it didn't attack, it didn't move in the slightest, not towards him, not even in place. It only stood, and it only watched.
He would have to keep better track of it. If it suddenly attacked, Artemis might not see it coming until it had injured him. After all, what was a better assassin moving through the shadows than a shadow itself?
Besides that, there was a blinding light in the distance, a bright-golden radiance that seemed to illuminate the farthest part of the abandoned city. A dark tower pierced the stormy sky high above, a wall twice as tall as the city stretching out from the fortress he currently resided in towards a hopeful lighthouse high above the terror of the city. Just like the girl he had seen in his strange dream, he was now sure he had to reach it himself.
Then again, what if the light itself was just some strange, glowing monster? They had creatures like that outside of the Capital city surrounding the Palace, so why wouldn't this strange city have them too?
But if it were those sorts of beasts, he was sure he could kill them himself. He just needed to find a weapon.
As related to that, his left eye was furious. Not in the sort of sense that it felt an angry emotion, but that it was ravaging, ready to gorge itself, demanding ratification of the Spirit Contract.
For every time he used Lark's ability, its 'devouring' that allowed him to consume the powers of others, he had to allow Lark to eat something large. Preferably drenched in the stench of the once-living, or even better, something that was still alive.
"H-how about these, you bastard…?" He muttered, his voice weary.
He trudged over towards the fallen armour and the remains of the skeletal beasts, what little flesh they had clinging to their rotten bones.
Strangely, he noticed that the large greatsword the hollow armour had wielded had entirely disappeared. The indent where it had fallen and the cuts in the stone were still present, but the onyx blade had vanished. It was a shame, it was the only weapon he had seen thus far…
The silver knife…?
Suddenly, Artemis's lower jaw unconsciously unhinged, his body turning as he lunged towards the hollow armour.
No, wait you bastard! I need the knife, I need to keep the knife!
In a single motion, his form wrapped around the onyx armour, biting down on it with an inhuman extension of his jaw. It didn't hurt, not usually. But it was terrifying. For a few moments after each time he used Lark's ability, his body would be handed over to the Demon to fulfill the terms of the contract.
His body would gain certain daemonic traits, like the ability to unhinge his jaw to a monstrous extent, and hold whatever he devoured in his stomach for the few seconds it took to absorb it and summon it to wherever Lark resided.
But the Daemonic Spirit was quick to act. It was already too late.
Lark had already devoured the hollow armour, including the knife that had been embedded in its side. It had only taken two massive bites.
Artemis cursed, running his bloodied fingers through his hair as his jaw returned to its normal size.
But for the first time in a long time, he heard a strange, familiar, layered voice echo through his head.
[This meal had something for you…]
[Do you want to parley, dear Host…?]