Dancing on the golden ashes-Chapter 271: A World to Rebuild

I watched her without saying much, letting the silence stretch between us. There wasn't much I could say in a situation like this—what words could possibly ease her pain, her fury? What words could give her justice for everything that had been taken from her people?

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I wasn't much better off, though, was I? I had been a victim of his plots, sure, but what did that even make me now? I had long since shed that label. I was a killer, plain and simple. Nothing else. The souls I consumed, those shattered fragments of lives, they'd never find rest. They'd never reincarnate, at least not in the way that they once had. Did I care? Not in the slightest. I had no room for sympathy in my heart—not for enemies. And not for myself, either.

I could feel the weight of her gaze on me, but I didn't return it, not yet. Instead, I listened. She spoke again, pouring out more of the twisted tale that had shaped the world she lived in. Her voice wavered at times, but her anger never faltered.

Apparently, that bastard—the Creator—hadn't just destroyed their world and taken their queen. He had also abducted many of the demon women. What for? She couldn't say for sure. Perhaps experiments. Perhaps something worse. What she did know was that the way these demon women looked, the way they carried themselves, was irresistible. They were exquisite, unlike anything I had ever seen. I could tell from the fire in her eyes that these were no mere physical traits she was describing—there was something deeper, something innate about their beauty, something that made them the target of every race's lust, especially the Angels and other power-hungry forces.

Slavery was one thing, but I could sense that it wasn't just about taking them as possessions. These women, they were coveted for something more. And I could tell that Vyreth's anger wasn't just for the world that had been destroyed. No, her fury burned brightest for what had happened to her sisters—the women of her race who had been dragged into that hell, who had been turned into tools, into objects for some twisted purpose.

"Maybe... they were experimenting on them," she muttered through gritted teeth, her eyes smoldering. "Or worse. They wanted to break us—turn us into something they could control. But they don't realize... that was their mistake."

The venom in her voice was enough to freeze the air around us. She wasn't just angry for the sake of it—she was plotting, scheming, ready to tear down the ones responsible.

I knew that feeling. I'd lived with it for years. A hunger for vengeance, for retribution, for a world that owed me something, that owed her people something. But I wasn't sure if that was enough anymore. I was a killer, yes, but I wasn't entirely certain who the real enemy was. Would taking down him truly bring peace to this world? Or would it simply leave a bigger hole in the heart of the demons who were left behind?

But that wasn't the question at hand, was it? The question was whether Vyreth and I could find a way to fight together—whether I could help her burn this world down and rebuild it from the ashes, or if I'd be nothing more than another weapon in a war too deep for either of us to understand.

The night passed slowly, the howling winds of the sandstorm echoing in the distance, relentless and unforgiving. Yet, we survived it—unscathed, not a single soul lost. The storm raged outside our temporary shelter, battering the world with a fury only the desert could know, but we remained untouched within our defenses.

When the scorching morning sun finally broke through the veil of darkness, it lit up the world in a blinding blaze of gold. The sand, shimmering under the early light, seemed almost alive, alive with the promise of a new day. We moved again, our journey resuming, continuing without pause.

Months passed in a blur of dust and travel, the landscape shifting around us like a dream—endless deserts, broken cities, crumbling ruins. The demons I found scattered in this forsaken land were few, but they were growing in number. My forces, though small, were slowly building, slowly becoming something more. But there was one thing we lacked, one thing that kept gnawing at the back of my mind, the one thing that made this world unbearable for me.

There was no life to sustain me.

If I couldn't find souls to consume, I would starve—dissolve into nothing, become a hollow shell of the power I once had. I had long since abandoned the idea of simple survival. I had a purpose now, a plan. I couldn't just exist. I needed this world to thrive again. I needed it to pulse with life, to awaken once more.

This land... this broken, barren place, could be rebuilt. It was a canvas of ash, waiting for something new, something better. I wasn't just going to sit here and watch it wither away, let it fall into eternal ruin. No. I would resurrect it. From the ashes, I would rise.

But the path wouldn't be easy. For one, I had to find a way to bring life back into the land. I would need more than just my power, more than just raw strength. I needed something to fuel this resurrection, something deeper than the magic I already commanded. I needed the right people. The right forces. I needed to create a foundation, a place where I could draw energy from the souls of those who lived, where I could feast and grow strong enough to reshape the world. And the only way to do that was to rebuild, to restore what had been broken.

But rebuilding this broken place wouldn't be simple. It would require sacrifices—those who stood with me would need to bleed for the cause, and I would be no exception. It was a task that would take time, effort, and maybe even lives.

The question now was where to begin. Where would I find the source of life that this world had lost?