The Damned Demon-Chapter 815 Not Worthy Of Your Flames

Valeria took a step forward, her gauntleted fists tightening, her stance shifting into a refined yet brutal combat form—one that spoke of experience, discipline, and absolute confidence.

Asher, still holding onto his ring blade, narrowed his eyes as he watched her stance solidify.

No weapon.

She wasn't going to use her sword.

He could feel it in the way she stood—she intended to fight him barehanded.

Asher's ring blade disintegrated.

A battle of fists, then.

He let out a breath, exhaling dark green embers as he decided to play it fair.

And just like that—

She vanished.

A blur of black steel and shadow—she closed the distance between them in a single instant.

BAM!

Asher barely managed to raise his arms to block as her fist slammed against his forearm, the impact sending a shockwave through the air, his boots skidding backward across the ruins' stone floor.

Her speed was insane.

But Asher retaliated just as fast.

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His damned flames exploded outward, his form blazing like a walking inferno of death, his flaming skeletal fists meeting her iron-clad knuckles with relentless fury.

CRACK! BOOM! BAM!

Each punch, each strike, each movement was nothing short of brutality and perfection clashing in raw form.

But the more she struck him, the stronger and faster he was getting. Yet, at the same time, she seemed to somehow keep up as well as if she was purposefully and carefully using her strength to not give him an early advantage.

He knew she had a good idea about his powers, which only made this battle more difficult for him. But the fact that she was not stalling for time and was confident enough to strike him was just another shocker.

Asher sidestepped her next blow, his flames whipping violently around him, and for the first time, he saw a tiny opening in her defenses.

His fist shot forward.

A direct, monstrous punch—

BOOOOM!!!

His flaming knuckles collided with her helmeted face, the impact so powerful it sent shockwaves that made even the iron-like floor beneath them shake subtly.

Valeria's head snapped back, her body staggering from the sheer force.

But Asher's victory was short-lived—

Because he saw it.

A thin, dark trail of blood slipping from beneath the cold, lifeless visor of her helmet.

She coughed.

Blood.

Yet—

She barely reacted.

She didn't stumble.

She didn't waver.

She took it.

As if his punch was nothing more than a mere inconvenience.

Asher's flaming sockets widened for the briefest second.

She could bleed.

She could break.

And yet—

She stood unfazed, like an unmoving force of nature.

It hurt him to feel his hands brutalizing her body despite knowing she didn't care. Yet knowing she was Rowena's sister only made the feeling worse.

The eerie silence was shattered by Asher's low voice, "Why aren't you using your Damned form?"

He knew as an undead she couldn't feel pain. But this wasn't about that.

She had the power to become stronger by taking advantage of the Mark of the Damned and transforming.

Why wasn't she using it?

Valeria's response was calm.

"I won't need it."

Her tone was final, as if his question itself was pointless.

Asher's jaw clenched.

His pride burned at her words.

She really believed she didn't need it to defeat him.

There was only one way to find out.

He attacked again.

Asher's flames surged, his speed doubling, his fists becoming blurs of destruction, yet—

Valeria changed.

Her movements shifted entirely, adapting mid-fight.

Before, she was precise, controlled, and calculated.

Now?

She became unpredictable.

Her body moved fluidly yet explosively, her fists striking faster, hitting harder, her attacks sharp and monstrous, making Asher's own power spike further just to keep up.

But then—

He realized it.

His MP was burning away even faster.

The harder he fought, the stronger and faster she became, as if she had yet to fully use her strength against him.

And in turn, he became faster and stronger.

It was a battle of attrition.

A vicious cycle—one that he already knew by now that he wouldn't win.

Because no matter how many devastating punches he landed—

No matter how many times he broke her bones—

She took them all.

Like a body of unbreakable steel, she absorbed everything.

Asher could hear her bones rattle and crack under his punches, but they never shattered, making him realize how insanely tough her body was. Enjoy exclusive chapters from novelbuddy

She was bleeding from the tiny gaps between her armor plates, but she didn't slow down.

She only got faster.

SLAM!!!

Before Asher could react, her fist drove into his chest, knocking the flames straight out of him.

His flames sputtered.

His Hellbringer form flickered.

And then—

It shattered.

His mana ran out.

The dark green flames extinguished instantly, his body returning to normal as he was sent flying backward.

BOOOOM!!!

His body crashed into the indestructible ruins' wall, a brutal wave of pain exploding through his bones as he crumpled to the floor.

He coughed—

Blood dripping down his lips.

Silence followed.

Rebecca blinked. She didn't move. She didn't speak.

Because what she just saw shouldn't have been possible.

Asher lost.

That despicable bastard…

The Immortal King, who supposedly shouldn't go down so easily.

The Hellbringer.

Lost.

To a Bloodborn Guard.

Who was this tall she-monster in the guise of a guard?

Rebecca's throat felt dry, her thoughts a mess.

This woman...She couldn't just be any Bloodborn Guard.

There was no way.

Her bloodline had to be special to get this strong that even rivaled the Moon Guardian's strength.

Rebecca's thoughts were broken as Valeria walked forward, standing over Asher's fallen form.

Rebecca wondered if she was about to mock him or look down at him with superiority.

But nothing of such sort happened.

Instead—

Valeria offered her hand.

Her voice was emotionless, unwavering.

"You will be alright."

Asher, groaning, pulled himself up by grabbing her hand, his muscles tensed from exhaustion.

With a dry chuckle, he wiped the blood off his mouth, his mind still racing.

This strength...

It wasn't normal.

Did she become this powerful because she was trained by an immortal undead monster?

Just what the hell was Skully turning her into?

Before he could say anything, a tall, dark shadow loomed over him.

Skully.

The ancient undead master stood beside Valeria, his presence towering over both of them.

Then, with a hollow, cold voice, he spoke:

"You're too weak to be worthy of your flames."

Asher clenched his jaw, his fists still tight despite the exhaustion in his limbs. His body still bore the echo of the battle, every fiber of his being screaming at him from the brutal exchange with Valeria.

Yet the worst pain wasn't physical.

It was what Skully said.

"You're too weak to be worthy of your flames."

Those words gnawed at him, searing deeper than any wound ever had. Because he knew he was right.

He exhaled sharply and looked at Skully with narrowed eyes.

"...What do you know about my flames?" he asked, his voice low, laced with frustration. "How do you share my powers?" Asher finally asked the question that had been gnawing at him.

The eerie hollow sockets of Skully's skull flickered with an unreadable glow, but his expression—or what could pass as one—remained emotionless, indifferent.

"I told you I don't need your questions," Skully's voice resonated through the air, deep and deathly still. "Only your actions."

Asher felt his muscles tense, but before he could speak, Skully continued.

"You rely on your Hellbringer form in the wrong way," he said, his tone as cold and absolute as the grave. "You make yourself stronger at the cost of your mana. If Valeria had merely stalled for time, you wouldn't even have been able to touch her."

Asher's hands clenched tighter.

He knew it was true.

He had felt it.

Valeria was only testing him out.

She knew what she was doing. If she had prolonged the fight, she could have effortlessly waited until he couldn't use his powers anymore.

"You depend on it like a crutch," Skully continued. "A temporary surge of power to give you the illusion of strength. But all it does is make you weaker."

Asher could see he had a point and yet he let out a sigh of frustration, "And how exactly am I supposed to fight those stronger than me if I can't rely on it?" His eyes burned with challenge as he took a step forward, glaring at the ancient, undead entity before him. "Should I just stand there and let myself get killed?"

Skully remained silent for a moment before tilting his gruesome, skeletal head slightly to the side.

"I never told you not to use it," he said slowly. "I told you that you don't know how to truly utilize it."

Asher furrowed his brows.

Truly utilize it?

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Skully's eerie, unmoving sockets glowed with an unsettling light.

"You think your Hellbringer form is meant to be a shield—a way to absorb damage and outlast your enemy. But you are wrong. It was never meant to be just that. It is not a mere armor or a battle power. It can be something far more powerful."

Asher felt his chest tighten as he heard those words.

His Hellbringer form was his trump card.

It was what had allowed him to stand against those who should have killed him.

And now—

Skully was telling him he had been using it wrong all along?

"...Like what?" Asher asked, his voice now laced with intrigue instead of frustration.

Skully didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he took one step forward, his towering skeletal frame looming closer, colder, heavier.

"Do you know why you cannot absorb mana?"

Asher blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt question.

His lips parted slightly, but he closed them again.

Because the truth was—

He didn't know.

He always wondered why.

Why every other being in this world could absorb mana from the air, replenish their energy—except for him? Even his human self could do it.

"...No," he admitted with a furrowed brow, "I always wondered, but it's not like I could find out why."

Skully tilted his head slightly, his voice hollow, emotionless, yet absolute.

"Then I will make you find out."

Before Asher could react—

Skully moved.

Faster than Asher's eyes could follow.

The blackened, charred staff in Skully's hand suddenly lunged forward—

The dark green, glowing tip pressing hard against Asher's chest.

"—Ghhaah!"

Pain.

Unimaginable, consuming pain.

Dark green veins erupted across Asher's dove grat skin like cracks through glass, surging outward from his chest in a violent, pulsating pattern.

His face turned pale, his body stiffening, his eyes widening in shock.

It was like something was burning him from the inside.

The air itself felt like poison, his mana circuits corroding, something clawing into him from within.

This felt just like how Lori described the mana here was corrupting her body.

Why was he suffering from the mana here all of a sudden? What did Skully do to his body?

His vision blurred, his breath hitching, as his knees almost gave out beneath him.

"Hey! What are you doing to him, you bony bastard! Stop it!!" Rebecca cried out from afar despite being held in place by the undead. She felt her heart tremble upon seeing what Skully was doing to Asher, making her feel afraid in a way she couldn't describe.

She gritted her teeth until her lips bled, but she couldn't free herself or use her powers to escape the grip of this undead.

But neither he nor Valeria paid heed to her words.

Skully's voice remained calm, distant—merciless.

"People here call you the Immortal King," his voice echoed in the chamber, deep and devoid of emotion, "But you never truly were one so far."

Asher gritted his teeth, his body quaking under the sheer, overwhelming agony spreading through him.

Skully's gaze bored into him, as if he was examining something beneath his very skin.

"It's time to find out," Skully said, his words ringing with finality.

"If you can become one... or die a mortal."

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