Mind Demon's Path of Domination

Dream Input!

The War Slayer Armor. It was a creature that had a lot of history behind it, one bathed in blood, agony, and survival.

Bathed in war.

In an ancient battlefield, some demonic geniuses had joined together and created it using materials collected in different worlds, and it had run rampant ever since in all battles it fought.

An Armor born for war.

An Armor born to kill.

An Armor born to be the strongest.

No matter what it had to do, it shall accomplish its purpose of being the strongest. No matter what.

Everything else other than its purpose was background noise. Worthless of any notice unless it threatened or benefitted its path to its purpose.

It had to rise, grow stronger, return to that battlefield, and kill as many angels as it could. That was why it was born, that was what it should accomplish.

Its purpose.

"But why?" In its empty mind, a voice asked. "You are so strong. The strongest thing I had ever faced—I admired you! Then why do you let yourself be enslaved to a purpose that someone else gave you?"

It struggled to wake up, as if from a hazy dream. That voice echoed again, and it felt itself tremble inwardly.

"I see this all the time. Someone says you have to earn money, that it is the purpose of your life. Someone says you need to do something else and that is the purpose.

"But is your life just that tiny? Is your purpose just to be enslaved? To not think and do what others say?"

Because it is my purpose, the Armor thought.

"Why? Do you like your purpose that much? Is it worth dedicating your life to? No, you have no obligation to your purpose!"

The voice vanished. But the thought didn't.

That was right.

Why should it grow stronger?

Why should it follow its purpose?

All so that it could return and fight in a war?

War?

That was right. Didn't it hate wars?

Death, destruction, pain, regret, sadness. Loss. Carnage. Hatred.

Bodies would stretch as far as it could see, life unlived ended in its own hands. Didn't it hate doing that?

Didn't every life that it took make it miserable inside?

Why had it never cared about being so miserable inside? Why did it only wake up to that pain when a demon used an attack against it?

When did its purpose become the only driving factor in its life?

When had the war consumed its heart?

Ah, it's the damn demons, it felt.

Was war any good? No. It absolutely abhorred wars. It absolutely abhorred murder. It absolutely hated fights.

It wanted to grow stronger…

Just so that it could suffer?

Why should it do that?

Why would it want to try hard, only to suffer?

An Armor couldn't shed tears, but it could fall to its knees. Silent, exhausted, it fell on its knees and the malevolent and heinous aura around it began to vanish.

It was far too exhausted. For years—so many years—it had been fighting. And it wanted to return, all without its own control. In completing its purpose, it didn't even care about its own broken mind.

Now, it had'd enough.

Angels, demons, wars, growing stronger. Fighting, hating. It had'd enough.

I just want to live in some quite corner of the world where there are no conflicts. Maybe, try and find a way for me to gain a simple human body for myself.

The Armor had always envied humans. The Savage World Will saw the savages as an inferior form of the Armor itself, but in its heart, the savages were its superior version.

They could feel touch, taste food, love, dream, hope, and live. Honestly, it no longer wanted war.

It had just a simple dream, to live the rest of its life somewhere silently.

Meditate.

Mark, standing some distance away from the Armor, stared at it in his own exhaustion.

This fight had taken a lot out of him, too.

And now, they were back in square one.

He had no way to kill or enslave the Armor. With Dream Shock ability now being useful against it, it couldn't chase him either.

He could distract it and run away.

But Dream Shock couldn't kill, and who knows if the Armor would gain Resistance to that, too, somehow?

And what if the Armor got to replenish its Mindpower?

Then, Mark would really die.

There was no point in staying anymore.

Mark had decided to leave this place and return to the Demon World. It was not a safe place with his current condition, but he would be able to absorb a healing ability from some demon there with his Seal of Destiny. Then, he could go back to his full health in seconds.

As long as he could regenerate his arms, he would regain Alchemic Shapeshifting. Then, he wouldn't have to worry at all about wounds.

Gaining the Armor as his tool might have been a really good deal, but Mark, as he was now, just couldn't defeat it.

He had failed.

"Don't beat yourself down," Reol'ran said. "This was an amazing fight—you are amazing. That Armor is too much of a monster."

Mark nodded, exhausted. Then decided to claim his first reward.

====

[Mission 1: Kill 100 Silver Savages.]

[Killed: 139/100]

[Rewards:

Entry back into the Demon World. (Claim)]

[Mission 2: Kill 10 Golden Savages.]

[Killed: 100/10]

[Rewards:

Portal Key. (Claim)]

[Mission 3: Kill 100 Golden Savages.]

[Killed: 100/100]

[Rewards:

Seal of Destiny. (Claim)]

====

Even though he had no eyes and was blind, the violet screen still glimmered as bright as ever. The Soul Sense wasn't good with colors like the eye was, but for some reason, it was vivid.

"Wait!" The Armor said.

Mark scoffed.

He had used Dream Input—his new Ultimate Demonic Art—on the Armor and he could vaguely guess the result. But he didn't really know what had happened in its mind. Yet, he had decided to leave and he would do so without regrets now.

It must still want his Clown's Circus but Mark didn't feel like giving that away. He readied himself to claim the return reward, but subconsciously, he stopped.

There was always this prickling sensation that accompanied the Armor wherever it went. A malevolent and cold aura that made Reol'ran herself afraid. Yet now, that aura was vanishing and the Armor was changing.

Mark stayed in place despite himself.

The aura detached from the Armor and slowly, it mixed into the atmosphere and then entered oblivion. Soon enough, Mark was staring at a completely different Armor from the one he had seen some time ago.

It was a pristine gold in color, not a single taint in its figure other than the one hand that it was missing.

If it regained even a single drop of Mindpower, Mark would have left but it didn't regain anything.

But it had changed. Now, it had an almost holy aura surrounding it.

"What happened?" Mark asked. "I just inputted a dream into you, you should not have changed this drastically due to that."

The Armor fell back on the floor, then looked at the top of the cave they were in silently. It looked haggard, tired.

"Are you going to leave?" It asked. "Then leave me with your name. Who are you, friend?"

Mark remained silent.

He said after a while, "You've changed."

"I remembered," it said. "You must not have meant it when you used that Ultimate Demonic Art, but due to it, I remembered."

"What?"

"Do you know who I am?"

"Nothing much about you beyond your name—The War Slayer Armor."

"I see. Did you know that I am an Armor made out of the heart of an angel?"

Mark was surprised. Silently, he used Heart Parasite demonic art to read the creature's emotions silently.

It was exhausted. It was relieved.

The Armor continued, "A war armor made using the heart of a creature who hates war. I was made out of such a thing—truly, demons have such twisted minds to play out such tricks."

It shook its head.

"But no longer. I shall not fight anymore. Today, here, in this place—I retire. The War Slayer shall not war anymore."

It chuckled.

A long and weary chuckle it was.

It said: "You still seem wary, good. Very good. That's how we should be. Never trust in an enemy's words, they never mean good. You have a long way to go, you are clumsy, foolish, and unprepared—but boy, you are good."

Mark took a deep breath. The words had made an impact in his mind, even though he didn't really want to accept that.

"So, you no longer need my time-stop ability?"

"Oh, that's a good one. But as I said, from this moment, you and I live in a different world. A monk doesn't need the power to stop time—I have retired."

Finally, the Armor was going to get its due rest.

It said, "Tell me your name."

Mark sniffed. "People I know call me Mark."

"Oh… Mark." It sighed. "Do you have that thing you call wine?"

"Can you even drink?"

It sighed again. "I can't drink indeed. Maybe I should not have gained Resistance to your shapeshifting ability. You might have been able to give me a human body."

Mark took out a bottle of normal wine from his World Space and threw it at the Armor. Silently, it just drowned its own body with the liquid, as if washing away something.

Mark himself just took out some Black Water from the World Space into his own mouth and drank it, feeling a sense of slight relief.

"You said you had questions," it said. "If I know the answer, I don't mind telling you."

In its mind, it was also thinking of giving something else to Mark.

A good battle required its conquers at the end, and in its opinion, it was defeated in this one—and Mark had even saved its heart from forever enslavement.

Mark chuckled, groaning.

This was the wonder of life, a while ago, they were battling each other to death, but now, they were sharing wine. And now, both of them wished to have a conversation before they parted ways.

The battle was over, there was no victor, but its participants were both changed men.