Cursed Devourer

The battlefield remained frozen, as if time itself had stalled in the wake of Malik's gruesome display.

The orc's headless corpse lay twitching at his feet, its blood pooling into the dirt, the sharp scent mingling with the smoke and sweat of battle.

The humans and elves were still reeling.

The orcs and goblins were terrified.

The mercenaries weren't sure whether to celebrate or start praying.

And Malik?

He simply stretched his neck, rolling his shoulders as if he had just completed the most casual task imaginable.

"Well," Kairo's voice purred in his mind, richer than ever with amusement, "that was certainly a way to introduce yourself."

Malik ignored the sarcasm, keeping his gaze locked onto Marithia.

The elven mercenary leader stood rigid, her green eyes calculating, her hand still gripping the hilt of her sword. Her golden armor gleamed in the fading sunlight, but there was a noticeable tension in her posture now.

She wasn't afraid. Not yet.

But she was deeply aware of the predator standing before her.

"You'll help?" she repeated, her tone carefully measured.

Malik smirked. "I just said that, didn't I?"

Marithia studied him. "And all you want is information?"

She wasn't foolish enough to believe that someone like him would fight for free.

Malik's gaze flickered across the battlefield. The mercenaries were battle-worn, but their strongest fighters—Marithia, Dorian, Arin, and Rollo—were still standing.

The orcs and goblins, on the other hand, were faltering. Their numbers were dwindling, their morale shattered by his arrival. The battle had already been turning in the mercenaries' favor and he was just accelerating the inevitable.

But that wasn't why he was interested.

Malik had no attachments to this conflict. No loyalty to either side. If he so chose he could help the orcs and goblins, putting the mercenaries in a precarious situation.

What he wanted was simple. He needed to know more of the planet he was reborn into.

"Yes. Information," he said finally, rolling his shoulders. "About this world."

Marithia blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. "About this world?"

Malik scoffed, but couldn't hide the small smile at the corner of his lips. "Are you a parrot?"

Marithia clenched her jaw so hard Malik could've sworn she'd cracked a tooth, but instead of retorting she stayed silent. She didn't know enough about Malik and antagonising him in the middle of a battle wouldn't go well for them.

Malik shrugged and decided to explain. "I've been asleep for a long time. I know nothing about the current kingdoms, their politics, or the state of magic. That makes me… curious."

He lied through his teeth.

'I don't know if it's common for people from other worlds to be reborn here, so it's better to keep this hidden until I find out more.'

Kairo chuckled in his mind. "Curious is one way to put it. I'd call it gathering intel for inevitable domination, but sure, let's go with curiosity."

Marithia seemed to weigh his words, her emerald gaze flickering across his expression, his stance, his eyes.

She was trying to figure him out.

Good luck.

"You're asking for knowledge in exchange for slaughter?" she asked, a faint smirk playing at her lips, failing to hide her slight intrigue.

Malik's own smirk widened. "I like to collect things. Knowledge happens to be one of them."

Marithia exhaled through her nose, nodding. "Fine. You fight with us, and I'll answer your questions when this is over."

Malik tilted his head. "Swear it."

A flicker of irritation passed through her eyes. "I already said I would."

"Swear it," Malik repeated, his tone unreadable.

Marithia clenched her jaw—not because she was reluctant, but because she knew what he was doing.

He was testing her.

Finally, she spoke.

"I swear it," she said, voice firm. "You fight for us now, and when this is all over, you will have your knowledge."

Malik grinned.

"Good girl."

Marithia's eye twitched.

Behind her, Arin barely contained a laugh, biting her lip as she whispered, "Ooooh, he's got a death wish."

Dorian grunted, shaking his head. "Cocky bastard."

Rollo, their one-eyed brute, just looked entertained.

Marithia, however, was not amused.

Her face was still slightly red, though whether from lingering embarrassment over his nakedness or pure frustration was unclear.

"I like her," Kairo said, his amusement dripping into Malik's mind. "She has some fire. You should definitely mess with her more."

Malik was already planning on it.

But first—

He turned his head toward the remaining orcs and goblins.

"Well?" he called out lazily. "Are we still fighting, or are you just going to stare at me all day?"

The orcs and goblins exchanged glances.

They had already lost one of their strongest fighters—the one Malik had devoured without effort.

Some were clearly ready to retreat.

Others, however—particularly the orcs—still had their pride.

One particularly large orc, clad in scraps of crude iron, let out a deep, guttural roar.

It was a war cry, filled with rage and defiance.

The other orcs took that as a sign.

They charged.

Malik sighed.

"Shame. I was hoping they'd be smarter."

Marithia barely had time to react before Malik moved.

One moment, he was standing beside her.

The next— he was gone.

With a stomp of his foot that cracked the earth, he shot forward like a railgun and dove into the enemy lines.

"Shit—!" Dorian started, but he was too slow to process what was happening.

Malik's flesh shifted, his hands growing into clawed talons, his nails elongating into obsidian-black blades that emitted a thick layer of mana.

And then—

Carnage.

He swung his arm in a diagonal line and ripped through an orc's chest, talons tearing through flesh and bone like paper as the seven-foot monster crumpled to the ground, entrails gushing across the grassy earth.

Another orc swung a warhammer at him—Malik ducked under it, grabbed the orc by the throat, and crushed its windpipe with a single hand.

A goblin leapt from behind, dagger raised—Malik's head snapped towards it and his mouth shifted again, biting through the top half of the creature and swallowing it in one gulp.

The battlefield became a storm of blood and slaughter.

The mercenaries could only watch.

Arin let out a low whistle, staring as Malik effortlessly cut down warriors who had taken them minutes to kill.

"Hells," she muttered, tossing a fireball at a retreating goblin. "He's just playing with them."

Dorian spat onto the ground, eyes narrowed. "I don't like this."

Rollo, meanwhile, grinned.

"He fights like a beast," he rumbled. "I like him."

Marithia, however, remained silent.

She watched Malik move, kill, and devour.

She watched him shift his form mid-combat, as if his very body was made for war.

She watched him revel in the destruction.

And she realized something.

They had not hired a mercenary.

They had unleashed a monster.

The battlefield was no longer a contest of strength.

It was a massacre.

Malik tore through the enemy ranks with ease, his body shifting fluidly, inhumanly, as though he wasn't bound by the same laws of combat as the rest of them.

His claws—long, black, and obsidian-sharp—ripped through orcish flesh with terrifying precision.

He moved faster than the eye could track, dodging attacks not with desperation but with boredom.

To the mercenaries, the battle had been a struggle.

To Malik, it was play.

And that unsettled them more than anything else.

Dorian clenched his greatsword tightly, his knuckles turning white as he tried to process what he was seeing.

"This isn't normal," he muttered under his breath.

"Understatement of the year," Arin replied, launching another firebolt into a fleeing goblin, turning it into a burnt pile of flesh.

"No," Dorian snapped, his voice serious. "I mean he's not normal. No warrior moves like that. No human reacts like that. He's…"

His eyes narrowed.

"…Beyond us."

That was what unsettled him the most.

Strength could be measured. Skill could be categorized.

In this world, warriors were ranked.

Novice – New fighters, those still learning the basics of combat.

Intermediate – Capable fighters, strong enough to hold their own in skirmishes.

Advanced – Trained warriors with years of experience, deadly in battle.

Master – The elite, capable of taking on multiple lesser warriors and emerging unscathed.

Grandmaster – Legends. Warbringers.

And each rank had subdivisions. A simple Advanced warrior was leagues below an Advanced+ warrior, who in turn was still weaker than a Master-.

Dorian himself was Advanced.

Marithia was borderline Advanced+.

But Malik?

Dorian wasn't sure.

Malik fought with the effortlessness of a Master, but there was something different about him. Something worse.

"He's at least Advanced+, maybe Master-," Dorian muttered. "But—"

"He fights like a monster," Arin finished for him.

They couldn't be more wrong in the sense of his ranking. It was just that Malik should never be judged by this world's standards. A mistake many would make in the future.

Malik didn't move like a man trained in combat.

He moved like something far older. Far deadlier.

He wasn't a warrior.

He was a predator.

Marithia had been silent up until now, but finally, she spoke.

"We need to finish this battle," she said firmly. "Fast."

Dorian shot her a glance. "You think he's a problem?"

"I think he's an unknown," she corrected, her green eyes locked onto Malik as he ripped through another orc's throat with his bare hands. "And unknowns are dangerous."

She didn't like it.

Didn't like how he shifted between forms, didn't like how he smiled between kills, didn't like how he held back like this was all a game to him.

Most warriors fought to win.

Malik fought to entertain himself, to satiate his hunger.

And that was far, far worse.

...

Back to the fight with Malik, things were still absolute chaos.

For the orcs and goblins that was.

Malik sidestepped an incoming axe, letting the orc's weapon slam into the dirt. Before the creature could react, Malik grabbed its wrist, twisted, and snapped the bone in two. The orc barely had time to scream before Malik's talons dragged across its throat, severing its jugular. Blood splattered against his bare chest.

He exhaled, wiping the warmth from his cheek, his shifting eyes flickering with amusement.

"They're terrified of you," Kairo chuckled in his mind.

Malik already knew.

He could see it in the way the mercenaries hesitated. In the way they watched him, studied him, measured him.

"They're trying to figure out your rank," Kairo mused, his voice dripping with mirth. "As I told you earlier though, you can't be judged by normal standards."

Malik smirked. "If I was actually trying, what do you think they'd put me at?"

"Master at the very least," Kairo answered without hesitation. "But don't let that inflate your ego, Grandmaster and above are in a different league- you have a long way to go."

Malik silently agreed. Yes he was strong compared to these mercenaries and orcs, but he still vividly remembered the gap between him and Leviathan. There was always a bigger fish, he just didn't want to get hooked before he was ready.

"You enjoy making people uncomfortable, don't you?" Kairo mused.

Malik didn't respond, but his smirk deepened. He could finally be himself in this new world, no longer did he have the restrictions of being weak, living on borrowed power. He had become something greater, and it was his right to enjoy it to the fullest.

...

It wasn't long before the remaining orcs and goblins lost their nerve.

With their numbers dwindling, their morale shattered, and Malik eating them like he was at a buffet, they broke ranks and ran.

Some fled into the woods, others tried to bargain for their lives.

Marithia gave the order.

"Finish them."

Her mercenaries obliged.

The goblins were cut down as they ran, their small bodies easily pierced by arrows and firebolts. The orcs fought to the last man, refusing to surrender—but even they fell, one by one.

And soon—

It was over.

Silence fell over the battlefield.

The mercenaries stood among the corpses, panting, weapons coated in blood.

Marithia sheathed her sword, exhaling sharply. It was done.

But her attention was still on Malik.

He stood unbothered, barely out of breath, his body still untouched by any wounds.

It was as if the battle had been nothing to him.

And that thought unnerved her.

She broke out of her stupor as she saw him turn to face her.

"It's over," Malik said casually, stepping toward Marithia.

She tensed. Just slightly.

But he easily noticed.

"Yes," she said, regaining composure. "And I'll keep my promise too."

Malik tilted his head.

"Your questions," she clarified. "I'll answer them."

He smirked. "Good."

Marithia crossed her arms, pushing up her breasts in a seductive way, something she didn't even realise she was doing. "But first, you're putting some damn clothes on."

Malik blinked in surprise.

Then he laughed.

A genuine, amused laugh.

Kairo howled with laughter in his mind. "Oh, I really like her. She's fun. I take it all back, elves can be great!"

Malik stretched, rolling his shoulders.

Fine. He could entertain them, and he was curious about this since using his abilities during the fight.

With a single thought of intent, is flesh shifted, dark black scales spreading across his skin like they were alive, forming into a tight, armored suit, reminiscent of his old Devourer's Adornment. Except this time no helmet adorned him.

He had been blessed with beauty in this life, something he never experience in his 19 years of his previous life, and he'd be damned if he didn't take advantage of it now.

The armour was light and flexible this time—still letting him move freely, it was a part of his body afterall.

Marithia watched the transformation carefully, her eyes sharp and leaking curiosity.

Dorian exhaled. "That's better."

Arin muttered, "Shame."

Malik just grinned at the comment.

He stepped closer to Marithia, leaning slightly down, just enough to lower his voice so only she could hear.

"You looked, didn't you?" he whispered, his tone smug.

Marithia stiffened and her fingers twitched toward her sword. Malik's warm breath brushed against her skin and her heartbeat quickened against her will.

"No," she said far too quickly.

Malik chuckled, slow and deep. "Liar."

She glared up at him, refusing to be intimidated. "I could kill you."

Malik grinned wider, his color-shifting eyes glowing with amusement.

"I'd like to see you try."

Marithia's pulse spiked.

She hated him.

She absolutely hated him.