Starting My New Life as a Demon Kid

Chapter 54. Mapheltan (1)

From within the rift, pitch-black miasma flowed out. Extreme malevolence oozed between the torn spaces, asserting its presence.

Ilea stared into the air and spoke.

“Looks like it ended well.”

The furball Imp shouted with eager eyes,

“I feel endless wickedness! The End is manifesting upon this land! Worship Him!”

The creature prostrated itself. At that moment, a pitch-black hand ripped through the rift.

Starting with the arm, the entire body slowly emerged.

The more of the form was revealed, the more ecstatic the Imp’s expression became.

“Truly the embodiment of malice! The End clad in flesh!”

A monstrous, utterly wicked figure revealed itself.

A grotesque being clad in dark carapace. Its entire body wrapped in crimson tattoos, it glared down at everyone with a dreadful gaze.

To humans, it exuded terror; to demons, reverence.

Even Gaf’s expression tensed. Yohan, who had been just an Imp not long ago, had changed far too much.

Now, he truly looked like a demon of the apocalypse.

Ilea stood on tiptoe and compared her height with Yohan’s.

“You’ve grown taller again.”

Demonic Yohan now stood at about the same height as Gaf. He had become a giant.

Yohan chuckled and said,

“The air up here is fresh. So Gaf’s been enjoying this all along, huh? Selfish bastard.”

At the light joke, some of the tension faded from Gaf’s expression.

He replied,

“Nonsense. A demon who finds stench fresher than clean air.”

Ilea let out a small laugh.

“Not wrong. From Yohan’s perspective, he should hurry and fill this world with the stench of rotting flesh and blood.”

The Imp shouted excitedly,

“I shall assist in the great act of evil! We’ll perfume the world with the scent of burning corpses!”

The conversation grew increasingly gruesome, and Raguel flinched slightly.

Yohan's lips curled into a long smile. Mischief glinted in his eyes.

“Raguel, you’ll join too, won’t you?”

“M-me? Please leave me out of it.”

“That won’t do. I plan to give you a vital role.”

“A role? What are you talking about all of a sudden…”

“Scribe of the Cursed Scripture. One day, you’ll record the end of the world in detail.”

He needed someone to write the 13th chapter of the Cursed Scripture. Raguel was perfect. A true bookworm, he was likely gifted in writing too.

In truth, Yohan had received a chronicler demon from Kaiaze—but the creature didn’t feel trustworthy. After all, it was Kaiaze’s subordinate.

“I need someone of my own.”

No one came to mind except Raguel.

“And if I say no?”

“Of course you have no right to refuse. Haven’t flown lately, have you? You're rebelling again.”

For Raguel, “flying” was synonymous with terror. Whenever Yohan grabbed him and took off, Raguel would scream until he lost his voice.

As the traumatic memories surfaced, Raguel’s spirit wilted.

Unable to watch, Ilea patted him on the back.

“Don’t worry too much, young master. He’s only joking. Yohan has no intention of actually destroying the world.”

Raguel stared blankly at Yohan, as if asking, Is that true?

Yohan chuckled.

“Quite the opposite. The world will be saved by a black hand.”

Ilea clapped her hands dramatically.

“Oh my! Helping Yohan means helping save the world. Congratulations, young master. You’ll be recorded as a hero someday.”

Raguel mumbled awkwardly,

“A hero? Someone like me?”

Yohan grinned mischievously.

“Not a fan? Then how about a villain-hero? The one who sold the world. I can write it that way in the Cursed Scripture.”

The Imp exclaimed in awe,

“Blasphemer! Apostate spurned by the Great Saint! Dark cult leader who spreads the Apostle’s will!”

Raguel shouted in a panic,

“Wha— no! I don’t want that!”

Yohan’s expression softened. He spoke in a more serious tone.

“Then write your own story. I’ll entrust the Cursed Scripture to you. Just record everything you see and hear. Of course, I’ll need to approve it.”

Raguel sighed.

“Feels like I’m getting swept up by you again.”

Ilea nodded.

“That’s always how it is with Yohan.”

Yohan shrugged.

“Truly a perfect demon. I’m sure you all agree.”

The Imp flailed its limbs excitedly.

“A true role model of demonkind!”

More jokes followed.

Everyone was laughing and chatting.

Gaf watched them silently.

Here, in the underground archive—the very seat of malevolence—they were exchanging jokes like it was a picnic. He was dumbfounded.

To the still and silent Gaf, Yohan spoke.

“Come to think of it, Gaf, there’s something I should show you.”

Miasma began to condense in Yohan’s palm. Black mist coiled together like yarn, gradually forming a shape.

Something long and massive. It slowly took form and finally revealed its true self.

A corrupted holy relic. The once-pure holy spear had turned into a cursed spear, now resting in Yohan’s hand.

Where once it radiated holiness, now only malevolent energy clung to its blade.

It was clearly a demonic weapon.

Gaf examined the spear and said,

“So this is the spear you obtained?”

“That’s right. The Holy Spear… no, now it’s the Cursed Spear Espada. I need spear techniques suited for it.”

“Whatever spear you wield, the fundamentals remain the same. Just follow the curriculum properly.”

Yohan chuckled.

“Duly noted. Coming from the mercenary who slew the terror bird Korukersus.”

Gaf cleared his throat in embarrassment.

Ilea smiled teasingly.

“As expected of Father—the Lion of the East, after all.”

Gaf quickly changed the topic.

“All in the past. But the name Espada doesn’t suit a cursed spear at all.”

Ilea nodded.

“Espada is archaic for ‘vanguard of the Holy War.’ It doesn’t really fit a cursed weapon.”

Yohan responded indifferently.

“Not sure why names matter.”

Raguel cautiously spoke.

“They… do matter. Whether for people or things, names represent identity. If the Cursed Scripture says the cursed spear is called Espada, some might find it strange.”

Yohan smirked.

“Already playing scribe, are you? Fine. You try naming the cursed spear.”

Raguel thought for a moment, then murmured,

“…Turabak.”

Ilea let out a soft exclamation.

“It means ‘vanguard of chaos.’ But how do you know the old tongue?”

“I’ve read a few related books. There are plenty of forbidden texts in the library.”

Reading forbidden texts was considered one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

“Quite the guts you have. Still, thanks to that, we now have a proper name for the cursed spear.”

The Cursed Spear, Turabak. Not a bad name.

Yohan tapped Raguel on the shoulder approvingly.

“You really do have a knack for this. I’ll be counting on you.”

Raguel scratched his head.

“It’s nothing. Just blurted it out.”

The Imp carefully opened its mouth.

“O Great End, since we’re on the topic… may this wretched one make a humble request?”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Please… bestow a name upon me as well.”

Now that he thought about it, Yohan had promised to name the Imp.

Ilea’s expression chilled. She spoke coldly.

“Do you understand what it means to receive a name from an Apostle?”

Low demons obsessed over names. A title bestowed by a high-ranking demon, or one earned through acts of evil, became the foundation of their identity.

For wretched spirits born and erased without meaning, nothing mattered more than establishing a self.

A name from an Apostle was proof of servitude to a great being.

To a mere Imp, it was an undeserved honor.

The Imp, somewhat disheartened, replied,

“I know I’m unworthy. But I did survive the Apostle’s trial. Luck had a lot to do with it… maybe too much.”

Back in the southwestern isolation zone, Yohan had promised that if the Imp returned alive, he would take it as a subordinate.

The Imp had survived. Now it was Yohan’s turn to fulfill his word.

Ilea scoffed.

“You’d have been dragged off and executed by the Order if not for me.”

The Imp couldn’t argue. It looked up at Yohan.

“The Witch speaks the truth. O Great End, I shall return when I have proven myself further.”

Yohan’s expression darkened. He spoke in a cold voice.

“Are you trying to make me go back on my word? I promised. So I keep it. That’s all.”

The Imp bowed deeply, hiding its expression.

“O Great End! This wretched soul and flesh I offer to you!”

Ilea still looked displeased but didn’t object further.

Yohan fell into brief thought.

A name that symbolizes identity…

Why had he even brought the Imp along?

There hadn’t been a clear reason. Just curiosity. That was all.

Let’s not overthink it.

Yohan spoke.

“A jester suits you. Raguel, what’s the word for jester in demonic tongue?”

“I—I don’t know demonic well yet… Sorry.”

Ilea answered instead.

“Zal’karin. There’s no exact term for ‘jester,’ but ‘comedian’ or ‘performer’ is close.”

Yohan smiled in satisfaction.

“Good. From now on, its name is Zal’karin.”

Simultaneously, miasma spread from Yohan’s body and enveloped the Imp.

A retainer contract. Just as Grian had once been branded, the same mark now appeared on the Imp.

A grim god of slaughter wielding a scythe—the symbol representing Yohan—was branded on Zal’karin’s forehead.

Zal’karin was now an Apostle’s retainer.

Its eyes blazed with madness. Miasma erupted from its entire body, and a twisted laugh slipped from its mouth.

It trembled with joy.

Ilea ignored it and spoke to Yohan.

“Now it’s your turn.”

“What do you mean?”

“Even a lowly spirit has a name. But an Apostle like you remains nameless? We can’t keep calling your demon form ‘Yohan,’ can we?”

Both in human and demon form, he had continued to use the name Yohan.

That was incredibly dangerous.

An easy way for someone to uncover his trail.

Yohan nodded.

“I’d been thinking the same. Might as well decide now.”

“Want to leave it to me? I’ll make one in the demonic tongue.”

Yohan didn’t really care.

“I’ll leave it to you.”

Ilea pondered briefly. A moment later, a blue haze rose from her hand.

Pure mana began writing letters in the air.

Maphelept – Contradicted, Deceived, Mismatched

Velrutan – Demon, Wickedness, Blasphemer

“Together: Maphel’tan. What do you think?”

A demon of contradiction, a deceived wicked one. A name that perfectly represented Yohan’s identity.

Raguel murmured,

“…Mapheltan. In other words, the Hypocrite of Evil.”

It suited Yohan, who wore evil like a mask.

Yohan nodded.

“Not bad. I accept the name.”

At the same time, every Cursed Scripture in the world burst into violet flames.

『 O Mother of All Evil, sing. The first decree of the End is Mapheltan. Let all hypocrites fall silent before that name. Break your tongues, swallow blood in place of words. Your gods won’t be listening anyway. 』

The name of the Thirteenth End was now etched into the world.