Stormborn Sorceress: A Fantasy Isekai LitRPG Adventure

He shoved her soul aside, settling comfortably in the seat of her Soul Well. The child didn’t even resist. Her body shifted around him, her fair skin darkening to the dark purple of the nyxdra, her soft features sharpening to his pointed ones, her fat slipping away until there was only his lean muscle.

He cracked his neck and rolled his newly claimed shoulders, luxuriating in the feeling of possessing a body again after so long. How fitting that it was another spirit body and could reshape itself to reflect his soul, rather than being stuck in whatever corporeal form and abilities his victim previously possessed.

He’d been trapped in that storage space for too long. A century? Two? He did not know and it did not matter. He was free at last, just like he had promised.

Kill her. Devour her. Reclaim what is yours.

The demonic impulse whispered in the back of his mind. The encouragement was not necessary. That was already the plan.

He would make ######## pay—

Pain laced through him at the thought of the mad woman’s name.

Mortals are restricted certain knowledge of the divine. Purging profane information.

He grit his teeth as the pain subsided.

What was that? The girl’s voice whispered. What’s going on?

He shoved her back into the depths of their (temporarily) shared Soul Well.

That mad woman was divine now? She had succeeded?

He laughed. It was a cruel, bitter thing, utterly lacking joy or warmth.

Fine. The higher she’d climbed the more satisfying yanking her down again would be. Imagine devouring the soul of a goddess.

He licked his lips, already imagining all the ways he would—

He stopped, his eyes widening.

Devour? What? No. He did not—He wanted to drag her down, yes. Murder her? Definitely. Make her pay for her treachery.

But devour her soul? That was taboo. A demonic impulse. But then, he was a demon now.

Kill. Devour. Reclaim.

He opened his status screen to check.

Name: N/A

Race: Nyxdran Demon

Lvl: 4 (8)

He did not get any further down the screen, his eyes widening again.

Level 8? Level 8!

That could hardly be right. This was the Uvana Valley. This was the Deep! You did not just wander into a Trial like this at level 7. You did not survive into the Deep at level 8. You certainly did not slay the Deep Herald at level 8.

Upon possessing a victim, a demon’s level was set to half of its host’s until the host’s soul was fully consumed. Assuming that soul was a decent fit for the broken edges of his own, he would end up at the host’s level once that was done. Given she beat the Herald of the Deep to free him, he had expected her to be in her mid-20s, maybe even early 30s if he was lucky.

Oh, neither was terribly high, not even half his former level, but it would have been a respectable start.

But level 8?

That was not even the First Step. She was a child. A baby.

What sick bastard had brought her here, then abandoned her? They were the real monster here.

He just needed a body. Any would have been fine. It was her own fault she did not possess the Resolve to ward him off. Her fault and the fault of whoever brought her here to her doom. That was who she should blame.

His hands clenched into tight fists, his jaw clenching.

If he ever found out who was taking advantage of children like her…

Devour. Eat. Kill.

He forced himself to relax, one tense finger at a time. He hardly had the time to go avenging strangers, even the strangers he had stolen bodies from. Still, if he found some time in his schedule, avenging this misled child would be a satisfying method of selecting souls to eat.

Let me go! The child screamed from the depths of the Soul Well, forceful enough to shake his soul. Pain, like someone was scraping his heart with a rusty nail, racked his body. He bent over, clutching his chest.

What was this? Level 8 children did not resist the possession of a powerful nyxdra. That made as much sense as a salamander slaying a dragon. Sure, here in the physical world, his stats had been reset to that of a pitiful level four, but his soul still held the full weight of a level 74 assassin and all the stats he had enjoyed then.

His Wll had been over 200. At level 8, even if she put absolutely every stat into Res, she could hardly have much more than 30. He should be crushing her.

It should be oppressive. Like she was drowning in a sea of darkness. Her ego should have collapsed from the sheer difference in their power, never mind hold enough strength to shake him.

Hush, little soul, he mentally projected at her. Give in quietly. You cannot win.

I refuse, she snapped back.

He would have laughed if his head was not splitting under the pressure. Refuse? This was hardly something she had a say in. Merely resisting him should have left her writhing in pain.

Instead, it was he who felt queasy. Like the ground under his feet was rolling and fire laced his skin.

“Stop that,” he growled. Speaking aloud was easier than thought projection. “How are you doing this?”

Kill it. Devour it. Consume!

Let me go! she repeated, throwing a weight she had no business possessing after the words.

This was insane. He put a hand to his head, trying—failing—to steady himself. This could not go on. He had planned on letting her dissolve quietly into his soul. It took longer, but it was gentler and allowed more of her soul to integrate properly into his. But if she was going to do this to him, he would just devour her in one bite, to hell with the consequences.

He dove into their shared Soul Well, the space where souls rested.

Hers was entirely unformed. Empty like the vast abyss below. It was the least developed soul well he’d ever seen.

No defenses. No wards. Nothing.

Like she was born yesterday.

Nothing but the wind howling around them from her inborn Concept.

He glared at her soul. It was a poorly formed thing. Again, the worst he’d ever seen. Small children had better form than the flickering flame this girl had formed her soul into.

An odd choice for the Aether and Storm aligned slyphid, but it was also an oddly low level of cultivation, so what was he really expecting?

He formed his soul into a facsimile of his true body. The edges flickered like shadows cast from a flame. It was a rough job, but more than enough for this.

He leapt at her, manifesting jaws to snap her up in a single bite. He still intended to make it quick. In part because it was only kind, in part because he was finding he did not have the patience to do it any slower.

Instead, he hit a wall. It was invisible and quivering with fear, but solid all the same. He pressed against it with all his true Will. It was like pressing against solid stone for all the good it did him.

Ridiculous. What was this? Devouring her should be easy. It was the right of demons. The natural order. He was the wolf and she the lost lamb. He was to devour her whole.

Yet her Resolve was sufficient to keep him at arm's length. She should not be able to direct or condense her Resolve at all, not with her soul space as unstructured as it appeared to be. She could not possibly have the training.

“Let me go!” the little soul yelled again. It flared brighter at the command, the wind around them howling with power she had no business possessing. It was strong enough to push him back another step.

“I think not.” He was done with this. If he could not eat her, he would just break her. He would lose out on her remaining levels, but he could not organically gain any levels until he had dealt with her. He did not relish trying to level up in the Deep at level four, but it was not significantly worse than trying the same at level eight.

He opened one hand, willing his favorite blade into being. It was a short, gently curving blade, the metal as dark as the Abyss, reflecting her little flame with hungry glee. Black leather wrapped the handle, ending in a pommel made of the same dark metal.

He mentally reached for Edge Maker, his favorite dagger skill, but found another, unfamiliar skill first.

Soul Poison (Lvl ?) (Demonic)

[Weaken the soul, reap what is yours. Devour.

Apply to weapon to inflict Status Condition (Soul Poison) on target. Soul Poison drains the Focus of the inflicted and causes more pain the closer to the soul the poison enters the target. ]

It activated without a thought, his blade taking on a ghastly crimson glow.

Kill her. Make her suffer. Take what is yours.

He lunged. The dagger slammed into the wall of wind, the color flaring brighter as it sunk through the screen.

She screamed. It was a horrid, delicious, soul-wrenching sound.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

He twisted the blade. Her scream increased in volume and pitch.

This was what she got for resisting him.

She was not the little flame surrounded by wind in his eyes now. It was her. It was the traitor. The liar.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

It was her scream that sliced deliciously through his head. Her scream that caressed vilely against his soul. Her scream.

This is what she got for making him this way. Who cared if she was divine? He would kill her anyway. He would devour her whole and take her place.

A manic laugh shook his body. He pulled back his dagger and plunged it down again and again, tearing the wall of wind to shreds.

Her screams echoed through him, the only thing loud enough to drown out the voices whispering in his ears.