[68] The Sixth Form Of The Rakshasa

Demons were not known for their compassion. In fact they were quite selfish, most of the time acting on things that brought them pleasure and forsaking anything or anyone else. Most demons loved the maya and how it defended them against responsibility and accountability. They could do whatever they wanted and choose to feel nothing but the pleasures of life. For the longest time Joha had been like that; for nearly two hundred years all he’d done was fight and crave power. 

The Way of the Rakshasa was the way to power and he’d fully immersed himself into that philosophy. However, things had changed when he realized the truth of maya. The infernal power it granted was that of life, not death. It sought to protect those touched by it in a misguided way. Joha allowed himself to feel, and taught other demons to do the same, but his journey took him across the sea. He was no longer Joha of the Bloody Fang; he was simply Joha Bhatia spice trader.

He thought that life had a funny way of drawing people back into things they thought they’d left behind. Joha sought peace, not power; he wished prosperity to those he came across, not pain. So when a girl beaten and bloodied by the world came to him and asked him to prepare her for the life he’d left behind his heart broke but he understood. She had drive and purpose, but there was a long and bloody road ahead of her. Deep down he wished he’d convinced her to break the bond with Bjorn, maybe then her path wouldn’t be so painful.

Joha breathed out abyssal maya, the substance so black it came from the deepest brines of the Infernal Planes. The power changed him as it always did, wrapping him in darkness as energy crackled. This reality, this Lower Plane, struggled to comprehend maya so dense; the clash between this power and the world around him caused tears in space and time to form. Pure dimensional energy in the appearance of lightning struck out at anything too close to him. It wasn’t lethal, but it wasn’t anything someone would want to be struck by.

Joha looked around at the bodies of men and women sprawled across the estate. Knights, disciples of Isi, civilians and familiars. Dead. It made Joha sick even as he grabbed a wendigo knight off of his familiar and crushed the man’s neck and armor with ease. It had always been so easy for him to kill.

Hrolf had taken the majority of the disciples to perform a rescue effort for the civilians and injured. Hrolf and his most loyal students and inner circle were defending an escape tunnel under the collapsed dormitory. The men were fighting with everything they had, defending the passageway. Joha decided to stay for a while and help until those that could be saved escaped. He dodged a spear empowered by mana, which exploded as soon as it touched the ground. The explosion did nothing to him, which shocked the wendigo who threw it. In less than a second he was dead as Joha dropped his decapitated head.

“Joha!” Hrolf yelled. “One of the servants just told me Drifa is still in the main house.”

Joha looked at the man and nodded; no more words needed to be said. He used Maya Step, which allowed him to cover the distance from the destroyed dormitory to the main house so quickly many people might have confused it for teleportation. The main house, once an edifice of wendigo opulence, was a flaming wreck. The bombardment of artillery magic had blown apart most of the east wing. The house was sturdy, however, and magical reinforcements meant that the fire spread slowly and the sturdier inner sanctum of the building was completely intact.

“Damn, what a waste of life,” Joha said to himself.

He ran into a hall, where a slain maidservant was slumped against the wall. Joha knelt down and closed the woman’s eyes only for them to shoot back open. The woman wasn’t undead; she was transforming, the flesh of her face melted away leaving exposed bone as blood and meat broke away in chunks. Joha grabbed her throat and restrained her as she lunged at him in an attempt to bite him. 

He had only ever heard about this dreadful transformation in his travels. He believed it must be akin to a curse given to them by their True. When some wendigo draw close to death they can choose to reject passing on but in doing so they lose a part of themselves. Druids are the same although they become something different; treants. The woman attempts to scratch and claw at Joha, her nails become long and sharp talons, her eyes sunken black orbs. Joha watched the transformation in morbid curiosity as she became the cannibal beast, the lesser wendigo, the skinwalker.

He felt bad for having let the maidservant turn into that thing. He should have ended her as soon as he saw the signs of the transformation. He admonished himself for letting his curiosity allow the woman to suffer more. In a swift motion he decapitated the woman and the body caught fire as he heated the maya around him burning her to ashes in seconds to finally give her rest.

He continued on until the sound of fighting became apparent. The walls had deep gouges from blades and the temperature dropped well below freezing. Joha ran into a destroyed room that was one of the main offices of the Isi estate. There was blood everywhere even as the clashing of metal on metal continued further in.

Joha found Drifa, her twin swords locked in a deadly dance against a shadow construct that almost looked like a man with arms and legs made of thin blades. Joah rushed in and had to dodge strikes from the construct with Maya Steps as he closed the distance. This construct was different from the ones he’d destroyed so far. It seemed more lucid and precise. It even managed to dodge his punch, jumping up to the ceiling. It stood there, upside down.

“Demon, what stakes do you have in this? These are traitors to our country,” the construct spoke. “Leave now and I will permit you to go from here unhindered. Free passage from Lavi.”

Joha looked over to the badly injured Drifa. She looked like she would fall over at any moment. Blood flowed freely from deep cuts and lacerations. A stab wound in her stomach was only held shut with chakra. Her breath was tired and ragged. He knew she was already dead; the construct needed only to run down the clock on her and she would not survive long enough to get to a healer.

“Tanisha?” Joha asked.

“Ah, yes the shia,” the construct said. It took on more wendigo features until it resembled a veiled wendigo Hand. “We don’t care about her, only the Isi; take her and leave. If you make it quickly enough you might be able to save them… Oh, well, it looks like the goblin woman just died. Mages, you know, got to go for the head.”

“Helina?” Joha’s eyes widened.

He ducked as a blade flashed through the air, aiming at his throat. It was Drifa; she wasn’t the real one, either. He dodged another swing, this time from a third construct that rose from a pool of Darkness magic on the floor. Beside that darkness was Drifa’s unmoving body. Her corpse was being used to make copies. 

“I will assume I am talking to the Right Hand of Ingrid,” Joha growled. “I wouldn’t be so lucky that this is the real you, would I?”

“Unfortunately, no, but enough of my constructs have been destroyed that these three should be able to kill even you.”

“It is a shame that you aren’t here,” Joha said in a cold voice. “Pray that we never meet.”

There were six forms to the Way of The Rakshasa. The first was MayaMudra, the illusionary seals; Joha breathed out more and more of the abyssal maya even as he dodged the strike and blade arches of a construct. He could not dodge every slash; it would be impossible no matter how skilled he was, but even so the maya was so dense and his timing so precise that each cut was little more than superficial. 

Once the room was filled with the maya he reached out with his hand and grabbed a seemingly blank space. The maya condensed, forming into chains that wrapped around each of the constructs. Joha let out a mighty roar as he pulled the chains. The constructs were all dragged towards him, unable to break free even as they sprouted additional arm blades and attempted to cut themselves free.

The second form was the deflection, the VritraVajra or Thunderbolt Dragon. As the constructs were yanked to him they continued to strike, only to find the attacks redirected and slammed back into them. As he moved the chains crawled around them and their new limbs like snakes, binding them together. He slammed them all to the ground, chains tightening. 

The last form was the KrodhaKshartra, or Dominion of Rage. All at once maya vanished, it instantly subsumed into Joha’s body as he balled his fist. He grew in size, bone spikes extending from his fur. His eyes were black orbs; his muscles threatened to burst from his skin. His closed fist rocketed down on the constructs with a flash. The floor gave way and walls buckled and roof blew out as maya exploded from the point of impact. 

The room was reduced to little more than a crater, even with all of its reinforcements both magical and physical. One construct remained, the one in the shape of the caster. It was indeed tougher than any other he had faced up until that point. Joha raised  his fist again, only for the veiled construct to explode into dozens of spikes which flew in all directions. Joha jumped back, but was pierced in his side and one spike entered his eye. 

The Hand was right; the fewer of the constructs were around the more powerful the remaining were. Joha could not sense mana in the same way magic casters could not sense maya, otherwise he might have been able to sense the build up of magical energy before the explosion. Joha was concerned that anything less than his most powerful attack, and he wouldn’t have won that fight.

The destruction of the final shadow construct left Joha injured; his wounds didn’t bleed but instead maya flowed from him. He was running low on his reserves of infernal energy, and soon he would be at his limits. He billowed out a breath of maya and felt the power surrounding him.  

“Wow, what a show.” a voice called out as Magnus landed on the uncollapsed section of the roof. “And here I thought this was going to be boring.” Thyra jumped down off of the Wyvern. The Left Hand of Ingrid cracked her knuckles and rolled her neck. “Magnus, be a dear and kill Hrolf. I got the little demon here.”

“Thyra, yes? I will give you one chance to leave,” Joha growled menacingly, his voice like gravel.

The woman laughed. “Ooo, how scary,” she said with a wiggle of her fingers. “Look, if you took that much damage from Loki while he’s spread as thin as he is, you are as threatening as a kitten. Do try to make this fun though; it has been a while since I killed a demon.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep