“Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts? Holy—weren’t those just campfire legends passed mouth to mouth by old hands? Those deranged problem children actually made them?”
Ouyang had heard the legend, under another sky and from the First Cult itself, both versions drifting like twin constellations across rumor.
Dongze’s face was weathered with helplessness, like stone rained on too long. “You know how they are. That bunch always does something weird. Once someone proposed embodying the Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts, they started forging them.”
“Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts?” Agas, ancient as bedrock, was lost in fog. He had never heard the tale. Dongze knew Agas wouldn’t follow. “Agas, don’t bother. That thing belongs to our eastern region. It’s normal you haven’t heard. It was too insane. When Her Highness, the First Imperial Princess, toured the Other Shore, she destroyed it.”
Who could have guessed those misallocated geniuses quietly remade it. Now the Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts lurk on this continent, like blades under snow.
Ouyang had not only heard the First Cult’s plan; when they secretly started the forge, he’d even been invited. But he was busy working to pay off debts, chasing daylight like a worn-out mule, and never went. He never imagined they’d actually birth the thing, or that what the First Imperial Princess had personally destroyed would be restored by those bugged-out prodigies of the First Cult.
A weapon smashed by a crowned hand, and they brought it back. For that alone, they earned the name of the First Cult of the Other Shore. They earned the eternal stain of the Other Shore’s greatest cancer. They earned the grim glory of the Other Shore’s first organization.
“Wait. I remember the Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts were jointly forged by over ten Primordial Deities. Even several Tiered Beings who’d already sung the Hymn joined in. Can we, as we are now, stand against that? Boss Dongze, no offense, but your current lineup can’t handle those evil artifacts, right? With my mere Realm God strength, I can’t either. What do we use against them?”
Ouyang had heard the Artifacts’ abilities from a fox-friend, the very guy who proposed making them real. Because of his spark, the Twelve were born, like thunder following a drum.
Dongze gave Ouyang a strained look. Agas was still fog-bound. Loyin rested quietly in Ouyang’s arms, a small frostflower listening to two old pines talk.
“There is another path. Find the Dark Trinity Artifacts. With them, you should be able to face the Twelve. And, to keep the Twelve from being too invincible, when they forged them, they built in a restriction. They must have a host to wield their power. Without a host to lodge in, they’re scrap iron. Only by using words to slowly twist a host’s views—dragging the host to fall—can they seize the host’s body.”
So, at first, the Twelve don’t radiate power that makes gods and demons shiver. Only after they gnaw the host’s soul, like termites through cedar, and grab the body, do they bloom into horror.
Dongze’s explanation let Ouyang exhale, like steam from a kettle. But he bristled. “I’m a legit Demon King. Why should I fight them? That’s savior work.”
A smack landed on Ouyang’s head, like a book slamming shut. Dongze’s face was stern as iron. “If you don’t go bother them, they’ll come bother you. You think you can hide?”
Ouyang curled his lip, bitter as burnt tea. Those problem kids leave a mess, and he has to sweep? Sourness aside, he knew that once the Twelve woke, collision was inevitable, like storm meeting cliff.
“Boss Dongze, if only the Twelve were in the Divine Realm. Then we’d sit back and watch the show.”
But the world doesn’t bend to his will; it flows like a river ignoring stones.
“Forget the Dark Trinity Artifacts. That little sprite won’t hand them over. Besides them, any other way?” Thinking of the Dark Trinity made his temples throb. Loyin had been hurt by Sin; he wouldn’t send her into danger again.
The castle fell quiet, sound like dust settling. Agas, lost about the Twelve, stayed silent. Dongze bowed his head, thoughts circling like ravens.
In the pooled silence, Loyin spoke, soft as a flake of snow. “Brother, your black wings—they seem to block some negative power.”
Black wings?
Dongze’s eyes sparked. “Ouyang, where are the wings? Show me.”
Whoosh—the sound of silk tearing the air. Black feathers drifted through the hall like ash. Black wings unfurled across Ouyang’s back, an angel fallen out of a darker scripture. On each feather, sigils lay etched like night rivers. Along each vane, fine black lightning flowed.
“Cursed Wings!”
Dongze’s pupils widened, old storms returning to an ancient sky. For one like him, tempered by seasons beyond counting, that look was rare. “No wonder… oaths and vows, void and curse. No wonder.”
Seeing his reaction, Ouyang knew his black wings hid a power he didn’t grasp. No wonder the “Prince” kept goading the Night King to strike, trying to rip that power clean.
“Boss Dongze, what do the Cursed Wings do?”
So far Ouyang had only used them to scare crows and men. They had helped him step into the doorway of a Realm God. But a thing even the Prince wanted had to be more than a threshold.
“Curses,” Dongze breathed, steadying the drum in his chest. “In theory, with these wings, you can curse anything. Curse the sky. Curse the earth. Even curse the Supreme Law.”
A curse? Rare, but not worth that level of awe—so he thought. Then the words landed: curse the Supreme Law. His long-quiet blood boiled, like iron poured into water. He leaned in, urgent as a hawk. “Boss Dongze, dear boss…”
He rushed to the kitchen, poured tea with his own hands, the steam a ghost rising. “Boss, tell me how to use this power.”
Even Agas, once a Primordial Deity, swallowed, throat dry as sand. Curse the sky, curse the earth—those were big bells to ring.
Dongze calmed, took a sip, and studied the Cursed Wings like a scholar reading star-maps. “This curse power can target all things, but every curse must include a way to undo it.
“For example, you curse a princess into sleep. Then the condition is the prince’s kiss to wake her. That condition is the key hidden in the lock. You set the key.
“If you don’t want the target to break the curse easily, set a severe condition. Something like, ‘unless sun and moon go dark, and the starry sky is no more.’ Only then can the curse be lifted.”
When the tale ended, Ouyang felt knowledge swell, like a lantern lit in night. He’d sensed a foreign strength in his wings but never dared touch it. Now it had a name: the power of curses.
“And your Cursed Wings carry built-in immunity to negative forces. The power inside the Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts can’t stick to you.”
Ouyang fell quiet, a stone deciding to roll. “I’m going out to test this.”
He stepped outside the castle. He eyed the neighbor’s Man-eating Flowers, those meat-scented mouths swaying like red lanterns. He rubbed his chin, thoughts flickering like sparrows.
After a moment, he spread his wings. Black lightning wrapped him like a second skin. Around that, black fire roared like a night tide.
“Man-eating Flowers, I curse you. I curse you to loathe meat all your lives. I curse you to dwell in deep mountains alongside beasts. Unless black clouds blind the sky and a downpour scours the earth!”
When he finished, the pitch-black lightning and flame streaked into the bed of flowers, diving into their bodies. On each fleshy petal, a sigil of twin black wings branded itself, dark as ink.
“Nabelia, bring meat!”
He gave orders, and saw the Man-eating Flowers try to slither away, vines dragging like snakes toward distant forests. He quickly set a ward, a glass bell over an ant hill, trapping them.
When Nabelia brought chunks of meat, Ouyang tossed one. A flower that looked starved snapped it up like a bear trap.
Ouyang turned to Dongze, brows raised, question hovering like smoke.
A harsh cry scraped out from inside the ward—an ugly sound of gears grinding. The flower that had swallowed spat the meat back out, wet and rejected.
Inside the ward, the Man-eating Flowers writhed, hunger twisting them like ropes. They wanted meat, but every mouthful came out again. Ravenous, some started chewing turf, green blades dying between stained teeth.
Carnivores bent toward herbivores, like night slowly learning the shape of dawn.
