Chapter 449

Chapter 449
### Chapter 449

## Otherworld Conquest Chronicle (1)

—

**⚙ DIMENSION INFO ⚙**

* **Dimension Name:** Devour
* **Registration Number:** A-034BM
* **Dimension Type:** Phantasm Realm
* **Danger Level:** Very High, Prioritize Survival…

This was the briefing from the Returner Association that Hans had committed to memory prior to his descent—an archival database that had ceased all updates many years past.

He mentally sorted through the floating fragments of data and took a measured look at his immediate environment.

> ‘So this is the place… ‘

His arrival point was a subterranean room that looked like a classic horror movie set, overflowing with dark, occult aesthetics.

Covered in esoteric symbols painted in blood, the room featured melted candles burned entirely to their wicks. A makeshift shrine of stacked bones and skulls sat in the center, and resting at the very top lay a freshly severed human forearm alongside an eyeball, both still weeping crimson.

> ‘The home dimension of that Executioner scumbag.’

Positioned near the macabre shrine, he gazed without emotion at the gruesome offerings before turning his attention forward.

There lay a young man who had clearly tried to hold his ground, but ultimately succumbed to the terror, foaming at the mouth and losing consciousness. He was the one missing the eye and the arm.

> ‘The Eternal Great Demon, wasn’t it?’

To his knowledge, that was the terrifying moniker the Executioner went by in this realm. It appeared this gruesome ceremony was a desperate bid to call him forth.

Hans surveyed the grim basement one last time, a subtle shake of his head betraying his thoughts.

> ‘What a disaster. Attempting to bring forth a demon with such amateurish groundwork is laughable.’

Regardless of minor discrepancies, someone of his caliber could decipher the entire situation with a single glance. There were no hidden secrets in this crude ceremony. Even an individual with natural gifts might have struggled with such a poor setup, but this unconscious youth displayed absolutely zero magical affinity.

“Guh… M-Mighty Demon… Take my soul… I beg you, settle my vendetta…!”

Just as Hans was silently judging the scene, a pathetic whimper echoed from the floorboards. It was a miserable, broken sound, gasping as though the speaker was teetering on the edge of the abyss.

Hans peered down at the recently awakened youth, a flicker of genuine astonishment crossing his eyes.

> [Oh? Impressive.]

He was deliberately reigning in his power, but the sheer, horrifying pressure radiating from his physical form was usually sufficient to paralyze anyone, keeping their faces glued to the dirt. It was the embodiment of raw, formless violence—pure dread inflicted simply by existing.

And yet, this mangled young man, bleeding out and missing pieces of himself, was managing to withstand that crushing weight?

> ‘At the very least, his willpower is commendable.’

Hans thoughtfully rubbed his jaw.

His manifestation precisely during this young man’s summoning was entirely a stroke of luck. Who would have predicted that the exact second he crossed into this realm, an active invocation would be taking place?

…Or perhaps, it wasn’t mere luck after all.

The Executioner was infamous here as the Eternal Great Demon. For a desperate soul seeking a pact, utilizing a location tethered to that specific entity was the most logical strategy. And Hans had been pulled through the dimensional rift by the sheer intensity of that plea.

> ‘His cosmic weight was too massive for exact coordinates. So I jumped in knowing there’d be a margin of error… ‘

Looking at it now, it felt less like random chance and more like inevitable destiny.

Hans focused his burning stare on the battered youth, who was shaking violently but fighting tooth and nail to remain awake.

> [Heh, very well. You managed to keep your sanity in my presence. You might actually serve a purpose.]

“Ah, aaah… I-I am forever grateful!”

Dropping into an uncharted dimension meant that finding a native guide was an absolute priority. His pre-existing knowledge was practically ancient history. Considering the circumstances, this bleeding survivor was the ideal choice.

> ‘First things first. If I just stand here, he’s going to bleed out.’

With a nonchalant wave of his hand, the severed eye and arm resting on the bone shrine levitated straight into Hans’s open palm. These were the very limbs the young man had clearly amputated himself as the toll for the ritual.

However, they were already severely decayed, corrupted by the ambient energy.

> ‘Unavoidable, given their proximity to my aura.’

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t a holy healer—he was a master of the dark arts. He had zero plans to reattach them in their original, fleshy state.

*Whoosh—*

A blaze of black fire ignited from his clenched hand. These were flames as pitch-black and sinister as the deepest voids of the underworld.

But instead of turning to ash, the severed eye and arm drank in the dark inferno, slowly regenerating their lost structure. The only stark contrast was their new appearance; they now shimmered with an obsidian luster, looking as though they had been sculpted from polished volcanic rock.

> [Now then—]

With those words, Hans launched the pitch-black, flaming appendages through the stagnant air. They flew like bullets straight toward their empty sockets.

*Sizzle—!*

“Gaaaaah—!”

A shrieking wail, akin to raw meat being pressed against a branding iron, tore through the cellar. The youth writhed uncontrollably on the ground, forcefully reunited with his altered limbs. It was a violent biological rejection—the deceased tissue, saturated with the essence of mortality, violently clashing against the host’s living system.

> [If you lack the fortitude to survive this, you have no right to forge a pact with me. Show me what you’re made of. We will converse afterward.]

Hans stared down apathetically at the thrashing boy, whose eyes had rolled back from the sheer torment.

He wasn’t doing this merely to be cruel.

> ‘I can’t blindly trust an individual desperate enough to summon a fiend in a hellscape like this.’

This excruciating process served as both a collar and a tracking device to prevent any future treachery. It was a mandatory prerequisite before drafting the actual agreement.

Besides, it wasn’t entirely detrimental to the host. The boy had his limbs restored, and they now pulsed with the core energy of the grave, providing a natural shield against Hans’s suffocating aura. No more collapsing in a foaming heap just by looking at him.

> ‘Furthermore, his vessel is now perfectly tuned for necromancy.’

Through the **Eye of the Dead**, he would perceive the unseen spectral plane. With the **Arm of the Dead**, he could manipulate forces meant for the afterlife. In a decaying realm overflowing with corpses, necromancy was arguably the most supreme discipline available.

> [Hmm, he lost consciousness again. Still, a solid effort. I foresee good things.]

Hans gave a slow, approving nod to the twitching boy, who had finally bowed to the overwhelming systemic shock of his new obsidian flesh. Leaving the unconscious contractor on the floor, Hans walked toward the exit.

> ‘Hard to say when he’ll come to. I should evaluate the perimeter in the meantime.’

The realm of Devour—a shattered dimension that had been isolated for ages. Now, a foreign entity had breached its borders. It was a monumental shift, one destined to violently disrupt its stagnant existence.

—

### ◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

McCarthy was far from an ordinary survivor.

To stay alive, he had committed every conceivable sin since his youth—murder included. But then again, so had everyone else breathing in this wasteland.

> ‘Strike first, or become a corpse.’

That was the absolute law of nature he had internalized as a child. Because of that ruthless doctrine, he had stubbornly clawed his way into adulthood, even as his blood relatives and syndicate members perished one after another.

That was when he recognized his own anomaly.

> ‘This area is compromised. Time to run.’

His capacity for survival bordered on the supernatural. He could detect looming disasters with a chilling accuracy, even when there were zero physical warning signs. It wasn’t an exact science, but it provided just enough foresight to escape the blast radius.

He lived as a nomad, drifting through every corner of the wasteland. From hostile cavern settlements and ravines crawling with bandits, to the shattered remnants of subterranean metros and imposing fortresses above ground controlled by demon contractors.

Possessing a constitution naturally more resilient than the average human, he weathered lethal hazards and fiercely clung to his heartbeat. Along the way, he witnessed the full breadth of the realm’s bleak reality.

A sky forever choked with gloom, never seeing the sun. A devastated landscape harboring nothing but mutated flora. A meager population of survivors scavenging through the rubble of a lost era. And reigning above them all were the demon contractors, acting as leeches feeding off the devils.

There was no fertile soil for agriculture. Small factions operated as ruthless pillagers; massive factions existed purely as subjugated laborers for the contractors.

McCarthy had always assumed his fate was to die as a vagrant in a ditch, walking the wastes until his legs gave out. That was, until he stumbled into a dilapidated settlement and crossed paths with his destiny.

> ‘Delia… ‘

She had pulled him back from the brink when a trivial wound became severely infected. In an environment where slaughter was the only currency, her selfless nature was a blinding anomaly.

> ‘Normally, I would have slit his throat and taken his gear.’

But her compassion wasn’t reserved exclusively for him. Despite barely surviving herself, she sold her own body to provide a haven for the local orphans. She was a singular beam of light in an ocean of pitch black.

Falling in love with her wasn’t a choice; it was an inevitability.

The lifelong nomad put down roots, assisting her for over a twelvemonth, allowing their connection to deepen. For the first time in his miserable life, he was thankful for his durable physique.

Yet love—that toxic venom that had breached his isolated soul—ultimately shackled him completely, dragging him down into the deepest abyss.

*Whoosh—*

Raging infernos and choking black ash. The sickening, all-too-familiar perfume of charring flesh. A settlement completely devoid of a pulse, reduced to burning timber. The once-warm sanctuary was now painted in gore and ash.

And he had been completely powerless to stop it.

> ‘Why.’

He had felt the premonition and warned her of the impending slaughter, but she refused to listen. She acknowledged the threat but couldn’t bring herself to run. She had too many children relying on her; abandoning them to save just the two of themselves was out of the question.

And McCarthy, true to his cowardly nature…

> ‘……… ‘

He had returned after the carnage, the weight of his regret suffocating him. He should have dragged her away by force. Or, failing that, he should have perished by her side.

He genuinely believed his soul had gone numb to tragedy, yet the cavernous emptiness in his chest refused to fade.

> ‘Who did this.’

Identifying the butcher required zero effort. The perpetrator felt no need to conceal such an atrocity. It was the sovereign of the most massive surface citadel.

Rapua, the mortal tethered to the Infinite Great Demon—the supreme devil of the wasteland. This massacre was merely a ‘Hunting Festival’ thrown to appease his dark patron.

> ‘The Infinite Great Demon. And Rapua.’

Retaliation? A statistical impossibility. The logical move was to erase the memory and sprint in the opposite direction to preserve his own life, just like he always did. Just like he had done hours prior.

But this time, he refused to run.

Pushing his supernatural intuition into overdrive, he desperately scoured the wastes for a solution. Eventually, he unearthed a single piece of lore.

> ‘The Eternal Great Demon.’

Revered as the realm’s absolute apex predator before the Infinite Great Demon seized the throne. A being that vanished a hundred years prior—one of the primary architects behind the apocalypse, famous for butchering the realm’s champions.

> ‘If I can just bind myself to him…!’

He didn’t care if his new patron was the exact same breed of monster as his target. Demons and their human vessels slaughtered each other on a daily basis. The highest-tier devils loathed one another like rival warlords—meaning this ancient entity might actually entertain his suicidal plea.

And so, he risked total annihilation to arrange the altar to call upon the Eternal Great Demon.

> [The Eternal Great Demon…? Where did you pick up such a pathetic title?]

It had been a catastrophic failure.

> [Kekeke, I am the absolute sovereign of all the deceased, the monarch of the grave—Hannibal Strauss.]

Yet, his hope did not shatter. If this incomprehensible entity viewed the century’s most terrifying apex predator as a “pathetic” footnote—and proudly declared himself the ‘Lord of Death’—then a path forward still existed.

> ‘I don’t care if it’s a devil’s deception.’

Pleading with the very last shreds of his sanity…

*Whoooosh—*

Suspended thousands of feet in the air, the ruined earth spinning wildly below him.

“Guhhh…!”

Clenching his jaw against the searing wind lashing his obsidian eye and arm, McCarthy was jolted out of his memories. He sucked in a massive breath, looking toward his new ‘master,’ who was casually scanning the topography from the stratosphere.

> [I understand now. So, the Infinite Great Demon and his demonic peers are the primary architects behind this rotting planet?]

“Y-Yes… Although it’s practically mythology at this point, and as you can tell, no intact history remains. The only ones who know the absolute truth are the devils themselves—and the human pawns they share it with.”

He responded with absolute loyalty, a trait he had quickly adopted. His years as a nomad had equipped him with enough whisperings to answer almost any inquiry.

> [Understood. Good enough.]

A terrifying, hollow resonance.

*Whoooosh—!*

They plummeted toward the dirt like a meteor. A spike of agony flared in McCarthy’s modified limbs, but he forcefully swallowed the agonizing scream.

> [The minutiae are irrelevant.]

Landing with supernatural grace, Hans spoke softly without even throwing a glance at the stumbling McCarthy. The brief summary was more than enough to formalize a battle plan.

> [The core issue: the devils are to blame. So, I will simply exterminate every last one of them. Kekeke!]

The behemoth spouted utter lunacy between low, rumbling laughs.

But McCarthy found himself unable to doubt the claim. Through the dark energy binding his arm and eye, his instincts screamed a singular truth: this was no arrogant boast; it was an absolute guarantee.

> ‘It can’t be… is he actually… ‘

As the terrified youth reflexively gulped.

The pandemonium erupted.

*Kiyaaaa—*

*Woooo—*

*Uhehehe—*

Shocked by the deafening chorus of shrieks echoing from every direction, McCarthy threw his gaze upward. Through his left socket—the jet-black sphere of the deceased—the veil was lifted.

“Ah.”

An ocean of spectral entities blotted out the gloomy heavens, arriving without a single warning. Their numbers easily eclipsed ten thousand, crashing through the sky like a tidal wave of sorrow, converging directly on their location.

And hovering at the vanguard was an apparition draped in a funeral gown and a veil of mourning lace, bowing deeply in reverence to her monarch.

> [Olivia.]

> [Awaiting your directive… my sovereign… This humble servant… is present…]

It was Banshee Queen Olivia, the Director of Intelligence for the Immortal Legion.

Acting on the silent commands issued while McCarthy was unconscious, she had rallied the wandering spirits of this wasteland and offered her polite respects.

> [Hunt them down.]

A command directed by her supreme overlord, an entity whose reach now spanned across entirely different dimensions.

> [Locate the apex predators of this realm.]

> [Your will shall be done…!]

In that fleeting second, her terrifying legacy breached the borders of Aouterica, violently planting its roots into the dying soil of Devour.