Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 410: Quite Shower

Warlock Ch 410. Quite Shower

Both of his arms were now wrapped in twisting sigils—some jagged, others smooth—glowing faintly in an otherworldly blue under the enchanted bathroom light. They curled up his shoulders, branched across his chest, and trailed down his spine like flowing script etched by magic itself. They weren't just marks—they were proof. Each one was tied to a contract, a servant, a power sealed or earned. The more he bore, the stronger he became.

He stared at them for a long moment in the mirror, his reflection half-obscured by the steam curling through the air.

He huffed and stepped into the shower.

The hot water hit him hard, rushing over his shoulders and down his back, turning pink at his feet as blood and grime slid off his skin. The last traces of the alley, the fight, the city's filth swirled into the drain.

But the sigils?

They didn't wash away.

Of course they wouldn't.

They pulsed faintly beneath the water, constant and unyielding, woven into the very structure of his mana core. A glowing testament to every pact he had forged. Every shadow that obeyed him. Every line he had crossed.

He leaned forward, both palms pressed to the slick tile, head bowed under the stream, the soft blue light from his skin casting ghostly reflections on the walls.

And then he closed his eyes.

In an instant, his consciousness dipped inward.

Into the void.

The place where his mana core resided.

Everything became still. Silent. A weightless nothingness, lit only by the faint hum of energy that pulsed from the center of the endless dark.

There, floating like a star suspended in shadow, was the artifact. His mana core.

Once cracked, broken, nearly inert—now nearly whole.

It glowed like molten obsidian, humming with magic. The sigils across it had re-formed, most of them ancient and nearly impossible to decipher, layered upon one another like scars and stories.

He stared at it for a long moment. Then he exhaled.

"In just a few months…"

He gave a dry, bitter smile.

"This almost looks like its original state."

A voice echoed in the void, deep and unmistakably smug.

"Ha! Of course it does."

Damian didn't flinch. He knew the voice. Knew the presence curled deep within the artifact like a coiled serpent, watching, always watching.

"You train like a madman every single day. And don't even get me started on how recklessly you throw yourself into every suicidal mission."

Damian straightened up in the void, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the swirling obsidian core pulsing with faint blue light.

"You sound annoyed. I thought you'd enjoy watching me burn out."

The Demon King's voice echoed, smooth and dark, but not as sharp as it once was.

"Oh, I do enjoy the show. Don't get me wrong. But it's a strange kind of torment—watching you get stronger while knowing I'm still chained to your pathetic little mortal soul."

"Careful," Damian said with a tired smirk. "You're starting to sound sentimental."

"Hah. I'd rather disintegrate."

The core pulsed brighter, the lines of ancient sigils briefly shifting, as if reacting to their shared irritation.

"You know," Damian added, his tone quieter now, "I didn't expect my memories to return this fast either."

"I never expected it," the Demon King said, voice low. "I figured you'd whimper through another year or two of self-pity before growing your spine back."

Damian chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Don't mention it. Truly. Please don't."

Silence settled for a beat, broken only by the slow hum of the mana core between them.

"You still planning to take over when I crack?"

"Of course." No hesitation.

"Charming," Damian muttered.

"But I'll admit," the Demon King added, voice dipping into something close to contemplation, "you've held yourself together longer than I thought. Most mortals break with half your burden. Yet here you are—running toward the fire like it owes you answers."

"I'm not like most mortals," Damian said simply.

"No," the Demon King agreed. "You're not. That's why I'm still here. And why I haven't tried to rip your soul apart again—yet."

"Getting soft on me?"

"I'm bored," came the dry reply. "And watching you teeter on the edge is the only entertainment I get in this damn prison."

"Then maybe enjoy the next act," Damian said, turning his back to the core. "Because tonight, I might just burn this whole game to the ground."

"…Now that sounds more like Kaelan."

Damian paused, just briefly.

"I'm not him anymore," he said, without turning.

"No," the Demon King said, quieter. "But the world still thinks you are. And maybe that's what scares them most."

Damian stepped closer to the core. The energy pulsed as he approached, reacting to his presence. Familiar. Deeply linked. The bond between him and the Demon King wasn't just symbolic—it was metaphysical, stitched into the very makeup of his soul.

"Still surprised you haven't tried to take over again."

"Tried," the Demon King echoed, mockingly. "You make it sound like I was ever truly trying. If I wanted to crush your little mind, I would've done it the moment you stepped into this void again."

Damian smirked. "But you didn't."

A pause.

"Because I'm waiting."

"For what?"

"To see how far you go before you fall." There was no malice in the words. Just… curiosity. Dark, ancient curiosity. "Because whether you accept it or not, our fate is bound. The stronger you become, the stronger I return. And frankly? Watching you claw your way back to SS rank has been entertaining."

"I'm not doing this for you."

"I know."

Another pause.

The core pulsed again, slower this time. More stable. A rhythm. A pulse Damian hadn't felt in years.

The Demon King's voice dropped lower. Less theatrical.

"But you are closer now than ever before. You're remembering more. Fighting smarter. You're… maturing."

Damian rolled his eyes. "Wow. So proud of me."

"Don't be smug. You're still reckless. Emotional. Predictable. But…" the voice hesitated, "…you're changing."

Damian looked down at his arms, still etched with sigils that weren't entirely his. "Yeah," he said softly. "I know."

A long silence stretched between them. Not awkward. Just… real.

"You plan to face it tonight, don't you?"

"The vault?" Damian asked. "Yeah. I don't think I have a choice."

"You never did."

"And you're not going to interfere?"

"Not yet. If you fall, I'll take the reins. Until then…" There was a grin in the words. "Let's see if you're worthy of what you're trying to become."

Damian nodded once, then exhaled.

The void dimmed.

And he opened his eyes back in the steam-filled shower, the water still pouring down his back.

He stood there a moment longer, then finally turned the faucet off.

He toweled off, stepped out, and faced the mirror again.

His eyes still carried the weight.

But they also carried fire.

He was running out of time.

But he was ready to move.