Wood Demon - Chapter 9
Chapter 9: Secret Growth and Whispers in the Web
The days within the dilapidated, web-choked house on Mount Natagumo crawled by with an agonizing, oppressive slowness, each one a masterclass in fear and carefully feigned subservience. Jack quickly learned the rhythm of this terrifying ‘family.’ Rui was the cold, unblinking sun around which their wretched little planets revolved, his pronouncements law, his displeasure a prelude to pain. The hulking, spider-faced ‘Father’ was a creature of brute force and guttural grunts, mostly lurking in the shadows unless prodded into action by Rui. The tragic ‘Mother’ drifted through the house like a ghost, her beautiful face a mask of perpetual terror, her hands always trembling. And then there was ‘Sister,’ or Ane-san as Rui often called her – younger in appearance, delicate, yet with a survivor’s caution in her fearful eyes.
Jack played his assigned role of ‘Older Brother’ with the forced enthusiasm of an actor in a play he loathed but couldn’t quit. He was deferential to Rui, offered token, non-committal grunts to Father, gave Mother what he hoped was a reassuring (but probably just equally terrified) nod when their paths crossed, and mostly tried to stay out of everyone’s way. It was exhausting, a constant performance under the threat of Rui’s razor-sharp threads.
His true life began when the sun rose, forcing the other demons deep into the house’s lightless, suffocating gloom. For Jack, however, daylight was an opportunity. Armed with his `Root Sense` and a desperate need for a sanctuary, he’d slip out of the oppressive house while the others ‘slept’ (or whatever passed for demonic rest). His first few forays were fraught with tension, every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, sounding like Rui’s approaching footsteps.
“Alright, Jack, Operation Find-a-New-Woody is a go,” he’d whisper to himself, skulking through the misty, web-laden forest. “Stealth mode engaged. Current objective: locate a large, preferably ancient, tree with an attached, discreet subterranean hidey-hole. Secondary objective: avoid becoming spider food or incurring the wrath of the pint-sized psycho back at the ‘Amityville Horror House of Arachnids’.”
After two nerve-wracking days of cautious exploration, his `Root Sense` led him to a secluded grove on a less-traveled slope of the mountain. Here stood another ancient giant, a gnarled, dark-barked behemoth that radiated an aura of quiet, enduring strength, much like his beloved Woody. And nestled amongst its thick, buttress-like roots, a small, shadowed opening – another cave, barely big enough to squeeze into.
“Bingo,” he breathed, a genuine smile touching his lips for the first time in days. “Another day, another creepy cave under a probably-sentient tree. My unlife is just a series of questionable real estate choices with excellent arboreal landlords. At least the views are… consistently subterranean and sun-free.”
This new tree, which he promptly nicknamed ‘Woody Jr.’, became his secret training ground, his solace. Each day, while the Spider ‘Family’ festered in their gloomy house, Jack would be pressed against Woody Jr.’s roots, absorbing the clean, green energy, the EXP trickling into his system like a life-giving IV.
`Level Up! You are now Level 19!`
`Level Up! You are now Level 20!`
The notifications were a welcome counterpoint to the constant dread. With each level, he felt a subtle but definite increase in his own power, a greater resilience, a deeper connection to his strange, plant-based abilities.
Then came the significant chime.
`Level Up! You are now Level 21!`
`Status Updated: Lowest Rank Demon -> Lower Rank Demon.`
`All stats significantly increased. Blood Demon Art: Plant – [Entangling Roots] skill unlocked. (Summon roots from the ground to ensnare targets).`
“Lower Rank Demon! Hot damn!” Jack had exclaimed into the darkness of his cave, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. “I’ve officially graduated from ‘utterly pathetic cannon fodder’ to merely ‘mostly pathetic cannon fodder’! Look at me go! Still miles behind psycho spider-boy’s Level 38, but hey, it’s a promotion! My demonic business card now reads ‘Jack: Lower Rank Demon, Aspiring Arboreal Enthusiast, and Part-Time Unwilling Brother’.” The new skill, `Entangling Roots`, sounded promising too – more crowd control, less direct aggression. Very on-brand for his desired approach.
While he secretly grew stronger, the rest of the ‘family’ engaged in their grim nightly routine. He’d hear them leave, sometimes individually, sometimes in pairs (never with Rui, who seemed to direct operations from the house). Hours later, they’d return, often carrying… offerings. Mangled human forms, or sometimes just sacks dripping with a dark, coppery scent. These were presented to Rui, who would take a token share or sometimes just dismiss them with a cold nod, allowing the others to divide the gruesome spoils. Jack always made sure to be elsewhere, or feigning disinterest, during these moments, the sounds and smells churning his stomach, reinforcing his desperate commitment to Woody Jr. and his vegetarian unlifestyle.
He began to notice things, to form theories. The other demons, despite their regular consumption of humans, didn’t seem to be experiencing the kind of rapid power-ups he was getting from his tree-hugging sessions, nor did their levels, according to his System’s scans, fluctuate wildly after a hunt. They maintained their strength, healed their wounds, fueled their own BDAs, but they weren’t skyrocketing.
“It’s weird,” he mused one day, leaning against Woody Jr.’s comforting bulk. “They go out, risk their necks tangling with who-knows-what, bring back a… a ‘happy meal,’ and it tides them over. But are they really getting that much stronger each time? Rui’s Level 38, the so-called Father is 18, Mother 17, Sis 15. They must have eaten hundreds, thousands of humans between them over the years. If every human provided a significant, permanent power boost like in some cheesy RPG, they’d all be off the charts. Rui, especially.”
A hypothesis began to form in his mind, a theory born of his own experiences and observations. “I think,” he theorized to Woody Jr., “that a certain amount of human blood – say, a liter or so, just pulling a number out of my demonic ass – is enough to completely satiate that initial, monstrous, soul-destroying hunger for a long time, maybe even a month. It keeps the beast at bay. Anything more than that? Probably just tops up their energy reserves for regeneration or BDA usage, but it doesn’t contribute much to their base level or raw power increase. The real potential for growth, the demonic template, that probably comes from Muzan’s initial blood gift when he turns someone. After that, it’s diminishing returns on the human juice for actual leveling.”
This led him to an even more audacious thought, concerning the demon king himself. “If that’s how it works for these guys, what about the big boss, Muzan? He’s been kicking around for a thousand years. If he got a massive, permanent power-up from every single human he ever snacked on, he’d be an untouchable, unkillable god. But the Slayers, the Hashira… they can fight him. They can hurt him, even if it’s insanely difficult. So, there has to be a ceiling, right? Or at least, severely diminishing returns. His primary power source isn’t endless human consumption for endless growth.”
He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “My guess? Muzan’s probably crazy strong, yeah, maybe Level 100, give or take a few dozen depending on how many centuries he’s been actively ‘recruiting’ and if he’s got some insane BDA that does scale differently. But not infinitely powerful. His real strengths are his insane regeneration, his cunning, his ability to create more demons, and the fact he’s the original recipe, the demonic patriarch. Not raw, ever-accumulating power from just eating people. That might explain why Slayers, with their specialized Breathing Techniques and Nichirin blades, even stand a ghost of a chance.” This theory, while purely speculative, offered a strange, distant comfort. It suggested that even the ultimate evil wasn’t omnipotent, that there were limits, even in this nightmarish world.
His interactions within the Spider house remained tense and minimal, but he found himself increasingly drawn to observing Spider Sister – Saya, as he’d eventually learn. She was the quietest, often trying to make herself invisible, but there was an intelligence in her fearful eyes that the others lacked. Jack, ever the opportunist for any kind of human (or demonic) connection, started to create tiny, almost imperceptible openings for interaction.
It began with a shared moment of dread. Rui had been particularly vicious one evening, his threads lashing out at the Father for some perceived failing. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. Later, when Rui was preoccupied, Jack found himself near Saya, who was trembling almost uncontrollably.
“Rough day at the office, huh?” he’d murmured, barely moving his lips, his voice pitched so low only she could hear. “Or is ‘psycho spider-boss breathing down your neck and occasionally flaying family members’ just the usual Tuesday around here?”
She’d flinched, her eyes wide with terror, and scurried away without a word.
“Right,” Jack had thought. “Smooth, Jack. Real smooth. Nothing like gallows humor to win over the terrified, traumatized demon girl.”
But he didn’t give up. He tried again a few nights later, when she was meticulously, almost obsessively, tending to some of the house’s many webs. “Impressive silk work,” he’d commented quietly, leaning against a nearby wall, feigning casualness. “You an artist? Or is this more of a ‘decorate your prison cell with the tears of your enemies and the remnants of your sanity’ kind of vibe?”
This time, she’d paused, her delicate hands stilling on a thick strand of web. She didn’t look at him, but she didn’t run. “It… it passes the time,” she’d whispered, her voice like the rustle of dry leaves.
Progress.
Their furtive exchanges continued like this for days, brief and always under the shadow of Rui’s tyranny. Jack kept his tone light, sarcastic, a defense mechanism that, surprisingly, seemed to slowly chip away at her fear, or at least, her silence. He never pushed, never demanded, just offered these small, inappropriate observations, these verbal lifelines of dark humor in their shared hell.
One night, he found her alone in a less-used corridor, staring out a grimy, web-covered window at the moonlit forest.
“You know,” he said softly, coming to stand a respectful distance away, “for a terrifying demonic arachnid – no offense, group aesthetic and all – you’ve got surprisingly expressive eyes.” He offered a small, wry smile. “They mostly scream ‘help me, I’m trapped in a nightmare with a sadistic child and his monstrous enablers,’ but, you know, it’s a start. Conveys a lot.”
She actually turned to look at him then, a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze. “Rui calls me Ane-san,” she said, her voice still a whisper. “But… my name. My real name… was Saya.”
Jack felt a small jolt. A real name. A piece of her old self, offered up like a fragile gift. “Saya,” he repeated, testing the sound of it. “It’s pretty. Definitely an upgrade from ‘Spider Demon Designated Female Sibling Number One’.” He grinned, and this time, he thought he saw the faintest, most fleeting hint of a smile touch her lips before it vanished.
“I’m Jack, by the way. In case you were wondering. Or, you know, needed a name to curse when I inevitably say something stupid.”
Their fragile, dangerous connection grew in these stolen moments. One evening, when Rui and the Father were out on some ‘family business’ (which usually meant terrorizing some distant part of the mountain or collecting ‘offerings’), and the Mother was cowering in her own dark corner, Saya found Jack in his tattered room. He was idly trying to coax a tiny, glowing moss (`[New Flora Data Acquired: Moonpetal Moss – Bioluminescent]`) to grow on his windowsill.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice a little stronger than usual, tinged with curiosity.
Jack looked up, surprised. “Oh, hey Saya. Just, you know, a little demonic interior decorating. Trying to spruce up the place. This room’s got all the charm of a forgotten crypt. Thought some mood lighting might help. This is Moonpetal Moss. Pretty, right? And it doesn’t try to eat your face. Bonus.”
Saya actually stepped into the room, her eyes fixed on the faintly glowing moss. “It’s… beautiful.”
“Yeah, plants are cool like that,” Jack said, trying to keep his tone light. “Less demanding than people. Or, you know, psychopathic spider demons.”
A beat of silence. Then, Saya did something that stunned him. She reached up, her fingers brushing against her stark white hair, her Rui-esque features. There was a subtle shimmer, a ripple, like heat haze, and then… she changed.
The stark white of her hair softened, deepened, flowing into a cascade of lustrous, midnight black. Her facial features, while still delicate, lost that slightly artificial, Rui-imposed sharpness, settling into lines of breathtaking, natural beauty. Her eyes, though still holding that familiar fear, seemed wider, clearer, their dark depths more profound. The drab, ill-fitting clothes she wore suddenly seemed even more out of place on her.
Jack just stared, his jaw slack. The System notification pinged almost as an afterthought: `Flesh Transformation (Forced Persona: Rui’s Sister) deactivated by user Saya.`
“Holy…” he finally managed, his voice a stunned croak. “Okay. Wow. So, underneath the whole ‘Rui fan club cosplay’ is that. Saya, you… you clean up amazingly well. She’s not just pretty, she’s… supernova pretty. If you walked into a modeling agency on Earth, they’d just hand you the keys to the building and then probably weep with joy.”
A faint blush, a startlingly human reaction, touched Saya’s pale cheeks. “This is… how I looked. Before.”
“Before Rui played demonic dress-up with everyone’s faces?” Jack guessed.
She nodded. “We can all… change our forms. Make ourselves look how we desire. Or… how he desires.”
“So you can just… decide to look like a goddess on any given Tuesday?” Jack said, still a little dazed. “That’s a hell of a party trick. My only party trick is accidentally making poisonous flowers when I’m stressed and sometimes talking to tree roots.” He gave her a slightly lopsided, genuinely admiring grin. “Well. That’s… quite the upgrade from the standard family uniform. Not that the white hair wasn’t… distinctive. But this? This is ‘launch a thousand ships and probably sink a few with well-aimed venomous scratches’ level of stunning.”
Saya actually smiled then, a small, shy, but genuine smile that transformed her face, making her even more radiant. It was like seeing the sun after a long, dark winter. “Thank you, Jack.” Then, as if encouraged by his reaction, or perhaps just by the momentary freedom of her true form, she added, “I’ve looked like this… or rather, I’ve been like this… for three hundred and forty-five years.”
Jack’s admiring grin froze, then slowly slid off his face. He blinked. “Come again?”
“Three hundred and forty-five years,” Saya repeated, her smile faltering slightly at his expression.
Jack’s mind did a quick, panicked calculation. He was twenty-four. He’d just turned twenty-four last month, before this whole nightmare started. Three hundred and forty-five.
“Three. Hundred. And. Forty. Five. Years. Old,” he echoed, his voice faint. His internal monologue was screaming. “She looks younger than me! I’ve got socks older than I am that look more ancient than she does! What is it with demons and their ridiculously effective anti-aging skincare routines? And here I was thinking she was just a really mature, if terrified, teenager with a seriously problematic boss.”
Outwardly, he just stared, momentarily speechless. Then, he managed a weak, slightly strangled, “Three-forty-five, huh? You… you wear it incredibly well. Really, really well. Like, you personally discovered the fountain of youth, bought all the shares, and decided to set up a permanent, luxury timeshare there, well.”
Saya giggled, a soft, surprisingly musical sound. But Jack was still reeling. Three hundred and forty-five years. This beautiful, terrifying, delicate creature in front of him was older than most countries he knew. The complexities of his situation, his budding, dangerous connection with Saya, had just acquired a whole new, mind-boggling dimension. His unlife on Mount Natagumo was going to be even stranger than he’d ever imagined.