Razeal slowly opened the Book of Eventual Evil.

The sound that followed was faint a dry rustle, like brittle leaves brushing against each other in a crypt.

Inside, the pages were an aged white, weathered and cracked at the edges. They looked ancient, older than memory itself, and even their faint yellowed glow seemed to whisper of time long buried.

A sharp, strange smell hit him immediately old paper mixed with something darker, heavier. It wasn't just the scent of age or dust. It was something foul and cold… the smell of evil or something like that he guessed since couldn't recognise otherwise.

The moment the book opened, Razeal swore he could almost hear it.

A faint wail whispers carried on an unseen wind, like the distant cries of spirits freed from long imprisonment. For an instant, he even saw dark shapes flicker across the edge of his vision ghostly silhouettes rushing out from the pages, faces twisted in agony, soaring toward him as if finally released from their cage.

The air around him turned cold.

A shiver brushed down his spine, though not out of fear.. it was something else. A strange, alien thrill.

Then he blinked once, shaking his head lightly.

"…Illusion," he murmured, forcing himself to dismiss it. "Or maybe just my head playing tricks." He thought

The moment he broke the thought, the air calmed. The whispers faded. The illusion if that's what it was.. vanished like smoke.

Razeal exhaled softly. Then, without wasting another second, he lowered his gaze to the first page and began to read.

---

At first, the writing looked strange an unrecognizable language, the letters long and curling like living things, ancient symbols that almost shimmered on the page. Yet, oddly enough, he understood every word.

The meaning flowed into his mind effortlessly.

"Hmm…" Razeal muttered quietly. "Weird."

He could read it perfectly, as if it were his native tongue. Perhaps it was his dark resonance at work, connecting him to the book's nature or maybe it was one of those cursed things anyone could read, no matter what.

Or, he mused, maybe it was worse perhaps only certain kinds of people could read it.

Whatever the case, he wasn't about to waste time figuring it out.

The more he turned the pages, the deeper the abyss became.

There were categories clearly labeled sections written in that same shifting script. His eyes moved across the list as the words formed in his mind:

Dark Magic.

Rituals.

Curses.

Forbidden Spells.

Soul Magic.

Contracts.

Evil Arts.

Sin Spells.

Dark Alchemy.

Each word seemed to pulse faintly on the page, alive, as if proud of its own wickedness.

The book wasn't just a grimoire. It was an encyclopedia of everything vile and forbidden the complete anatomy of darkness itself.

Razeal flipped a few more pages, curiosity deepening. He hadn't even scratched the surface, yet every single paragraph held something twisted, detailed, and… horrifyingly fascinating.

---

The first things he came across were torture spells.

They were disturbingly specific magic designed not to kill, but to inflict unending pain.

Spells that could break a mind apart, strip away sanity, or force the truth from someone's lips through agony alone. Razeal read one description where the caster could make the target's blood boil under their skin while keeping them alive the effect meant to "soften the spirit for questioning."

He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Charming," he muttered dryly.

The next section was even worse ..spells centered on control.

Here the book described techniques so depraved they bordered on the absurd: ways to enslave a person's will, rituals that would turn a victim into a puppet bound by invisible threads of command.

One method in particular caught his eye. It involved nurturing a parasite.. a tiny insect raised through dark alchemy that would lay an egg capable of surviving in a human host. Once planted inside a victim's stomach, the egg would hatch and begin to devour the host slowly, piece by piece, from within.

It was said to be impossibly hard to detect, and agonizing beyond measure.

Razeal's expression didn't change much, but his fingers stilled on the page.

That was… unpleasantly creative.

And sickening.

"Somebody had a lot of time and hate," he muttered, flipping the page with a frown.

Another curse caught his eye one that twisted fate itself.

It described a ritual to curse a person's bloodline ensuring that every child born from that cursed individual would come into the world broken, either in body or mind.

He stared at the line for a moment, his gaze darkening slightly.

"That's low," he whispered. "Even for devils."

The further he read, the clearer it became most of these spells weren't about power or gain. They were made purely for suffering.

They weren't tools of ambition. They were weapons of cruelty.

To use these, one had to completely surrender to hatred to despise someone enough to craft their pain inch by inch, even after death.

Razeal exhaled quietly. "Pitiful," he murmured. "You'd have to hate someone a lot to use this kind of thing."

Then he reached the section labeled Forbidden Spells.

And that's where things became… truly fascinating.

The first spell that caught his attention was one called Soul Flame.

The description was simple and horrifying.

It was a fire that didn't burn flesh, but souls.

A flame that inflicted pain directly to the spirit, leaving no visible scars, no traces, no remains. The ritual required the collection of living souls merging them together until they ignited into a pure, burning light.

The more souls you fused, the stronger the flame became.

But the price… was terrible.

Each time the flame was used, the very souls composing it were burned away forever, consumed by the act itself.

A weapon that destroyed both the enemy and the essence it was built upon.

Razeal felt a faint weirdness crawl through him as he read. The description was so vivid that for a moment, he imagined what such a fire would look like a silent, invisible inferno that devoured everything from the inside out.

Anyone caught in it would feel their life being erased, their being reduced to ashes unseen.

A perfect killing tool.

Silent. Final and Untraceable.

Razeal could see why it was forbidden.

It was the kind of magic no one could counter a flame that burned not the body, but soul itself.

He turned another page and found the next spell.. the Blasting Curse.

A curse placed inside a person's body, invisible and dormant until activated by the caster's voice.

The moment the trigger word was spoken, the curse would explode destroying the target from within, leaving nothing but fragments.

Razeal arched an eyebrow.

"...Convenient," he muttered dryly, though there was a flicker of interest in his tone.

He leaned back, his fingers brushing the edge of the book.

The pages hummed faintly under his touch, almost as if alive, responding to his presence whispering things he couldn't quite hear.

He didn't know whether it was the knowledge itself or the book's nature, but as he read, the air around him seemed to grow thicker, darker, like the very act of reading was changing the space around him.

Each spell he saw was worse than the last creative, vicious, and crafted with an intelligence that made cruelty into art.

And yet, Razeal couldn't deny it.. it was fascinating.

He wasn't drawn by malice, but by curiosity. This was the anatomy of evil laid bare, the raw truth of darkness with no disguise.

It was the kind of knowledge that broke most minds into temptation.

But Razeal wasn't most people.

And then

Razeal flipped another brittle page of the Book the edges darkening his fingertips faintly as if the ink itself was alive. His eyes scanned the next section.. Evil Arts.

Now this one was… something else.

It started with a detailed explanation not about simple spells or tricks but about the process of imbuing objects with raw evil energy.

To do that, one first needed to collect energy from corpses.

A minimum of one hundred.

The book stated it bluntly, as though gathering energy from a hundred dead bodies was a trivial errand.

Razeal's brows twitched slightly as he continued reading. The more corpses used, the stronger the effect would be. The energy had to be extracted from their flesh and bound into an inanimate object a blade, a piece of jewelry, a ring, anything non-living transforming it into a cursed artifact.

He leaned closer as his eyes traced the description.

The resulting object would spread corruption to whoever touched or wore it seeping into their mind and body like poison. The side effects listed were… extensive.

Progressive mind erosion.

Insomnia.

Nightmares that blur into waking hours.

A gnawing irritability that grows into violent rage.

Lust without satisfaction.

Anxiety without rest.

The more he read, the worse it became. Even the lowest-level cursed item, the book promised, could drive a person insane or make them kill themselves within ten years.

And higher-grade ones?

They could shatter the soul long before the body ever broke.

Razeal exhaled slowly, closing the book for a brief moment, tapping his finger on the cover.

"…All that from just a necklace?" he muttered quietly to himself, his tone flat, half incredulous.

He reopened the page again, scanning the symbols.

"Collecting energy from corpses, huh…" he murmured under his breath. "These people were truly insane."

But his curiosity didn't stop there. He flipped further, scanning for something that caught his eye and then, there it was.

A spell name glowed faintly on the next page: Whisper of the Unborn.

Even the name itself sent a subtle weirdness down his back.

He read carefully.

A forbidden spell that summons the echoes of souls who were never born.. lingering fragments of existence that never came to be.

The moment he processed the meaning, Razeal's face curious.

The spell didn't just deal with the dead. It called upon the spirits of the unborn.. echoes of what could have been, the remnants of unrealized lives.

The book described their cries how they seep into the mind of the caster, whispering endlessly, their sorrow and rage gnawing away at sanity until the person broke completely.

Their suffering would become yours their pain your constant companion.

It wasn't a curse to use against someone else.

It was something that could destroy the user too.

Razeal blinked once, then slowly sighed. "Who the hell even thinks of something like that?" he muttered, flipping the page again, but slower this time.

Each new spell seemed more twisted than the last.

He skimmed through one that could erase someone's memories entirely... not just the mind, but the emotional imprints tied to them, leaving the person hollow, a walking void.

Another described how to induce eternal lust in someone a state of endless desire without any satisfaction, their body burning with need they could never fulfill.

There was a spell that caused pain whenever the target got close to someone they cared about ensuring that love, warmth, and connection would only ever bring agony.

Razeal's eyes narrowed slightly.

And then there was another: a spell to force love itself.

It twisted emotions, bending someone's heart until they believed they loved the caster ..even if it meant destroying everything they were.

And one about eating someone's eyes to watch what those eyes had watched previously before.

His brow twitched.

"All fucked up shit," Razeal muttered out loud, his voice sharp with disgust.

He couldn't help it. His expression darkened, and his lips pressed into a thin line as he continued scanning the page.

Every new line was another display of depravity. Every spell seemed less like an act of power and more like an obsession with suffering.

"What kind of mind even comes up with this?" he said, eyebrows furrowing deeply. "What kind of person sits down and designs this level of shit?"

He leaned back slightly, staring at the open book in front of him, the faint red light reflecting in his eyes.

Magic wasn't easy to make. To create something like this required deep knowledge.. time, intelligence, and intent. These weren't random curses scrawled by lunatics. They were carefully structured systems of torment.

Which only made it worse.

The realization struck him suddenly.

Wait.. the book wasn't made by anyone, was it?

It was born.

That's what the System said.

Then where did these spells come from?

He thought back to the description he'd read earlier.

"Born from all the darkness… of all worlds…" he murmured quietly, rubbing his thumb against the burned corner of the page. "So… it's recording. Always recording? Maybe?"

Yeah maybe the book didn't invent evil. It collected it.

Every act of darkness that had ever existed every cruel thought, every twisted creation the book absorbed it all, eternalizing it inside itself.

Razeal's expression turned contemplating.

That meant, even right now, it might still be learning adding, growing.

He let out a faint exhale, part disbelief, part unease and part intrested as it seems to be something very different and stronger then he had thought.. Worthy of an Sss-ranked artificat.. Afterall

This thing wasn't just a grimoire. It was a living archive of malice itself.

Across the table, Maria watched him, confusion flickering on her face.

She'd been sitting silently, her chin resting on her hand, when Razeal's muttering reached her ears.

"What's fucked up?" she thought to herself, frowning slightly.

She tilted her head, trying to see what he was doing. From where she sat, she couldn't see much the book was mostly hidden under the table, resting on his lap.

Still, she noticed the way his eyes stayed fixed downward, his lips moving quietly as he read. His expression shifted between concentration and faint disgust.

"What kind of things is he even reading?" she wondered, half irritated, half curious.

She leaned forward just a little, stretching her neck subtly to get a better look, but the angle didn't help.

Tch. Whatever it was, she didn't really want to know.

She leaned back again, crossing her legs. He was probably reading something mostlikely . And if she asked, he'd just say something rude and bad that'd definitely annoy her.

"Forget it," she muttered under her breath, looking away toward the sea, clearly uninterested though her eyes still flicked toward him once or twice, just to make sure he wasn't doing something stupid.

Razeal ignored her completely.

His focus was fixed solely on the book. Every new spell pulled him deeper not because he wanted to use them, but because he couldn't stop wondering about the why.

What drove such creativity in cruelty?

The longer he read, the more he realized this wasn't just a list of forbidden techniques. It was a map of human depravity and something about that realization made him feel weird.

Then, his fingers stopped turning the page.

His gaze froze on a single line.

A title written in bold, dark letters that seemed to pulse faintly on the page:

Reborn.

A forbidden spell, listed under the "Evil" series.

His eyes narrowed.

Hmmmmmmmm.

Reborn.

That word struck him deeply.

He leaned forward, his expression hardening slightly as his mind drifted.. remembering his own rebirth.

He had died once. Truly died.

And yet, he lived again by the will of the System, an omnipotent being that had pulled him from death itself.

But this…

A spell that claimed to grant rebirth?

That was different.

His curiosity burned suddenly brighter, and he began to read carefully, tracing each line of the description word by word.

"Can there really be another way?" he murmured quietly, his tone filled with intrigue. "Another path… to come back?"

His eyes glinted faintly with reflection half curiosity, half the ghost of memory.

----

Sorry guys, I couldn't update yesterday. Apologies for that. There was a sudden change in the environment here, and I got sick out of nowhere. I couldn't come up with the story or write anything my brain just stopped working. So I thought instead of writing something half-hearted, I should rest.

Thanks for understanding ❣️

I'll make it up with two extra chapters they'll be out before midnight tonight.

Don't forget powerstones and golden tickets guys.. we so behind this time

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