The Archetype | Rimuru Tempest x TBATE

I tried my hardest to push it all out of my head, to block out the memories that felt like a bad dream, but it hit me anyway. I couldn't stop hearing my own voice. The words I said... it's like they were etched in my mind. Each one reminded me of how wrong I was, how much of an idiot I was.

"Consider it friendly advice," I said, probably a little too smug, "just don't get too cocky, Arthur. You never know."

I can still hear his laugh, the way he teased me, like he could already see through me. "Coming from you, that's rich," he shot back.

I remember smiling, like I was so damn clever. "Hey, it's fine if it's me. I'm allowed to be cocky. I've earned it."

Earned it. What a joke. Those words sound hollow now, and I can't help but wonder what I was really so proud of. I was so sure back then, so sure of everything. God, how little I knew.

"It's amazing that you weren't late. Makes you seem like a true hero."

"Actually, I hardly ever arrive on time." Looking back, it was the only thing I was right about. I hardly ever arrived on time.

I don't know why I said all that, why I felt the need to put on this front, this act like I had it all figured out. Back then, I thought I was untouchable. I thought I had a grip on everything.

Now?

Now I can't even look back without this weight in my chest. I look at those words, those silly things I said, and I just... I want to scream. I want to shake myself and tell myself to stop being such a fool, because I didn't know a damn thing.

I didn't know how everything would fall apart. How one moment would change everything. I forgot how quickly someone could be taken from you, or how much that could hurt, how much grief could settle in your bones.

I never learned a thing.

I never did.

Now, when I think of those words, I don't even recognize the person who said them.

◇◇◇

The biting chill of the wind swept past the top of the Great Wall. Gone were the usual busy activities of soldiers training, merchants selling goods, and patrols roaming. Instead, the very top of the wall was a plain and vacated emptiness.

Rimuru Tempest stood at the edge of the precipice, overlooking the untamed wilderness of the Beast Glades lit under the scorching sun of the midday. Behind him were two neat rows of trembling and bound Alacryan prisoners, forty in total, with their heads held down as they knelt to the cold, rough stone floor.

The Lances lined up not far from the area, standing still with impassive faces. Behind them were high-ranking officers, standing stiff as they stifled uncomfortably with their dark-colored blindfolds.

One among them leaned slightly to another comrade. "Why the blindfolds?"

"The Grand Marshal and the Lances report directly to the council. What they can do is beyond lower-ranked clearance," the other officer replied. "Besides, I think it's best that we don't see this."

Rimuru turned around to face the prisoners. His usual laidback smile was still there. But there was an unfathomable emptiness in the depths of his crimson eyes. He approached the soldier that was first in line, who refused to look up.

The looming shadow of Rimuru made the soldier's trembling intensify. He bent his knee and lifted the soldier's chin to meet him eye-level. And when he spoke, his tone was almost conversational—none of this truly fazed him.

"Name someone you love," he simply said.

And faced with the oblivion behind Rimuru's eyes, showered by overwhelming force of ambition, the man's lips opened and stammered against his will. "M-My son… Lucien."

Rimuru said nothing and simply stood up. Then, as if akin to praying, he clasped his palms together. Then he curled them, twisted, pressed, and kneaded like one would with a dough. Thousands of kilometers away, in the continent of Alacrya, a young man collapsed into red paste, leaving nothing but his head.

And that head, with a thud, dropped in front of the prisoner.

Wretched screams of agony and grief shattered the silence of the wall as Rimuru moved to the next in line.

"How about you? Whose name brings you comfort?"

The man, a young soldier with ashen grey hair, opened and closed his mouth repeatedly. He wanted to speak—but the words he wanted to say didn't escape his mouth.

"Lying's pointless."

The soldier felt his heart drop. Once again, with eyes too numb to resist anything, the soldier spoke. "Maria…"

Rimuru clasped his hands once more. Again, the same gesture. Again, the same result. Again, the same sickening thud as a head materialized, and again, the anguished screams of a soul broken by loss.

One after another, Rimuru continued his relentless murders. Old or young, man or woman—he spared no one. Name after name were uttered with sickening despair, and the same ritual unfolded. Before long, dozens of heads piled up atop the Great Wall, staining the stone floors red with dripping blood.

By the time he reached the final ten prisoners, the rest were little more than hollow shells with shattered spirits. Thirty faces stared sightlessly at the sky, collapsed in varying states of breakdown—some screaming, some catatonic, some whispering endless streams of apology to the unseeing eyes of their loved ones.

Rimuru paused, addressing the remaining few.

"Don't look so down," he said with a somewhat hopeful voice. "I'm not without mercy."

The prisoners looked up at him—fear and disbelief and rage all plastered to their faces.

"This time, I won't kill your loved ones," Rimuru continued. "Instead, I'll grant you a painless end—if you tell me where the retainer is. No more suffering. Isn't that enticing?"

The officer in charge, the young girl who'd deceived Rimuru in Ashber, looked up weakly. "And if we don't?"

Rimuru smiled. An unnerving, empty smile that sent shivers down everyone's spine. "It's only a matter of time. How long do you think you can keep the retainer safe from me?"

The silence that followed was broken only by quiet sobbing and the endless keening of the wind. And then, just as Rimuru massaged his own hair and proceeded to his next victim—with that same ever-constant hollow curve of his lips—a trembling lips called out.

"I'll tell you."

Rimuru's smile sharpened, his steps stilled. The fate of the one who dared to challenge the demon lord was sealed.

———

The hidden stronghold near the edges of the Beast Glades was dark and cold, a secret fortress tucked into the jagged cliffs. Retainer Uto walked through its stone halls, his boots clicking loudly in the silence. Normally, soldiers would rush to greet him, bowing low and trembling before his presence as one should before a Vritra.

But now, the place was eerily empty.

He frowned, glancing around. "Where is everyone?" he muttered to himself, annoyance creeping into his voice. The flickering torches on the walls barely lit the corridors, and their weak light made the shadows seem alive.

Still, Uto wasn't worried. His mood was too good. He couldn't stop thinking about his recent victory—the way he had slowly tortured Lance Alea, breaking her bit by bit. Her screams had been like music to him, her pain a masterpiece he had carefully crafted. Even now, he smirked at the memory of her plucked eyes.

But as he walked deeper into the stronghold, his smugness began to fade. The silence felt heavy, almost unnatural. His sharp inhuman eyes scanned the space. He stopped in the middle of the grand hall, a massive chamber carved into the mountain itself. The shadows stretched long and deep, and then he saw them—two crimson eyes glowing faintly in the darkness.

They weren't human.

They weren't like anything Uto had ever seen before.

A voice, calm and casual, broke the silence. "You sure took your time. You've been busy, haven't you?"

Uto froze for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Recognition dawned on his face.

Stepping forward, he narrowed his eyes and then grinned, his face lighting up with twisted glee. "Would you look at that. The great Rimuru Tempest himself. Welcome to my little corner of your house." He said, bowing dramatically with dripping sarcasm.

The shadows shifted, and Rimuru walked into the dim light. His face was calm, his posture relaxed, but the air around him felt heavy, like it was crushing the space itself. Uto could feel it pressing against him, yet he smiled even wider.

"You've got guts," Uto said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Did you come seeking revenge for that bitch?"

Rimuru tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Something like that," he said quietly.

Uto laughed, a deep, cruel sound. "Oh, this is rich. Dreaming too big, aren't we? I'm a Vritra. That makes me a god to you."

Dark mana swirled around his hands, crackling like a storm. He unleashed a massive black spike, the projectile screeching as it tore through the air toward Rimuru. It exploded on impact, a shockwave ripping through the stronghold. The torches extinguished in an instant, plunging the room into near darkness as the dust settled.

When the dust cleared, Uto's grin faltered. Rimuru stood exactly where he had been, completely unharmed and utterly untouched. His clothes weren't even ruffled. Not a hair out of place.

"Really?" Rimuru asked, his voice cold and flat. "Because I sure expected more."

Before Uto could react, Rimuru vanished. It was an instantaneous collapse of distance. Suddenly, he was behind Uto, a hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Uto spun around, summoning a black spike, but Rimuru caught it with his bare hand, and it shattered like glass.

Panic shone in Uto's eyes, but he quickly masked it with anger. "You aren't human, are you?"

Rimuru stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. "You're catching on. Let's get this over with."

Then, everything happened at once. Rimuru's hand plunged into Uto's chest—not cutting through him but phasing into his body like his flesh wasn't even there. Uto's eyes widened, and a scream tore from his throat as unbearable pain exploded inside him.

Belzebuth.

Soul Consumption.

Rimuru's hand twisted, and Uto's knees buckled. His body jerked uncontrollably as something invisible was being pulled out of him. Rimuru withdrew his hand, holding a writhing, translucent mass that shimmered faintly in the dim light.

"Your soul," Rimuru said, his tone emotionless. But his lips curved up into a sadistic smirk. "Let's see how well you do without it."

Uto collapsed to the ground, his limbs twitching. His eyes rolled back as a deep, primal terror overtook him. Rimuru began pressuring the soul in his hand, the shimmering mass slowly getting crushed into nothing. Uto's body convulsed violently, black veins spreading across his skin. His flesh began to split, blood pooling beneath him as he writhed in agony.

Rimuru crouched down beside him, still with that plastered smile. "You wanted to know what despair feels like, didn't you?" he said softly. "You should see yourself right now. Don't break too soon. You still have a long way to go. And I want you to feel every second of this."

Uto's vision blurred, his breaths shallow and ragged. The last thing he saw was Rimuru's crimson eyes, cold and unfeeling, watching him with a terrifying indifference. Then everything went dark as his soul vanished into a void, and he truly experienced the most terrifying depictions of hell and suffering.

…

Rimuru stood amidst the stronghold of the Retainer Uto. The weight of his actions, the deaths he had caused, and the destruction he had wrought now descended upon him as he finally achieved his vengeance. But there was no satisfaction in the gruesome death of Uto.

Only the feeling of satiation as he devoured the retainer's soul.

He wanted to feel the warmth of his tears, the release of emotion that used to come so naturally. He wanted to cry—needed to cry—but no tears came. Not anymore. It had been too long since he'd felt that raw release, that cleansing, vulnerable moment of grief.

He dusted off his shoulders with gentle taps, then summoned the Storm Magic of the draconic will he had assimilated with. A small orb of black flame appeared on his index finger, shining with so little darkness that it seemed insignificant.

He dropped it to the ground below and let himself be swallowed by a portal that led to his house in Xyrus. The small, black flame erupted, violently engulfing the entire stronghold of the Glades before dissipating into nothingness.

The portal closed behind Rimuru as he stepped into his home in Xyrus. The familiar silence of his villa welcomed him, and he embraced it fully.

His gaze drifted to the open window, where the moon hung high in the night sky, casting a pale glow across the room. The stillness of the moment contrasted sharply with the violent storm he had left behind. He had obliterated Uto, crushed him in a way that no one would ever forget, but there was no joy in the destruction.

This is not the kind of win I imagined.

Rimuru exhaled slowly. He walked to a nearby chair and sat, running his fingers through his hair. His eyes closed for a moment, the exhaustion of the battle seeping into his bones. It wasn't physical weariness, but something deeper, more insidious. He had felt it in the instant he consumed Uto's soul—the hollow sensation of vengeance.

It should have felt like closure. Instead, it felt like an emptiness that stretched into infinity.

"So much for being a demon lord," he muttered to himself in a self-mocking tone.

He leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling as fragments of his thoughts twisted through his mind. It had seemed so meaningless in the end. The rage that had fueled him had burned away, leaving only the cold residue of a victory he could not savor.

<> Raphael's voice said, calm and lacking emotion as always.

"I know."

<>

Rimuru didn't answer immediately. He stood from the chair. He had known this question would come, but he didn't expect it to come from Raphael, nor did he have an answer. How could he? Wasn't this the price of vengeance? To feel nothing at all once the blood had been spilled?

"It's complicated," Rimuru finally said. "It didn't feel the way I expected."

<> Came Raphael's reply.

"Well, I suppose I should be grateful. Uto is gone. He won't hurt anyone else."

There was a long pause before Raphael spoke again. The extent of his skill's fluency was almost unnerving.

<>

Rimuru's jaw clenched, but he didn't answer. Those words—simple, clear—cut deeper than anything else. They felt too raw, too true. He stayed silent for a moment as he watched the city outside the window.

"What now, Raphael?" His voice cracked, soft and fragile in the quiet. It was less a question and more a plea—what comes after this emptiness?

<<…I have a report. Although it is incomplete, I did manage to decode the last traces of will in the individual Alea Triscan's residual mana.>>

Rimuru's eyes widened in surprise, feeling his nonexistent heart skip a beat. "And what is it about?"

<>

Rimuru felt like his eyes had been opened to something that was in front of him all this time. For the first time since Alea's death, there were resolve and genuine hope in his eyes—and a smile returned to his face. It wasn't much, just a small curve of his lips, but it was real. It was genuine.

"Dumping me a curse even in death," he muttered, letting out a low chuckle. "Classic of you, Alea."

He could almost see Alea's smirking face, that unwavering optimism in her eyes. It was both comforting and painful at the same time.

He didn't know what the future would hold, but for now, he would continue forward, one step at a time. There was more to be done, more to rebuild, and despite everything, he still had those who would stand beside him.

He still hadn't lost.