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Bolin moved forward, bravely shielding the other children from Svar and his gang. As the oldest, he wore the shoes of the orphans’ leader, and in Vir’s eyes, he filled them well.
A few other boys and a couple of girls crowded around him, facing off against the bullies. The orphans had the advantage of numbers, but Svar’s gang were older than them, and most wielded rudimentary weapons.
“Go away, Svar,” Bolin said. “You’re not welcome here.”
Svar raised a brow. “Not welcome?” His grin widened to theatrical proportions. “Not welcome, you say? Since when did we need permission to be here?”
The bully kicked over a pile of refuse the orphans had fashioned into a castle. It came tumbling down.
“All I see here is a garbage dump.”
It seemed to Vir that no matter the realm, no matter the race, bullies were universal. What angered him most was how Svar and his lackeys were red demons, just like the orphans. Not Kothis—the race of monkey people the Chitrans belonged to. They were Gargans. His people.
Why were they squabbling amongst themselves when there was a far greater enemy? It was all so stupid. So frustrating.
“Don’t,” Ekta whispered, pinching Vir’s robe as he was about to intervene. “It’ll only make things worse next time.”
“Punching bag! Punching bag! Punching bag!” Svar and his goons chanted.
Vir stopped. Ekta was right. As much as bullying made his blood boil, he knew firsthand how this worked. Unless the bullies were thoroughly beaten down and broken, they’d return with a vengeance when Vir wasn’t around. In their eyes, they were the victims, not Bolin.
Nevertheless, he hadn’t gained all this power just to stand by and witness tragedies unfold before his eyes. He had other, better, means now.
Feigning irritation, Vir huffed off and turned a corner.
He did his best to ignore Ekta’s heartbroken expression.
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I shouldn’t have stopped him, Ekta thought, biting her lip. He’s older than us. He’s strong!
It was the way he moved. The way he spoke. His… confidence. Like nothing could ever pose a threat to him. Like the very idea was laughable. He wasn’t built the same as them.
Ekta knew he could’ve stopped the beating Bolin was about to get.
What good would it do? They’ll just double his beating next time. They might even hurt others.
There was no winning against Svar and his gang. Not when his father was as powerful as he was.
Ekta felt a pang of envy. If she had a family—let alone one so close to the Chits—she wouldn’t be bullying orphans. She’d… She’d help everyone! She’d give them food and shoes!
Not Svar. That boy was more than happy to ruin their lives. And his status was like an iron shield. Nobody could touch him.
Svar threw his first punch, as he always did. Ekta averted her eyes.
All of this had happened before. She knew how it’d go. Svar was big for his age, but his strikes were even nastier. They were augmented by a tattoo. Aspect of the Stone Sentinel. It gave his fists the weight of stone, and Bolin never emerged from the beatings without a few broken teeth or bones.
He couldn’t give in too easily, either. He’d tried that in the past. Svar just picked someone else. He kept going until he’d had his fill, beating them black and blue.
As always, Bolin protected them. But who protected Bolin?
Neel could! Ekta thought. But no. He’d stormed off. Because of her.
Ekta waited for the inevitable sound of fist hitting flesh, followed by Bolin’s grunt—he never cried or screamed. It was something Ekta deeply admired. Would she be able to tough it out like Bolin did?
Never.
Yet instead of Bolin’s pained grunt came a surprised yelp, and some other sound. The sound of someone falling.
Ekta looked up. For a moment, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Svar—The Svar—had fallen! He’d tripped over himself!
She was laughing before she knew it. She knew she shouldn’t—it’d only anger Svar even further—but she couldn’t help it.
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Ekta was soon joined by the other orphans. Svar’s goons averted their eyes, but it was obvious they were embarrassed by their leader’s mistake.
Svar stood up and cracked his knuckles. He pretended like nothing had happened, and took another swing at Bolin, who braced himself, his face grim.
The laughter died out… just in time for Svar to trip again. Again, he went sailing to the ground.
The orphans roared this time, twice as loud as before. Even Svar’s own friends couldn’t help themselves and started giggling.
“Shut up! All of you! This-this is! This isn’t what it looks like!”
Svar finally lost his cool, and his face flushed blue.
Once more he swung, and once more, he tripped.
Even so, despite the giggles, not one of the orphans goaded him. Taunting him would only hurt them, and right now, Svar didn’t need any help making a chal of himself.
“I-I’ll be back some other time!” he said, shuffling hastily to his feet.
“C-Come on!” he ordered his lackeys as he stormed away. Ekta could almost see the fumes coming off of his head.
But… how? Ekta marveled at Svar’s debacle. She’d never seen him trip before. Was he just having a bad day?
She shook off the thought. It didn’t matter. They’d won!
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“Run, you chals!” Svar screamed.
He cursed the gods. What had he done to deserve this? It’d been bad enough embarrassing himself in front of Bolin and the orphans.
“It’s gaining on us!” someone shouted. Svar was too preoccupied to check who. He was too busy running for his life.
Svar hadn’t felt terror like his since the first time his father beat him, years ago. He’d never forgotten that experience. And now, he was reliving it.
He dashed blindly through the streets, through alleys.
It was no good. The black terror always found them.
Desperation overtook his thoughts. He turned a corner, and only too late did he realize his mistake.
He’d entered an alley. A dead-end.
His friends piled in blindly after him.
Stupid chals. Can’t they use their heads!? I’m always the one telling them where to go.
Svar rushed back to the entrance of the alley, shoving past his friends.
It was blocked. The black beast waited for them.
He’d seen nothing like it. Black flames burned off its hide. Its glowing blue eyes seemed to gaze into his very soul. Promising pain. Promising death.
A-Ash Wolf, someone mumbled from behind him.
Impossible. Why would an Ash Wolf be all the way out here?
It made no sense!
Svar opened his Foundation Chakra, gaining him a measure of calm. He could do this. Ash Wolf or not, it was alone and there were three of them.
The wolf bared its vicious fangs and slowly sauntered over. Svar instinctively stepped back. His confidence fled as if it’d never existed. He lost control of his Chakra and terror again washed over him.
If it was an Ash Beast, he was dead. As a Tier Three Fiend, only Iron Guardians or higher could best them. Forget Steel, Svar wasn’t even ranked! Even Porcelain was above him.
This is it, isn’t it? This is the end.
“You will die here today,” the wolf said.
The wolf? It spoke!?
But no, the voice had come from behind them.
Slowly, Svar turned, terrified to take his eyes off the black beast even for a moment.
Standing not ten paces away was a being clad in black flame. Just like the wolf.
It wore a jet-black cloak. A hood covered its head, and a featureless burned wooden mask hid its face. It bore no visible weapons and its limbs were hidden under its cloak.
Despite this, Svar knew. This beast was even more powerful than the Ash Wolf. The flames burning off its body were incomparable to those of the wolf. The being was wreathed in a vortex of fire, blacker than the Ash itself.
Its mask was a black, featureless oval, devoid of openings for eyes, nose, or even a mouth.
This was no mere demon.
Oh Yuma, have mercy!
It was an Ash Beast. An Abomination spawned from the Harai Chakai itself.
But it had spoken. What Ash Beast could talk?
Without thinking, Svar fell to his knees and prostrated.
“P-please almighty one. I beg of you, spare us! We plead for our lives. Please!”
The being in black did not reply. Svar could feel its gaze on them. Judging them. A predator pondering whether to slaughter its prey.
“Spare you?” the being in black thundered. “Worthless mortal. Why?”
Mortal?
“A-are you a god?”
A pause. Had he offended it?
Oh gods. We’re dead.
“I am Vaak,” the being replied slowly.
Vaak? What kind of god is that?
“Anything you wish, O Demon God Vaak! You will have it! Our souls! We’ll dedicate ourselves to you!”
The being scoffed in derision.
We’ve angered it! Vera have mercy!
“Of what use are your worthless souls? I wish only for peace and quiet. I tire of your antics.”
Antics?
Svar paled. The orphans? But why? No, I cannot question a god!
“We’ll stop! I swear on my life. If it appeases you, we won’t play with those kids any longer!”
The being didn’t respond. Had he angered it even more?
Slowly, Svar raised his head. It was gone.
Svar turned. The Ash Wolf was gone as well.
“Spread my name,” the being’s disembodied voice boomed, startling Svar. “Let the world know. I have arisen.”
“I shall! I will!”
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Demon God Vaak? What have I done?
Vir had seen the gods. He knew of their incomprehensible power. He wasn’t even close to their level.
He’d just wanted to teach those bullies a lesson and to spread his name! Now, however, he feared he’d gone too far.
Shan looked up at him. He shrugged.
“Er. That kid will probably forget all about this by tomorrow, anyway. Right?” He laughed awkwardly, earning him a disapproving look from the wolf.
Vir didn’t believe his own words even as he uttered them. He feared he’d unleashed upon the world something that couldn’t be taken back.
Shan snorted, as if to mock, then bounded away.
Vir felt a sense of loss whenever the wolf left, but it was for the best. Now that Vaak had been introduced to the world, the less anyone saw them together, the better.
For while Vir might’ve said too much, he hadn’t lied.
He’d seen enough. Of Samar Patag. Of the Chitran. Of the squalor and the oppression that crushed his people.
Maybe the Chits weren’t all bad, but something had to be done.
When Vir had entered the Demon Realm, he’d been unsure of what he had to do. Of what he could do, as a lone demon.
Now, not a trace of that doubt lingered.
No matter how strong, a single demon could only do so much.
But a symbol? That was another matter entirely. A symbol could inspire hope in demons across the realm. A symbol could instill terror in the hearts of enemies both near and far. A symbol could not be corrupted or killed or suppressed.
A symbol was eternal. Vaak was eternal.
Samar Patag had to change. The Chitran had to change.
And if the price for realizing that dream was to become a Demon God, then it was a price Vir was glad to pay.