Kira laughed. Her skin was torn in hundreds of places from where she ripped arcane instruments out of her flesh. Silver blood leaked from every wound, reflecting the bright lights affixed to the ceiling.

The researchers around her cried out as she advanced, her red eyes blazing with anger. She grabbed a scalpel from an overturned table and darted forward with inhuman speed, slitting throats and piercing hearts. Red blood began to mix with silver as she slaughtered her former tormentors.

Suddenly, she stopped. In the distance, she heard soldiers rushing to the room. Daemons wouldn’t be far behind. Her expression sobered. She would escape. She placed her hand on the jagged scar on her palm, watching as it lit up.

“Kelestar, come to me,” Kira intoned, her scar pulsing with crimson light. The ground rumbled. The wall she was leaning on shook. Kira threw her head back, a wide smile on her face.

The wall exploded outward as a towering figure emerged, clad in adamant black. Inky tendrils burst from the figure’s back, furiously writhing as they blocked any debris that would have hit Kira. Without a word, she clambered onto the figure’s back, sitting atop its eyeless head.

“Such a good boy!” she murmured, stroking Kelestar’s metal plating. He purred in response, before returning to his break-neck pace. A booming roar emerged from his metal mouth, tendrils shattering everything they touched.

Soldiers began to open fire with boltcasters, the lances of magical energy being absorbed easily by Kira’s mount. As Kelestar continued to rampage through the facility, Kira looked at her scar again, a thread of light connecting it to him,

{WARNING - CORRUPTION LEVEL AT 28%}

Kira sighed, giving Kelestar a quick rub. She effortlessly dodged a bolt aimed at her, throwing her scalpel into the eye of her attacker. He slumped to the ground, instantly dead.

“Discharge already, Kel!” she hissed, dodging another bolt. He was getting sloppy. Kelestar gave an apologetic grunt, exposing his core for a split-second to let the otherworldly buildup out.

Instantly, a cloud of darkness billowed out from the glowing orb that was Kelestar’s core, consuming the soldiers trapped inside. They didn’t even have a chance to scream as the heat was drained from their bodies, leaving them frozen corpses. Kira grinned.

The two continued their rampage unabated, the entire facility coming apart around them. Soldiers shouted and fired their boltcasters, while researchers fled futilely. Who could stop a behemoth of metal and fury?

A thunderous impact through Kira off her perch, and she landed on the shattered stone floor. Her vision was blurry. Kelestar stood protectively over her, his tendrils flared and discharged corruption spilling from his core. What was he doing?

That was when Kira noticed the ominous figure behind Kelestar. It was composed of polished grey metal and glowing purple runes. Vast wings of crystal expanded behind it, and a long horn of crystal topped its head. It grasped an enormous sword in one hand, and in the other, sat a grim-looking boy. His features were much like Kira’s - pure white hair and red eyes. He was a homunculus too. A fake human for the Republic.

“Why do you want to escape so badly, Kira?” he asked, a flash of anguish briefly flickering in his eyes. He leapt down from his Daemon - for Kira knew it was a Daemon. His Daemon. She knew everything about him.

“I hate this place. I hate being tortured. I hate you, Kito!” Kira screamed, lunging for him. He easily dodged her assault, kicking her in the chest. She flew backwards into Kelestar’s shin, her head ringing. She desperately wanted to order her Daemon to crush him, but it wasn’t his fight. She had to do this alone.

Kito smirked and moved closer, pulling his fist back. Kira jabbed him in the stomach and he doubled over, wheezing. With a quick strike, her own fist slammed into his skull. Silver blood stained both of them now. He snarled and rose shakily, his eyes burning.

“I’m supposed to protect you, Kira. You’re mine!” Kito roared, his body blurring as he sent flurry after flurry of blows into her. She cried out as he brutalized her wounds, but stayed standing, kicking him between the legs. He collapsed to the ground, gasping.

“I’m not yours, Kito. I don’t belong to anyone. I wanted you to come with me. Why couldn’t you just say yes?” Kira fell to her knees, sobbing as she held him in her arms.

She couldn’t kill him. Not him. Not Kito. Her tears spilled into his hair. Kelestar crouched beside her, and she leaned against him, stroking his metal plating. Kito’s Daemon watched from afar, unmoving. She remembered her name. Draevorix.

Kira stood abruptly, climbing back onto Kelestar. Kito would stay in this hell, and she would leave. That was how things would go, even if she wished otherwise. Just before she ordered her Daemon to start moving, Kito stirred, looking up at her with a broken face.

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“Will…I…see you…again?” he whispered, eyes unfocused. Kira smiled sadly.

“I hope not.”

----------------------------------------

Jaeke looked at himself in the mirror. His dark hair was just as messy. His eyes were just as grey. Yet something was supposed to have changed. He had graduated from the Academy. The most prestigious university in the Empire.

But Jaeke just felt…empty. His life was still bland. Nothing had changed. He grimaced and put on his new uniform. It was time for him to show up to his new job at the Daemon Corps. Now that he was nearly there, he regretted dedicating his life to it.

He had already seen how people looked at him differently when he wore the ominous black badge. After all, many believed daemonists were no better than the monsters they controlled. It had been nearly a century since Raevka Andrisus first bound a spirit to a metal shell, and the prejudice against those who wielded them hadn’t dissipated.

It was too late for Jaeke to quit now. Even walking down the road through the capital was arduous when every other passerby looked at you in hatred. Daemonists defended the Empire, and this was their reward. Jaeke scoffed and walked faster.

Once he arrived at the dreary-looking building and gave his info to reception, a grim-looking man came out to meet him. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, and his thin frame was covered in a black coat. The Daemon Corps badge gleamed proudly on his breast. Jaeke could tell a person of authority when he saw one. He nodded respectfully.

“You Xathis?” he said in a gruff voice, already walking away. 

“Yes, sir!” Jaeke replied, hurrying to follow, and they entered a long corridor. There were no doors, only stone slabs embedded in the walls, covered in names. The man saw him looking and sighed.

“This is the List. Every daemonist we’ve lost ends up here, memorialized for eternity.” he finally said, sadness filling his voice. No doubt he had countless comrades on some of these slabs. Eventually, Jaeke reached the end, and the two stepped into a cavernous room filled with a multitude of people. Daemons were scattered throughout, arcanists toiling away at them while their masters mingled and chatted. Jaeke could spot other cadets in the crowd, but most of them would be arriving later. The man turned to Jaeke.

“I’m Lord Tarkern, your commanding officer. Welcome to the Daemon Corps.”

Jaeke’s eyes widened in awe. An actual lord! He had seen them in ceremonies before, and on the Scrynet, but never in person. A Lord was a figure of tremendous prestige - a borderline mythical hero. Lords were the only daemonists that got the appreciation they deserved from the rest of the Empire.

As Lord Tarkern walked through the crowd, conversations quieted and people bowed. Other cadets trailed along with Jaeke as they approached the far side of the chamber…where they would be assigned Daemons of their own. He looked at the myriad of Daemons as he passed them by, recognizing a few from his studies. That spiked one with huge claws was a Mortarus. The golden one with the glowing lance was a Chraetiel. There were many more that he didn’t know at all.

 Daemoncrafters had ultimate creative freedom, so long as they were functional in a fight. Sealing a raging spirit inside a metal shell wasn’t an easy task, so few complained about how their Daemon turned out. Even Daemons following basic archetypes weren’t always exact duplicates. Like that Mortarus with four antlers instead of a crown.

At last, Lord Tarkern looked each cadet in the eye, some with grudging respect and the late ones with a glare. Even now, more cadets were trickling in, unaware of the wrath being late would incur.

“This is not child’s play,” he began, “this is war. You will kill. You will die. Daemons aren’t toys for your amusement. They are weapons - dangerous weapons.” Tarkern paused to look at a hideous burn on his forearm.

“I expect nearly half of you to die the second you’re put on the battlefield. Those that survive will emerge hardened. Already, this is becoming apparent,” he said in a cold tone, his gaze lingering on the late arrivals, but looking at the others as well.

“The Akali and their homunculi are abominations that must be purged, and that is your mission. Do not hesitate, do not doubt, and obey the Emperor! Do you understand?”

“YES, SIR!” the cadets roared, many of their eyes filled with passion. Only Jaeke and a few others seemed apathetic to the whole scene. They knew, deep down, that they would survive and most of the rest would die. A sobering thought to have. As the roaring subsided, Tarkern organized the cadets into squads and assigned them Daemons.

Jaeke barely spared his squadmates a glance, waiting for his name to be called. It was.

“Jaeke Xathis, assigned an Agatheon,” Tarkern shouted as Jaeke rushed up to the charred monster that was the Agatheon. A cyclopean socket filled with fire gazed hatefully at all the cadets assembled. Curling horns glowed with heat. Beautiful plates of metal blended seamlessly into the next.

Jaeke stood on the pedestal next to his Daemon-to-be and grabbed the ritual knife. In a quick motion, he carved the sigil of bonding into his flesh and pressed his bleeding palm to the metal of the Agatheon.

Flames erupted from in between the plating, but didn’t harm Jaeke. A searing pain flared in his hand and he hissed as he felt the Daemon accept his blood. A rough link forcibly opened in his mind and the Daemon’s thoughts spilled into his own.

Hate. Wrath. The Agatheon wanted nothing more than to burn every person here to ash. It hated life. It hated everything in the world. It didn’t care if it was killing imperials or republicans. All that it cared about was killing. Burning lives away. That was what it - she - wanted. And in that hateful exchange of minds, Jaeke found something that resonated with him.

He didn’t mind fulfilling the Agatheon’s fantasies of violence, provided that it would serve. And as  he formed that thought, she instantly agreed. She still hated him, of course she did, but she would obey. She would obey until he ran out of people to burn.

Jaeke shook himself from his reverie, looking at the towering Agatheon - his Agatheon - in a new light. Even as another cadet was called and Jaeke faded back into the crowd, he couldn’t help but stare at the sigil branded into his palm, pulsing with a gentle orange light. It seemed so different from the roaring spite that was the Agatheon. Jaeke wondered what the spirit bound within had suffered to end up like that. He shivered. Better to avoid thinking of such things.

Once all the cadets had been assigned a Daemon, every one bearing the sigil scar on their palms, they were ushered off to the dorms and told to sleep.

Tomorrow, training would begin. When it ended, they would be thrown into the crucible of war.

All Jaeke could do was lay in bed and think. He was bonded to a monstrous spirit that would destroy him in an instant if it were unbound. Was that the kind of life he wanted to live?

Well, at least it wasn’t bland. Excitement was the spice and poison of life all at once.