Hyacinth looked at his new skin in the reflection of the mirror, tugging and pulling at it, no imperfections in sight. His face was perfectly symmetrical, his innocent crystal blue eyes darting back and forth. He ruffled his short, black hair, absorbed in his beauty. His fingers shone red as he adjusted his face, creating the perfect version of himself. Too handsome.

“It’s time to go. I’ve told you everything you need to know already. Remember, I won’t be able to help you if anything goes wrong.” Hyacinth nodded, sheathing Agares and donning his magic items. He was covered from head to toe in magic, his backpack containing more than ten potions.

“Prioritise the mission above everything else.” With those last words in mind, he walked outside the dungeon.

Immediately he covered his eyes, the sun blinding him. Every colour was more vibrant, the light was brighter and the darkness deeper. The smell of fresh air and the sudden noise assaulting him from every side, disorienting his senses. Even though he became a demon a few weeks ago, the sensation of being outside was a distant memory, now completely foreign.

“Sir, sir. Are you alright? Someone fetch a Lumin priest, he’s on the verge of death!” A young woman in white and gold robes screamed at him, shaking him side to side. Hyacinth scowled, his body tensing up. She started dragging him along, but he refused to budge. When she pulled harder, he violently pushed her to the side, sending her flying through the air.

“Can you get off of me you pathetic bitch? Harass someone else for once. You keep yapping on and on and on.” The entire place became dead silent, adventurers stopping in their tracks.

“I’m sorry,” the apprentice whimpered, tears spilling down her face. One by one, people started coming out of the adventurer’s guild, pushing each other to see what the latest drama was.

“Why don’t you go and scam some more adventurers for all they’ve made in the dungeon. Money-grubbing bastards, all of you!” Hyacinth shouted, pointing his sword at the group of priests standing by a white church. Shocked gasps and more pretending could be heard in the distance, but no one stepped forward.

“Who does this punk think he is? Come on, let’s teach him a lesson,” a man in his late teens stood up, picking up his polished silver sword. He started walking forwards, but an older man yanked him back. “Look at his equipment. Think before you act,” he whispered. The young man sniffed the air, his wolf nose discerning the smell of death hanging around Hyacinth.

“What are you looking at?” the young man gulped, his eyes wide. Fortunately, it wasn’t him who was getting shouted at. It was the owner of the nearby general shop, the only one with permission to be this close to the dungeon.

“Looking at you makes me sick. Fifty gold for a healing potion that could save someone’s life, fifty more for an antidote when you bought it for five times less. You pay a hundred gold for an item worth thousands anywhere else.” Hyacinth yelled, and despite his body trembling from rage, he felt liberated. All of his previous frustrations came hurling out, yelling at the nearby priests, adventurers and shop owners.

If it was the old him, someone would have come to stop him already. He noticed the looks he was getting. Some looked at his sword, others at his cloak and ring. And those even wiser looked at his body, recalling how easily he had hurled the apprentice.

He was about to draw his sword and behead the general store owner, wiping off his shit-eating grin and getting rid of his smug attitude once and for all, but that was the exact moment guards came barreling down the street, their halberds raised high in the air. Their shiny armour reflected the sun, their insignias proudly displayed on their chest.

“Break it off you drunken mess. I don’t want to throw you in the dark room.” A bear-mix yelled at Hyacinth, his face snarling in rage. Several more guards stood beside him, looking wearily at the angry adventurer.

Hyacinth narrowed his eyes, examining each guard in detail. Only some were confident enough to keep their gaze on Hyacinth. The rest were looking uneasily at the adventurers surrounding them, none with happy expressions on their faces.

His body tensed up, his hand hovering near his sword. He could take them all on. He would be wanted by the kingdom’s much tougher guards for the rest of his life, but he could easily change his appearance. They wouldn’t catch him.

That was when Agares’ words came back to him. “Don’t draw too much attention. Stay out of trouble - the mission is more important than any personal feelings,” was what he had told Hyacinth. He scoffed, muttering curses under his breath, which some of the half-mixes surely picked up.

And then, he walked away. If he was any regular adventurer, he’d be hauled off and put in a dark, dusty corner as punishment. Instead, the guards let out a sigh of relief, dispersing the crowd and heading back to patrol the streets. The corrupted satisfaction came back once again, proving he was right all along. The more power you had, the more others would respect you.

He walked through the town with his chest puffed out, his head raised high. The further north you went, the quieter the streets got. He passed six different inns in the span of ten minutes, lavish spices and music in the air. Dunkards stumbled into inns, waiting for adventurers to call rounds for everyone else. Beggars with fake injuries sat on cold cobblestone, hiding away the gold coins they received.

The centre of the town featured a different sort of noise. It was the noise of logistics, of merchants importing goods and builders constructing new shop-fronts. A line of shops ran from west to east, each specialising in something different. From swords to clean clothes, the craftsmen were hard at work to sell their wares at five times the cost.

He walked through shop after shop, remembering the list Agares told him to memorise. He bought common ingredients from the magic stores and ore from the blacksmiths, haggling until his voice was hoarse. He had thousands of gold in his backpack, but old habits were hard to kill.

According to the plan, he should have been out of this town hours ago, but, he had debts he needed to settle. He aimlessly wandered around, patiently waiting for the night to fall. Though the city wasn’t much darker due to light spells, the adventurers were all drinking away their gold, and a guard patrol was a rare sight. Only those with nefarious intent and those visiting the red-light district wandered the streets.

He made his way east to the so-called “outsider” section of the city. Both Gaxion and Elythria had claims to the dungeon, the duke graciously allowing them to buy a portion of the land. It was like walking into a completely different world - puppets and golems carried goods around on one side, buildings partially replaced by crystals sparkling in the night. On the other side, black spires rose in the sky, dim runes shining with power.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He had researched Elythrian customs even before he became a demon. They modelled their houses similar to the Tower of Magic, one of the greatest dungeons in the world. The tallest tower belonged to the most important mage, a place for others to gather, and, in theory, share their knowledge. In reality, the people gathered there were a bunch of greedy mages looking to steal spells and magical formulas from each other.

With that in mind, he made a beeline toward the black tower that rose for several stories. Every few metres up there would be a circle of runes going around the tower, a red glow lighting up the tower. The books hadn’t explained what the runes meant, so Hyacinth could only assume they were there for defence.

Despite the grand display, the door to the tower was ajar, light spilling into the street. He heard faint murmurs coming from inside, as well as a clink of glass and chaotic footsteps. Hyacinth gritted his teeth, his heart beating like thunder, electric mana flowing to every part of his body. He opened his backpack, quaffing a red potion, and then a blue one.

He swung open the black door, his sword half drawn. Instead of magic experiments and horrors, he saw a pleasant scene of wizards lounging on a couch, betting gold coins and rolling seven-sided dice. Cabinets of wine adorned the walls, a part of the first floor dedicated to a kitchen. Bits of food were placed on runed trays, having been there for who knows how long.

The table they were playing at was flashing with red and green magical lights that formed both humans and monsters. Different things happened when dice were rolled, though Hyacinth didn’t understand the strange game.

“It's a seven for me. Hand over your best spellbook, Marith.” A man in his forties laughed, accidentally spilling wine on the floor.

“Go fuck yourself Beri. Do you really think I won’t raise an entire army of skeletons to ruin your kingdom? Also, there’s someone at the door. Go greet them.” Merith looked up and sighed. Then, she went back to her game.

“Alright, alright. Hey, what can I do for you?” The pot-bellied man stood up and hobbled over to Hyacinth. “It’s awfully late,” he noted, looking outside the window.

“Yes, I’m sorry for that. I need to meet with the head mage immediately. It’s an urgent matter that relates to the dungeon,” Hyacinth forced a smile, his hands behind his back. They were clenched together so hard that his hand began to bleed.

“Oh my. If it’s so urgent then don’t let me delay you. Dalimar is probably on the top floor right now,” Beri looked him up and down with concern, but after a few seconds, he stepped away, grabbing another glass from the kitchen and filling it with wine.

Hyacinth’s head turned from side to side, examining every corner of the room. Any moment a trap would be sprung on him. Any second the defences would activate and the mages would bombard him with spells. But after several seconds of tension, nothing happened. Beri happily sat back down on the couch, rolling the dice once again.

Hyacinth walked forward, muscles tensed and mana circulating. He made it to the staircase, which he proceeded to climb in bewilderment. He snuck glances into both the second and the third floors. The former was a large library with books in glass displays. The latter was a weirdly triangular room with a huge magic circle in the middle, crystal rods placed in random positions on the floor. He vaguely sensed mana gathering there, though he avoided it out of principle.

He continued climbing up floors, locating sleeping rooms and more strange research facilities. He ignored them, moving up with increasing speed. Moments later he arrived at the head mage’s study.

Monstrous body parts were stored in jars all along the room, a myriad of magic items thrown on the floor. He recognised them all as hailing from the dungeon. Xeel’s arm, madness mushrooms, worm flesh and live exploding fireflies were placed on the huge wooden desk, isolated by barriers of magic.

An old man with a head full of white hair turned to him. He was wearing stained violet robes, dark patches all over the cloth. He had two thick leather gloves on and a pair of glasses with symbols etched in the glass. Besides that, he was quite short and scrawny, his hunched back not doing him any favours.

“What’s a bloody adventurer doing in my research room? Get out! Don’t you see I’m busy!” Dalimar yelled, waving Xeel’s arm around like it was a toy.

“I’ve come to collect a debt. A debt owed to me that can only be paid with human lives,” his pupils dilated, a mad grin on his face. He ground his teeth, sword already in hand. The old man recoiled in surprise, but Hyacinth was already moving.

The room flashed blue as Hyacinth let his mana circulate freely, overabundant from the earlier potion. Lightning crackled as it scorched the walls around him. Time slowed to match his speed. The old man was moving so slowly, the mana not coming fast enough for him.

In a single flash that tore through the room, Hyacinth impaled the head mage, lightning ravaging his organs. With a violent yank, he pulled his sword upwards, cutting through his chest, neck and head. He grabbed the body as it was falling backwards, beheading the mage in one swift motion. Then, Hyacinth’s sword ran through the old man’s heart, just in case he wasn’t dead yet.

Breathing heavily, he dropped the body to the ground, reigning in his mana. Once again, he raised his sword, looking around for anything to happen. He expected the entire tower to light up, for beasts to start attacking him as some sort of emergency magic triggered, but it didn’t matter how long he waited. Nothing happened.

There should have been mages running up the stairs to check on the violent noise of lightning, but nothing of the sort happened. Hyacinth paced around the room in bewilderment. It was all too easy.

He wasn’t one to celebrate early. He wiped his sword on the old man’s body and descended to the sleeping rooms, only to find they were all locked. He plunged his sword through the door, carving a hole to pass through. Only halfway through the process did the mage wake up, screaming in panic. By then it was too late, his sword already through the mage’s throat.

It was the mage’s scream that finally alerted the people downstairs. The portly mage hurried up the stairs, only to get kicked down, his head smashing against the wall. A skinny, porcelain white hand grabbed him by his throat, and in an instant, his life was snuffed out.

Going downstairs, it was a tougher fight. There were three other mages there, crafting barriers as they heard the loud bang. Only one managed to get a spell off, and it crashed against Hyacinth's transparent shield, his ring flashing white. He slaughtered them in seconds, his strength enhanced by another potion. None of their barriers stood a chance, and the mages were useless in close combat.

It took five more minutes to fully clear out the tower. The wizards had created soundproof rooms to sleep in, so half of them were unaware of what was going on before it was too late. Those used to fighting put up a short struggle, but he was a greater demon now, nothing compared to his previous self.

After he was done with murder, he gathered every single body and brought them to the top floor. He went through every room, grabbing anything slightly valuable, smashing glass cases and grabbing spellbooks. Heading up to the top floor, he looted any valuable possessions before he started wildly swinging his sword, truly lost in madness. He cut up each body into a hundred different pieces, a pool of blood seeping into the black stone.

When he was done, he pulled out a scroll of fireball and went outside the room. It took him seconds to read it, a massive fireball appearing from his hands and shrieking into the room. He closed the door just in time to hear the explosion and feel the vibration. Other mages and guards would be here soon, but he would be out long before they could do anything.

With that, his revenge was done. From this moment onwards, he was free to do whatever he wanted. There were more mages to kill and more power to gain, but that would come after completing the mission. His mana still in pristine condition, he streaked through the city and into the forest, sprinting at top speed. He had hundreds of kilometres to travel, made faster only by his unending endurance and his lightning speed.