The bats shook as they sliced through the growingly turbulent desert and forced their riders to cling tighter to their mounts.

Below were the crumbling remnants of stone structures now reduced to weathered foundations with a few broken columns in between. The wind picked up to howl through those ruins and whipped the rain into stinging sheets.

Hel and two sisters sat on one of the giant bats.

Both sisters differed from other succubi.

One was relatively darker while the other was brighter.

One looked fierce while the other was timid.

One contradicted the other in both appearance and manner.

Thorny sat at the front with a distorted expression as Hel was stitching her wound by weaving his strings through her torn flesh to stop the bleeding.

The group traversed sector B6. Some time passed.

Lucy perched at the back as her eyes scanned the hallucinatory horizons.

I wonder how large the world is.

If the world were to be endless, then would there be infinite possibilities?

“Agh…” Thorny mumbles under her breath.

Hel makes the final stitches. The strings then disappear into thin air.

If Hel can use those strings without the help of the interface… then can I do the same?

Elemental energy… How does one control it?

Just as I am about to ask Hel, I feel Thorny’s gaze piercing through me.

“Hey,” she places her leftover hand on my lap. “Do you not feel anything about the death of our sisters? Anything at all?”

I am pretty perplexed. Succubi have spoken among each other ever since getting summoned, yet both Thorny and I have remained mostly silent.

She calmly and patiently watches me for an answer she awaits.

What is it all of a sudden?

“So?” she presses her hand.

Tsk. I brush her hand off. Why would I feel pity? It is true that we have had the same origin and look alike. But so what? I feel guilty for some incomprehensible reason. But why would I risk my life and fight for nothing? Is she angry at me?

The thorny-headed succub locks her eyes with mine for a moment and then lowers her head.

“I thought so,” she whispers. Her gaze softens.

Thorny tucks her chin to emptily glare upward at the chromols.

“Perhaps this is what sets you apart from us,” she mumbles under her breath. “I wanted to protect others when I couldn’t even protect myself.” The wind carries sand past her wound.

Is she trying to reprimand me?

She laughs to herself. “I intended to protect you, too. It is only now that I understand our mother didn’t hate you. It was quite the opposite, actually,” her voice softens with each sentence. “You are the strongest. You don’t require any protection at all.”

What does she mean!?

Cough

Blood drips on my lap—Thorny’s blood.

Her hand falls limply beside her. “Hey, glasses.”

“Are you referring to me?” Hel casts a side glance.

Thorny sighs, “Are you blind or deaf or both?”

Hel remains nonchalant. His hair clings to his face in wettened and tangled strands. He continually pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose to wipe away the moisture with the back of his hand for another wave of droplets to blur his sight again.

“Those power-granting potions… What is the price? What’s the cost of power?”

He weaves her words away and continues looking at the faraway bat where the mother lies unconscious on the vampire’s lap. The vampire cradles the bloodied and blackened mother while watching the path ahead in complete disregard for the sand and rain stinging his face.

Thorny looks at where Hel gazes upon.

I look at the mother, too.

A sudden clarity washes over me.

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‘Mister, what does she mean by that!? Did the potions they use have some side effects?’

‘...’

‘Mister?’

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Are you feeling down?” Hel finally speaks.

“Glasses, do these potions take lives, or do they simply harm the body?” Thorny ignores his words. She then smiles lightly as she shifts her gaze toward me. “Never mind. You don’t have to answer.”

A sandstorm looms on the horizon—a mass of dust that blots out the setting light. The sky above it churns with foreboding clouds. The already deafening wind begins to howl louder.

An ominous shadow falls over Hel’s face.

‘I think I can get a gist of what’s happening,’ he voices in my head.

I remain silent. My instincts scream at me.

‘Those potions the archdemon has fed the succubi have a side effect. Well, I am not certain as to what it is, but it is certainly—’

I see… What a terrible liar.

I now know. But why did he hide it from me from the beginning?

The vortex ahead grows over time.

My mother saved me. No, she opted not to kill me.

But why? She valued me.

The wind picks up even more to carry with it stinging grains of sand that scratch my barren skin and make it difficult to see.

Then why did she berate me? Why did she try to make me hate her if she valued me?

The bats plunge forward to dive toward the heart of the approaching storm.

I see. I am not of any value to her at the moment. A test, huh?

‘I see. Isn’t it strange, then? Why did she not use a potion on me? Am I truly that worthless…’ I try to deceive him.

‘No. Remember what I said. You determine your own worth.’ Hel exclaims.

That I half disagree with.

The bats finally break through the sandstorm.

At first, I was spiteful and wrathful.

But I asked myself—

Why?

Why did I have to bend?

Why did I have to be shit on?

Why did I have to listen?

I didn’t know.

‘So, mister, won’t we fall under a disadvantage against the vampire if all my sisters are affected by the potions? Come to think of it, only eleven succubi remain while most bats are still alive.’

‘Well, who knows.’

I pondered many things. Yet now, I’ve finally reached the correct conclusion.

I lack strength.

Thus, I have to kneel and squirm on the ground as those gloths below did.

Thus, I have to eat shit if they so wish.

Thus, I have to comply with every order.

Whether it’s the mother, the vampire, or the glasses guy as Thorny says, they are all unreliable. Yet my life is in their hands.

There is only one way to escape their clutch: That is to gain strength or any other leverage.

The correct choice in such circumstances is to do nothing and wait to see what happens.

I will not involve myself in this game of theirs.

Since I cannot anyway.

I have been summoned a few hours ago, and thus, not only do I not possess strength but also wisdom. I don’t have experience. If I try to act independently, I’ll end up just like Thorny. But instead of a hand, what is going to be cut out is my head. I need to learn by observing and prompting.

I look below. Is this a new sector?

The forsaken realm of desolation and despair. The land is a barren wasteland whereon the cracked ground oozes black liquids that swallow the chromols’ lights.

The heavy brew is laden with a spectral fog that hangs thick and creeps along the ground with a scent of stinging decay.

Skeletons roam the forsaken land aimlessly. They traverse mechanically, soullessly, their empty eye sockets faintly lit.

Speaking of souls…

‘Mister, how do they live without a heart?’

‘Good observation.’

Hel previously explained that souls are just a form of essence that seekers have. So souls are essentially essences, too.

‘Those skeletons don’t possess spiritual energy and thus lack a sense of self. They are Espers—Elemental Spirits.’

‘So Espers are devoid of a sense of self?’

‘Correct. They don’t have hearts to produce spiritual energy. They are neither seekers who have souls nor keepers who have essences embedded inside the runes in their hearts. Well, Espers come in many forms—skeletons, golems, ghosts, and others.’

The clinking and rattling of their bones pervade the area. Innumerable tombstones lay across the hellscape and stand vigil over the forgotten dead. The tombstones vary in size and shape, tall and imposing and small and humble, but all telling of erosion and decay.

‘There are more downsides to being an Esper. There is no room for growth. You die with the same strength you came into the world. You cannot coat your body with aura due to the lack of spiritual energy thereof. You also lack self-agency.’

‘So what are the upsides, mister?’ I ask Hel respectfully.

The chromols embedded in the rock above provide a reluctant light that barely pierces the omnipresent fog. The light they cast in the current wasteland is the opposite of the light in the deserted wasteland of sector B6—cold and creating distorted shadows that seem to move on their own accord.

‘Well, they are resistant to any type of mental attacks directed at either essence or mind.’

The horizon is similarly endless. Yet every direction tells of the same unbroken monotony of bleakness and death.

‘But more importantly, they are completely resistant to Miasma.’

‘Miasma?’

‘Look at the waters below.’

These dark waters ripple as if stirred without cause.

‘One drop of that water on your skin and you’d die within a day. But Espers remain unharmed by the corruptive energy. If both rock and a human have Life Energy ingrained in them, does that mean both are alive? Of course not. In this world, one is considered alive only if one possesses a sense of self—Spiritual Energy. Espers aren’t alive. Some boast intelligence even superior to that of a human, yet they are essentially all dead—’

Suddenly—

A wingless undead bird with a mixture of skeletal remains and tattered feathers latches onto one of my sisters.

They disappear into the fog.