Seeing started after feeling. But the Imp knew it was alive before it felt or saw. Then, it jumped up, driven by a sense deep in its soul. It stumbled, bumping into other lumps that lay around it. Finally, it stumbled out. Out of the pit. That was when the Imp heard for the first time, even as its eyes were still blurry.

“Oh, you’ses stumbled out early-early. You’ses a runt. Look here, batchmate. We’ve got’ses a runt.” A gruff voice chuckled.

“Oh, Me’ses never seen a runt. He’ses tiny. Smaller-little than any other imp.” Another added.

Then a weight slammed down on him, smashing the Imp’s tiny body into the mud.

“Now, listen here, runt. We’ses gonna tell-warn you how this here nest works.” The first voice spoke from above him. The Imp felt the weight on his back grind down, rubbing his bones against each other painfully.

And that was how the Imp was spawned, and how he learned that he was weak.

{}

Being a runt made the Imp’s life very hard. The older imps treated him badly because he was too weak-small to stop them. The other Devils treated him badly because they treated all imps that way, and his batchmates treated him badly because he made them look bad-stupid by being spawned with them.

The Imp quickly learned that, most of the time, an imp couldn’t trust anyone but their batchmates. Hell was a mean-scary place. But the Imp couldn’t trust his batchmates. So he couldn’t trust-rely on anyone. He had to hide, and run, and scrounge-forage all on his own, and that was hard-dangerous.

But he did it. He got very good at using the Impways. Running through shadows and slipping between them faster and better than anyone, even the oldest imps. The Imp wondered if it was because he was so small. After all, the bigger Devils couldn’t use the Impways, even though the older imps said that all the Devils used to be imps before they Descended. And all the other Devils were bigger-stronger than imps, so maybe the shadows didn’t like bigger-stronger things?

But the Imp didn’t have a lot of time-energy to spend on wondering why he could use the Impways so much better-faster than everyone else. He was too busy running. And hiding. And getting beaten-stolen from. His batchmates, being batchmates, always managed to find him. For other imps, that was helpful-nice thing that saved imps in bad-scary times. For the Imp, it meant that all his treasures got stolen-taken.

And that was how the Imp lived, until the Nice Man saved-helped him.

The Imp had only ever heard stories about Sinners. The older imps and other Devils talked about them strangely. They were monsters. They were prizes. They let Devils grow stronger. They killed Devils and Demons alike, so many that Native blood soaked every inch of Hell. It was a mix of fear-panic and hope-hunger. The Imp had no idea what he expected to see when he first met a Sinner, but it wasn’t the Nice Man.

He appeared, as if from nowhere-thin air, when the Imp was getting a beating and having his treasure stolen again. The Imp understood why the older imps were afraid. The Sinner knocked out-beat up ten of the Imp’s batchmates in nearly as many seconds. He was fast, and strong, and skilled. And angry. The Imp remembered the Sinner’s face. He had a sort of blank stare, like the world offended him so much he couldn’t understand it.

The Imp was waiting for his beating, certain he was next, when the Sinner stopped. Instead of beat up, the Imp got a sack. A sack full of delicious meats that had an added, smokey flavor the Imp had never tasted. Then the Sinner left. That was when the Imp decided this Sinner was a Nice Man.

It was also when the Imp decided to follow-trail him.

The Imp wasn’t sure why he followed at first. The Nice Man was very dangerous-strong. Not as dangerous-scary as the big Devils, the Nice Man ran from those. But so did the imps. In fact, many things the Nice Man did were like imps. He foraged, and hunted-trapped. He picked up treasures and fed them to a snake on his shoulders, a snake the Imp was sure was his Sin Totem.

But he also didn’t do things that imps did. He didn’t attack everything weaker-smaller than him. He didn’t steal treasures, but picked up things that belonged to no one. More than anything, he made. Imps didn’t make. They took-stole, and they burrowed-hid. Making was not an imp skill.

And the things he made…They were many, and different-strange. Beautiful-pretty and sometimes smelly-loud. The big Devils made weapons and armor, sometimes. And the Nice Man made those too. Or things like them. But he made more, much more. So much that the Imp didn’t understand.

Of course, the Imp couldn’t have stuck around long enough to see all of that. Not normally. He would have to hunt to survive-live and then hide to avoid his batchmates or any other imps or Devils or Demons that wanted his foods and treasures.

But the Nice Man stopped that run-hide, scrape-scavenge cycle. He left tasty-yummy things in the shadows that the Imp liked the most. And none of his batchmates would go anywhere near the Nice Man’s home. They still remembered their beating. The only thing the Imp didn’t get from the Nice Man was treasures, but strangely, so long as he was around the Nice Man, he didn’t feel like he needed them.

So the Imp spent all his time watching the Nice Man and eating the tasty-yummy morsels he left out. The Imp never got too close to the Nice Man’s things, of course. He didn’t think for a second that stealing the Nice Man’s treasures would be a good idea. Some of his batchmates probably thought different, but the Imp had to be clever to survive so far. He wasn’t going to make such a silly-stupid mistake now.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The longer he watched, the more he wanted to know. The Imp didn’t understand most of what the Nice Man did. He traveled, and the Imp followed. He collected many things, sometimes lots, sometimes a little. All of it carried by his Sin Totem. And then he would use those things, add them to other things to make something new. Sometimes, the Nice Man or the Sin Totem seemed to not like the things they made. But they didn’t get angry or shout, like the Devils did. They just went back to making.

A long time passed like this. The Imp hadn’t been alive very long, and it felt like he spent the same amount of time watching-spying on the Nice Man and his Sin Totem as he had before they met. But then things changed.

The Nice Man made a covering for his whole body, one the Imp had seen him and the Sin Totem testing over and over again. It seemed very important to them that water couldn’t leak in for some reason. The Imp didn’t understand, but he watched-spied all the same. Then the Nice Man finally finished.

And they traveled-walked up a mountain of white bowls with funky boxes attached until they reached a Dungeon. The Imp knew what a Dungeon was, and that he couldn’t go inside. Natives weren’t allowed in Dungeons, they were for Sinners. That’s what the older imps said.

They also talked about setting up ambush-traps outside Dungeons when they knew a Sinner was inside. It was a risk, messing with Sinners always was. Dungeons were magic, they made Sinners stronger if they came out. Some entered and never left, but those that did were stronger, and had magic.

But the Imp was worried. He wanted to keep following the Nice Man, but the other imps said no one could tell how long a Sinner would be in a Dungeon. If the Nice Man took too long, the Imp would have to leave and get food. And then he might miss the Nice Man leaving.

But the Nice Man didn’t go into the Dungeon. He went above it, and then down into a hole. A hole that made the Imp very scared-wary. It was full of Darkness. Not shadows, the friendly dark when no light was. This was an empty black that held no Impways and seemed….Hungry.

The Imp was worried about the Nice Man. A place full of that Darkness couldn’t be good-fun. But the Imp couldn’t-wouldn’t follow. The Darkness was too scary-quiet. Too empty. He waited instead. He wasn’t sure how long he would wait, just that he didn’t want to give up on the Nice Man yet. Maybe he would come back out?

And he did, after a while. But he seemed hurt. That made the Imp all the more sure-right that he shouldn’t have followed down there. Anything that could hurt the Nice Man would kill the Imp. He was not strong. He was weak, and small.

The Imp didn’t notice the other Sinner until after he’d hit the Nice Man. The big metal hammer flew from across the mountain, and something in the Nice Man broke. The Imp heard the sharp crack, and then he dove into an Impway, hiding deep and finding somewhere the new Sinner wouldn’t be able to see him.

He came out of the Impways just soon enough to watch the Nice Man duck into the Dungeon. The other Sinner was roaring and cursing, violently throwing his hammer around and smash-breaking the white bowls with their weird attached boxes.

The Imp had moved far enough away that the hammer wouldn’t reach him, so he watched. This was the second Sinner he’d seen, and he wondered at how different this one was from the Nice Man. The new Sinner seemed more like what the older imps talked about. So violent-angry and strong-powerful. That hammer could crush a hundred imps.

Feeling helpless-weak, the Imp just watched. For a while. He had nothing else to do, and he was not hungry. He did not like this new Sinner, they attacked the Nice Man. And they were scary. The Imp worried more and more. The Nice Man had gone into a Dungeon, so he should come out with magic, and stronger than before. But this other, angry-bad Sinner already had his strong magic hammer. Would the Nice Man’s magic be strong enough to match?

Worse, the Nice Man was gone for a long time. The Imp was hungry. Very hungry-starving. But he didn’t want to leave. So he kept watching. The Imp was smart, and he saw what the angry-mean Sinner was doing. He was acting like the bigger Devils, waiting for the Nice Man to come out of the Dungeon to beat him up and take his treasures.

Just like the Imp’s batchmates did to him.

The Imp kept watching, and hiding. That thought never left him. This Sinner was just like his batchmates. And the more he thought, and the more he watched, the less scared the Imp was. The more he saw of this Sinner, this Bad Man, the less scary he was.

The Imp noticed real fast-quick, that the Bad Man was dumb. He never made anything, never did any of the amazing things that the Nice Man did. He just got angry and hit stuff with his hammer. He never even noticed that the Imp was there.

The Nice Man knew the Imp was around. He didn’t catch the Imp very often, because the Imp was good-great at hiding. But he wasn’t dumb-blind like the Bad Man. The Imp had been watching the Bad Man for a long-boring time, and after a while, the Imp realized he barely had to try to hide. The Bad Man was just that blind-stupid.

The less scared the Imp was, the more angry he got.

What was he doing? The Nice Man had helped him. For no reason, just because. And now the Nice Man was in the exact same bad spot the Imp had been in, and he was just watching. Watching-hiding as the Bad Man waited for the Nice Man, ready to beat him up.

As dumb-stupid as it might be, the Imp didn’t let that angry-mad feeling go. Because the more angry he was, the less scary the Bad Man was. And after having spent so long following the Nice Man, not being scared-worried of his batchmates taking everything from him again, the Imp found that he didn’t like being scared. Not at all.

So, he decided to do something about it.

After working himself up, letting the angry-mad feelings grow until all the scared-quiet feelings were gone, the Imp snuck up on the Bad Man. He was sleeping, making loud noises as he lay out in the open. The first time the Imp had seen it, he could hardly believe it. Who was dumb-stupid enough to let every big-strong thing know when you were sleepy-tired and open for attacks?

Despite all the angry-mad feelings in him, the Imp wasn’t dumb-stupid. He knew that if he just listened to those feelings and ran at the Bad Man, he’d get beat up bad. Maybe even dead. Probably dead. But after watching the dumb-bad Sinner sleep, he figured he could be clever-quiet and make some trouble for the Bad Man. Enough that maybe he would leave the Nice Man alone.

So, he snuck up all silent, half-hiding in the Impways until he stood right next to the Bad Man, who just kept breathing loud enough to hear across half the mountain. And, with all the angry-mad feelings he could muster, the Imp raked his claws across the Bad Man’s face. They dug in, cutting open bloody lines that felt good-great to make. For once, the Imp fought back.

The Bad Man cried out, waking up right away. Who wouldn’t? Even someone as dumb-stupid as him would notice their face getting ripped up. The Imp was ready. Taking hold of those angry-mad feelings, he readied himself…

And jumped back into the Impways. What, he wasn’t about to fight the Bad Man! That was a scary-bad idea. No, he watched from a nice big shadow as the Bad Man raged and rumbled, throwing around his hammer at nothing like the big-dumb Bad Man he was.

All the Imp was going to do was make sure that the Bad Man didn’t get a wink of sleep from now until he left or the Nice Man came back.