“Necrotic Bolt!”

Orcus shouted, extending his right hand beyond his body, as he called upon the mystic arts for the first time in his new body.

Fortunately, Orcus was already quite familiar with the process of spellcasting. As the Prince of Demons, he was privy to arcanum, though he rarely used such methods beyond the binding of his undead servants. Even still, he also retained the services of many spirits whose professions in their natural lives were that of wizards or sorcerers. Of course, all his spellcasters were wicked, profane sinners in their lives, but the methods were all the same.

In an instant, a mote of necrotic energy burst from Orcus’s fingertips as his spell engaged with an emphatic force. The beam of dark magic crackled up to fifty feet away, streaking slightly right across the field to where it collided with an oncoming mane.

--- 9 points of necrotic damage ---

Orcus frowned, only somewhat disappointed that the mane was still moving after that. However, a great chunk of flesh was torn from its midsection as a result of the spell’s hit, exposing the gnarly innards that lie within.

“Well done, Your Highness.” Terminus said, as he lifted himself up into the air, “Utilizing magic was your next best option here. Even though you insisted on staying put, I’m at least glad you took my advice into consideration.”

“You have not given me a reason to doubt you yet, bird.” Orcus said calmly, “And I will use any means necessary to achieve victory. Never forget that.”

“Be that as it may, it was still a good shot!”

Despite himself, Orcus assessed the battlefield momentarily. He regarded the two manes closing in on either side of them, as well as the one down the middle of his field of view.

“Mortal!” Orcus shouted at the man bounding ahead of him, “Mind your flanks! You will brace for opposition on the left. I will dispose with the wretch on your right.”

“Hey, buddy…” He said over his shoulder, a twisted grin etching the features of his face, “I thought I told you to leave em’ all to me?”

Orcus furrowed his brow oddly. He watched the creature squirming down the center quickly side-step the man and proceed to take a bite out of his arm.

“…What in high hell is he doing?” Orcus muttered crossly, wondering if perhaps this man was simply insane.

For his part, the man chuckled. In fact, he seemed to be so enlivened by the situation that Orcus was certain his mind was well and truly gone. But in one thrust, the mane that was latched onto his arm was suddenly flipped over onto its back. And in the same maneuver, a maul shimmering beneath the morning sun arced into the air and came crashing down with a crunch on its head. The entire mass that was once the mane’s face exploded into gooey bits, leaving the rest of the creature twitching, and then unmoving altogether.

“What is this man’s class?” Orcus asked bafflingly, cocking his head up to where Terminus was hovering, “He is clearly well accustomed to a fight, so he must be appropriately powerful.”

“That’s just it, Your Highness. He doesn’t even have one.”

“No class?” Orcus murmured, entirely distracted to the field of battle for a moment, as a growing sense of amusement began to pique his interest, “That man is exceptionally violent. I had no idea common mortals were this perverse in their killing methods. How fascinating…”

Pulling his filthy maul-head from the chasm that remained of the mane’s skull, the mortal man lifted his head in the leftmost direction. Without any regard for himself or his wounds, he dashed hastily toward the next of his targets, just as Orcus had dictated.

“At least he follows orders.” Orcus said approvingly, but soon relented a scowl as the other mane on his right made itself present again. These creatures were far too bold for his liking, and they were ruining his entertainment! But he supposed he could offer them a paltry recompense for their trivial efforts, seeing that it would be their last. Raising his hand, Orcus whispered, “Necrotic Bolt.”

As if bored by the entire ordeal himself, Orcus didn’t even watch as his projectile of dark energy blasted straight through the mane’s leg twenty feet away, crippling it entirely, and leaving it to take its last and dying breaths on the ground, miserable and alone.

--- 8 points of necrotic damage ---

Orcus continued to watch with anticipation as the mortal man took on his opponent. Afterall, he was not afraid of being outclassed by a man who did not even possess a class himself. Even still, the Prince of Demons found himself intrigued by the mortal’s tactics. He was tall and brawny, but clearly intuitive. His movement wasn’t slow, but neither was it graceful. It was merely… simple.

The man dodged suddenly, just narrowly avoiding a slashing claw across his chest. But whether he noticed the injury or not, he did not show any signs of pain. Instead, he eased his way into a much more advantageous position, wrenched his arms back, and swung with all his strength. The mane’s entire right arm was cleaved off at the shoulder, and it yet endured, clinging to life like such vermin often did.

“…Pity.” Orcus’s amusement was all but waning now.

He then raised his hand to finish the task once and for all. However, he didn't for some reason. And in the moment’s pause, the mortal man took a brutal attack to his shoulder and neck. Bloodied even more, the man simply dropped his maul, lifted a handaxe off his belt, and sunk the blade straight into the top of the mane’s head with a hearty shout.

“As expected.” Orcus murmured with satisfaction, closing his eyes with a slight smirk.

He was more or less pleased by the high-intensity that he had seen on display here today. If all mortals were like this man, perhaps the demon armies might not have had such an easy time after all!

*************

Encounter Summary

--- Experience Yield: +0.37 xp (1/8 DR * 3); 0% of EY = party kill bonus (pkb): NA; 20% of final DR = last kill bonus (lkb): NA ---

--- Experience (Orcus): 0/300 xp ----> 0.37/300 xp ---

*************

The field grew silent thereafter, as the bodies of the manes began to quickly deteriorate, almost dissipating into purple-black clouds of noxious vapor. Orcus was unoccupied by their remains for the moment, although a sliver of a thought in the back of his mind told him such remnants might prove useful later, should he wish to summon minions.

Proceeding to walk forward to where the mortal man stood, Orcus studied him momentarily.

Still catching his breath, the man ripped his axe out of the fallen mane’s head, and flicked his gaze in Orcus’s direction, saying coolly, “You stopped your attack.”

Orcus nodded, “Was that a concern for you?”

“Not really.” He huffed, wiping the blade clean on the edge of his tunic. As he placed the axe back on his beltloop, he plucked a long blade of nearby barley and stuck it in his mouth, saying with some difficulty, “They were mine to kill, anyway. Did I tell you that…? Damn, it’s all fuzzy again.”

"You did, yes, and you kill quite ferociously.” Orcus presented his findings, “Tell me why that is? I have never heard of common souls wielding weapons in the way that you do.”

“Don’t know.” He replied plainly, as he leaned down to pick up his maul. A long pause followed, in which the man inspected his weapon, before he shrugged, adding, “Guess it just sort of feels… right? Yeah. It’s like that. I don’t think I could do it any other way. You know?”

“Interesting…”

Feeling marginally generous, the Prince of Demons stepped forward and touched the mortal on his bloodied shoulder. Instinctively, the man leapt backward, but the work was already in motion. A tendril of dark energy latched itself onto him, filling the orifices of his wounds in a matter of seconds.

--- Remedial Reservoir: -5 ---

--- Remedial Reservoir: 0/5 remaining until next Rest ---

“Hey!” He scowled, “What the hell did you just do to me?”

“Merely compensation.” Orcus replied with an air of calm authority, “You followed my commands quite effectively. A behavior which I find to be worthy of some… trivial reward. There is no need to thank me.”

“Don’t need your handouts, kid.” He grunted in a long drawl, “And I sure as hell ain’t some dog looking for treats.”

“What? Again, I am not a child—”

“You some kind of healer then?” He interjected, scratching his neck goofily where the remedial magic took hold. In some ways, he almost did act like a hound, scraping his neck ferociously as he barked, “Man, this shit itches!”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“…No, I am not.” Orcus groaned somewhat irritably; this man was proving difficult to communicate with! Even still, fine warriors were hard to come by. Lessening the severity in his tone, Orcus said, “You seem quite capable in a fight. These manes didn’t stand a chance, I’m afraid. I would have you tell me why you don’t—”

“Enough chit-chat, yeah? This grass is driving me crazy.” He pushed past Orcus with a sniffle, cutting his way through the field toward the farmhouse, “Woo! Damn, I’m hungry after that one. What about you, healing hands?”

Orcus’s eye twitched.

“Your Highness? Your face is turning red again.” Terminus said, landing on Orcus’s shoulder in a hurry, “If I know that look, then I would say you’re getting ready to do something impulsive. Please don’t kill that man.”

“I wasn’t going to—” The Prince of Demons stammered, but bit his tongue, realizing that wasn’t true. And he quickly dispersed the dark-colored mana accumulating in the palm of his hand.

Regrettably, the bird was right. Orcus’s had just used all his healing abilities on that man, so he couldn’t exactly risk getting into a fight with the fool. Orcus had to remember that he was a mortal now. He couldn’t go around obliterating whomever he wished on impulse alone. This wasn’t the Underworld, after all. Thus, Orcus merely elected to proceed after him.

“You boys alright out there!” A meek, aged voice shouted from across the field, “Oriax, that you lad?”

Orcus squinted in the voice’s general direction, discovering the same tiny old man with the blue britches he’d accidently run over earlier. The wiry fellow was standing on top of a haybale nearer to the farmhouse, looking out into the field as he clutched some rickety pitchfork.

“Yeah, it’s me, Vurth!” The man, ostensibly the one called Oriax, replied, “Sorry to bother you… again. Looks like they got Gurdy this time.”

“Damn shame!” The old man shouted back, “Ain’t nothing we can do about it now, I suppose. Why don’t you two skitter on along inside and make yourselves comfortable? We’ll clean up that mess out there after an early lunch. All the kids are back in the paddock, anyhow, so we should be okay for a while longer.”

Oriax glanced back over his shoulder to where Orcus stood, offering one the most vacant expressions the Prince of Demons had ever seen. He pointed toward the farmhouse, “So… you want lunch healing hands? Or…? The old lady makes killer sandwiches. Hands? You zoned out on me. Don’t tell me you ate already? Old lady hates when I do that…”

“Don’t do it.” Terminus whispered in his ear.

“I must.” Orcus hissed back in a hushed tone of voice, “I am not a healer. My pride demands it.”

“Your Highness, don’t.”

“…Fine, but I will remember this.” Orcus whispered, then forced a smile, saying through gritted teeth, “Lead the way, Oriax.”

As it happened, the Prince of Demons would not remember.

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

“So, you’re feeling alright then?” The old man, Vurth, asked Orcus with a pleasant demeanor. He was a few inches shorter than Orcus was, and seemed to hobble wherever he went. However, they all sat at a small table inside the house, ready to partake in a late-morning meal.

“…Indeed.” Orcus nodded, who was otherwise finding his meal to be quite savory, “Though it is unfortunate you crossed my path earlier. Were that you more aware of yourself, I need not have trampled over you. Now, I desire another of these tasty morsels.”

The Prince of Demons still wasn’t entirely certain what a sandwich was.

Two slices of spongey husks trapped and suffocated both meats and vegetables like the innards of some grotesque torture chamber. Their entrails oozed out the sides in a truly horrifying display. Torment was not Orcus’s domain, but even he could respect any food that found the means to cause such tantalizing agony to its own defiant ingredients. Mortals were a wicked and highly amusing sort of creature, it seemed. And their food was simply delicious.

“Of course, and don’t sweat it, my boy.” Vurth chuckled, the faintest hints of a snort were in there somewhere. His skin was fair but freckled heavily by both age and sun. Wrinkles sprouted his features, and a modest patch of white hair clung to both his head and face for dear life, “You were only looking out for me. I appreciate it kindly, you know.”

“Should be more careful, old man.” Oriax chipped in, his own mouth half-stuffed full of food, “Roads aren’t safe. Fields aren’t safe… roads aren’t safe. Wait, did I say that already?”

Vurth shooed Oriax, saying, “My farm, my rules. You know the lay of the land Oriax. By the Gods Above, I’ll do what I want. Now, I may not be a spring chicken anymore, but I’ve got some fire left in this belly!”

“Here you go, dear.” Shai, the old man’s wife, offered Orcus another plate with a warm smile. She then sat down at the table, shaking her head, “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk from you, Vurth. Scares me half to death. It’s just a shame about our Gurdy.”

In a rare display, the Prince of Demons thought of something to offer them.

“The bodies of the dead should be burned.” He said promptly, “Traces of those creatures will linger for a time after death. They will inhabit any corpse they happen upon, should those essences be allowed to reform. Your cattle are no exception.”

Vurth and Shai looked at each other worriedly, and Oriax mumbled some obscenity, having dropped half his sandwich on the floor, which was promptly lapped up by the eagerly awaiting bloodhound beneath the table.

“Do not fear them.” Orcus insisted, who could feel the terror emanating off the elderly couple like an odor, “They are nothing compared to living beings. In fact, they are less than nothing. As this is my domain, I will desecrate their remains for you.”

Vurth raised his brow unexpectedly, “Truly? You could do something like that?”

“You will think nothing of it. It is a reward for your services to me.” Orcus replied, but paused for a moment. He was a bit embarrassed by the manes inept display, and he wondered briefly how many other fiends were wandering the mortal realm free from their shackles like this. Where was all the supervision? There was absolutely no organization whatsoever! The other Demon Lords truly had no idea how to control his armies, did they? Orcus smirked somewhat at the thought, “It is best that their wretched souls return to the Underworld without further delay.”

“Oh, so you’re one of them priestly folks?” Shai asked curiously, “Bit far from the regular Altarae temples, dear, aren’t you?”

“No. It was… merely an observation.” Orcus shook his head, hesitating with his response.

He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to explain anything to these mortals. He would do as he wished regardless of their input, or even if they lived to see another day. There was no room for gratitude in the life of a conqueror, but perhaps their resourcefulness was unexpectedly welcome.

The meal turned to other conversation for a while, and before long it had come to an end. Shai offered Orcus a cup of steaming-hot liquid that smelled horribly of the mortal world. She called it tea, but he wasn’t sure that he liked it very much; it lacked the intensity of the sandwiches, truth be told.

“So, now that you’re back leaping around on your own two feet?” Vurth began, “What’s about you told us your story, son. As happy as Shai and I are to help a young fellow such as yourself, it wouldn’t be responsible-like if we weren’t at least to ask after your background and such. You’re not in trouble with the law, is it?”

“We saw a few Circle-Knights come through here recently, didn’t we dear?” Shai added, “Huriha told me they were looking for someone.”

“Nah, I don’t think it’s like that.” Oriax said nonchalantly, picking at his tooth with a fork, “Suits don’t chase down healing hands.”

Orcus cocked his head to the side, saying curiously, “How do you suppose?”

“Cause?” Oriax shrugged, taking a moment to think about his response, “They… heal? Right. I mean, knights get hurt. Who heals the knights if the hands aren’t around to do the healing? And demons… they do the hurting. You can’t round up the healing, then you’ve got all your hands in one place. Bad idea.”

“That… is certainly one way of looking at it, although looks can be deceiving.” Orcus replied, “But what about you, Oriax? Clearly you handle yourself well. But my bird tells me you do not possess a class? Surely there must be a reason for this oversight.”

“Uh…” Oriax mumbled, looking around briefly as he tapped his fingers on the table, “Damn, this is awkward. So I… had a class. But I think I lost it?”

“Lost it?” Both Orcus and Terminus echoed each other inexplicably.

“Yeah, I’m not sure… wait? Your bird knows stuff about this, right? I’m not really good at this sort of thing.”

Terminus sighed from the nearby windowsill, “It’s Terminus.”

“Sorry, little dude.” Oriax chuckled, rubbing the back of his head, “You’re one of them guildie birds, right? Haven’t seen one of you in a while. Maybe you can tell healing hands here what I’m trying to say? It’s kind of foggy.”

“I could give it a try.” Terminus replied optimistically, fluttering over to the table. His jeweled eyes glistened blue momentarily, as he examined Oriax, saying, “Oh, I think I see what the problem is. You do have Record data filled out here, but you never finalized the inputs. That’s why I couldn’t see your character class information. Did you visit a Guild somewhere recently?

“Yeah. A few months ago.” Oriax nodded, but frowned, “I left.”

Terminus shook his beak, “I don’t get it, why did you leave the Guild before everything was complete? Surely you must have noticed that your class hadn’t been applied yet?”

“…I don’t know.” Oriax shrugged unsurely, “I mean, I kind of brought my gear already, but I guess I had that stuff with me? Was… something else supposed to happen? I go out fighting almost every day, so there’s no problems there. I just thought it was something that kind of happened in my head. Like, you don't really see it.”

Terminus squawked, “Are you serious!? Your ability scores are all over the place, sure, but even I can tell how hard of a hitter you are from just the numbers alone. You’re telling me you go out to fight without even having your class! How is that possible?”

“I’ve always been down to fight.” Oriax murmured, but smiled warmly as he patted Terminus on the head, “Thanks, little dude. That makes things a lot clearer now, you know. I guess it does feel like something was missing.”

Orcus rolled his eyes, finally realizing that Oriax was indeed as scatterbrained as he imagined, but turned back to the elderly couple, “As to your inquiry, I’m afraid that I have little to speak of myself. My memory has somewhat failed me as of late. I cannot say for certain how I came to be here, only that I believe foul play and a great deal of magic is to blame. The rest… may remain a mystery for the time being.”

“Hmm…” Vurth resounded, rubbing his chin as if deep in thought, but said with a spry tone of voice, “Well, you’re welcome to stay here if you need. It seems like you still have a bit of strength to recover.”

“Do not be foolish.” Orcus replied, “I may not know exactly why I am here, or how I came to be in this place, but I do know thing: My goal is to purge this world of all demons. I simply cannot rest while that task remains incomplete. I must train my body and travel across these lands in search of conquest. It is the oath that I swore to uphold.”

“Demons, huh?” Oriax asked, more thoughtfully than perhaps was his normal tone of voice, “That’s really your goal?”

The Prince of Demons nodded, “Whatever it takes.”

Oriax looked at him with a peculiar glance, but Orcus did not think anything of it.

It was then that a sudden throbbing of pain caused the Prince of Demons to regard his wounds momentarily.

“Your Highness, it’s about high time you expended some of your stamina for the day. It helps to recover small amounts of health and certain abilities.” Terminus explained, “You should really lie down to rest for a little while.”

“I’m fine…” Orcus replied wearily, feeling lethargic for some inexplicable reason. He did feel drained, and his vision was almost blurry.

“You’re not.” Terminus said gingerly, “I can interpret all your physical data, remember? You pushed too hard today.”

“Nonsense.” Orcus scowled, “I’m just—ugh, never mind.”

“Why don’t you head back upstairs and rest, son?” Vurth insisted, “Stick around for a few days too, just to gather your strength. Clearly you’re on the path of an adventurer, but even they need to rest. Who knows? Maybe Oriax here can take you into town once you’re all square. He knows the roads well. Anyhow, there’ll be plenty of time to chase your dreams. Patience maketh the man, my father used to say. No point in dying before then, least not if you can help it.”

The Prince of Demons was amused by this.

Mortals were clearly much more inclined to fight than he had imagined. Their will to live was even as strong as a lowly demon’s will to consume. Oriax fought with the ferocity of a dozen soldiers, but clearly cared about the meeker creatures around him, at the risk of his own health. Even for an aged man like Vurth, his duty was to protect his home at all costs. As he had said, a fire in their bellies indeed.

And perhaps the old man was right. The road ahead was going to be long and arduous. A few days of rest might provide him with ample time to train, to summon a few minions, and to get a better lay of the land and its people. He would need to start somewhere, after all.

Regardless, this game he was playing was not going to be won anytime soon. Let the Demon Lords make all their mistakes, he would be waiting to pounce—to plunge each of them back down into the darkness below.

Today, the Prince of Demons had learned two valuable lessons on his road to victory: That mortals were not to be underestimated in their will to live for any reason, and that sandwiches were not just delicious, but offered crucial nutritional value to the King of Conqueror’s pathetic mortal body.

He couldn't determine which was more vital information to have, only that he was still hungry.