I wake up sometime later to a sore feeling as someone prods my shoulders. I blink the gravelly, sleepy feeling in my eyes away and attempt to look up. A hand pushes me back down.

“Stop it,” I say. My voice comes out in a rasp and I swing a hand toward the shoulder prodding and slap a hand.

“Mikael, hold still,” a voice commands.

“Reggie?”

“Yes. Now, hold still and stop squirming.”

I follow his instructions and lie still. Since they’ve tried to either kill me or banish me in the past, I don’t trust a lot of the wizards I meet if you can believe it. But, I do trust him with this. Reggie specializes in healing magic. He was actually the one that put me back together when I thought my arms were gone. He is not doing this out of the goodness of his heart though. For him, this is a rare opportunity to study someone of demonic lineage. I will allow a small amount of scrutiny as long as the healing keeps coming. My left eye twitching is the only movement I allow myself to make while he studies the joint.

“Hm,” he makes the sound in his studious tone.

“What?” I ask.

“Well, it appears that your body healed wrong. Perhaps it was trying to heal too fast? No, that’s not it. Hmm.” He says again, but draws the sound out.

“What do you mean?”

“It looks as though the healing was trying to integrate something new into your muscles. Some fibers that weren’t there before have interwoven with your body’s original mass.”

“You can see that just by looking?” I ask. I can feel him staring at me and I tilt my head up, finally getting a look at him.

Reggie’s signature stare of disapproval smacks me in the face. The pale little wizard’s dark eyes meet mine over his wire frame glasses. His normally medium length greasy black hair has been trimmed closer to his head and styled neatly in a modern high and tight haircut. The new style somehow makes him look both older and younger. It also adds just a touch of androgyny to his overall aesthetic. He regards me sternly like a parent would an unruly child, and I decide he looks older. “Hardly,” he says.

“You got a haircut,” I say.

He shakes his head and sighs. “Yes, and as always, you’re focusing on the wrong thing.” He looks back down at an object he clutches in his hands. I follow his gaze and glance down. He holds a device that shows my insides within the picture, but it only goes skin deep instead of bone like an X-ray.

“What do you expect me to say? Do you think I know anything about musculature?” I ask. He tilts his head and regards me with a quirked eyebrow. “Did I not say that right? Muscula, musculo–”

“You said the word correctly. I suppose I do have to give credence to the fact that you don’t study the body in the same way I do.”

“Sure, I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Juvenile.”

“Eh? After Back That Azz Up I didn’t really listen to him.”

He scowls and sets down the device. “I don’t even know what that means. I assume it’s some kind of obscure joke that only you will find amusing?”

“That’s my personality in a nutshell, Reggie.”

“Reginald.”

“I know, I know,” I say nodding. “So what’s the prognosis, Doc?”

His expression goes from annoyed to something more grim. “I don’t know how to put this,” he says and I huff out a breath.

“Bluntly, please.”

“As you wish. To have any chance of fixing this, I am going to have to cut your shoulders open and untangle your muscle fibers. Then I will have to effectively solder them together again.”

I get just a little queasy at his words and I am sure my face pales. “Is that seriously what you have to do?”

“The pain you have been experiencing has been your body unable to fully heal correctly. Every time you do move your arms, the muscles are being pulled in numerous different ways. This causes them to tug in all directions at once and puts added stress on your body, causing the soreness that you have complained about.”

“‘Complained’ is putting it kind of mildly. I have been flat out whining, but at least I know it was for a real reason.”

“Indeed. You should be in a much worse state than you are. Had you complained more, and perhaps louder, I would have come sooner.”

“Do I have to be awake for this?”

He squints his eyes and rubs his hairless pointy chin, looking deep in thought.

“Come on, man,” I say.

He smiles and shakes his head. “No, I can put you out for this.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“I will be right back,” he says, and leaves the room. I grab my phone to check the time. I was out for hours. I have a few messages from Anna while she was on her breaks. I shoot off a response, blaming Reggie, then set it back down.

(Master, Brimstone is uncomfortable.) my Hound says, getting up from their spot on the floor.

“What’s up buddy?”

(Wizard will cut Master open to ‘fix’?)

“I understand it doesn’t sound right but, with humans, surgery is a necessary practice sometimes.”

They growl. (Brimstone will stay and watch. Will keep Master safe.)

“I appreciate that, B. Don’t interfere though, okay? Go get Vithar and he will be able to tell you if you’re needed.”

(Master doesn’t trust Brimstone?)

“With most things, I do. But with this, you don’t really have the knowledge to know if something is amiss. For that, I’ll need Vithar’s eyes.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Brimstone chuffs out a breath through their canine lips and stares at me for a long moment. (Understood. As long as Master is safe.)

“Thanks,” I say, rubbing their head. They trot out the door and I hear them plod down the steps. I then hear a yelp and thudding.

I agree. They’ve taken to living in this world almost flawlessly.

“Hey, stop it!” Vithar yells. There's a crashing sound followed by the thudding of someone hitting every step and I sigh.

Well… Almost flawlessly.

Brimstone pushes their way back into the room, a chunk of Vithar’s shirt in their mouth. I laugh and sit up.

“Brimstone, let go!” Vithar shouts. The hound listens and lets go of the shirt, leaving Vithar to fall to the ground from the hound’s considerable height even on all fours.

“That was unnecessary, B.” I say with a smile.

(Master said Red Wizard must be here.)

“I did, but I meant that I’d talk to him. You didn’t have to drag him here,” I say, then turn to my roomate. “Sorry, dude.”

Vithar stands up and checks his shirt. There are teeth puncture holes and it is wet with the hound’s saliva. He scoffs and scowls at Brimstone. “Don’t do that again,” he says, waggling a finger.

Brimstone hangs their head and pins their ears down. (Apologies, Red Wizard.)

“My name is Vithar. Stop calling me ‘red wizard'.” Vithar checks his shirt again then takes it off, turning his scowl on me. I can tell by his dark expression that he's actually mad. “What the hell, Mike?”

I am surprised by his physique. When he first started living with me, he was a tall, nearly emaciated and gangly mass of limbs. He only had his robes and gear from the wizard’s guild, so I gave him a pair of shorts and a tee shirt that he seemed like he was swimming in. After months on the run and training with his mentor, however, he is starting to fill out. I can’t help but be jealous as I have gotten out of shape while on the mend.

I stop smiling and figure I'll try another apology. “It was a misunderstanding, I did say I was sorry.” Or, I guess, remind him that I apologized.

Vithar points a finger at me and opens his mouth to respond, but Reggie walks back into the room holding a few of his medical instruments. He raises an eyebrow wearing a confused expression. “Am I interrupting something?” he asks.

Vithar deflates slightly. “No, just a ‘misunderstanding’,” he says, giving the word air quotes.

Reggie stares at all of us briefly in turn then shrugs. “Okay. It is good you’re here Vithar, I’ll need your help.”

“With what?”

“I have to perform some minor surgery on Mikael and will need your assistance in maintaining his sleep while I do so.” I breathe a sigh of relief knowing that he will be in the room and that I did not have to have the uncomfortably awkward talk and tell them that I want Vithar to be here to watch Reggie.

“I don’t know how to do that,” Vithar says.

“I understand, but I also know that you’ve been learning a lot of other disciplines of casting. I can teach you something as simple as a sleep spell.”

Vithar’s eyes light up and his whole demeanor changes at the prospect of learning something new. “Hell yeah, bro!” he says. Reggie’s jaw flexes and he gives Vithar a disappointed look. “I mean, thank you, Reginald. The opportunity is much appreciated.”

I glance between them a few times, watching their back and forth. “You guys are adorable,” I say. They both give me some serious side-eye, but mostly ignore my comment.

“Shall we get started?” Reggie asks.

“Yes, let’s,” Vithar responds.

Reggie slides a small bag off his shoulder and sets it on the floor. It is about six inches thick by about a foot long and clasped closed in the way an old small coin purse would be. He unclasps it and reaches in, his arms going down to his elbows. The bag's visible depth should only allow up to a few inches above his wrists at most, so I immediately smile. If there is any way to impress me, it is with dimensional space magic. I love it. I find it to be the coolest use of magic there is. Portals are a close second, but an argument could be made that they are technically the same sort of magic. I don't really care about the semantics of disciplines though–I just like magic. I especially like magic that isn’t being used against me.

Reggie’s arms start receding from within the bag and he pulls out a cot with white fabric stretched between the two wooden sections that act as the legs. He touches it and there is a high pitched sound that makes my left eye twitch. This is a normal reaction to magic being used around me. It is a warning system that all demons and demonspawn have. The sound alerts us to be on guard because humans are using magic around us. I found out when he was trying to fix my arms that, if the magic is healing energy, I don’t get the warning. Reggie taps the cot, expelling some of his energy into it. The cloth goes rigid and shiny looking more like a ceramic basin than the cloth cot it was.

“Take off your shirt and lie here, Mikael,” he says.

“Give me a second,” I say. I grab the bottom of the shirt with my left hand and take a deep breath, pulling it off in one quick motion. I scream internally at the needles of pain and the ripping feeling that follows causes me to clamp my eyes shut. After a few moments of silence, the pain fades and I lift a leg and tentatively test the stability of the cot, pressing down with a portion of my weight.

“It is stable, I assure you,” Reggie says. It does seem firm, so I straighten the leg out and sit down with my full weight. Lying down takes more movement than I would like. The ceramic-like bed of the cot is cold on my back and I pop up at the waist until my back is inured to the chill. Reggie reaches inside the bag again and pulls out a small pillow. Vithar takes it and slides it under my head and I readjust again. This is much better.

“Thanks,” I say. Reggie nods.

“Though you will be asleep, would you like to see what I do?” he asks. It takes me a moment to mull it over. Do I want to see myself get cut open and sewn back together?

I let out a deep breath. “I would,” I say, knowing my morbid curiosity is getting the better of me.

“Very well. Vithar,” he says, handing him a book. “Follow this guide. To allow perception through astral projection, add this in.” Reggie points to a diagram in the book. I look at it, but it is all gibberish to me.

There is a ball of nervous energy settling into my gut. I take a few more deep breaths and close my eyes. I flinch slightly when I feel Vithar’s hands on either side of my head.

“Are you ready, Mike?” he asks.

“As I’ll ever be,” I say.

The keening in my ears picks up just before his energy prods at my consciousness.

“Don’t fight it, Mike,” Vithar says.

“I’m trying not to,” I say. “It’s counter-intuitive.”

I relax more and try to open my mind to his energy. I breathe through the feeling and clear my mind. There's a dropping feeling in my equilibrium, then I am suddenly looking down at myself. I don’t really know why there is such a difference from looking at yourself in a mirror, a picture or even a recording is different from seeing yourself from an astral projection–but there definitely is. Perhaps it has something to do with the nature of it? Maybe you know it is the real you and not the aforementioned methods of viewing. Or, maybe it's seeing yourself from the point of view other people do. Regardless, it is jarring. I have projected myself before, but it never feels right. Like my mind knows I should not be able to see myself like this.

“He’s out,” Vithar says to Reggie. “Good job, Mike.” I watch Vithar focusing intently on the spell that is keeping me like this.

My perception pans over to Reggie just as he finishes setting up a tray and a stand for his device. He looks through it, centering it on the area he has prepped. He then grabs a scalpel from the tray and presses the fingers of his left hand down on my left shoulder. I instinctively cringe in wait for the spike of pain that follows any pressure to that region, but it doesn’t come. He slips the scalpel into my skin just under the collarbone and slides it down near my armpit. Setting the scalpel aside, he reaches his fingers into the cut and slides the skin apart slightly with his left hand. Grabbing two metallic looking clips from his tray, he slides them under opposing sides of the separated skin. They remain in place, keeping the muscle tissue exposed.

He digs his hands in again and starts tugging on muscle fibers. An overlay on the device he is using shows where to cut and where to attach. He cuts in and I wince, or what amounts to it in my incorporeal form. The muscle splits and strings of the fibers snap quickly, flinging blood onto Reggie’s mask. That… is enough for me. I want to shut my eyes, but that is not possible within the projection. I push against the projection to pan my view elsewhere, but soon come to regret it. The view fades and a new scenery surrounds me.

The dark sky overhead remains overcast. The grounds I can see through the gate are less pristine than last time, but I know I have been here. The large structure before me, with its many towers, dark aesthetic, and sprawling facade, greets me again. I have seen this mansion before. The gates open before me and I glide through like I am being pulled. I don’t want to be here. I thought it was a dream last time, but now I am not so sure.

This is the Pit. This is my father’s palace. This is the last place I want to be.

Yeah, I should have just stayed and watched.