The demon Archlord Aamab did not choose its generals at random. It took Commander Ffoul six decades to climb its way to that position, and it was the newest, by far the youngest and (much as it hated to admit the fact) weakest of the five. Ffoul had been serious about rising in rank from the moment of its creation, born from the excrement of a naga. Its first thought had been 'I live!' and its second, 'I shall join the demon army.' It had few thoughts after that beyond, 'I shall out-compete every superior officer in my way, slay them and take their rank.'

Single-minded determination was a surprisingly rare commodity among demons. Greed, hunger, avarice, jealousy and the pursuit of nastier pleasures distracted most, often for the entireties of their existence. By the time Ffoul was an officer, its command included soldiers decades in service. At colonel, it could order around demons centuries old and far more powerful, if less ambitious.

Ffoul was cunning and intelligent, an unusual combination for a coprafiend. What it didn't have was subtlety. Whatever form it took, its nature prevented it from disguising the scent of shit, which clung like a fetid cloud. Quite the aphrodisiac among many in the Hells, up here in the mortal world, it presented an obstacle. There's no chance it could infiltrate human or elven courts. It wasn't made for traditional espionage.

Then again, not every court sparkled in fancy chateaux or danced its way through the ballrooms of the rich and influential. There were other powers, particularly in human cities, some of which exerted more influence than any duke, enough to surpass many a monarch.

This continent had a massive, sprawling human "empire" with an enormous capital city--more an agglomeration of several cities, bound together by imperial authority, split among several royals, teeming with industry, commerce, intellectual wealth and much more. It was the beating heart of trade and politics. It had a thriving underworld with its own filthy mockery of an aristocracy, complete with its own court and king.

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Most of its courtiers smelled like shit too.

Ffoul had been to the mortal world before, usually as some kind of animal. Once it came in its own form, at the head of four legions, but that was on the other side of the world, and was a brutal action entirely devoted to warfare, conquest, obliteration and defilements. The memory reminded it how long since its last vacation.

This time, Ffoul wore a human guise, wisely infecting itself with the dripping plague. Few expected anyone with that many suppurating sores to bathe, a smell of feces was the perfect accessory. The sewers made for a fine home and base of operations. Ffoul wanted to shake the hand of whatever corrupt human had won the contract to build and maintain Terryp's sewers: how much graft had they pocketed, doing such a terrible job? Some of these areas didn't even slope! Such a half-ass job left the system reeking like a whole ass, delightfully so to the demon.

There was the effluvia of an empire sloshing around down here. There was information, riches, weaponry, everything a diligent demon might need to rise through the ranks of Terryp's underworld. It was practiced at this, it has cunning and determination. It would rise to become an advisor to the Pilfer King, just as it had risen to the rank of general for Archlord Aamab.

If would find anything to be learned of the 'five year threat' to the demon lord it served. It would bring that information back to Hell, earning great rewards. Ffoul had every luxury except time. It had to move fast.

No one noticed when a new smell invaded Terryp from below. No one would notice even as it climbed.