Ichitiro savored the shrill screams of his meal as he bathed in a mixture of its blood and the boiling mud he favored.

The more the tiny youkai begged for mercy, the more Ichitiro enjoyed the taste as he ripped chunk after chunk of still quivering meat from its body.

Had any of his brothers known of his tendency to devour the flesh of his own servants, leaving them just barely alive enough for the healing waters of the palace to restore, they would have been appalled. But restored they were, and in short order, too, only for him to do so again whenever the mood, and appetite, was upon him.

And why not? He was a daimao, a superior being on any world he deemed to set foot upon. However, as the eons passed, it became more and more clear to him that not all daimao were created equal.

Hah! The thought of his siblings, with their misguided sense of regality, left him equal parts amused and disgusted. They thought themselves enlightened beings. What they failed to realize was that they’d lost their way, forgotten themselves. The sounds of battle still called to them within their dreams, but it was no more than an empty shadow of the past, an echo of the days when they fought the entropic chaos at the bequest of their masters.

The daimao were originally born for battle, bred for it. Yet, what were they doing now? Endlessly debating how best to deal with the humans, a race of insignificant insects who arrogantly aspired to more than their lowly kind was fated.

His brothers, Reiden in particular, thought him stupid. They rolled their eyes, called him tiresome when he argued the same point again and again. Yet they failed to see the method behind his reasoning. Every time Ichitiro put forth his argument to invade Earth, to lay low the humans, there were fewer rolls of the eye, less sighs of boredom. Little by little, he was making his point known, worming his way into their thoughts. Soon enough, his wishes would be theirs, and they would never once suspect he had manipulated them.

No, they thought him dull-witted, a mere dog of war. Ichitiro knew that much. If anything, he encouraged that opinion. It ensured that even while they respected his strength of arms, they underestimated his cunning.

Ichitiro smiled to himself, taking one more bite from the nearly lifeless youkai before tossing it to the side like rubbish, where his other servants would tend to its wounds.

He swallowed, savoring the flesh nearly as much as his grand designs.

The others would never suspect that he, seemingly a proponent of the old ways – when he and his brothers rode forth into battle at the whims of the gods – aspired to greatness they dared not comprehend.

The elder gods. Such wasted potential. Powerful enough to bend creation to their own will, yet content to dream away the eons like tired children. If only they could be smothered in their sleep, Ichitiro would have done so untold millennia ago. But alas, such a thing was not so easy. Sleeping they might be, but vulnerable they were not. Unless one had the means.

Sadly, Ichitiro did not ... at least for the moment.

The Taiyosori had been his goal for ages now. Supposedly forged during the heat death of the prior universe, its blade was said to be able to cut through anything if the one wielding it had a strong enough will. Anything, even the throat of a sleeping god.

That its incalculable power was wasted in the hands of his fool sister was maddening. It should be wielded by one who was both worthy and willing to use it. But instead, it hung impotently in her throne room, mocking any who dared look upon it and imagine its potential.

A part of him wondered if perhaps the elder gods had done so purposely, entrusting it to one too cowed to ever make use of it and far too frigid to ever let a worthy mate share her bedchamber and make claim to it. At times, he feared the gods had foreseen his treachery and prepared for it accordingly. The enchantments upon the weapon, rendering it virtually impossible to steal, seemed to suggest so. Ichitiro laughed it off as nothing but paranoia. The elder gods might be great, but so were the daimao.

Time and again he’d courted Midnite, seeking a union with her, only to be rebuffed. He had figured the same logic by which he was slowly wearing down the resolve of the council would work upon her. That, little by little, she might come to reconsider his request until such time as she was his and, by virtue of marriage, so was all she owned.

Infuriatingly, that had not come to pass, despite his best laid plans. Several times he had been almost tempted to challenge her to a duel, a battle for ownership of the sword, one of the few ways the weapon could be won. Ichitiro wasn’t a coward, but he was no fool either. Midnite was formidable, as were all the daimao. However, if she decided to use the sword in such a battle, something that would be in her right to do, then she could very well destroy him.

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Such thoughts had sent him into a rage in the past, requiring his servants to pick up the pieces and rebuild, both his chambers and their own broken bodies.

But things had changed in the last several decades. The Taiyosori was still his best hope for conquering the accursed gods dreaming their damnable dreams. But, as it turned out, it wasn’t his only hope.

The humans. Who would have guessed that such a pathetic species would have discovered such incredible destructive potential? True, he had argued that they should be crushed, and he meant it. But where his brothers would seek to grind the humans beneath their heel and send their civilization tumbling back to a time when they knew their place in the cosmic order, Ichitiro wished to conquer them and take their power for his own.

Despite the edict against travel, he had kept close tabs on humanity these past decades. There were many demons still on Earth. In fact, some had been purposely sent there in the days before the restriction was imposed. They were loyal to him, willing to infiltrate human society and keep watch on it. Though they were foot soldiers at best, cannon fodder too stupid to properly understand the power the humans had harnessed, they had kept him informed over the years.

Ichitiro was well aware that the humans’ technology, as they called it, had continued to advance in the decades since the daimao had retreated from their world. As awe-inspiring as their display of power had been at the time, they now possessed weapons hundreds of times more deadly.

The Taiyosori would be unnecessary if he could possess that power. He could lay low the elder gods once and for all in a fitting pyre worthy of them. It was possible the celestial palace itself would not survive such an attack, but so be it. With the elder gods dead, Ichitiro’s ultimate plan would be set into motion. He would ascend. A new age would begin, led by a new god, one who would remake reality into his own image.

As for the other daimao, they would either acknowledge him as their superior and serve him, or they would be destroyed. He smiled as he considered the glorious destiny ahead of him, one that would soon be within his grasp.

“M ... master?”

The rare smile fell from Ichitiro’s lips as the sputtering voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked down and spied Ito, a wretched ferret youkai who served him in only the barest of sense. The useless little demon often seemed far more preoccupied with stealing baubles than doing anything of note.

Ichitiro only tolerated his existence because he was often a source of consternation for his brothers and sisters, something the great demon could appreciate. However, the youkai’s actions had long since ceased to amuse him. The ferret was at least cunning enough to realize this and oftentimes stayed out of his master’s sight.

So why now was he daring to ruin Ichitiro’s musings on a future when he and he alone would reign supreme?

Wait. This wasn’t a lone offense. Hadn’t the insufferable little weasel likewise tried to get his attention during court earlier, nearly causing him embarrassment in front of the council? And for what? Probably to show him some earring or bracelet he’d swiped in a pathetic attempt to win his favor.

Ichitiro was having none of it. Though he was sated from his meal, that did not mean he wouldn’t enjoy wringing the little beast’s neck. And if he happened to kill the youkai in the process, what of it? He had plenty more servants who were of far more use to him. Ito would not be missed. Not by him, and certainly not by anyone else.

True, his appearance had been the catalyst that had broken up the meeting, ending Reiden’s tireless pontification for the time being. However, Ichitiro was not one prone to showing gratitude toward those less than he.

Quick as a snake, he lashed out and grabbed the ferret youkai by the neck, eliciting a frightened squeak from him. He dragged him over until they were eye to eye, the youkai’s tail landing in the boiling mud and causing it to squeal in pain.

“You have either become very bold this day, Ito, or even stupider than you normally are. I will give you one chance to convince me that I should not skin you alive for your earlier interruption of the council.”

He switched his grip, holding the tiny demon by the scruff of his neck, just inches above the steaming mud.

“A hanyou!” the ferret squeaked.

“What of them?”

“I ... I saw one today.”

Ichitiro’s eyes narrowed. Was this Ito’s new form of amusement? He’d grown bored of petty thievery and was now resorting to lies? If so, he’d picked the wrong audience for his idiocy. “Impossible. There aren’t any of the disgusting little half-breeds in the palace.”

“Untrue.”

“You would call me a liar?”

“Never, master! Merely uninformed.”

It was a poor choice of words. Ichitiro quickly dunked the ferret youkai in the boiling mud, causing him to scream in agony. He lifted the little demon up to eye level again. “I am Ichitiro of the daimao. You would dare think me ignorant of anything that occurs here?”

“No ... m-master! Please. You are wise and see much. But not if something were purposely hidden from your eyes.”

Ichitiro was growing tired with the ferret’s ramblings, regardless of whether they were thinly veiled insults to his power or the truth. “And who would be able to keep something hidden from me?” He lowered the ferret again, this time intending to keep him submerged until he was properly cooked.

“Midnite!” Ito screeched just as his paws touched the viscous fluid.

“Midnite?” Ichitiro asked, suddenly intrigued. If the little demon was indeed lying, he had at least picked a topic of interest. He again lifted the ferret up until they were eye level. “And why would Midnite harbor a hanyou?”

“The hanyou,” he squeaked in full panic. “It claimed that Midnite was its mother.”