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Chapter 8

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“Do you think he can keep it?”

Riley’s cynical question came as Sylvia was marveling at the sweet flavors of a frozen custard. This was the third food stall the two had hit in the last hour. During this culinary escapade, Sylvia had discovered a wonderful thing about being a demon.

No matter how much she ate, Sylvia would never be full.

How horrifying. How wonderful. The netherworld was truly the home of both Heaven and Hell.

“Don’t know,” Sylvia said, going for a fifth scoop.

Riley’s enthusiasm was waning. Sylvia knew the cause. It was the black, metal shackles around so many necks.

Three buildings down, descending from the sky, was a winged woman. A slave. Further up the street, a four-armed man haggled with a pink skinned goblin. Both slaves. In an alley, a woman in suggestive clothing enticed. No surprise there, a slave. Next was a pair of guards patrolling three stalls away. One of which was a slave.

Slaves. Slaves. And more slaves.

On these streets, slaves were more common than freemen.

“Doesn’t it piss you off.”

Sylvia polished off her custard, setting it down with a three soli tip. “There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Ain’t that the truth.

Slavery was an ugly institution. No matter how often it was whitewashed, slavery remained an eternal source of horror. Sylvia was no saint, and it still disgusted her.

But getting rid of it was impossible.

Hell’s society was built on slavery. Why could Ingrid borrow money and attend the Academy? Because her body served as collateral. How were overdue debts settled? With slavery. Slavery wasn’t just a source of labor, it was the foundation of the Hell’s financial system. Without it, the poor couldn’t borrow, and the rich would hesitate to invest.

More importantly, slavery drove Hell’s acquisition of souls.

Demons lived for thousands of years, not forever. Mortal souls only formed on the material worlds. Demons couldn’t give birth. Without souls, the population would decline. Fewer people meant fewer workers, warriors, and mages.

On the national level, that meant less power.

There was no way around it. The netherworld had never experienced the industrial revolution. Science had little hold in the ethereal universe. Without machines and factories, everything had to be handcrafted. Individual labor ruled when it came to production. A large population drove economic power. Economic power drove military power. Military power drove political power.

Hell lacked a stream of souls.

Heaven did not.

Two-thousand five-hundred years ago, the Divine Era was brought to an end by the third great war – Ragnarok. The Silver Age gave way to the Silent Age, a period of quiet that lingered between the three powers Heaven, Hell, and the Fey Federation. This developed into a cold war. The War of Words, they called it. The battlefield this time wasn’t the nether. It was the twenty-three material worlds from which all mortal souls were sourced.

Heaven won. The Fey Federation broke even. Hell lost. In order to prevent the onset of a fourth great war, treaties were signed to ensure a certain number of souls would flow free. Yet, this wasn’t enough. The math was irrefutable. Hell didn’t have enough souls. Thus, it was doomed to watch its population grow slower than that of Heaven.

Which meant Hell’s ancient enemy would grow proportionately stronger.

Unacceptable. Those who recalled the first war, the second war, and the third would never abide by a soul gap.

But where could they find the missing souls?

The answer, the other planes.

Mortal souls were born on the material worlds, but after passing through Unus Mundus they would emerge randomly in the netherworld. The best planes, the core planes where the most souls arrived, had already been claimed long ago. Yet, the netherworld was big. Many planes remained untouched by fey, demon, and celestial alike.

Hell just needed to colonize them first.

To set off this age of exploration, Hell created the Law of Acquisition. The Law of Acquisition made it legal to sell newly collected souls into slavery, or load said souls with debt to cover the cost of their birth. In turn, this drove up the price of souls, making the populace go mad with greed.

Thus began the Colonial Age.

“Most who say things like that end up doing nothing,” Riley pointed out, following the silver haired girl away from the stall.

“Right now, I’m more concerned with avoiding slavery than ending slavery,” Sylvia admitted, unabashed. “In the grand scheme of things, we’re insects. If anyone stomps on us, we die.”

When he was young, Eric Swallow had dreamed of being a protagonist. An invincible hero who would sweep away all the bad guys. As an adult, Sylvia was aware that punching evil wasn’t the same as doing good. Most problems couldn’t be solved with a fist. And, more importantly, being a hero meant taking risks and making sacrifices.

Heroes were called heroes because they did what no ordinary person was willing to do.

Riley Smith had the heart of a hero. Sylvia didn’t. Sylvia no longer had any interest in being a hero. That was a sucker’s game. She wouldn’t mind being an invincible good guy beating up random bastards here and there. The sacrifice part? No thanks. The hard work? She’d rather leave it to others.

She just wanted to enjoy the life she had.

That was how most people were.

Riley stood there, silent. There was a sense of judgment that hung around her paired with a halo of resignation. Riley was no child either.

The freckled blonde sighed. “Let’s go back.”

Sylvia nodded. “It’s about time. Cheer up. There’s plenty you can do.”

“Like what,” Riley grumbled.

“You could buy the souls yourself before they get sold as slaves,” Sylvia pointed out.

“I’d run out of money real quick. How much do they cost anyway?” Riley asked.

“Don’t know.” Sylvia answered truthfully. “Probably somewhere between ten and a hundred thousand. Play it right, and you could make your money back. I’ve heard on the grape vine that running a magic academy can be profitable. Maybe you should try that.”

Riley snorted a laugh. Her green eyes danced with mirth. “Yeah. I should start a whole chain of them. When I end up with men, I can just assign them to charm club or something. Turn them into real ladies.”

That one hurt, Riley. It hurt. Sylvia glowered exaggeratedly, so the freckled blonde understood her soul searing pain. This only made Riley laugh harder.

They left town by a different road than which they came in.

As they departed, Sylvia took a chance to view the courthouse and public resurrection pool. Riley observed the Academy’s gates from the path below. Then they turned right, following the cliff face to the east. Dense buildings and cobble road faded away in favor of forest. Soon the two of them found themselves in the woods, tracing their former path back.

Though they had been gone for hours, the morning sunlight remained unchanged. Scattered clouds crossed the great blue yonder, the only shift in the otherwise static sky.

Sylvia never stopped hating it.

This time, the two of them kept a close eye on the craggy cliff and starlit ravine. Sylvia spotted a few places that looked climbable, but all of them were matched by a wide gap.

“You’re real pragmatic, you know that,” Riley said.

“Working a job does that to you,” Sylvia said plainly. She stopped. “That one might be doable.”

The silver haired girl pointed at a section of cliff. The jump across the ravine was three meters, but there was a tree nearby. Normally, Sylvia wouldn’t trust the leap, but with the help of feather light it should be possible. Just as importantly, the climb after was pretty flat.

“It might be our best bet,” Riley agreed. “Want me to start?”

Sylvia grimaced. A sick feeling stirred in her gut. The starry void wasn’t space. If they fell in, they wouldn’t keep falling forever. Still, without anyone to fish them out, they could be stuck in the void for days. Depending on the astral currents, weeks even.

“Maybe we should turn ourselves in,” Sylvia said, having second thoughts.

“Hey now. Don’t chicken out,” Riley pushed. “We can do it.”

Sylvia drew in a shaky breath. “Yeah. Sure. Just give me a – ”

Crack.

A branch broke. Sylvia and Riley turned. From the depths of the woods, a werewolf emerged.

“Two puppets sneaking out, no one to know they’re gone. Naughty. Naughty.” The werewolf’s snout curved into a slimy smile. He licked his chomps, taking in the two girls alone in the woods. “I’ve been wanting to play with you dolls for months, and what do you know, there’s a group of them all on their own.”

Sylvia’s expression fell.

She pulled, drawing the local ether around her. Wind filtered from the primordial mix, growing thick to the point it stirred the nearby leaves and grass. Riley’s stance shifted. Her empty hand curled as though trying to grip a spear.

She didn’t have a weapon.

And it wouldn’t have mattered if she did.

“You sure you want to start something here?” Riley asked, her tone surprisingly cool. “If we scream, who knows who’ll hear.”

The werewolf sneered. “Try it if you want, sweetheart. If you’re lucky, someone might even – ”

“■■■.” Runes spilled from Sylvia’s lips. A razor of wind whipped out. “■■.” A second followed the first, the two spells chained from one to the other.

Wind blade was fast, mobile, and hard to detect. Sylvia chose the spell because, out of all the fundamental combat magics, it was the hardest to deal with. Lightning bolt and water knife had too many runes. Flame shot was an ether hog. Earth spike was too easy to dodge. Only wind blade stood well on its own.

Plus, it was the best magic for bullying the weak.

Excellent for witch building her foundation. Perfect for an RPG character seeking to kill weak monsters for fast levels. Not nearly so great against a powerful adversary.

The werewolf side stepped.

The first blade flashed by, the demon sliding to the side in a blur. The second curved in chase. Caught in mid-motion, the werewolf had no time to dodge. Instead, the demon leaned into the attack. Dense, blue light sprung up in defense.

The sword of air struck.

Magic blasted into ki. Blue light parted. The solidified air sheered through pauldron and flesh. Blood burst. Teeth grit, the werewolf exploded forward. The lunge was lightning fast, covering a dozen meters in a blink.

Sylvia’s heart remained still.

The System’s skill books were not to be underestimated. They didn’t just teach an incantation, they also covered support and application. Casting under pressure. Aiming at moving targets. Chaining spells. Combo attacks. Sylvia had experienced all of it.

She didn’t panic. She didn’t slip. Instead, she instinctively rushed her spell, burning pure mana instead of ether.

“■■, ■■.”

Two blades formed even as Sylvia dashed to her left. The silver haired girl didn’t have half the werewolf’s speed. In a straight chase, the demon would reach her in a second.

But Sylvia was free to run as she pleased. The werewolf wasn’t.

Blades sped through the air. The third went low, aiming to take the demon in the knees. The werewolf jumped it like a hurdle. The forth swung high, then hooked. Air sliced deep into the demon’s waist, throwing him into a stumble.

“■■.”

Sylvia’s chant rolled on. Catching himself, the werewolf danced to the right. The fifth blade missed. But in doing so, his approach ground to a halt. Sylvia used that time to open the distance. Growling, the werewolf gathered his ki in a crude forward facing shield, planning to charge through.

Only to have the first blade slam into his back.

“Fuck,” the demon spat.

Wind blade didn’t just curve a little. It curved a lot. Enough to cycle back for another swing.

Gritting his teeth, the werewolf jinked to the right. A sixth blade flashed by. The demon’s hooked sword sprang from his belt, hued with light. The weapon ripped through the structure of Sylvia’s third spell, tearing it apart.

All of this gave Riley enough time to scream.

“Eeeaaah!”

A shrill, girlish shriek was let loose like a banshee’s wail. Furious, the werewolf lunged.

The lightning motion was so fast, Sylvia could see his afterimage. One blink, he stood still. The next the werewolf was seven meters distant, a ribbon of ki stretching out from underneath him like a great spring. Sylvia had made a strategic mistake. After kiting the werewolf, her wind blades weren’t in position to protect Riley.

Before Sylvia could adjust, a massive claw clamped over Riley’s face. The demon turned, his motion so violent that he wrenched the blonde’s feet off the ground.

His sword rose, severing the seventh blade. The fifth and the sixth, however, boomeranged in carving deep into the werewolf’s thigh and calf.

“Stop!”

Sylvia stopped. Not because the werewolf ordered it, but because the delay let her gather wind ether. In that brief exchange, her mana had fallen by half. She had 126 out of 243 remaining. The flaw of wind blade was showing. The spell could tear apart a fragile, unconsolidated witch easy. A warrior type demon of the first consolidation? The wounds were too shallow.

“Cast another spell and I’ll run away with her,” the demon threatened.

With one arm, the werewolf lifted Riley by her head revealing his monstrous strength. The blonde swung her legs wildly, trying to escape. Ki rippled down the demon’s arm, jolting into the witch’s skull. Riley’s movements became sluggish. Two more shocks and Riley went still.

Sylvia’s lips tightened.

Fuck.

Demons didn’t have brains, they had psychic essence. Psychic essence was the mirror to blood essence. It was the foundation of consciousness and thought. Without blood essence, the body would collapse. Without psychic essence, the soul had no capacity to think.

The good news was that psychic essence was entirely replaceable. This wasn’t a brain injury. Riley’s mind would function just fine when she recovered. The bad news was that this werewolf had a way to capture the two of them alive.

Alive.

Shit. Stupid! She was stupid. Sylvia had been thinking like a human when she should’ve been thinking like a witch.

In the period of silence, the werewolf shifted his position. The demon maneuvered so his back was toward the woods. Sylvia paused her own retreat, carefully noting the werewolf’s limp.

His wounds had stopped regenerating. Sylvia lacked a firm understanding of werewolf physiology, but she assumed this was a sign that the demon’s blood essence had been heavily whittled.

“What do you want?” Sylvia asked.

She measured the distance, trying to judge the range of the werewolf’s leap and the speed of his retreat.

“Disperse your ether and walk over here real slow, and I’ll let your friend go,” the werewolf demanded.

“Do you think I’m stupid,” Sylvia said bluntly.

Wind blade consumed twenty mana a casting. Twice that if overcharged to the spell’s limit. Sylvia could pay two-thirds of this cost with wind ether, provided she had enough of it. In short, she had sufficient mana for three to eighteen spells depending on circumstance.

If the werewolf’s blood essence was depleted like she suspected, that was enough to kill.

But killing the werewolf wasn’t Sylvia’s most pressing problem.

“No. I think you’re a smart little puppet,” the werewolf retorted. “I’m faster than you, and I’m guessing that’s the only spell you know. If I want, I can run away before you can kill me. After that, I’ll have plenty of days with your friend over here.”

The werewolf shook Riley lazily in midair.

Sylvia snorted inelegantly. “And how would letting you capturing two of us be better than leaving you with one?”

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The werewolf grinned mockingly. “It’s easier to control one than two. You’re more my type, sweetheart. If you spread your legs like a good girl, I’ll be nice and gentle.”

The demon leered. Sylvia shuddered. Disgust, recognition, and anger rolled through her.

Enough of this shit, Sylvia had all the wind ether she could condense.

“■■■, ■■, ■■.”

Three blades were flung in rapid succession. The ether surrounding was drained into nothing. Glowering, the werewolf leapt back. His sword flickered up to parry. Only to miss. The two blades veered off. The demon’s eyes widened. Grasping her intent to pen him in, the werewolf turned his back and ran. Ki hued his entire body, creating an armor.

Exactly as she hoped.

The third blade streaked in as the first two completed their great loop. The demon’s sword was ready. But the wind blade jinked at the last second. Instead of striking demonic flesh, it tore through a blonde haired witch.

The werewolf lurched, thrown off balance by the sudden lack of weight.

“■■, ■■.”

At the start of this battle, Sylvia made a mistake. She’d overvalued her life. Death, on Earth, was the worst outcome. The dead were lost forever. As long as you lived, there was always a chance to turn things to the better.

Here in the netherworld, death had no weight.

Death wasn’t the worst result. Nor was it pain or violence. Demons were tough. The agony of being eviscerated was no worse than being punched in the gut. Crippling wounds and dismemberment healed within weeks. And, if for whatever reason they didn’t, a demon could just off themselves then resurrect.

In the netherworld it was rape, capture, and psychological trauma that dealt the greatest loss.

No wonder Hell marked crimes of humiliation as more terrible than crimes of violence.

“You bitch!” the werewolf screamed, whirling.

The demon’s sword flashed, destroying two spells in a flicker. A fourth cut deep into the werewolf’s chest, splatting thick, globular blood. Enraged, he charged the silver haired girl. But the distance was long. Unhurried, Sylvia cast once, sending a blade up high as insurance.

Then she slowly filtered wind ether in preparation.

She only had 40 Mp left.

“■■■.” Sylvia chanted, steadily

The new blade flew forward at minimal cost. At the same time, she sent the high blade down like a guillotine. The target was her own damn head.

Whomph. Crack!

Sylvia startled. To her shock, the werewolf threw his sword. Steel crashed into stone, sheering Sylvia’s suicide spell before it could take her life.

This time, panic truly stirred in her heart.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She barely had time to think. The gap between witch and demon had shrunk in the passing moment. Then the beast lunged, crashing through her lonely wind blade with a ki covered arm. Thud. With a dull impact, the werewolf rammed right through her. He was six-foot-six. She was five nothing. It wasn’t even a contest.

Head spinning, Sylvia hit the ground. She skid across grass, a giant, blue-gray wolf man treating her like a surfboard.

Before she could recover, a clawed hand clamped over her face. Solid ki forced itself up her nose and down her throat, silencing any attempt to speak.

“Got you, little puppet,” the werewolf sneered, leering down out her.

“Mm!” Sylvia noised back, tears forming in her eyes. She tried to focus and regather ether.

“Hard to cast spells when you can’t speak,” the werewolf said, casually lifting her up. “You tore me up pretty good. I’m going to make you pay for it. But first. Lights out doll. When you wake up, we’ll be in Muguang Fortress. Then I’ll have plenty of time to make you mine.”

The werewolf licked his chomps, bringing her ear near his snout so he could whisper.

“Forever.”

Terror ran down her spine like ice, raising goosebumps. Ki pressed deep into her skull, oozing around her psychic core. Sylvia fought back with her own life force, but she was too weak and unskilled. Light coiled around the werewolf’s arm, ready to hammer deep into her psychic essence.

Before it hit, Sylvia’s hand flicked.

Shoof.

Air tore through flesh and bone. The demon’s arm separated at the bicep. Sylvia fell onto her butt with a thump.

Incantation was a means by which runes formed internal were made external. This relied on the phenomenon known as spirit speech. Demons were natural spirit speakers. They could relay their intent through words without training. So most mages couldn’t use magic without speaking.

Most mages.

Though it was called spirit speech, there was no law that said it had to come in the form of speech. Spells could also be cast through gesture. And the System’s skill books were very thorough.

The werewolf howled.

Reaching up, Sylvia grabbed the clawed hand still clamped to her face then threw it away. The demon looked down on her, eyes burning with fury. Sylvia almost felt like laughing, but there was nothing funny about a mana pool of 12 out of 243.

“■ – ”

Bang!

A round house took her across the face. Sylvia hit the ground in a roll. The pain and shock were worse than the damage. Demons were tough against any attack unaugmented by ki or mana, but Sylvia found a strange solace in how her pitiful pool of hit points had fallen below half.

“■,” Sylvia teased again, slowly gathering wind ether around her.

Fearful, the werewolf jumped back. Sylvia snorted. A hazy, hooked sword formed in his remaining hand. Soul bound equipment never truly left the soul, but after dismissing the weapon, it would take a dozen seconds for the sword to recover.

Standing well back, the demon glared at her.

“You can’t have much mana left, bitch. And when you run out – ”

“You’ll never know when I’m out,” Sylvia interrupted. The silver haired girl stood, shakily. “And you can’t stop me from casting. Maybe next time I’ll cut off your head instead.”

The werewolf glowered. “I’m going to rip you apart.”

Sylvia spread her arms wide. A broad, mad smile spread on her face. “Come on. Kill me then.”

“The next time your blonde friend steps out, I’m going to enjoy her,” the werewolf sneered.

Apparently this bastard didn’t like eating a loss.

“And when I resurrect, I’ll be sure to tell everyone that a shitty dog tried to rape me. I don’t know what the law says, but I’m betting what happens to you next won’t be pleasant,” Sylvia retorted.

The werewolf scowled. Clearly, she’d struck a sore point. For a long moment, the two stared at one another. The way Sylvia saw it, he had three choices. Walk, kill, or capture.

The last was risky. With the help of wind ether, Sylvia had enough in the tank for one last spell. Far as she could tell, the demon was on his last legs. A faint glow emanated from the werewolf’s wounds. This was a sure sign that the werewolf was using his ki to hold his blood essence in.

One more shot might push him over the edge and make his body unravel.

Which left walk and kill.

Sylvia was pretty sure which of the two this bastard would choose.

“I’ll be long gone when you resurrect,” the werewolf decided.

Then he lunged.

The distance was short. Maybe five meters. The werewolf crossed it so fast Sylvia would’ve struggled to get out a single syllable. She could practically feel his hooked sword plunging into her heart.

“Grrk!”

But it didn’t happen.

A bramble of vines sprang from the ground, catching the werewolf in midair. The stems wound themselves around the demon’s limbs, tightening their embrace.

“A despicable wolf dares to touch the baroness’s things,” a voice called from up above. “And a delinquent where she doesn’t belong. What should I do with the two of you I wonder?”

Professor Fischer descended, floating down lazily on her broomstick. This time the professor was wearing her usual white robes over a black dress. The pair was reminiscent of the Academy uniform, except the robes bore a longer hem and coat-tails that ended near her feet.

The werewolf went still at her appearance. Then his ki rippled, intensifying until his muscles wiggled like worms. For a second, Sylvia thought the demon would tear himself from the vines. Instead, the werewolf’s fur ripped. Blood spewed from all his wounds in a fountain.

A moment later, the corpse collapsed.

“Tch. He killed himself. I should’ve brought a soul lamp,” Professor Fischer complained.

The air rippled beside her. The blonde teacher reached into her space bag, removing a grimoire. Adjusting her hat, Professor Fischer quickly thumbed through the pages.

“That’s the one. Ta-ku-ma-si-lo-re.”

Glenda Fischer chanted the spell with slow precision. Mana pooled, taking on the character of causality.

Causality was one of six elements belonging to the chaos domain. It was pointless to try and filter chaos ether. Within planar territories, ninety-seven percent of the ether corresponded to the primordial domain elements: wind, fire, earth, and water along with their secondary expressions lightning, ice, wood, and metal. Chaos represented a mere fraction of a percent.

“...vu-ho-qui-she-fu,” the golden haired teacher finished. Professor Fischer snapped her grimoire closed before tossing it into her bag. “Dumas, if you were so foolish as to anchor your soul in Vallen, the guard will be there to welcome you when rise anew, ke ke ke”

Divination. The causality element was famous for it. Spells of this sort could be used to deduce facts, calculate figures, and even predict the future. It was the element that represented the logical connection between things.

With a wicked grin, Professor Fischer finished her descent. As her teacher set foot on ground, Sylvia admired the blonde’s crooked witch’s hat, which, while inferior in every way to the beret, showed its own admirable style.

…

Sylvia blamed that thought on Kyna.

Yep. Unquestionably charm club’s fault. Eric Swallow had most definitely never spent time and money to ensure his video game characters were sporting proper, fashionable hats. And if he did, nobody – in the netherworld – could prove otherwise.

“Sylvia Swallow,” Professor Fischer pronounced slowly. “You have achieved a most exhilarating level of trouble.”

“Exactly how much trouble is that?” Sylvia asked with an uncomfortable expression.

“Enough that I will have to consult with the dean to determine your punishment,” Professor Fischer said ominously. The woman hopped off her broom then examined the silver haired girl. After, her blue eyes veered to the decaying werewolf. “Strange. Very strange.”

A deep fear stirred within her.

“Surely the dean is too busy – ” Sylvia began.

“Ke ke ke,” Professor Fischer cackled, before granting a mad smile. “I think the dean can find time to examine a witch who absorbs blood essence.”

Sylvia froze. Her eyes skewed to the werewolf. She could feel the hidden fog forming around the werewolf’s corpse. She could sense it being drawn into her. Beautiful experience points.

Oh shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She noticed. Professor Fischer noticed. Sylvia should’ve realized. Experience points weren’t some unknown substance. The process of cultivation proved that. The System operated within the confines of the netherworld.

Therefore, its operation could be detected.

“I don’t know – ” Sylvia quickly denied.

“If you think those words can convince the dean, you can use them in front of her,” Glenda interrupted. The witch’s cunning, blue eyes suddenly sharpened. “Wait a moment. Look at me, girl.”

The teacher stepped forward, grabbing the silver haired girl’s chin. Glenda forcefully tilted it. A swirling, star filled galaxy of blue peered into Sylvia’s pastel pink.

“Pure starlight eyes,” Professor Fischer said, letting the silver haired witch loose. “How rare. How rare indeed. Did you know that you can judge an asteri’s talent by the number of stars filling their pupils and iris? Tell me, how many witches do you think have eyes like yours?”

Sylvia took a few steps back. She didn’t answer. That was a wise decision, because the question was rhetorical.

“Two. Lady Vallenfelt and you.” The teacher’s burgundy lips curved into a mad smile. “Curious, don’t you think? How is it that a ‘man’ was born with the most perfect bloodline besides that of the baroness herself? Ke ke ke. One might suspect you were fated to come here.”

Turning from Sylvia, Professor Fischer squatted beside Dumas’s half dissolved corpse. Though Sylvia could barely see it herself, she could feel the reverberation as Glenda played with the ethereal stream from which Sylvia drew her experience.

“Do you know what I did when I first discovered I was immortal?”

Sylvia shook her head. “I don’t.”

“I found a knife, then I cut myself open,” Professor Fischer explained, casually. “You see, I wanted to know if I still had the same parts. Heart. Lungs. Stomach. Intestines. Kidneys. Liver. Not a single one. Just an empty mush of bones, blood, and one beautiful crystal core. I gazed into my core with fascination as my life slipped away. I still have it you know. I keep it on my desk.”

Sylvia’s sense of unease grew.

“Demon bodies are intriguing. When I made you, I threw in a few extra bits for fun. Don’t be surprised. Adding a little is normal,” Glenda explained. “The soul mutates the code during inception, adapting the code to itself and itself to the code. Every one of you girls is a precious experiment. By observing the changes, the dean hopes to find pieces that will assist her Transcendence. And with her Transcendence, our Transcendence.”

Professor Fischer’s head rose, turning so that one eye focused in Sylvia’s direction.

“All those born of a bloodline are bound by that bloodline. This is also a kind of fate.”

“What do you mean?” Sylvia responded.

“What you have is very special. And that makes you very precious. But it also makes you suspicious. How can such a perfect soul appear by chance, hmm?” Glenda licked her lips, approaching until she stood uncomfortably close. “Tell me, Sylvia Swallow, are you precious or suspicious?”

Sylvia took a step back, already knowing there was no hope of escape. “Shouldn’t you take me to the dean?”

“I will. I will. I’m her loyal retainer,” Professor Fischer said, walking forward. “But, how about we find out if there are any new parts inside of you first?”

Eyes gleaming, Glenda Fischer pulled out a knife.

-oOo-

Bestiary:

Dumas

Species: Werewolf

Lv: 200

Hp/Mp: 765/190

Atk/Def: 190/50

Celerity: 180%

A hunter recently operating out of the Vallen region. Dumas migrated to the Timeless Beryl Wilderness seventeen years ago, reasons unknown. Since then, his success has been limited, having been thrown out of five separate hunting teams. Skill wise, Dumas is pretty typical. He is in the externalization realm with an ordinary set of movement and attack techniques. He’s shown no talent for nor any willingness to pursue the higher arts.

Personality wise, Dumas is selfish, violent, and misogynistic. The latter has been exacerbated by his inability to attract female attention. A common trait among souls with less than human forms.

Werewolf

Type: Physical

Potential: High

Commonality: Rare

Formal Name: Nox Luna Canis

Werewolves are one of two famous races born from the nox lineage, the other being the Vampire. Despite having an ancient bloodline, werewolves are an oddity in that they have yet to fully humanize. Instead, their form retains many animal traits including fur, claws, and a wolf like face. It is said that this is because further humanization would require giving up many of the advantages werewolves possess. This hypothesis is supported by the apparent weakness in the variant bloodline nox luna vir, which has a fully human form at the start.

All members of the werewolf bloodline, including variant bloodlines, gain the power to transform upon Awakening. This allows them to assume a wolf body, a mixed body, or a human body at will.

Werewolves are categorized as physical type demons, having no innate magic and poor magical talent. They are, however, keen hunters with good night vision and a powerful sense of smell. Their cultivation methods are simple and direct. They eat phantasmal beasts, converting their flesh into soul essence through digestion. Unlike their competitors of the sanguis branch, werewolves have no need for blood refinement.

Werewolves are most often found in Hell, being less common in the Fey Federation. Heaven disdains them, as it does all non-human bloodlines. However, Heaven does not explicitly forbid werewolves from living in its territory. As a general rule, werewolves prefer rural areas where phantasmal beasts are plentiful and accessible. A trait shared by most bloodlines of a pure carnivorous nature.