Slithering through the sand, a long, thin Demon seeks a getaway. Hoping to abscond into the scattering sandstorm.

Four spike quills, longer than its head, impale the ground ahead of it. It turns and four more strike out. It dashes to the side and yet again the quills find it. Before long the leathery lizard is trapped, hissing with spite at the bars.

It climbs onto its stomach. A bulge surges through to its throat, into the mouth, and out as a sizzling ball of bile. It summons another bulge from within, releasing one… two… three more bile balls in the same direction.

It starts to summon a fourth but its stomach bursts open, spilling the contents outward as three more quills find their way through its center.

Sputtering, growling in agony, radiating streams of crimson leak from its neck. It pulls on the flesh on either side of the spilt, stitching and fusing them back together.

A broad figure shuffles through the sand, approaching the dying Demon. Fat pawed hands hang by its side, a cloak billows, and long, thick spines of quills rise from its back.

Mists snake around the bounding Demon, a rich red shade of Blood Orange that seeps through the pores of the Demon’s hand. It twitches and a thin, long quill snaps out of a single of its four wide digits.

Driving the quill through the dying Demon’s exposed wound, Gerim dislodges the dying [Soul Crystal] within the Demon, popping it through its mouth. He snatches the Crystal out of the air and wipes off the flesh clinging to it.

He snorts and grunts as he examines the Crystal with a critical eye. Another disappointment. The Crystal might as well be a Pink that’s only blossomed to Crimson.

Clutching the rather worthless Crystal, he spits and stuffs it back in with the others. He rips the Demon it belongs to out of his quills by the neck. It’s a long one too, filled with scales and sharp eyes.

With a wide chomp, Gerim snaps off the head, munching on it as he hauls the rest back to the pile.

As he trudges through the sand Gerim’s cloak pocket jingles with each step. It’s the illusion of wealth, but in truth the contents will only amount to as much Essence as a level-three Crimson Crystal would provide.

And that’s before Calridian’s share.

Gerim snarls at the thought of the Demon; his insides bubble and Essence begins leaking into his furious steps. As he begins sinking into the sand with each heavy step, Gerim pulls his irritation to the back of his mind and repeats a mantra.

“Safe steps. Sure steps. Right steps.”

Gerim didn’t fill his pockets with Essence only worth as much as the Human look-alike. Gerim is very deliberate about following the mantra. It’s kept him alive, right from the Crimson days where Calridian and he hunted for the strength they have now.

Except, of course, Calridian grew far more powerful. And now he’s used that power to force servitude.

Gerim grunts and grumbles under his breath, dragging the Demon’s corpse across the sand harder and lower than needed.

“Never. Not again.”

Gerim learned his lesson about a half-century ago—cooperating with any other Demon for power isn’t worth it. Calridian taught him that.

“Ruling together. Yeah right.”

As he continues grumbling, his footfalls become heavy and he starts sinking again. He reigns in the bubbling anger and continues his march through the storm, on the look for any spares to slay on the way back.

Of course, by now the lesser Demons Gerim hunts would be frightened by his presence alone. The inverse is true for larger, stronger Demons like himself. Demons capable of challenging him.

He grunts, quickening his pace at the thought of getting dragged into a fight with a Demon like that. Losing Essence to regenerate wounds and keep up the struggle is rarely ever worth it. The Essence lost on each side is only ever enough to bring reserves back to normal or tip it over the edge a bit.

Calridian would argue otherwise—he has argued otherwise. But he’s never had to fight again, not since turning Maroon. And now he uses the power of his [Spells] and Essence to get everyone else to fight for him.

Gerim’s next step swallows his foot, sand reaching up to his thick knee. He growls, fuming at the desert.

“Damn, Calridian… stay in the desert.”

This time he waits a moment. Foot still stuck in the sand, he huffs and puffs heavy breaths. Pulling on his hood, he braves the nuisance storm and brings calmer thoughts over the ones telling him to gather as many allies and attempt a coup.

“Impossible. I let him get too strong.” His admittance brings another flood of anger. Working with Calridian, he could’ve grown just as strong, to Maroon and more even. But—

“Safe steps. Sure steps. Right steps.”

He breaks his foot out and loosens his grip on the Demon corpse he’s been hauling, repeating the internal mantra as many times as necessary. It’s right, and his growing anger will only bring him danger and unaffordable risks.

Not for the first time, Gerim is thankful he grew intelligent enough to see the truth of Reais. Whether it be this layer or the next or even the other Realms. For an immortal, it’s best to bide your time and play it safe.

No use stepping on toes or bringing unwanted attention to yourself. That’s why for all the time he’s spent serving the Demon he was once partners with, Calridian still hasn’t noticed his spite.

“Or maybe…” Gerim shakes the thought away, anticipating it’d only lead to more paranoia. Rather than be paranoid, it was much better to see the end of all things. “Soon… a hundred, maybe more, but soon.”

To Gerim, Calridian may as well be a parallel self. The Demon he could’ve been if only he were power-hungry, impatient, or as driven as Calridian preaches.

But power gotten in haste is taken away just as quickly. Calridian will fall, it’s only a matter of time, time Gerim has in abundance.

“Safe steps. Sure steps. Right steps,” Gerim repeats out loud, approaching the tall dune in front of the city. The rendezvous spot for his squad.

There are two figures seated at the top, taking bites out of the pile of Demon corpses next to them. Coming closer, Gerim finds Hargoil’s little followers, the mini versions of himself he’s whipped into submission.

The duo never talks. They did once, in the beginning when the three were assigned to his squad. Hargoil started at the same level they did, and yet…

“Where is he?”

The two shift their heads to the side, facing an area free of the storm. It’s dark out with little visibility now, but Gerim’s eyes quickly make out the remainder of his squad.

He grunts and tosses the Demon’s corpse onto the pile as he sits down to wait. Before long they make their approach, although both of them seem to return empty-handed.

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Gerim snarls and demands, “Where’s your score?”

Hargoil doesn’t bother acknowledging the question, heading straight for the assembled pile of corpses to rip off a limb and devour it. The orifice he and the other two consume out of is small, guarded by the trails of hardened carapace forming armor around their faces. But it doesn’t stop him from shredding the fat limb into bits.

Gerim keeps his attention on the other, the one he still hasn’t figured out a name for. It called itself “Nil” to Calridian, but that’s not a name.

“You have a hole in you,” Gerim points out, cutting the Human look-alike short in its explanation. “These cloaks have more value than you do.” Growling, he reaches over and pulls the cloak right off of it.

“Hey! My Crystals are in there!” it screams, grasping the hem of the cloak, but Gerim tugs it out of his grip.

“Crystals?” Gerim hums, staring back at Hargoil as he rifles through the cloak’s pockets. Hargoil doesn’t react, halfway done consuming the foot he ripped off. But true to its word, there are Crystals in the cloak’s pockets.

Gerim takes them out and tosses the cloak back at it, staring down at the three Crystals in hand. He begins to chuckle. “One weak Crimson, another at reasonable strength, and a Blood Orange.”

Gerim’s laughter heaves into a roar. He glances back at Hargoil, who still gives no reaction, and laughs some more.

“Very well.” Gerim tosses the Crystals back to it, his eyes studying the Human look-alike properly. With the hole in its chest, the white, short arm leaking oil, and the bare crotch, it doesn’t look very Human.

Watching it scramble for its fallen Crystals, one arm looking nothing like the other, Gerim’s mirth dissolves into concern.

Gerim brought this Human look-alike to Calridian as a gift. Humans are rare, live ones even more so. Their souls would reap brilliant power if the right [Spells] are cast, [Spells] Calridian has. Not to mention how delicious they taste.

But if this isn’t a Human, if this is a Demon, then what use would Calridian have of it? Better yet, what use could Gerim have of it? Hargoil has already begun taming the creature—it’s impossible that it took down a Blood Orange Demon all by itself.

Gerim seethes at his lack of answers, the secrecy, the plotting. He’s being left behind once more. He slaps the unfinished limb out of Hargoil’s mouth and growls, “Enough eating, we have to get back.”

Hargoil looks like he wants to do otherwise. Jumping to his full height, he looks down at Gerim. His followers fall silent behind him, waiting for a move. But none comes.

For all his rage, Hargoil is no idiot.

He steps aside and Gerim leads the way. “You, come here,” Gerim calls for the Human look-alike. It jogs its way over to his side and opens its mind, something it previously couldn’t do. It’s learning how to communicate faster than most Demons.

“You still only have three Crystals, is the last one yours?” Gerim asks with a wide grin, his sharp teeth and back quills twitching at the excitement.

It shivers—the thought of having its Crystal ripped out unnerves it, as it would anyone else. It shakes its head and looks up to Gerim, pleading. “I was hoping the Blood Orange would count as two. Does it?”

Reaching out with telepathy, Gerim can sense its hesitation to keep walking toward the city. He loses the grin and nods. “It’s only worth two if you got it by yourself. Did you?”

The answer is clear; it can barely hide the truth from Gerim, much less Calridian. Its thin, chapped lips press together and its single Human fist balls up. “Yes, I did. I got it all by myself, but someone interrupted the fight.”

Gerim suppresses a chuckle at the mental gymnastics but smiles nonetheless. “Right, you would’ve gotten it and more if you weren’t intruded on. You didn’t ask anyone for help. You were on your own, weren’t you?”

The psychic truth becomes smeared with each of these, but it nods, agreeing wholeheartedly with Gerim as the squad walks into the city.

Hargoil walks in between, shoving the Human look-alike to the side to grab hold of Gerim’s shoulder. “Don’t forget,” Hargoil says.

Gerim pauses for a moment, staring at him without uttering a word. Hargoil nods, lets go of his shoulder, and steps back.

“Wait out here, all of you. I’ll call you in if Calridian wishes to meet with you.”

Gerim starts off inside, his cloak still jingling as he walks through the many rooms and chambers housing Calridian’s most trusted and strongest Demons. Only a few still greet him these days, many of them thinking they’ve surpassed Calridian’s right hand because their Blood Orange Crystals shine a little brighter than his. Gerim grunts in response to the half-hearted greetings. He’s no idiot either, he knows many of the Demons around him have begun to see him as weak, up for grabs even.

But the fools are only so brave to think it. Never to act on it.

Gerim is let through to Calridian’s lair. He stands at the stairs and finds the large coil of a Demon still going at it, flipping through scrolls and manipulating mana and Essence for spellcasting.

“Calridian, I’ve returned.”

Calridian and the little Demon servants cleaning and organizing his ever-expanding mess don’t stop at Gerim’s announcement. Calridian twirls through scroll after scroll, lifting them up to his beetled head. Under his breath, he repeats some chant and the room trembles. The pillars rattle and cracks under the pressure of his rising mana.

Three Blood Orange Crystals rise off the long pile of [Soul Crystals] and hover in the air in front of Calridian. A crackle of red light streaks through the Crystals, connecting each of them to the other and to Calridian.

The trembling continues as the streaks draw the Crystals closer to each other. A pillar top crashes to the ground and the little Demons race around, setting things right where they can.

Gerim walks down the steps, eyes narrowed at the spellwork. The crackling bits of red lightning snap at everything moving. One snakes toward Gerim, but he doesn’t move.

The bolt strikes through his tough skin, digging through his hardened skin like paper and smiting the Blood Orange Crystal within. Gerim gasps and chokes, suddenly fueled by the power leaking out of Calridian’s spellwork.

The throbbing power in two of the Crystals streams into the one at the center until all that’s left are transparent shells that fall and shatter against the ground.

Gerim, recovering from the invigorating infusion of power, finds Calridian marveling at his success. His long stratified body coils up and crashes into a pile of books, scrolls, and weapons. The bright Crystal hovering before him is somewhere between Blood Orange and a slight pinch of Maroon.

“You’ve done it,” Gerim laughs. “You’ve figured it out… how?”

Calridian groans, lifting himself off the pile. He sets the throbbing Crystal on the table. “I haven’t figured anything out… it’s still very unstable and so much Essence is lost during casting.” His thin, beady beetle eyes narrow at Gerim. “You may not realize it now, but in making this Crystal I’ve lost one with as much worth as yourself, Gerim.”

Gerim reels at this, but it doesn’t shock him long. The weight of Essence, the trembling, the cracks of lightning—it makes sense.

“Still, you’re well on your way to the next level. You’ll be able to challenge Demon Lords. This city won’t simply be another bit of territory in the name of—”

“Silence, you!” Calridian scolds. Hissing venom and radiating as much power as before, he fumes. “I said I lost a Crystal of your worth performing that spell. Do you have any idea how long it’s taken me to gather and fuse those Crystals into a single Blood Orange to begin another attempt?

“The process takes decades! Decades! And that vile Queen is on my hide every day! This failure of a spell is something I can’t afford to use: the Essence it loses isn’t worth it! I need the Demon Lord’s perfected version, or at least the information to imitate it.

“And I need it quick, Gerim. The Queen isn’t the only one hounding me. The Demon Lord too, he and his feckless followers warring with the other Lords. So I can’t begin to break down how much I need you to keep your mouth shut about this.”

Gerim nods mutely, not having much else to say lest he gets murdered.

“Good. Now, what have you come for?”

Gerim straightens up, ignoring the stares from the silent worker Demons in the background. “My squad. I’ve tested the Huma—”

“You’re well aware that is no Human, or are you an idiot now, Gerim?”

Clearing his throat, he corrects the slip-up. “Yes, of course, the new Demon you’ve assigned to me… Nil, it’s done as you asked.”

At this, Calridian’s torso rises an inch higher. “It has?”

“In a manner of speaking. It managed to retrieve a Blood Orange Crystal, a brand-new one with barely any power lost, as well as two other Crimson Crystals.”

Calridian snorts. “Then it didn’t do as I asked, did it? I asked for four Crystals, not three. Simple instructions are so hard to follow with the lesser ones.” He mutters the last part without care, but Gerim feels the built indignation within him stir.

Lesser ones. Something he would’ve been defined by a few centuries ago too. But Gerim doesn’t dare point this out, because merely thin—

“Are you… upset?”

“Fuck,” Gerim curses.

Calridian’s frown deepens; his dark beady eyes light up in flames and he curls around Gerim, his centipede-like lower body entrapping the quilled-back Demon.

Gerim doesn’t move. He doesn’t think of anything else aside from his continued existence. His poor telepathy and uncontrolled emotions landed him here, but he can’t seal his fate now.

Although humbled, he dares to mention, “It is hurt and fears you already. I know you have a use for it.” Gerim gulps. “I can keep it that way. I won’t fail, not like I did with Hargoil.”

“Hargoil…” Calridian snarls. “That one… my deep regret spawning it. So bold and capable… a challenger. But nothing like you, Gerim. If you can keep this deviant Demon tamed, subservient as you are to me, I wouldn’t be opposed to rewarding you.”

Reward?

It’s the last thing Gerim expected from Calridian. What worth is Nil to him? Enough that he’d reward Gerim?

“It would be an honor,” Gerim says, “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Good. It needs to be much stronger than it is now for my needs, take care of that.”

“And Hargoil? He’s demanding an audience with you. He doubts my word that you rejected his request to break off.”

Calridian snarls, disgusted, “Beat him. Take your tax and bring mine. This is how you chain a Beast, Gerim.”

For once, something Calridian says doesn’t grate on Gerim’s nerves.