Name: Nil

Race: Demon

Type: Transformed Deviant Soul

Age: Immortal – 4years

Crystal Essence: [Pink]- Lvl.10— 40esq

[Available Essence Points— 0]

Strength: 12

Agility: 12

Wisdom: 7

Abilities: [Faithless Absorption], [Faithless Mimicry]

[Available Trait Points— 0]

Traits: [Tough Skin]- Lvl.2

Ascension Perks: Nil

Spells: Nil

Patron: Nil

I’ve spent four years in the line leading to the three giant Demons in front of me. The three summon identical feelings of disgust every time I look up at them. They each sit on a unique throne—one of dark igneous rock; another swimming in viscous, green acid; and the last on a throne of burnt sand, silicon with insect-like creatures between straits of the massive chair that are mostly still alive.

The three Demons I’ve waited in line for years to reach tower over twenty feet tall and occupy a space fitting of their fat. Each Demon retains the aspect of the part of the Realm they’re from. The one seated on igneous rock is a burning Beast, yawning fire from its tusked mouth, belching out molten slobber with each of us it chooses to consume.

The one from the desert is more or less a giant insect, long and stratified: its body sprouts out more legs than I’ve bothered counting. It wraps around the throne of silicon more than it sits on it and has no face, only long clattering and chittering mandibles.

The last is a creature I have trouble comprehending. At first I thought the rumbling green blubber was acid, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Behind the green and sometimes within it, a Demon without shape vomits and hisses at its own cursed form. Dark, like a bruised, swollen, infected eye split open and spilling with pus and mucus. At the sides of the gash of bile are two beady eyes, aching in despair yet swallowing the Demons that line up before it nonetheless.

I haven’t spent all the years staring at these gigantic Demons though. In fact, I’ve spent more time staring at my burning, aching feet and my stat sheet than I have wondering what will happen when I stand before them. My interest is set on the little progress I’ve made; although unintentional, gaining the trait [Tough Skin 2] has helped ease the torment of this place.

Along the line and through the years I’ve seen all sorts of creatures tossed in line behind me. Elves, Dwarves, Orcs, Gnomes, Dragonborns, and so many other variants of the many races. Although, I suppose they’re all Demons now, much like how I used to be Human and now have a Crystal sticking out of my chest and skin toughened against the scorching pains.

Still, I’ve discovered more about this Hellscape and my situation in the last four years than the eternity I spent in the Wall.

For one, my immortality doesn’t mean I don’t experience the passing of time—my hair has begun to flow over my shoulders now, getting in my face and tickling my nose, yet at the same time the passing of time doesn’t mangle my body as I suspected it would. Or as it should. After all, it’s been four years since I got my body back, my organ—save my genitals, which I can’t remember—and I’ve been starving all this time.

The wails that call out from the line are those thirsting for drops of water in the unbearable heat and burning, for a piece of our warden’s fat meals, gruesome as said meals look. But I know better than to beg and draw attention to myself. Doing so gets you pulled out of line and forced to drink from the river of lava flowing beside us. The Demons sinister way of quenching thirst.

It’s an instant death for any normal person or creature, but watching and measuring the punishments, I’ve discovered that those who survive have something in common.

A darker-colored Crystal.

The low hue of pink embedded in my chest is not what everyone else carries. Some have deeper shades, others are nearly white. It leads me to believe that the deeper the color, the higher chance you won’t lose your immortal life.

I can live forever in hunger, thirst, and mild burning pain, but take it too far…

The discovery gives me even more reason to mind my business, keep my lips sealed no matter how much I delude myself into thinking the pleading look on my face will touch the hearts of the stout, insect Demons flying overhead with their whips in hand.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Keeping to this resolve has kept me safe. The only whippings I’ve received from the dexterous insect Demons are the ones they give on a whim. There have been quite a few of those—out of nowhere they’ll start whipping, and sometimes their comrades will join. Other times it’s humorous, because when another Demon joined the first would stop and confront the intruding Demon. They’d start arguing and bickering, and one of them might even kill and consume the other right in front of us.

Their inability to work together has saved me countless times.

With their enraged whims being the only hiccup during my years waiting in line, I’ve managed to stay alive long enough to be third in line. By the time I was twentieth I’d discovered what we were in line for, what happens when we step in front of the three giant Demons.

A transformation.

As I am, I still have my Human form, but there hasn’t been a glimpse of a Human-looking Demon in the four years I’ve spent here. I’ve heard what happens at the front of the line as well, a decision made by the house-sized Demons on what they transform you into for their Demon Lord.

Each of the Demons seated on the thrones have the power to transform us into whatever they choose, but sometimes they swallow the person instead.

The line moves forward, and I’m next up after the Dragonborn before me staggers ahead, heaving as he falls, his Crystal a shade darker than mine. They look down at him and the unspeakable acid Demon speaks, its voice resonating in my mind.

“What will this one be? Not much potential... another meal perhaps?”

“Enough with your greed, do you not fear the wrath of your Lord?” the tusked Beast rumbles out loud, the only one of the three who has a mouth to speak with. Its skin glistens with bright, burning lava that drips off its chest and down a fat stomach.

The acid Demon snaps back, “Silence, you. Do not speak to me of fear, I bide my time.”

Chittering fills my head, roughly translating to a snide comment on how they bide their time on their Lord’s orders.

“Choose what to turn it into, the next one is mine,” the tusked Beast says, its head lowering to glower at me. Its face is as fat as the rest of its body, long and spiraling with blubber and rows of fat from the chin.

I look away from it and stare at the shriveled Dragonborn ahead. The acid Demon shifts on its throne of goop and spits mucus at the Dragonborn. Screaming ensues.

The Dragonborn roars and howls, his voice lost after seconds, leaving him contorting, silently screaming at the transformation. His scales melt away, the golden-brown of his skin whitens, his tail falls off, and his mass increases until he stands mouth ajar in a voiceless scream.

When the transformation is complete, he stands thin as ever but longer, taller with a poor shade of white skin, filled with holes still steaming from the burns. A red glow emanates from his chest. The transformation complete, his pink turns a deep red, crimson.

“Begone,” the acid Demon orders, and the previous Dragonborn, now a [Swak] type Demon according to the icon above his head, stalks away, moving through the burning acid and into another part of the Realm.

I guess I’m up next... and fire is where I’m headed.

Without being called, I step forward, and the fat, tusked lava Demon rumbles with a spilling grin. Standing before them now, with no one ahead of me, I’m afraid once more.

The last thing I want to do is turn into one of those… I shake my head. No, second to last—I can’t get eaten either.

“Barely any potential here. I know exactly what to do with you.” Licking its lips, it beckons me forth.

Between the three giant Demons, the flying ones with whips, and the terrible terrain, there isn’t much else I can do but obey. Each step burns more than [Tough Skin] can take, and I wince, aching with hunger and frail with weakness, but I don’t fall over.

Chittering follows my display, and I surmise that the screeching nonsense in my mind is complimenting my strength. Some pride and hope wells up within me at this.

“Yes, this one would serve better not as a meal—there is more potential here than you’re willing to see through your hunger,” the acid Demon concurs.

Growling, snapping its teeth at it, the tusked Demon roars, “Silence, you! You’ve eaten your fill the past years. Only the useless have come to you, and now you tell me to turn this one into something other than sustenance?”

The heavy, infected-looking Demon shifts in its goop at this, turning away from its tusked companion.

Fuck! I’m dinner. I can’t be dinner!

But it’s too late, the tusked Demon flicks a finger and my feet leave the ground, hovering inches above the ground and climbing higher as it draws me closer with a gesture from its clawed finger.

As its maw falls open, I struggle against the unseen force with what’s left of my strength, but it’s no use. Its jaw collapses, and within it I see a broiling death awaiting me. I scream, “No! Lords! Spare me and I will be your willing servant! Spare me!”

I get no help from the others; in fact, they shirk away from my cries. As I hover above the open maw of the tusked Demon, its collapsed lips spread with delight and the force holding me up ceases. I fall, but I’m not defeated yet.

Its mouth is massive—a crack in the ground from an earthquake would be smaller—but to my luck it isn’t, and I grab hold of one of its shorter tusks. Mouth hanging open, it makes a questioning sound even as the heat from its lava-filled stomach burns my feet. Hanging by the embers of my strength, the stench of its mouth suffocates me, a mixture of ammonia and sulfur. Its saliva is more lava, and its tongue is as black as the throne it sits on. The heat from it all begins boiling my skin.

Its arm begins to loom over its mouth, intent on forcing me in. With haste and skill, I yank myself up by the tusk and tumble onto its bare face.

Chittering fills my ears and mind as the insect Demon starts ranting about how right it was.

The tusked Demon roars, “How dare you!” It scrambles to grab me off its face, but it’s large and hot and I’m small and desperate, running up the top of its head. It continues to scream, “Off of me, you Deader!”

Panting at the exertion, ducking under and jumping over the tusked Demon’s swipes, I know it’s only a matter of time before it finds a better way to grab me. And luckily, something fancy on its blackened head catches my eye—no, rather it calls to me. This close I almost can’t keep my eyes off it.

Buried under the scratch of the blackened mound that makes up the top of its head is a glowing maroon-colored Crystal. Even with all my haste and dodging, I can feel its power and know this is the bit that fuels the tusked Demon and its companions.

This is what gives us power.

Falling flat on my stomach, mouth salivating, I do the unthinkable and sink my teeth into it… and I instantly regret it. The Crystal is harder than anything I’ve bitten into; my mouth bleeds from the attempt and I’ve got a few broken teeth. But I’m intent on biting something close, something powerful, and its entire head exudes power.

It roars, hastening my search, but what I’m looking for isn’t too far off from the Crystal. Near the edge of it is a large, round boil.

Now this is unthinkable.