Name: Nil

Race: Demon

Type: Transformed Deviant Soul

Age: Immortal – 4years, 3months

Crystal Essence: [Crimson]- Lvl.2— 80esq

[Available Essence Points— 0]

Strength: 14

Agility: 56

Wisdom: 13

Abilities: [Faithless Absorption], [Faithless Mimicry]

[Available Trait Points— 4]

Traits: [Calloused Exterior]- Lvl.1, [Telepathy]- Lvl.2

Ascension Perks: [Reais Fiend]

Spells: Nil

Patron: Nil

My eyes snap open and bore into the roof of the sustained building around me. My heart thumps away in my chest, my nostrils flare, and sweat soaks the sand underneath me.

The nightmares are ceaseless. Even now I can’t tell if I’m in another waking nightmare or in the reality I ought to be in. I’ve spent three months under Gerim and Calridian’s care— though I haven’t seen the massive Demon since my first day here.

Gerim’s done a reasonable job as a mentor, considering he can’t stand me. He’s taught me about what this new reality is meant to be like and his teachings are the words keeping me off the fringes of insanity.

The first thing he let me know was my worth. As a Crimson-tier Demon, my [Soul Crystal] is worth anywhere from 3esq to 12esq. The Crystals I absorbed proved his words when they gave me 8esq and 4esq. To serve Calridian as a commander I have to ascend to the Blood Orange tier, a tier Gerim is well acquainted with. To ascend I need 480esq or more. There are other tiers, but Gerim only cared to talk about Blood Orange and Crimson.

He warns that after a certain point the esq I absorb from Pink tiers will taint my quality. The goal is to become the thickest shade of red it seems—at some point absorbing Pink tiers will give me negative esq but will still provide the [Soul Crystal] with Essence for use.

The Essence I got from the Crystals I absorbed was meager but enough to start regenerating my lost arm. But it’s been three months already and it’s still not grown back fully; at this point I’ve begun to rethink my [Ascension Perk] choices.

Spending time working with Gerim—helping him relay orders to Demons around the city—has earned me a new, shiny, useful trait. [Telepathy]. I sunk a Trait point into it the moment I got it and now speaking and being spoken to isn’t such a hassle.

The less coherent images Gerim sends out telepathically cleared up. As a result, I can translate and pick up most subsurface thoughts like euphemism, metaphors, and a lot of innuendos. Essentially, it converted the raw telepathic and psychic information into digestible data.

I’ve accrued enough to start my own conversations, although I rarely ever need or want to. The only other conversations I’ve had with Demons other than Gerim are the ones that get me out of being eaten.

Gerim steps in for the worst of it most of the time, but I’ve had to fight my way out of assault a few dozen times. Humans—live, fresh-looking Humans—are a delicacy, and I look awfully like one to the simpler minds of the city.

While the frequent attacks are a pain when I’m carrying out tasks for Gerim, I’ve tried to lean back on the positives. It’s illegal to start a fight among other Demons here. If you do and get killed, the person you attacked gets to keep half of the plucked [Soul Crystal]. But of course, there’s a reason for that, and it’s because you’d need another half of a [Soul Crystal] to absorb the Essence within. With the way it works, I bet it has something to do with the polarity of the Crystals.

I’ve ended three Demons since stepping in here and wasted one half of a [Soul Crystal] attempting to absorb Essence. It blew up right in my face and threw me through several stone walls. I absorbed the one whole Crystal I had, warranting me a meagre 3esq, but I continue to anticipate the next fight.

Although the fights are usually stopped by one of the winged Demons circling the city’s sky. With large buzzing wings and a stinger dripping with venom—although they aren’t always a grotesque version of a bee—the winged Demons are terrifying to look at.

Getting a glazing sting or slash from them is always a pain, and what I tell Gerim is the reason I’m regenerating too slowly. Of course, his retort is to bark about eating more.

Since becoming a Demon, I don’t experience certain things the way I used to as a Human. Or at least the way I expect to. Fatigue is hard to come by, even when I stood for four years. But I’ve never been as tired as I was out in the desert fighting those Demons.

I don’t need to sleep, but I can and it feels good. I don’t suffer hunger, but I can’t help craving a sweet render of flesh and a slosh of blood down my throat. It’s not a banging craving, demanding to be satiated, and it helps the regenerative process. Any time Gerim’s bothered to share a piece of his latest hunt ,I notice a spike in how much more my arm grows.

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I asked him to bring me more whenever he can, and he has. Three times over the past three months to be exact. And now he tells me to come to earn my share in the hunt. A fair compromise, although inconvenient since I’m still one-handed. But I don’t have much of a choice, especially if I want to start reaping the benefits of working for Calridian.

Benefits I’ll be learning about if I do well on the hunt today. Since stepping into the city, I haven’t met or seen anyone on the same level as Calridian. The suffocating strength he imposed is unforgettable.

For most of the observed population I can see the identifying icons hovering above their heads, so I’m not too far off in strength from them. I’d say we’re in the same bracket.

But there are few who have no icon and wear a stifling power around them. Like a Demon I met on the way out of Calridian’s chambers the first day I was there.

Still, there are a couple hundred Demons within the city, and from what I’ve seen of Demons, they have trouble functioning as a whole. From this fact alone the city becomes an unreliable gathering—the fact that there’s a reward for killing your assailant means there will be assailants.

But the Demons stay within the city regardless and abide, suppressing the innate desire to tear into the nearest foe and rip out their [Soul Crystal]. Why? There’s got to be some benefit to why so many Demons would stop fighting each other and attempt to co-exist.

As it is, there isn’t much else of a reason for me not to step back out into the desert. After all, I’m not going to find the answers I’m looking for if I’m simply coexisting.

My promise to serve him? Be his commander? I’m left unbound! I could’ve waltzed back right after we left his lair if I wanted to, and nothing’s stopping me now. Of course they could chase after me, but am I worth it? No.

The only thing keeping me here now is my curiosity. I want to know what Calridian considers proven, what kind of strength, potential he sees in me. I don’t have the slightest clue how things work in Reais—the stat sheet, the [Traits] and [Abilities], it’s all very confusing.

Calridian presents himself as a Demon who has these things under control, and I’d like to learn. My “mentor” hasn’t exactly been the best. And speaking of the devil—

Gerim walks down the wide hall leading from the lair; he reaches out, and I narrowly avoid his incoming smack attack. Gerim, I’ve found, can’t contain his impulses around subordinates.

“What did he say?” I pester. He’d picked me up from my hovel, tossed a dark desert cloak at me, and outright told me about Calridian wanting me to do well on the hunt.

But I’m missing an arm, so I begged Gerim to speak on my behalf and delay whatever performance the powerful Demon wants from me until I’m whole again. To my shock Gerim agreed, and here I am picking at the threads of my dusty desert cloak.

The desert cloak is the only piece of clothing I’ve tried on, but I can tell it’s not ordinary. There’s a circulating pulse, a thrum of magic in the fabrics. It’s only for stormy conditions or “commander errands.” It’s a poor name for Calridian’s stray hunters, but I can only blame myself for the poor psychic translation.

“Hunt. You kill four, he doesn’t kill you.”

Despite it being a valid threat, I can’t help rolling my eyes at it. “Might be a bit difficult with one arm—uh, never mind, got it.”

Gerim’s death stare recedes as we step out of the building and he gestures at a group of three. Generally tall and lanky bipedal beetle Demons, they perk up at Gerim and fall into stride with us. The tallest and broadest immediately starts talking.

Two lanky arms are folded across its chest as the other two gesticulate and demand answers. “Alright, what did he say? Can I do it? Lead my ow—”

“Enough, Hargoil, he didn’t let me speak of it. It might be the farthest thing from his mind. You should give up already.”

“Don’t blow me off! Admit it, you won’t bring it up to him because you need me under you. If you won’t tell him, I will!” Hargoil, the four-armed beetle, turns back, storming toward Calridian’s lair.

“Oh stop it. You’re going to get us both killed!” Gerim grabs an arm and halts him with ease. “Look, if you want to get yelled at by Calridian himself, I’ll let you in on our next meeting.”

“And when is that?”

“Right after the newest addition to my squad completes Calridian’s task.”

Hargoil peers at me. His head is sculpted as a helm of sorts, a small part of it bearing a hole—what I’d call a mouth with teeth in all directions. Above this hole of teeth are long narrow rows that curve around the gleaming red sockets.

A thrilling sound echoes from his mouth as he turns his attention to me. “I barely noticed… a bit weak for you, don’t you think?” he says to Gerim, staring at me all the while.

Gerim grunts in agreement. “Like with you, it isn’t up to me. Help out. It’s a certified hunt too, so you can reap all the Soul Crystals you catch.”

I can’t believe it. Gerim being generous?

That’s as rare as finding a good-looking Demon. Hargoil shifts his focus, regarding Gerim for a moment before pointing at the shorter pair of beetle Demons.

[Lardoa]

Hargoil has one of these icons as well.

“Them too? If I’m taking them on my squad, then I’ve got to get them ready. Better than them being under you at least.”

Gerim sneers, growling, but relents at the end. “Them too.”

This pleases Hargoil: his psychic energy oozes pride as he perks up and beckons the two [Lardoa]. They follow Hargoil in the other direction, already muttering to themselves, and Gerim starts the stride to the gates.

“What was that about?” I mutter, hushing my telepathy to the best of my ability, but I’m sure someone passing by would hear me loud and clear.

“Shut up.”

I let out a restrained sigh and walk with him to the gates. We call them gates, but there are few places in the city that are barred by an actual door, much less a gate. The city may as well be a wide-open camp for any feral Demon to waltz into and start a killing spree. But there aren’t any who care to do that it seems.

I’ve been to the “gates” as often as Gerim has me relay orders or feed the guards. On the outskirts, where the city borders end and the desert dunes begin, I can always spot some skulking Demon beyond that point, pacing and debating for hours.

But in the end, they’re always chased off by some other Demon erupting out of the sand or charging right at them. Watching these Demons hunt and cannibalize each other has been one of my major sources of entertainment.

I turn to Gerim seated beside me; he’s been mumbling to himself in his mind. Bits of it leak out psychically. I suppose even he doesn’t have a high enough [Telepathy] trait to keep it all hidden.

“Hey, Gerim? Why don’t those Demons attack or come in at least?” I ask the question, not expecting an answer but to try my luck yet again with the Demon. He’s been rather compliant today, could be his new thing.

He bursts with anger and glares down at me for a moment before turning away and answering, “A lot of them are stupid, but we’re all driven to self-preservation. They know what’ll happen to them if they’re not fit for Calridian’s city.”

Of course—Calridian.

“You two ready to go?”

I gasp, jumping out of my skin at Hargoil’s sudden appearance.

Gerim pats the cloak’s bottom and turns to face us. “Simple rules. Don’t bite off more than you can chew. Don’t absorb until we return to Calridian. Help each other.”

Hargoil groans at him, “Heard it all before, let’s get going.” He starts walking out into the open desert, the other two [Lardoa] following close behind in protective cloaks of their own.

Gerim growls down at me, “Four Crystals, nothing less and nothing more. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

Done demonstrating his expert mentorship, he stalks off rapidly, eager to outpace Hargoil.

I let out a long groan and tighten the hood of my cloak. “I won’t be weak for long, you horse-faced, shit cocked bastard imps!”

Another stress reliever of mine is screaming out obscenities, because no one here knows English.