POV: Female Shadow Imp

The coolness of the shadows wraps around me like a second skin as I slip effortlessly between the dense trees, melding into the darkness where the light fears to tread. I lead the other two imps, my senses sharp and attuned to every shift and whisper in the forest around us. North of Master's hidden base, the forest is thick and unruly, perfect for those like us. The shadows here are endless, rich pools of safety we can disappear into at a moment's notice. Our small party is light, just three of us, and it is a strategic decision.

Master Leon. The latest demonic prince crowned by the Twin Kings. He’s dangerous, ruthless, and brilliant in his own right. A natural-born leader who secured our obedience with a pact—one I couldn't break even if I wanted to. Not that I would, not completely. Despite myself, I feel a tug of loyalty to him, though it isn't pure or absolute. I’m loyal when it suits me, and right now, it does. His command holds my will in check, but the need to rise and evolve is a relentless whisper in my mind.

I can feel it, its closeness. One more kill, and I’ll shed this fragile imp form, and ascend to the next tier, becoming stronger, and deadlier. The hunger for it burns in me like a slow, simmering fire. Every moment out here is a chance, a temptation. The forest is crawling with weaker monsters—easy prey that could help push me to that next stage—but their worth is so little. Killing them would let me evolve, yes, but I’d be capping myself as nothing more than a Rank D demon, barely above fodder. A pitiful ceiling for my ambition.

The only way to truly rise above is to consume stronger prey, by killing stronger foes I will grow my soul's records making the system reward and grant me stronger power and races.

The devils do things like ripping the souls from their kills, absorbing their strength, their talents, and their essence. But I am no devil. Consuming souls, stealing the strength of another—it reeks of cowardice. Strength should be earned, taken with my own hands and power, not through trickery. False strength like theirs crumble under the power of similarly ranked demons.

Still, the thought claws at me. My evolution is so close, yet so distant. I force myself to focus, sweeping my gaze through the shadowy underbrush. The other imps follow my lead without question, just as bound by Leon’s orders as I am. They are not as close to evolving as I am, though, which means they follow with blind obedience I cannot afford to have. One of the worst traits a shadow imp has is being meek and subservient to other demons due to how physically weak most of us tend to be.

Our mission is to scout, not to engage. To locate threats before they can reach Leon’s base. He has plans, always plans, and my place in them is valuable for now. If I evolve, I become more useful to him... and more dangerous. That could change the nature of our relationship.

We push further into the forest, deeper into the night. My senses are alert, probing for anything amiss, any creature worth my time and strength. For now, I bide my time. I will kill when the moment is right, when it serves my ascent, not before. Until then, the shadows are my sanctuary, and I will wait for the perfect moment to rise.

The outer edge of the forest is teeming with life, the kind one would expect in such a shadowy, dense thicket. Wolves, goblins, big rats, snakes, and other creatures abound, each somehow twisted by the fire magic that courses through them. Even the vegetation here is resilient to flames, something that would be strange on most planets. The trees and grasses have grown tough and resistant to burning, though when a fire does catch, the flames spread sluggishly, almost reluctant to consume the land. It’s an anomaly worth noting for Leon. We can’t rely on fire magic to clear these creatures out if it comes to that. It nags at me, this strange resistance. Normally, plant life is so easily reduced to ash, yet here it clings to life in the face of fire. That can only mean one thing—a god, or at least a demi-god, must be involved. I’ve seen it before, on Pyronis. The Flame Sovereign’s influence warped that world entirely in just twenty years. Every blade of grass, every creature and tree, now burns with his power.

This planet, though, feels... different. It isn’t as warped as Pyronis, not yet anyway. But the signs are there. Fire permeates the monsters and the land, though not with the same destructive intensity. If I had to guess, this world might be under the influence of a demi-god, one not yet strong enough to assert full dominance. That would explain the fire magic without the complete transformation of the ecosystem. I scour my memory, recalling the newer demi-gods in the cosmic landscape. Two possibilities come to mind. The first is Tyrantia, a planet forged for a natural-born demi-god. He is young but powerful, ruling with an elemental force tied to the world’s growth. The second is Sylvaris, who was once under the grip of a vengeful nature god. That was until a fire magus ascended to demi-godhood, seizing control and reshaping the world to his own fiery will giving the residents of the planet freedom.

If this is Sylvaris, then we’re dealing with a demi-god of fire who is still molding the world to his vision. Leon will want to know this—if we’re truly on Sylvaris, then our approach will have to shift dramatically. We’ll need to work around the planet’s resistance to fire and the creatures that have adapted to it.

But as much as Sylvaris seemed like a possibility, I can't shake the feeling that we're on Tyrantia instead. Tyrantia is a planet drenched in conflict, where nothing thrives without a fight, and fire is as much a weapon as it is a force of nature. That planet is known for harboring and raising both heroes and villains, powerful beings that are summoned by gods once they fall in battle here. It’s a proving ground, a crucible, where only the strongest rise while the weak are reduced to ash.

The idea of being on Tyrantia stirs something in me, a mix of excitement and dread. The opportunities here are immense. The growth potential, if we can carve our place in this volatile world, is beyond anything we could achieve elsewhere. Tyrantia is a place where power is honed through fire and combat, and if we can endure long enough, gaining resistance to the flames and the bloodshed, we could eventually conquer and thrive. We could become something far greater than imps scurrying in the shadows. I began to feel the hunger to fight so I had to force myself to focus again and stop drooling at the thoughts of a good fight.

But the risks… The thought gnaws at me. If we’re discovered too early, before we’ve built enough strength to stand against the higher-ranked beings that roam this planet, we won’t stand a chance. A hero, a demi-god, even a powerful villain, could obliterate us without a second thought. Survival will depend on stealth and strategy, biding our time until we’re ready to reveal ourselves. It will be a delicate balance, hiding in the shadows and gathering strength while avoiding the gaze of those who would crush us. Still, I can't deny the allure. Tyrantia could be our greatest challenge and our greatest opportunity. If Leon plays his cards right, if we remain patient and cunning, this warlike planet could forge us into something far more formidable than the demons we are now. We just have to survive the fire long enough to rise from it.

Continuing the search after noting the peculiarities of this part of the forest and its fiery inhabitants, I motioned for my team to follow. We moved cautiously, slipping from shadow to shadow, keeping ourselves hidden in the thick underbrush. The air was tense, alive with the flickers of unseen dangers, but we pressed on, our steps light, our presence silent.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

After some time, the signs began to change. The forest was no longer just the domain of beasts and fire-touched monsters. Subtle tracks, barely visible, began to emerge. Boot prints, faint and delicate, suggested the presence of something more sentient, more aware. This wasn't the heavy tread of a human; these tracks were far too light. If they were human, they would have left deeper impressions. No, this was different. Elves, most likely. I recalled what my old summoner had taught me before sending me back. Elves are elusive creatures, skilled at hiding their presence, often using spirits and nature magic to erase any trace of their movements. Their forests work in tandem with them, subtly masking their trails. But if you know what to look for, you can find the faint signs left behind, the subtle disturbances that even their magic can't entirely erase.

A skilled human hunter would have been more difficult to track. They don’t waste their mana concealing themselves; they rely on pure skill, leaving almost no sign of their passage through the wilds. But elves? They are predictable in their methods. Their magic leaves traces, faint imprints on the mana around them. It isn't something most creatures would notice, but I do. I've been taught to look for it, to sense when the natural flow of mana has been disturbed.

There. I saw it—the plants in a small area had less mana than those around them, their life force subtly drained. That was the sign I had been waiting for. The elves had passed through here, using their magic to cover their tracks, but the magic itself had left its mark. And when an elf uses mana to recover faster they take some from the plants. Almost all humans except for druids can't do this since they don't have the affinity that elves have to nature.

I gestured to the others, pointing to the path ahead. We would follow this trail of weakened mana, and it would lead us straight to our quarry. If we moved quickly and quietly enough, we might be able to trail them to their village.

If I could map out more of these villages, and uncover the secrets of this land, maybe Master would finally allow me to hunt stronger creatures. I could feel the potential brimming inside me, just waiting to burst free. I didn't want to remain a shadow imp forever, chained to this weak, small form. There were so many possibilities if I could just evolve. I could become something with a deeper connection to magic, something with more of a better affinity than the shadows that have always felt distant to me.

I dream of a race that can harness magic and power to its fullest. Maybe an evolution that isn't so fragile, that isn't so tied to the form I despise. I need something that will not only grant me greater magical power but align with my nature, sharpening the edge I feel growing dull in this body. If I can just prove myself, I could convince Master to let me pursue these stronger beings, to grant me the freedom I need to ascend.

ut... if I could prove myself, show my worth beyond just another shadow imp, maybe, just maybe, I could get him to see the potential in helping me. Then I could begin training in the magic I need to prepare for my next evolution. My race, my class—they're out there waiting for me, I just have to reach them. And with each step forward, I’m getting closer.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

After about an hour of tracking, we finally came across the source of the mana depletion in the plant life. It was an elf, though a young one, no more than 70 years old. That would be a child by elven standards, but still dangerous if I underestimated them. Elves, even younglings, could wield magic with devastating precision. However, this one’s aura didn’t seem particularly overwhelming. The way their mana flowed, it was clear they weren’t fully matured.

It was hard to discern their gender at first, not that it mattered much in combat. But knowing their movements, habits, and strengths could help me exploit weaknesses. A closer look revealed a rapier strapped to their left side. Typical of an elf fighter—quick, agile, and focused on precision rather than brute strength.

I had to be cautious, though. Elves had sharp senses, and if they were even remotely alert, they could catch wind of our presence. I signaled the weakest imp in our group to move far enough back to stir up an animal and create a distraction. They followed my command smoothly, their form slipping away from the shadows around us as they moved in silence. A deer was grazing nearby, oblivious to our movements. The imp, hiding in its shadow, threw a small rock at the deer’s leg, causing it to let out a sharp cry of pain before bolting away. The imp moved with the deer, using the creature's motion to remain undetected. Clever, I had to admit.

As expected, the elf reacted immediately, turning to the sound. His sharp, alert gaze swept over the area, trying to find the source of the disturbance. That was when I finally caught a clear look at him. It was a young elf boy, and now I could be sure.

His short hair confirmed it—a sign of elven men, the length kept short except for a single braid that hung forward, decorated with beads. The beads were a dead giveaway. Each one denoted their worship of a particular god and identified their class type, while their color revealed their magical affinities. I studied them carefully. Fire and nature magic. That was telling.

Elven pride was something I always found baffling. They wore these markers so openly, flaunting their allegiance and power, as if daring others to challenge them. They liked to think it made them superior, but in truth, it made them easier to read—easier to exploit. If I could see what gods they worshipped and what magic they used, I could find a way to undermine them. In this case, the beads told me more than just his magic affinity. This boy worshiped the new demi-god, the one that ruled Tyrantia. It confirmed my suspicions. No one outside of this cursed planet would serve that demi-god willingly. They would have to be born here, steeped in the planet’s warlike traditions from birth. So we were on Tyrantia after all. The elf’s presence sealed it.

Given that this elf was a boy, hiding in his shadow would be significantly easier than if he were a female elf. Female elves were known for their heightened sensitivity to mana and magic, often ten times more attuned to their surroundings than their male counterparts. This boy, especially being a fighter rather than a mage, would be far less likely to sense our presence, and his combat focus would leave him unaware of the subtleties of shadow magic around him. The moment his guard dropped, and he returned to gathering plants, I signaled the other shadow imp with me. We moved carefully, blending seamlessly into his shadow. His figure stood tall against the soft light filtering through the forest canopy, casting a strong silhouette that gave us ample space to maneuver. Sliding into the darkness beneath him, we became part of him—silent, invisible, and completely hidden from his view.

The elf remained oblivious as we settled in, his focus entirely on his task. Collecting plants with deft hands, he seemed at ease, unaware that his every movement was now under my watch. I knew the nature of shadows well enough; as long as we remained in his, he wouldn’t sense us unless he had a sudden surge of magical awareness.

Still, caution was necessary. I had the second strongest shadow imp in our group remain further behind, out of immediate range but close enough to intervene if things went south. His job was simple: gather information and retreat if we were caught. I wasn’t foolish enough to think things would always go perfectly. Having a backup plan was essential, especially here on Tyrantia.

From within the elf’s shadow, I observed his movements, noting his habits and the way he worked. Every subtle shift in his posture, every flicker of magic as he manipulated the plants, told me more about him. I could feel the flow of mana around him, weak in some places but focused in others. It wasn't particularly strong, confirming his status as a low-rank fighter. Still, his connection to fire and nature magic could be dangerous if we weren’t careful. But for now, we were safe. Unseen. And as long as we remained patient, we could follow him without a hitch, gathering what we needed without revealing ourselves. I had to play this carefully—this elf could either be a stepping stone toward my evolution or a dangerous misstep. It all depended on how we handled him.