Pov Vorthan
I heard the sharp call of a demon, the screech unmistakable—it was an imp, undoubtedly. The sound echoed through the stone corridors of the base, tugging at my patience. These lesser creatures, though loyal in their twisted way, lacked decorum. I straightened my suit, ensuring every seam and button was in place. I represented our master, after all. The demons that served him must maintain some level of dignity, and I had long since decided it would be my task to teach them proper conduct.
Leaving the stone map I had been studying, a depiction of our growing influence in this world, I made my way toward the entrance where the imp waited. Walking through the twisting tunnel, I gestured for a Gnasher and an Impaler to follow me. They moved in silence, their grotesque forms lumbering behind me. Their sole purpose was to shield me if the situation called for it, allowing me the time to cast spells and unleash my powers if necessary. One could never be too cautious, even within our own stronghold.
As I rounded the final bend, my gaze fell upon the sight before me: a young elf boy, unconscious and bound in shadow, lying at the feet of a shadow imp. The imp was suffering from mana sickness—a common affliction for those who overexert themselves with shadow magic. Pathetic. Yet her tone held a glimmer of pride as she spoke again, her voice grating against my ears. "A gift for the master and food to keep the gift alive. Boy won't be missed; he is an outcast, an exile. Also, can you kill the food so I don't level up and evolve from killing them?"
Her request was laced with desperation, her fear of leveling up and evolving evident. It was amusing, in a way. A demon so afraid of her potential that she sought to have others kill for her. Weak, but useful, at least for now. I can probably use this to boost her faith in the master...
I studied the boy, noting the thin traces of mana that clung to him, weak and unstable. He was no ordinary elf; an outcast, as she said. Exile or not, the fact remained that an elf carried potential. Elves did not sever ties with their kind without reason. Whatever this boy had done to earn such a fate, it had rendered him disposable, which made him valuable to us. Looking at the beads I could tell these were definitely not his for two reasons. 1. Magical affinity was completely wrong. Well, he has nature but that is barely 20 percent. As I studied the boy more a smile broke across my lips. The master will be pleased with this. 2. The beads themself are too old to be this boy's. So probably stolen or passed down from someone who cared about the boy.
I considered her words carefully, weighing the possibilities. This could indeed be a trap—elves were known for their trickery—but it was just as likely to be an opportunity. Information could be extracted from the boy, information that might give us an edge in this world, particularly if we were on Tyrantia, as some had begun to suspect. The possibility of conquest, of aligning ourselves with the right forces, could not be dismissed.
Still, the final decision was not mine to make. The master alone would decide what to do with this gift. I glanced at the imp, her fevered eyes pleading for my approval, but my loyalty was not to her. Nor was her loyalty to me welcomed, she will learn to be loyal to the master only in time. Or I shall kill her myself.
"Very well," I said, my voice calm and measured. "I will present this gift to the master. Whether it brings us glory or ruin, he will decide."
As for the horned rabbits she had brought as food, I nodded toward the Impaler. It stepped forward, its massive spikes stabbing through the heads of the horned rabbits killing them instantly. The imp need not worry about her precious evolution, at least not from such insignificant kills.
"Prepare yourself," I added, turning my gaze back to the shadow imp. "You will accompany me to the master. Should this gift prove useful, it may elevate you in his favor. But if it proves otherwise..." My eyes narrowed. "We shall see."
With that, I motioned for her to follow. The boy's limp body was still bound in shadows as we moved deeper into the heart of the base toward the master’s chamber.
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As the blood from the horned rabbits and the boy seeped into the cracks of the stone door, I watched as the faint crimson trail was absorbed into the room beyond. It was subtle but unmistakable—the master's hunger stirred. Knowing this, I made a calculated decision and sliced open my hand, using my blood magic to let half of my blood flow into the mix. Master would recognize the unique essence of my blood instantly, and in doing so, he would understand that I had come to speak with him.
The loss of so much blood sent a wave of dizziness through me, my body swaying slightly as I fought to maintain my composure. To falter before the master would be unforgivable. My devotion, my unwavering loyalty, had always been my strengths, and I would not show weakness now. With my mind sharpened by sheer will, I gestured for the Gnasher to knock on the door. The heavy thud echoed through the dimly lit corridor, and I gathered myself, drawing in a deep breath. With a voice that commanded as much regality as I could muster, I called out, "My lord, I have brought a shadow imp to report and deliver a gift to you. May we enter the room, my lord?"
The silence that followed was brief, but it stretched, amplifying the weight of the moment. Then, without warning, a massive hand made of blood materialized, its deep red form pushing open the stone door with effortless strength. The master had acknowledged our presence.
The door creaked open, revealing the dark expanse beyond, a room draped in shadow and blood. The air inside was thick with power, a palpable presence that pressed down on me like a living force. I stepped forward, motioning for the imp to follow. Her breathing quickened, and I sensed her fear, but I paid it no mind. The master’s favor, or disfavor, would be hers to contend with soon enough.
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As we entered the chamber, the scent of blood hung in the air, more intense than ever. At the far end of the room, upon a throne carved from bone and dripping with crimson veins, sat our lord. His form was both terrifying and magnificent, a swirling mass of blood above him that kept changing the shapes of different weapons. Frozen blood armor covered his body from head to toe. Giving him the image of a terrifying death paladin. I could smell the fear radiating off of the Imp as her shadows started to lose shape and hold onto the boy.
I knelt immediately, lowering my head in reverence, my body still weak from blood loss, but my voice steady. "My lord," I said, "this shadow imp has brought a gift for you—a young elf boy, an outcast and exile. We believe he may be of use to your plans."
I could feel the master’s gaze settle on us, his power washing over the room.
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Pov Female Shadow Imp
As we neared the master’s room, my excitement grew, though fatigue weighed heavily on me. After all these hours, with the elf boy in tow and my mana nearly depleted, I was so close to presenting this prize to the master. If this went well, it might finally be my chance to evolve into something stronger, something more fitting for the power I yearned for. The idea of being more than a mere shadow imp was within reach.
I glanced at the Impaler carrying the horned rabbits with their blood carefully contained on his spikes. A part of me wondered if they were meant for the blood pool, but I quickly dismissed the thought as irrelevant for now. My focus was on the boy. He was my key, and if everything went well, this would prove my worth.
The weight of the elf had been dragging on me for hours, my mana stretched thin. I was barely regenerating it fast enough to maintain my form, especially after having to take that longer route around the Rank E fire monsters. If the boy had woken up during transport, or worse, fallen into the shadows completely, it would’ve all been for nothing. But I made it, and I was just moments away from securing my future.
We finally stood before the stone door to the master’s chamber. Just the sight of it sent a mix of anticipation and fear rushing through me. This was it. Vorthan, regal as always, cut his hand and let his blood join the stream flowing into the door. The power that radiated from that simple action was enough to make my skin crawl. Master was already stirring, and it was clear he knew we were here. I felt the blood inside my body being lightly pulled towards the door as well as if it had a mind of its own and wanted to join together with the flow. This scared me making me shake slightly, but also losing some of the control of my shadow magic.
When the door began to creak open, I felt even more fear as a giant hand of blood forced open the door with ease. The door fully opened, revealing the master’s chamber beyond. The air inside was thick and oppressive, the scent of blood and power intertwining. It was dark, save for the faint glow from the veins of crimson running along the floor and walls. And there, in the end, was the master, his form an overwhelming presence, seated on a throne that radiated his authority. I dared not to look back up at Master for fear of being drained and eaten like the Gnasher was.
Vorthan knelt immediately, but I hesitated for just a moment, caught between awe and terror. Then, I forced myself down, head low, and awaited my master’s judgment.
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Pov Elf Boy
A sharp sting brought me back to consciousness, the lingering pain pulling me from my dreams. As my eyes fluttered open, the first thing I noticed was the overpowering scent of blood. It hung thick in the air, far more intense than anything I had smelled before. Panic immediately gripped me. This was not my tree hut.
My heart pounded in my chest, and as my vision adjusted to the dim light, I took in the terrifying scene before me. At the far end of the room, there sat a demon. He was seated upon a throne made of bone, dripping with thick, pulsing veins of crimson. Above him, a swirling mass of blood hovered ominously, shifting into different shapes—blades, axes, spears—each more deadly than the last. His entire form was encased in frozen blood armor, giving him the appearance of a death knight straight from the worst of nightmares.
My mind raced. Where am I? Panic surged through me. I tried to move but found my body restrained, bound in place by something cold and unyielding. Shadows coiled around my limbs, holding me still. Fear twisted in my stomach, and my breath came in ragged gasps as I realized the severity of my situation.
Had the elves finally done it? Had they killed me and sent me to the demon realm to pay for my parents' sins? The thought filled me with a fresh wave of terror. I knew the village hated me, but to be sent here, to this place… it was beyond anything I had imagined. Was this punishment for something I hadn’t even done? Desperate, I scanned the room, trying to make sense of it all. Demons were surrounding me, all of them kneeling, their eyes fixed on the terrifying figure on the throne. They were bowing to him, their postures submissive and reverent. I couldn’t make out their expressions, but the air was heavy with the weight of their loyalty and fear. I struggled again, my heart racing faster as I tried to break free, but whatever bound me was too strong. My throat tightened as the reality of the situation sank in. I was trapped, powerless, and at the mercy of creatures far beyond anything I had ever encountered.
Even though the demon on the throne was the smallest in the room, his presence dwarfed everyone else’s. His mere existence commanded attention. My blood—it felt wrong, churning and twisting inside me in a way that made me feel sick. It was as if the blood in my veins had turned to ice, slowing my heart and freezing my very breath. A cold, gnawing sensation crawled through my body, and I had to force myself not to scream. Tears flowed freely as I was only able to watch. Fear gripped me so tightly I could barely breathe. I was suddenly very aware of how weak I was—of how I didn’t even have the strength to fight back if it came down to it. My mind raced with shame and terror. If I’d had anything to drink in the past few days, I’m certain I would have pissed myself right now.
The swirling blood above the demon continued to shift and change, and for a terrifying moment, I thought it might reach out and tear me apart. Every movement it made was unnatural as if it had a will of its own. Each new shape it took—a blade, a spear, a hammer—seemed designed to bring pain and suffering.
I could feel the demon’s power seeping into me, as though he was examining my very soul through my blood. Every throb of my heart was a reminder of how utterly powerless I was. The fear was unbearable, and the worst part was that I didn’t even know why I was here. Was I some kind of sacrifice? A toy for these demons to play with? My eyes darted around the room, but there was no escape. No safety. I could only hope that whatever was coming would be quick, though deep down I knew that mercy wasn’t likely in a place like this.