One of the first things the Organization taught was to get used to killing demons. Most Hunters didn't come from violent backgrounds, let alone committed the acts of wholesale slaughter that would eventually be expected of us. Demons were nothing but beings that needed to be exterminated, and you had to be cold to it. Dead to the violence, so that you had a chance at living.
I stepped out of the shower and turned off the taps. Part of me liked the noise, the constant droning to fill at least part of my mind with something other than silence. But also, the water rates were getting pretty dire in the apartment, and my habit of over-tipping waiting staff would soon get me in hot water. Or ice cold water.
Instead, the silence loomed, save for the fading drips of the faucet. It also shed a tear for now being inert, much like I had over the years. I scrunch my toes up on the mat outside the bathtub and gave myself a few seconds to process the day. It had been okay. Sometimes that was all you needed to say to allow yourself to move on to the next morning. After pulling a towel from the rack on the door, I wiped the condensation from the small mirror of the medicine cabinet.
A couple of years of Demon Hunting had really taken its toll. Even trying to avoid all my obligations, it was a tiring existence. Trying to hide the dark rings around my eyes with the round spectacles only did so much. Maybe it was the lighting. A brief look up to the dim bulb illuminating the cobwebs and mold in the corner of the ceiling told me that would be a reasonable excuse for now. It was only myself that I had to convince, anyway. My hair needed a trim, and it had been a few days too long since I had last shaved my gaunt face. It'll do for a little longer, the reflection lied to me.
I sighed and wrapped the towel around my waist. Despite my earlier judgements on my weight, something about the demon pact kept me in moderately good shape. It was either that or the anxious coffee consumption as I avoided set mealtimes in favor of fervently trying to find information on which demon had killed my family.
My body physically cringed at the thought. An involuntary twitch on touching a soft spot. The Organization had been all smiles and assurances that the pact would be a route to finding answers, and then, once the deed had been done, they just wanted me to be an errand boy. They’d offered me the ‘out’ - a way to remove the pact if I wasn’t going to dance to their tune. A bullet to the back of the head.
Well, if the song was good enough, I’d shuffle along if the alternative was a shallow grave. But mostly, I had sat, brooding in the darkness. Perhaps the only true benefit that Wight had brought me was the inability to drink alcohol. Keeping that vice from my lips had probably saved my life three times over, even with how dangerous Org Quests could be. With a grunt, I resigned to the fact that it would do me some benefit to sleep while some peace from him was available.
The bathroom door whined on the hinges as it swung towards me. A small bit of maintenance that I would put off until more important things had been dealt with. I was aware of the problem of scheduling everything until after my vengeance spree, and that would be one thing that made the state of the apartment understandable to an outside observer. If I had any friends or... any sort of human acquaintances, that was.
Stepping out into the main room, I immediately paused. Ignoring the boxes of crinkled paperwork, empty fast food containers, and piles of dirty laundry - there was something else untoward, something unsavory in my accommodation.
“Do you always take so long in the shower?” A smooth female voice came from my bed.
My hand reached for my revolver by instinct as the smell of sulfur and lavender reached my senses. But I had left it on bedside table, assuming the ability to bathe could stay sacred.
A click as the table light came on, illuminating both the weapon and the arm belonging to the voice.
Purple skin, mottled in with soft brown like freckles. A beautiful woman by any standard, but off by a few degrees. Her wide eyes were dark, almost pure black, and her long white hair was punctuated by curved black horns that twisted backwards.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” I growled.
“You kept a lady waiting, and yet you’re uncouth in tone.” She crossed her legs, her short padded skirt shifting as she folded her arms across her chest.
My tongue pressed against my teeth, any calm the shower had brought me now long gone. “Demons are only after one thing.”
“Maybe the ones you are used to dealing with.” A soft smile crossed her face. “But I can see you are… tense. This just seemed like the best way to get your attention without you trying to put more holes in me.”
My eyes shot towards my gun and back to her. Wight had not made his presence known, so either I was in no trouble… or way too much trouble. “You… have my attention.”
“Splendid!” Her smile widened to reveal razor-sharp teeth. “You see, Eric Redd, you and I are kindred spirits in fashion. We both seek similar things from similar people.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“What do you know about my family?” My patience was running thin, and being in nothing but a towel put me at a disadvantage. That was, of course, her intent. Higher-level demons worked that way - everything was planned. Like a game or a stage play, on a larger scale. Manipulation.
“Enough to know you won’t find the answers with your nose rutting through the trash.” The demon stood now, putting her hands on her hips. “I can help you, but you need to help me first.”
She was tall, probably a few inches taller than I was, if I could stomach standing next to her to compare. Demons were full of tricks and schemes, their words not to be trusted… but… I closed my eyes. Perhaps a foolish act this close to a demon so powerful, but with nothing but a towel, I was at her mercy, anyway. My mouth felt dry. Was I this desperate?
I opened my eyes. The demon had been giving me a look over as she waited patiently for my inner turmoil to settle. A coy smile on her lips, probably enjoying how much discomfort she was putting me though.
“What…” the words stumbled from my shaking lips as if they were repulsed by my intended question. “…what would you have me do?”
“Your Level is too pitiful.” She moved a hand up to her chin as she began to walk around me. Observing me like cattle for slaughter. Somehow expertly avoiding the piles of shame and neglect on the floor as she slowly circled around. “You would need to be at least Level Five to be of use to me.”
“And how would you be of use to me?”
She stopped behind me and leaned forward. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled as she whispered. “Power, of course.” The demon continued past me and walked towards the bed. At the top of her dress, near her shoulders, small nubs similar to her horns protruded a few inches. Did she used to have wings?
As if hearing my inner monologue, she briskly turned back around and folded her arms once more. “Before you go off spouting some human nonsense, you know that knowledge is also power. Not just the plaything you have on a leash.” A clawed finger gestured to my left wrist. “I have my ears in many pies; I can lead you on the trail you seek.”
The awkwardly incorrect use of metaphor was disarming. I tried to build up my wall of cynicism once again. Demons did nothing by chance. That is what the Organization had drilled into me. She was trying to soften me up. I shook my head. “How can I trust you?”
A humorless smile crossed her face, and her brow furrowed. There was a hesitation in her response, and my eyes darted around her face, trying to seek the ploy beyond what was showing. “I… can offer you my true name.”
I folded my arms, at the risk of losing the towel, and tilted my head. Demons of a powerful enough nature would just come back into being in the Hells if killed in the real world - unless you had their true name and the correct rituals or artefacts to put them in the ground for good. For her to give this up… either she was really desperate, or she didn’t believe I had the chance to kill her.
“No contract?” My scepticism won out over her attempts for a sympathetic ear.
“Not at this stage. You agree to make a concerted effort to be promoted to Level Five, and once you are there, I will give you my true name in exchange for a kill contract or two.”
“Ah,” I waved a hand in the air, “you want me to be a lackey to knock off some adversaries that you can’t for some… political reasons?”
The demon rolled her dark eyes. “You are currently a blunt tool, Eric Redd. A rusted-up excuse for something functional. I intend to sharpen and hone you to the point where you can extract your revenge. Mine also, along the way.”
My pent-up desire to be nurtured rolled around in my stomach. Not like this. The problem with the Hells was all flags were red flags. “So if I decline?”
“Then snuffle around in the decay of this pitiful excuse for a city until the day a random pigman gets lucky and guts you - and eats your intestines while you still draw your last breaths.”
“You paint quite the picture.” That happened to one of the rookies when I was in initiation. Those cries, the squeals, the sloppy grunting… it was something that haunted my nightmares on occasion.
“As a gesture of goodwill… I have the location of the Unending Rot leader. You can have it. Nothing needed in return.” Her eyes ran down my figure once more. “I’d just hate to see you distracted from our little secret.”
The secrecy was clear. Other than Wight, nobody would be able to know I would be in cahoots with a demon. Not without being ostracized by the Organization and probably hunted down myself. If she had information on the killer, though…
My eye twitched. “So what do I call you, demon?”
She raised an eyebrow as she brushed some of her silver-white hair from her face. “How about ‘Pearl’?”
That was as good as any name, I supposed. “Sure. How will I find you once I am Level Five?”
Pearl winked and tapped the side of her nose. “I’ll find you, don’t you worry, Eric Redd. Say hello to Wight for me; perhaps next time I can meet him.”
Before I had the chance to respond, the demon illuminated a bright pink - and then suddenly was gone. The only proof of her existence was the acrid burning smell lingering in the air and the sweat running down my back. Oh - and a piece of paper on the bed.
I slumped down and exhaled. The place she had sat was still indented and warm. Smelled of lavender. Nausea settled into my stomach, and I scrunched my eyes up tightly. How easily they could get into your head. Despite her flirting, she was more likely to want to peel my flesh off and consume my agony than to have any manner of emotional connection with me. Glancing down at the sheet, the paper had some directions in Infernal. Shapes and apparent words burned in the back of my eyeballs, but thanks to my pact, I could understand them.
The black fog of my bound patron started to flow from my left hand as the singular glowing red eye and shark-toothed maw of the Wight formed beside me.
“What’s the matter with you? Are you shy?”
[That was very dangerous, Eric.]
I blew air from my nose and slapped the paper onto the bedside table beside the silver revolver. “You’re supposed to protect me, no? Are you going to rat me out to the Org?”
[Negative. I believe this may be beneficial to our progress.]
Shrewd. Utilizing my singular focus to want to Promote rather than have to. If I didn’t know any better, I would accuse Wight of hiring Pearl to push me along. Regarding the impassive eye yielded no answers. The now dull, depressing apartment room also had no verbal additions - but still added its weighty opinion to the mental melting pot.
I leveled a finger at the piece of paper. “So, how about we do our own assassination tomorrow?”
[I will make the agreement with the Organization, I am sure they will consider this an official Quest.]
“Well then,” I grinned at the floating eye, “I hope Hell is ready for us.”