Wizen’s staff rang against bloodstained golden brick, punctuating his steps as he stepped over the wrung corpses in his path.

The smell of blood hung in the air like a vulture. Aside from the sound of his staff and the squelch of blood beneath his feet, the hall he strode through was silent. The demons who hadn’t yet died had already realized that to make noise was to seek death.

He moved past the body of a wiry demon, the blades that had once emerged from their body shattered and broken like fragments of glass. A flicker of power still burned within their chest, so little that it was barely worth noting. The demon held his breath, freezing in place in hope of being overlooked.

Wizen did not overlook him — but he stepped past the demon nonetheless. He wasn’t worth the energy that it would take to put down. There were more important tasks at hand, and he was already behind schedule.

A part of him had once been convinced that finding the City of Gold would have been the most difficult step of his plan. Getting into the Damned Plains alone was an immensely difficult task that had taken years upon years of preparation and research. Now that he had made it, everything should have been simple.

But, as it turned out, actually finding the one he sought was even harder still.

The City of Gold wasn’t just enormous. A single word couldn’t do it proper justice, but momentous may have been more apt.

Cities were large. Bastions, such as Arbitage, were huge. But the City of Gold — it couldn’t even properly be considered a city. A world may have been more accurate. The huge, glistening city aboveground was deceptive. It burrowed deep into the incomprehensibly large turtle that it rested upon, each layer another city entirely on its own.

Even with his information network stretched across the city, finding anything useful was like digging needles from hay. Barb and the others were scattered off in every and all directions, and all their combined efforts had barely gathered a few scraps of useful information.

Wizen had descended through three layers of the city already. In each one, no demon had been able to give him a good idea of just how deep it went. Finding information here was like wringing water from a rock. Possible, but exceedingly annoying.

His walk carried him up to a metal door embedded into the stone. There was no apparent way to open it beyond an embossed handprint in its center. Imbued runes covered the door’s surface, running out from the indent and traveling throughout its surface. A thin spike emerged from the center of the indent.

The corner of Wizen’s lip curled down. Blood magic — one that was meant to keep anyone but the bloodline of the person who owned the door out of the room beyond. It only took him a moment to determine that the Imbuements continued off the edges of the door, vanishing where it touched the walls.

The entire hall is Runed, and a second layer of stone was built over the first to block the runes from view. Likely trapped as well. It seems my target is quite paranoid.

Good.

Perhaps this one will be of use.

Wizen lifted his hand and brought it up to the metal door, letting the pads of his fingers gently brush across its surface before they came to a rest.

Metal screeched in what could have only been described as agony. A horrendous shriek filled the air as the door crumpled in on itself like a piece of scrap paper. Imbuements sputtered and flared, magic crackling and dancing through the air, but the metal had been destroyed so quickly that none of it had a chance to activate. The door folded itself into a crushed up ball, then clanged to the ground at Wizen’s feet.

Beyond it was a large meeting hall. A long table in the center of the room was lined with twelve seats on each side. It was covered with a tablecloth of extravagant white silk trimmed with gold. Plates of food and magical ingredients were strewn across its surface and spilled over the expensive cloth.

Demons sat around the table in expensive wooden chairs, frozen mid-meal with stunned looks of disbelief on their faces. Not a single one could have cared less about all of their men that Wizen had just killed. They’d been dining while he slaughtered their families.

At the far end of the table knelt a ten-foot demon with brilliant blue skin and a ropey X shaped scar across the center of his face. Curled, blackened teeth protruded from between gray lips, so large that the demon’s mouth couldn’t even close properly.

His target.

Mikthal, was it? I never do remember their names. There are so many, and they start to blend together after a while. What was the last one’s name? Arthur? What an odd name for a demon.

No matter.

Wizen’s domain swept the room in a split instant.

In that split instant, he judged every single demon before him. A mixture of Rank 4 and 5 demons, with the strongest one in the room being the blue-skinned Terror Demon at Rank 7. This wasn’t the first Rank 7 he’d killed in the City of Gold, but a large portion of him hoped it would be his last. He didn’t care much for wasting time.

“I seek Sievan,” Wizen said, before any of the demons could even fully finish processing his arrival. “Tell me where he is.”

“How did you get in here?” a large demon demanded, rising from his chair and reaching for his sword. He had little magic and couldn’t have been higher than Rank 4. “How—”

Wizen’s hand clawed into a fist.

The demon’s head collapsed in on itself. It popped like a cherry tomato. Blood splattered across his clothes and the table around him. Swaying, the body pitched back, catching on his chair, and both tumbled to the ground with a resounding crash.

“That,” Wizen said, “Was not an answer. Tell me where Sievan is. This is not a request. It is an order.”

He batted the crumpled ball of metal that had once been a door to the side with his staff, then stepped further into the room. The demons leapt from their chairs, stumbling to put distance between themselves and him.

“We aren’t with Sievan,” another demon stammered. “This is the Screaming Saber’s tunnel system. We have nothing to do with Sievan.”

“You live in the City of Gold, and a merchant was kind enough to inform me that you have had dealings with Sievan before,” Wizen said dispassionately. “I do not wish to waste time or energy. Give me the answers I seek and I will leave.”

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“How do you know that?” Mikthal asked, lounging back in his chair. “And who are you to demand anything from us?”

Unlike the rest of the demons, the Rank 7 didn’t look concerned about Wizen’s intrusion. He was a Rank 7 demon — not many of those tended to be particularly timid. The confidence was only partially earned.

Mikthal’s runic pressure put him at the lower ends of Rank 7. He wasn’t strong enough to find a Walking City and become a proper Lord, but he still commanded enough power to justify leading some weaker demons. Living within the City of Gold was generally safe — so long as one didn’t go against Sievan.

“I had a brief conversation with a merchant,” Wizen said. His quiet words echoed through the room. “He was kind enough to point me in your direction — along with that of a few of your compatriots. None of them were useful. I have high hopes that things will be different here.”

Mikthal’s expression flickered for a moment. “You’re the one that’s been attacking the other Dens?”

“Attacking is a strong word,” Wizen said. “It almost carries the implication that there was a fight. There was no such thing.”

A high-Rank 5 demon lurched into motion. The air around them popped and they blurred, streaks of wind peeling off their body as they shot toward Wizen, claws reaching to rip out his throat.

Blood splattered across Wizen’s face.

It was the only thing that reached him.

A corpse rolled to a stop at his feet. Its head was gone, turned into fine, bloody mist. Both of its arms had shared the same fate. Wizen reached into a pocket and procured a handkerchief, wiping the specs of blood from his features.

“What I am doing,” Wizen said, folding the cloth square back up and returning it to its former place, “is hunting.”

Mikthal rose to his feet, but there was more unease in the demon’s posture than there had been a moment before. He couldn’t see the invisible magic swirling in the air around Wizen. He couldn’t feel the tendrils of Density magic that swirled around Wizen, waiting to grind anything that drew his attention into tiny particles.

“I’ve never spoken to Sievan,” Mikthal said. “Whoever told you that information is wrong. It might be a rival. Arthon, maybe? He and I are enemies. He’d have sent you in my direction to—”

Wizen snapped his fingers. “Arthon. Not Arthur. Yes, I remember now.”

Mikthal stared at Wizen. “What?”

“I’ve already killed him,” Wizen said. “He put up a pathetic fight — but I really shouldn’t have expected much more. The entirety of your kind disgust me. To be a slave to your own magic… pathetic.”

It took Mikthal an instant to process Wizen’s words. The Terror Demon’s eyes widened in realization — and Wizen gave him a tiny fragment of credit for that. He’d figured things out faster than the past few annoyances had.

“You’re a human,” Mikthal said.

“One whose patience has long since run thin. Where is Sievan?”

“I don’t know,” Mikthal said, setting his jaw. “Lord Sievan does not share his location with the likes of us. There are many Rank 7s that serve under him. But I know someone who could help you!”

Wizen’s head tilted to the side. He could always pick through Mikthal’s skull with his Mind runes, but that would have been a bother. Using them on a Rank 7 would be exceedingly difficult and unlikely to yield fruitful results.

“Speak,” Wizen said.

“There’s an information Broker. Tixen,” Mikthal said hurriedly. “He’s the leader of the Eyeless Den. They’re not too far from here — I know he’s met Sievan before. He would know where you can meet Lord Sievan.”

The corner of Wizen’s lips twitched. “Not a friend of yours, I presume?”

“We have our differences,” Mikthal said, words terse. The other demons in the room pressed back, trying to stay as far away from Wizen as possible. Mikthal’s body language didn’t seem nearly as reserved. He was good at controlling his fear — which, given the desire he feasted on — was not unsurprising. Mikthal swallowed. “He is a wily one, but if you’re powerful enough to break into my Den, you can find him easily.”

“I see,” Wizen said. “And you believe his information to be true? To be worth your lives?”

Mikthal swallowed again, then gave Wizen a sharp nod. “Yes. It is what you seek, is it not? That seems like a fair trade to me. I can offer nothing more.”

Wizen inclined his head. “Should your information be true, it is. Where is—”

“He’s lying!” A young voice split through the air.

Everyone, Wizen included, turned as one.

Standing in the corpse-covered hall was a tiny demon girl, a dagger clutched in her hands. Tremors of fear gripped her entire body and her features were pale — but still she stood. Still, she spoke.

It was the girl that he’d spared after dealing with a few pests.

What is she doing here? Her power is so weak my Domain barely even registered her. I thought she was one of the dying demons.

Wizen’s eyes snapped back to Mikthal. For the briefest of instants, there was a flash of recognition on the large demon’s features. Then he flicked a hand in dismissal.

“A street rat somehow broke in. Someone kill the brat,” Mikthal said, an air of weary exasperation in his words that didn’t match the instant of unease behind his eyes.

“I’m not lying!” The girl insisted, her eyes going wide as she took a step back. “He’s lying to you! Mikthal and Tixen are rival Dens. They’ve both met Sievan before, and Mikthal knows who I am. I was part of his Den!”

“Shut up, street rat,” Mikthal said with a bark of laughter. “I can assure you, I’ve never seen this brat in my life. There’s no reason to—”

The rest of Mikthal’s words were replaced by a wet wheeze. The Terror Demon’s eyes went wide and his head rolled forward, looking down at the foot-wide hole in the center of his chest where his heart had been.

His gaze lifted up to Wizen, whose hand was extended toward him. In his other palm, a key rested, humming with dull red energy. Gray smoke swirled around Wizen’s fingertips, pouring out from Mikthal and into his hand.

Disbelief washed over the demon’s face. His lips parted — and he pitched forward, crashing to the ground.

Wizen flicked his hand. The gray smoke exploded through the room, tearing through the ranks of the demons within it like a plague. They barely even got a chance to scream. Within instants, every single one of them had died, the gray smoke having ripped the energy clean from their souls and ferried it back to Wizen.

And only then did Wizen turn. He looked down at the small demon girl. She trembled, locked in place and not daring to so much as look away.

“You followed me,” Wizen said, his words flat. “Why?”

“Y—you killed Mikthal,” the girl stammered, her eyes going as wide as saucers. “Just like that. You killed a Rank 7 demon with one attack.”

“He wasted my time,” Wizen said. “And you seem to have saved it. That, I appreciate. I will not kill you for that reason. But why did you choose to follow me?”

“You didn’t want it.” The demoness swallowed heavily. “And if you didn’t want it, you didn’t need to kill me. You were also killing everyone that did want it.”

“It?” Wizen’s head tilted to the side. At this point, his curiosity was piqued. His domain washed over the girl as he scanned her. Buried deep within her chest, where her heart should have been, was a tiny core of magic. It was so small that it was almost not worth mentioning, but it was out of place enough to draw his attention when he searched. “An artifact in your heart?”

The girl’s eyes widened. “You do know about it.”

It seems I was spared a wasted trip back here to kill these fools for lying to me by a petty demon squabble over some useless tool. How amusing.

“I see,” Wizen said. “You said that you knew of this Tixen, yes?”

The girl gave him a jerky nod. “Yes.”

“Take me to his Den.”

Her eyes widened. “Me?”

“You are following me already,” Wizen said. “If you use me for protection, then you will earn your keep by leading me to one who can take me to Sievan. I trust that is a fair trade?”

The demon inclined her head hurriedly. “Yes. Very fair.”

Wizen’s smile did not reach his eyes. He gestured to the girl, and she hurriedly turned to set off down the blood-splattered tunnel with Wizen following in her wake.

He was so close to his goal that he could almost taste it. Years and years of planning, only a few fools and some meagre days away from fruition. All for one meeting. For one chance.

He would not fail. He could not fail.

I am coming, love. You will not have to wait much longer.