When Nyx came to his senses, there was a loud pounding sound in his head. Not just his head. His entire body pulsated heavily. As he opened his eyes and stared at the space where his right arm used to be, the rhythmically squirting blood made him realize that it was his heartbeat. He must have passed out briefly when the mimic threw him.

The black creature, partly still consisting of wooden wagon pieces, crunched down on his arm repeatedly, the sound haunting Nyx’s ears. Then came the pain. It suddenly radiated through his entire body, blood rushing to his brain, filling him with a single emotion: rage.

His first instinct was to rise to his feet, grabbing the polymorphic fluid-covered shirt and pressing it against his stump, the pain sending another wave of demonic rage through his system. His fist clenched into his shirt as he tried to deny himself a charge into the maw that was currently disassembling his arm with disgusting noises.

Blood seeped through the cloth, making Nyx painfully aware of his new problem. The mimic was right between him and the safety of the Eternal Blossom Clan’s protective barrier, with a clear blood trail leading directly to him. Mimics hunted through smell and the feel of vibrations.

Nyx was sure that he could outrun a mimic. His eyes darted left and right. Through the woods, over the fence? Did the fence always have this dark a color? Was that dead tree close to the fence another mimic? Had this boulder always been there?

His heart pounded as the blood loss slowly made Nyx dizzy. The mimic had finished ripping his right arm apart and was moving quickly along the blood trail. There was no time.

Nyx threw his shirt as hard as he could past the mimic. The shirt did not land nearly as far away as he had hoped, the missing right arm and clear exhaustion ruining his throwing motion. He stumbled and fell forward, the mimic reacting to the thrown object with several tooth spikes skewering the air.

Nyx’s left hand caught his fall, skidding through the gravel road and scraping his hands in the process. Blood trickled down his side. Slower than before. Not a good sign. Nyx tried to run to the left, past the mimic, and hop over the fence. Three steps into his run, his rage had dissipated and made way for a deep drowsiness. Nyx’s run crawled to a slow walk despite his best efforts. Had the torii gate always been this tall?

His peripheral vision faded as well, giving way to darkness. He could hear the mimic nearby. It felt close, yet his legs refused to move properly. He tried to hit them with his remaining arm. Huh? When did they get this bloody? Why did it feel so cold?

Then he reached the torii gate, stumbling forward, scraping his knees on the gravel, and landing on his chest. He was too slow to cover his face. Barely registering the pain, Nyx just felt tired. Was he safe now? Was he inside? Now he just had to rest a moment, catch his breath and call for help. Trying to make himself heard, he barely managed a coarse whisper. His chest felt tight.

Then a sharp pain impacted his ankle, overriding his thought process with raw pain again. He could not feel his shoulder or the pain of scraping through the gravel as he was dragged outside by the mimic that had apparently pierced his exposed foot. It had been outside the barrier.

Nyx cursed himself. Idiot. He mustered his last bit of strength, flexed his left hand’s claws, and turned toward the mimic to potentially strike its core through sheer luck.

His right eye lost vision. His left eye could only spot the black maw of teeth, attached to a wooden wheel, while the mimic’s tentacle kept his body pinned in place. There was nothing to strike at. No opportunity presented itself. Only a cold maw closing on a failing body, the mimic mercilessly taking a huge bite out of his midsection.

His chest felt heavy. Crushed. Liquid filled his mouth; his body twitched, and the pain followed moments later. It was brief. Then he felt nothing.

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Nyx stood naked and unharmed in a white and empty space. He flexed his restored limb in unbelieving comfort. Had he died? Was this the space one’s soul inhabited before reincarnation?

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Fog hindered his vision at first, but parted to reveal a set of broad stairs. He suddenly remembered something his father had once said when Nyx had heard about the death of his older brother, who had died a few years after leaving the Eternal Blossom Clan.

“Nyx, death is just the next journey. You will be born to other parents who try their best to raise you well and send you out into the world. Then you will encounter others, share challenges with them, improve and learn and fight and laugh. Eventually, you will remember your past lives. Remember your former parents, your brothers and sisters. And so will they. You will be separated, and it is sad. But in time, you will meet again. Now, here. Have a Paka cookie.”

Nyx started to climb the cold stone stairs. He would have to meet his mother again. Ask her about the recipe for the cookies. And meet his little brother. On second thought… If he was reborn, he would be the younger brother this time. Nyx chuckled to himself. He would always be the younger brother. He would just pretend to be older still.

The stairs gave way to a giant royal hallway. Red carpet was laid above polished black granite tiles. Walls, half hidden in white fog, showed countless banners of demonic clans. One of them resembled the Eternal Blossom Clan. Before Nyx could ponder the meaning of the symbols and runes, he felt a sharp aura radiate down the hallway.

It was a feeling very familiar to him. The rage he felt radiating through his veins when he stood against the mimic was now rushing through him, suppressing him, breaking his willingness to fight, making every step forward a challenge of will. He felt… fear.

Yet he pressed on forward. Slowly, like walking against a strong gust of wind, he worked his way forward, the pressure increasing.

Then he stood before another set of stairs. When Nyx looked up into the bright, burning red eyes of an Elder Demon, the aura made him stop entirely.

He made for an imposing figure. Clad in pitch-black metal armor, a skillfully crafted plate helmet was stylized in the shape of a phoenix, the red wings clashing with the charcoal metal underneath. Long, white hair fell from his shoulders, and a fierce gaze prevented Nyx from losing eye contact.

His heart hammered in his chest, the pulsating sound heavy in his ears. Memories of the mimic flashed before his eyes. How tiny it now felt. It was like comparing a mere pebble to a cliff.

The demon’s form changed to that of a woman, the armor adapting its shape alongside it, revealing a demonic queen, adorned with a diadem of metal, clad in a revealing black dress. The red skin color changed its hue to a darker shade of blue. Then, impossibly, there were two of them, both radiating the same aura, as if the rules of the material world did not apply to them. Even their eyes changed color. Slowly, they drifted from red to a calculating violet.

“You are rather eager to claim your gift.”

Nyx did not register them speaking; their tone blended together as one. Half slap to the face, half friendly embrace. When he tried to open his mouth, he felt that he couldn’t.

Was this the Ancestor of Demons? The most powerful entity of demonkind?

The warrior tapped his forehead with two fingers.

The cold metal touch of the blackened gauntlets was the last thing he felt.

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Nyx felt a burning sensation flaring through his body, originating from his right cheekbone. It radiated through his battered body, rousing his demonic blood to burn. Flames burst forth through his skin, making the surprised mimic retract its maw from his midsection. The flames felt familiar. Powerful. His body was burning, his pants were cleansed of blood, dirt, and polymorphic fluid.

Yellow and orange flames danced on his dark red skin, giving the appearance of a colorful sunrise. This burning sensation coursed through his veins, restoring his injuries, burning away the excess of blood he had spilled, and Nyx felt his arm regrowing with a speed that invigorated him to rise to his feet with a scream. The mimic, having retreated, switched to coiling its teeth into black springs of tendrils, soon to be launched toward Nyx.

The flames burned away scrapes, restored bones and tissue, and within seconds, Nyx flexed his right hand’s claws just as well as his left hand’s. The flames flared meters high, energy giving way to rage as mimic tendrils pushed toward him, making mimic teeth shatter against his burning body.

This disgusting little thing had killed him. Nyx wanted to rip it apart piece by piece.

He stepped forward and his overabundant energy catapulted his body forward, and the burst of momentum carried him through it. He felt as if he could rip a tree appart with his bare hands. The mimic had been parted into two pieces, burning and screeching as half of it dissipated into black polymorphic fluid.

Nyx carefully walked toward it, barely able to control his newfound power. When he flexed his claws, they tore deep gashes into the mimic’s body from a distance, laying bare the light blue mimic’s core.

Its teeth jolted forward again, trying to defend itself, unable to pierce the demon’s skin. Nyx rammed his claws into the core, cracking it in the process, and ripped it out of the smoldering remains of the screeching shapeshifter.

Oddly enough, he enjoyed the sound.