Hubertus van Schnecken was frustrated. He clenched his jaw, muscles taut as each failed attempt grated on him. Time and again, he tried to create the portal, focusing all his energy on the spot before him. But nothing happened. Not even a flicker.

Carl had shown him how to channel his Mana through his Magistrales—the vein-like web of energy that coursed through his astral body. The process seemed straightforward: push Mana through these pathways, envision the point where space and time fold, and the portal would bloom to life. Carl made it look easy, as natural as breathing. For Hubertus, it was anything but.

Back when he was human, Hubertus knew how to use his Magistrales. He’d laid wards, broken them, and worked simple magic. Human magic was structured, predictable, and controllable—channeling energy along a set path. He needed no incantations, just intent and an understanding of the lines within.

But in his demon form, things were different. The Magistrales were still there, beneath his leathery skin, but more powerful, more chaotic. The energy felt darker, primal, resisting his control. It was like trying to tame a storm contained within his veins.

He tried again, narrowing his focus, forcing the Mana through the Magistrales. It was like pressing water through a cracked funnel—the energy leaked away, slipping from his grasp. Every time he thought he had it, the Mana scattered into nothing.

The diagrams Carl had given him were intricate, full of symbols and lines meant to guide the Mana's flow. Hubertus traced each path obsessively, mentally rehearsing. It should have worked, but each time, the energy remained wild, untamed. He could direct it, but this seemed to demand something else—guidance, perhaps even submission.

He was almost ready to give up. How could a demon channel Mana through the Magistrales without losing focus? It felt impossible—like trying to play different songs on a guitar, piano, and harmonica all at once.

The complexity was maddening. The Mana surged within him, restless, defying control. It mocked his every effort.

Carl had watched his initial attempts with mild amusement, his bull-like face grinning as Hubertus struggled. But soon even Carl’s amusement waned, replaced by a flicker of pity. “You’re overthinking it,” Carl had said, annoyed. “Mana isn’t something you force—it’s something you guide. Feel the flow. Trust your instincts.”

Trust his instincts? Hubertus wanted to scream. He was new to this demonic form, new to these enhanced Magistrales. His instincts were a mess—a tangled combination of human memories and dark demonic impulses. The Mana didn’t come naturally to him, unlike Carl and the other full-fledged demons.

Hubertus took a deep breath, exhaustion weighing heavily in his chest. He tried to steady his hands, closing his eyes. He imagined the Mana, dark energy coursing through him. He visualized the Magistrales, the glowing lines beneath his skin, feeling them pulse with power—power that seemed to defy him.

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For a moment, he felt something shift. The energy pooled, gathered—he thought he felt the space around him begin to vibrate. His heart pounded with hope and adrenaline.

And then, it slipped. The Mana scattered like leaves in a sudden gust, the moment shattered, leaving only emptiness and the sting of failure.

“Damn it!” Hubertus hissed, slamming his hand against the stone floor. His claws scraped the surface, leaving thin gouges. His breath came in ragged bursts, his crimson eyes blazing with frustration.

Carl’s words echoed in his mind—let go, flow with the energy instead of trying to strangle it. But how could he let go when every instinct screamed at him to control it, to bend it to his will? Control had kept him alive. But here, in the Abyss, control seemed to mean something else.

He looked at his hand, the faint traces of his Magistrales glowing beneath the leathery skin. He needed to figure this out—not just to open a portal, but to prove he could do it. He wasn’t just another failed fledgling destined to scrape by. He needed to show Carl, the other demons, and most importantly, himself, that he had what it took.

Hubertus closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe, slow and deep. He acknowledged the frustration but let it pass. Maybe Carl was right. Maybe it wasn’t about brute force. Maybe, just maybe, he needed to feel the flow—to understand it, not fight against it.

Slowly, he focused again, less on the diagrams and more on the feeling. He tried to let go of the need to force it and instead sought to guide it—to trust the power that flowed through his demonic form. He couldn’t give up now. Not when he’d come this far. Not when he still had so much to prove.“Let’s stop for a second,” Carl said, his voice cutting through Hubertus' thoughts. “I have something important to do, and I need you to go to the market and get me something.”

To the market? Hubertus frowned. He had seen it briefly when Carl first brought him here. The place wasn’t what he'd expected at all.

Instead of a fiery wasteland of torment and despair, it was... a bustling marketplace. Stalls of bone and obsidian lined the jagged cliff edges, their vendors hawking wares that ranged from glowing, bottled souls to wriggling creatures in jars. Overhead, glowing vines snaked between massive stalactites, casting an eerie green glow over everything. Demonic shoppers of all shapes and sizes bartered, bickered, and exchanged strange currencies—golden teeth, shimmering gemstones, and even what seemed to be memories, captured in delicate glass spheres.

Carl rummaged through his cloak and handed Hubertus a small, leathery pouch.

“What is this?” Hubertus asked, examining it with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

“It’s a soul pouch,” Carl said. “It can hold up to ten souls—not as much as your unlimited soul chamber, but it has its uses. Especially when you want to trade without using the ledger.”

Hubertus weighed the pouch in his hand, feeling a faint pull from within. It was light, almost deceptively so, but he could sense its capacity, the dark promise it held.

“Got it,” he said, tucking the pouch into his belt. He was no stranger to running errands, but in this twisted marketplace, it felt like anything but a mundane task. There was always the sense that the next stall might be selling something that could turn you into a toad—or worse.

“Remember,” Carl added, his eyes narrowing. “No distractions. Get what I need and come straight back. I have a feeling you might get a little... sidetracked in there.”

Hubertus nodded, but a smirk played on his lips as he turned away. No distractions, huh? He doubted that would be the case in a place like this.

But then again, what's the fun in following the rules exactly as they're given?