Forest, The Serpent Isles - 8th day of the Sardonyx Moon, Year 24 AH
High Mage Markus rubbed his forehead and released a long suffering groan. In front of him was a letter written on smooth, creamy paper with no visible sender or address. It didn’t need one; one glance at the magic signature confirmed who it was from.
“Fucking Archmages,” the man grumbled. He stood up, his chair squeaking on the floor behind him. Ever since he’d first heard reports of the System popping up, he’d been waiting for the Ministry to say something—only for the letter to finally come and amount to a fat load of nothing.
He didn’t know why he’d been expecting better. “We’re looking into it” was the default Ministry response to everything these days, no matter how world-altering the situation was. And this was definitely world-altering.
Markus glanced over at the magic circle he’d set up in the corner of the room, glowing crystals placed at the edges of the inscribed runes. A soft, swirling blue light glowed in the center of the circle, but it was hazy. He’d been trying to track the source of the System since he’d first heard about it, but without access to it himself, he didn’t have a lot to go on. Never mind that he’d never been very good at tracking anyway and was missing half the components necessary for a more advanced version of the spell.
Huffing in frustration, the man strode over and plucked one of the crystals, immediately killing the glowing light. No point wasting magic on nothing; he could use that crystal in one of his potions. Markus moved to return the crystal to its designated place on his shelf of materials.
Really, he shouldn’t be so worried about this. There was a reason he’d turned down all the offers to join the Ministry, including the Hero’s personal request. This was none of his business. He was here to play around with his potions and keep an eye on the prison. That was all.
And yet, he couldn’t help the nagging unease that had risen ever since he’d first caught wind of the System. Maybe it was because the anniversary was soon—the second decade since the war’s end. That had to be it; he was just antsy with memories of the past. The events of the tenth anniversary didn’t help, either. He couldn’t help but expect the worst.
Markus grabbed the last crystal from the circle and carefully set it back. Through the open window, warm streaks of sunlight filtered into the cluttered room, the sun beginning to sink below the horizon. His home was a day’s travel away from any neighboring towns, and that was how he liked it. He still got visits from nearby villagers, mostly with potion requests, but he hadn’t seen anyone in the past week. He was thankful for it. Given how uneasy he was, he didn’t think he could handle whatever absurd request he got next.
Of course, because the world was out to get him, the second he set the crystal down a knock rang from his front door. Markus remained still, hoping the villager would just go away. It was probably something dumb anyway, like a decoration for the festival or something.
The knock sounded again, even and measured, and Markus heaved a sigh. He dragged himself over to the front door and swung it open with more force than necessary, the ensuing slam echoing throughout his home. The person standing on the other side didn’t blink.
It was a young man, probably somewhere in his mid twenties, with wavy dark hair, green eyes, and handsome features. He wore simple clothing consisting of a worn cloak and a large bag, suggesting that he was a traveler. He smiled pleasantly. Markus shot him an annoyed look.
“I’m busy,” the mage said bluntly. “If you need a potion, go ask Arnold.” Arnold was another mage who lived a few hours away from his house. Absolute mess of a man, but his potions passed the bare minimum level of acceptability.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” the man said calmly, “but you’re the only one I wish to speak to.”
Markus frowned. He’d pegged the man as being from from one of the nearby villages, but no poor local talked like that. Now more suspicious, he gave the man another look and tried to sense a magic signature, but nothing came up. He racked his brain in an attempt to place his face, but he was sure he’d never seen him before.
“Yeah?” Markus asked warily. “And who’re you supposed to be?”
The man chuckled. The sound sent a chill down the mage’s spine.
No, it couldn’t be. It was impossible, Markus told himself. He was dead. He’d seen his corpse himself, had searched it for any traces of a lingering soul and found none.
And yet, even as he tried to rationalize things, a cold dread began to form in the pit of his stomach. That laugh was too similar—smooth and oddly soft and completely lacking any real emotion once you listened more closely. He knew it well. He’d heard it in his nightmares for the past twenty years.
“I’m hurt, Markus. It’s true that I’m occupying a vessel, but I would’ve thought you’d recognize me.”
The mage’s entire body froze. He barely processed it as the man—no, the demon—maneuvered around him and stepped into his home. Regis glanced around, calmly taking in the various magic instruments and ingredients strewn about with those fake green eyes.
Kill him, the thought rose unbidden. It’s your only chance. Kill him before he kills you.
And yet, Markus couldn’t get his body to move. All his senses screamed at him, his ears ringing and mind churning with old memories long buried but never truly forgotten. In the demon’s presence, it felt as if no time had passed at all, like he was still that naive teenager foolish enough to have followed the demon king. To believe his lies.
He should’ve known the second he’d seen him. That gait, smooth as though he were gliding, the amicable but detached demeanor, the false politeness, the hollowness exuding from the man. No, his first mistake had been thinking it would ever be possible to truly kill him in the first place. How could he have missed it? How could he be so stupid?
“Markus?” Regis observed him assessingly, gaze unreadable. “Do you need to sit down? You look rather pale.”
The sound of the demon’s voice snapped the mage out of his thoughts. He whirled around and put as much distance between them as possible. One hand fumbled with the backup potion he kept on his belt, eyes never leaving Regis as he finally managed to yank it free. He raised it threateningly.
“Don’t come any closer!”
Markus’s arm shook, but he stood his ground. The liquid inside the bottle glowed softly, warmth emanating from it. He’d never been very good at spontaneous casting, but he’d spent years perfecting this recipe. That bottle had a vein’s worth of mana stored in it, just waiting to be let out.
The whole time, Regis simply studied the mage, expression betraying nothing. He hadn’t even twitched.
Markus’s heart raced. The demon had clearly survived somehow, but did he have the same power as before? He’d taken twenty years to appear again, was in a human vessel, and the mage couldn’t sense any magic from him. But what if it was a trap and he was suppressing his magic on purpose to lie low? No, he was probably weakened. He had to be.
Regis took a step forward, and Markus flinched.
“I said stay back!”
“Please sit down, Markus,” the demon said calmly. He continued to step forward, completely ignoring the potion brandished in the mage’s hand. “I came here to talk. There is no cause for concern.”
The mage shook his head. “You’re lying. You want revenge.” His voice cracked, but he was too terrified to care.
Regis raised an eyebrow. “Even if that were the case, do you think you would be able to stop me?”
“The Hero severed your magic! You’re weakened!”
Regis’s steps stilled. The air seemed to grow heavier, the winds outside the home howling. The candles flickered. Potion bottles and crystals began to rattle of their own accord, forming a cacophony of sounds surrounding them. Open book pages flipped. In front of Markus, the demon’s eyes glowed a distinct violet, the same color that had haunted the man’s nightmares.
“Do you believe that?” The shadows around the room lengthened, and Markus could barely hear anything above his own pounding heartbeat. “Do you truly believe that?”
A hand tapped the human’s shoulder.
Markus flinched violently. He blinked, and when his vision cleared, Regis was standing right in front of him. The pressure on his shoulder increased, and the man found himself pushed back onto the couch, legs weak. At some point he’d dropped his potion, the bottle now lying uselessly on the ground a few feet away.
The room quieted. The candle flames returned to their usual height, and the books fell still. Regis smiled down at him.
“Now, shall we talk?”
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Markus stared listlessly down at the table. Regis had gone and made tea of all things. The mage’s cup sat untouched in the center of the tray. It had long since grown cold.
In contrast, the demon sipped from his own cup where he sat across from Markus, legs crossed and shoulders relaxed as if it were his own home. It might as well be, Markus thought dully. He’d never feel safe here again. If I even survive.
It was clear Regis didn’t view him as a threat at all, and he wasn’t even entirely wrong. Markus was terrible at chants. Without his potions, he was nothing.
The demon finished his current sip and set the teacup down lightly on the table. “How have you been?” he asked.
The mage determinedly did not look up from his cup, though the question itself made him want to laugh hysterically. Was the demon really asking him that? His thoughts must’ve shown on his face, because Regis chuckled.
“Come now, we traveled together for a number of years. Is it so surprising that I would be curious to know how you’re doing? That I might still think of you fondly?”
If Regis had said something like that during the first few years after he’d joined up with him, he would’ve been ecstatic. Maybe a part of him, the young teenager he’d never fully gotten rid of, still was. His adult mind, however, could only feel dread. He knew better now.
“…I thought you’d be furious.”
Regis hummed. “Tell me, Markus, have I ever been quick to anger?”
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The man hesitated, finally daring to look up. “Well, no, but—”
“Then it stands to reason,” the demon interrupted smoothly, “that this would remain true.” He smiled, and the expression looked so genuine that Markus almost believed it.
“I don’t blame you for your decision, Markus. You are a human. It’s not unusual that you would choose your fellow man, especially given your youth at the time. It is easy to be swayed in one direction or the other when the mind is young. Your choices were unfortunate, but understandable.”
Markus stared at the demon disbelievingly. Was he serious? What was the ulterior motive?
Regis took another sip of his tea and cocked his head. It felt wrong to see those mannerisms on some random human. He looked far too harmless like this. Markus wondered who the poor soul had been who’d ended up as the demon’s vessel.
“Now, I’ll ask again. How have you been?”
Markus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Fine.” The word came out stilted, and he paused to swallow and clear his throat. “I’ve been here since the end of the war.” Since you died, was the unspoken implication.
Regis nodded. “I see. And you’re a high mage now, correct? That’s quite impressive,” he praised.
”How do you know that?”
“Is it not natural for me to know the statuses of my generals?” Regis said. “I was pleasantly surprised; more of you survived than I expected.”
The other generals. There was another topic Markus didn’t like to think too much on. He’d been the youngest of Regis’s generals, and he’d looked up to the others as role models. He couldn’t help but get attached—a lonely orphan desperate for any sense of “family” he could find.
Of course, that childish dream had quickly shattered after the war. He hadn’t spoken to any of the others in a long time, despite their similar positions. He would’ve thought their shared experiences and defections to the Hero’s side would’ve bonded them closer, but it had instead hung like a cloud looming over every interaction. That wasn’t even mentioning the ones who’d stayed loyal to Regis.
“I am curious, however,” Regis continued, “to know why you’re on this island in particular. There are many other places to find solitude that are not quite so remote.”
Markus shifted uncomfortably. Speaking of strained relationships between former generals.
“...I’m keeping an eye on Halcyon.” It was highly unlikely the angel would ever escape, but Markus was too paranoid. He’d moved out to the Serpent Isles as soon as he’d learned the prison’s location, just in case. Then again, he thought bitterly, clearly he wasn’t paranoid enough if he’d been so completely blindsided by Regis’s return.
“Hal is alive?”
Markus’s eyes widened. The human mentally swore. Had the demon not known?
He broke out in a cold sweat. Regis’s eyes were sharp, practically gleaming in the evening light, the weight of that gaze bearing down on him.
“He—he finished regenerating ten years ago,” the mage managed to stutter out. “The Ministry wanted to do some experiments on him, but he got transferred to a prison here.”
“I see.” Regis looked thoughtful. “Yes, I can imagine that. I’m sure the Ministry was happy to have a test subject with unlimited regeneration. And I imagine they kept his survival a secret from the public to avoid mass panic.” Those fake green eyes landed on Markus, who stiffened in his seat. “But I’m surprised, Markus. With how often you spoke of compassion and bonds, I didn’t think you’d approve of such a thing.”
The mage cringed. The demon wasn’t entirely wrong; he had been a bit hesitant, but not nearly as much as he would’ve been if it had been any other general being put through those tests. Even in the beginning, when he’d been fully taken in by Regis’s charisma and purported goals and practically worshipped the older generals, Halcyon had always unnerved him. Regis at least pretended to be capable of empathy. His second-in-command had never bothered.
Regis continued, sparing Markus from the need to give an answer.
“Where is this prison located?”
The mage tensed. Don’t tell him. It was bad enough that the demon had survived. He didn’t need anyone else on his side.
The candles in the room flickered. Markus heard the crystals on the shelf rattle, the pages of his open books turning rapidly of their own accord. In front of him, Regis hadn’t lifted a finger, but that cool gaze was levelled on him. His eyes had shifted to violet. Markus swallowed.
“ …the forest east of Barcombe.” The words came out quiet, defeated. The room stilled again.
“That’s closer than I expected.” Regis looked pleased, but that couldn’t be right. He wasn’t capable of the emotion. “Thank you, Markus.”
The demon rose from the couch and lightly dusted off his clothes. He glanced around, surveying the contents of the room. His eyes fell on the shelf of magic ingredients, and he approached it, picking up one of the crystals.
“This is a rather impressive collection,” he remarked. He turned the crystal around in his hands, then raised it up to the lingering sunlight trickling in through the window. It would be night soon. “Would you mind if I took a few items for the road?”
It wasn’t a real question, and the demon was already reaching for an herb before Markus could stiffly nod. Normally he flew into a rage every time someone dared touch a magic component without permission, but now he could only sit dully watching as Regis perused his collection. Even after twenty years, the demon still had the same effect on him. Ark, he was such a coward.
“Have you kept in touch with the otherworlder?” Regis asked conversationally as he picked up a small bottle of wyvern blood for inspection. His voice was perfectly casual, but Markus tensed. They’d already been treading on dangerous territory, but this could quickly escalate if he wasn’t careful. Regis was as incapable of true rage as he was of every other emotion, but his feelings towards the Hero were probably as close as he would ever get.
The mage’s eyes landed on the potion bottle still on the floor from where he’d dropped it earlier. It had finally come to rest against his desk leg, the liquid inside continuing to glow faintly. His heart raced. Maybe he could still fix things. Maybe there was a chance he hadn’t screwed the world over with his cowardice. Eyeing the demon’s turned back, Markus slowly rose from his seat and crept towards the bottle.
“Not really,” he said, attempting to keep the nervousness from his voice. “He offered me a position in the Ministry, but I said no.”
Markus felt the floorboards begin to shift underneath him and quickly stepped elsewhere, narrowly avoiding a creak. He sucked in a breath, but Regis continued to rummage around the shelf, bottles clinking and drawers opening. The mage exhaled and continued forward.
“I see. You would’ve done well in the Ministry. Certainly better than the otherworlder.”
Markus swallowed and carefully crouched down. Regis’s back was still turned; he had to be looking through everything in the house at this point.
“Maybe.” Markus stretched an arm out towards the fallen potion. Just a little closer—
A second before his fingers reached the glass, Regis turned around.
The mage froze in place, eyes wide as that green gaze fell on him. The demon had a bag in hand, now filled with the various items he’d taken. Markus could practically hear his own heart beating in his ears as he broke out in a cold sweat. Regis studied him, expression unreadable, before finally raising an eyebrow.
“Surely it must be more comfortable in a chair than on the ground.”
Regis stepped forward, past the mage, and bent down. He picked up the potion and placed it in Markus’s hand while the mage stared dumbly at him. He smiled.
“Thank you for the hospitality, but I must be going now. It was good to see you, Markus. I know you don’t believe me, but I truly do mean that.”
Markus stared at the demon as he headed towards the door. Was he serious? Was this his chance? His fingers tightened around the potion, and he stamped down any lingering unease. He was a High Mage now, not a scared scrawny teenager. He wasn’t going to let the demon king go without a fight. He had the potion in hand and the demon’s guard was down. The second Regis reached the door, all he had to do was throw it.
“Oh, and Markus?”
The demon turned around at the last second. “Do you recall when you suggested that I was in a weakened state?”
The mage nodded slowly, fingers still squeezing tightly around the potion hidden behind his back. Regis smiled.
“You were correct. I lied.”
The demon stepped outside and shut the door just as a splash sounded from behind him. Markus spun around, eyes landing on the shelf. There, Regis had placed a bowl swirling with a glowing mix of his potions. Directly above it was a bottle containing a bone reagent. It had been knocked over, its contents landing in the liquid below where a growing bubble rapidly expanded.
“No,” Markus whispered.
It was the last thing he said before the bubble burst and the entire house was consumed in flames.
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[You have gained experience!]
[You have leveled up! 5 —> 11]
[The [Thaumaturgy] ability has leveled up! 1 —> 2]
[You have gained the [Fear] trait]
[You have gained the [Silence] ability]
[The [Deceiver (Common)] title has evolved into the [Cold-Blooded (Rare)] title]
[You have unlocked your STAT BLOCK]
[Strength +2, Agility +4, Mana +5, Will +7]
Regis hummed to himself as the notifications flashed across his vision. Behind him, the heat of the explosion lingered as a faint warmth on his back, and the ruined house still glowed faintly in the darkening sky. There was nothing left but a pile of charred wood and ash.
The demon carefully tied the bag of ingredients he’d collected and stored them away in his larger pack. It was a shame for so many spell components to go to waste, but he’d collected the essentials. The longer he stayed, the more likely Markus would’ve become emboldened enough to attack. [Thaumaturgy] did little more than a few simple parlor tricks. Once the mage saw through the ability, he would’ve realized how vulnerable the demon currently was. The added risk was not worth the few extra materials.
Regis continued forward deeper into the surrounding forest, where the thick canopy and shadows provided cover. The light of the explosion would’ve been visible from a distance, and someone would soon come to investigate. He would be far away by the time that happened.
Once he was alone in the clearing, he studied his evolved title and new abilities more closely.
Name: Silence
Level: 1
Mana Cost: Medium
Cooldown: High
Description: Allows user to create a region of silence where no sound can enter or escape. Its size and duration is dependent on the amount of mana used and the ability’s level.
That would be quite useful, Regis thought. He did prefer to be discrete when possible. He moved onto the next items.
[Fear], he learned, passively amplified the effectiveness of intimidation tactics while [Cold-Blooded] performed largely the same as [Deceiver], albeit purporting to be more effective in addition to granting a +5 bonus to will.
Speaking of will, now that he was done reviewing the new abilities, he took the opportunity to view his “stat block,” as the system had referred to it. The numbers appeared in front of him with a thought.
Strength: 19
Agility: 27
Constitution: 16
Mana: 36 (+10)
Will: 42 (+25)
Regis recognized the bonuses from his titles, but the numbers themselves were more vague. He had no reference for what was considered average, though the distribution of stats did at least display areas of weakness.
The most curious aspect to him, however, were the mana and will stats. They weren’t as self-explanatory as the others, though he did at least know that this “mana” powered abilities. He was more interested in knowing how mana interacted with magic or if it was meant to be a replacement for it. And if it was indeed a quantified form of magic, which source did it draw from?
It was unfortunate that Markus hadn’t owned the correct components for a trace spell. He could perform a smaller one, but that wouldn’t be particularly useful given the evident scope of the System. Markus had been running a simple trace spell of his own, if the lingering magic circle he’d seen on the floor was any indication, but it seemed like the mage hadn’t had access to the system himself yet.
Regis willed the screen away and turned back in the direction of Markus’s home. Plumes of smoke rose from it, rising above the tree line. In the darkness, their shadowy form appeared like a great serpent spiraling upwards towards the heavens.
It had been odd to see Markus again. Twenty years was nothing to a demon, but the same could not be said for humans. In his memory, the mage was a long-limbed teen, excitable, a bit shy, and talented with potions. The man in that house had seemed much older than a mere twenty years’ difference. Weathered with exhaustion and a bone deep weariness. If not for those brief flashes of his younger self, he wouldn’t have believed that they were the same person.
Regis closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh night air. He hadn’t lied when he’d said that the man’s betrayal hadn’t come as a surprise. None of them had. He hadn’t chosen his generals based on loyalty, not when it was so fleeting and malleable. There could never be real trust there, certainly not the “family” that a younger Markus had seemed so desperate for.
He opened his eyes again. He didn’t know what reaction he’d expected from his former general. The recognition had been there, of course, and he’d seen the fear in his eyes, but there was precious little else. Fear and recognition. The response one would have to a monster of the past.
As Regis continued to watch the distant smoke slowly dissipate into the night sky, an odd feeling rose in chest.
He ignored it. This was likely another side effect of his vessel, just as those memory flashes in the bookstore had been. Regardless, sentimentality didn’t suit him, and he had other matters to attend to. This, too, would pass.
Regis swung his bag over his shoulder and gazed up at the stars, noting his current position, before turning east towards Barcombe.
Most of his generals were traitors or dead, and he no longer had the power he’d spent centuries building. He was starting anew in a world that had already moved past him.
But he did have one ally left.