The hollowed-out eyes burned, twin orange flames dancing inside the behemoth’s skull like the souls of the damned screaming in agony. They tortuously danced inside the skull of the dead creature, unable to escape their eternal torment, the due for a past full of regret, in open rebellion against the Author of life.

Now they were prisoners. Shackled not by any force of omnipotent power but by their own limitations. Trapped within the very mind of the terrible creature that had drawn its breath on the pain of others. Feeding off the same agony that bogged down its own soul.

Still they hungered. A dead behemoth didn’t mean the flame had gone out. Not by a long shot.

Albertus Hendricks stared into the creature, the dancing flames reflecting in his own eyes, burning themselves into his soul like the brands of a farmhand on the rear end of a bull. Hendricks yearned for power. Craved it.

Like most of the residents of Vigilance, he was in exile. Unlike most residents of Vigilance, he was once a very rich and powerful man. A baron of Athracia itself. He had walked the halls of the Capital and enjoyed the finest luxuries known only to royalty.

And he’d earned it too. Nobility was, for the most part, inherited through bloodlines. Not Hendricks. He’d risen through the merchant class and bought his title. It had taken convincing, mind you. The throne didn’t just hand out titles of nobility to the highest bidder. Hendricks had to rub elbows and show his loyalty. More than that, he’d had to do some rather unsavory things that no one else wanted to do. In the end, they made him a baron.

Then they threw him out.

It turned out that when a scapegoat was needed, those without familial ties were the first to go. Hendricks had been just the man to off. A plot to assassinate the king? Blame it on the Merchant Barron of Swain, Albertus Hendricks.

He’d escaped Athracia. Gone to the one place he knew of where even the bounty hunters wouldn’t dare to chase him.

The Wastes.

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Hendricks stared into the flickering light within the deceased behemoth. They danced hypnotically like the spell of an ancient sorcerer.

The townsfolk had gone, leaving him alone with the beast’s head. He’d never have been able to kill a thing like this on his own. Not like Alex had.

Curse that man and his family, Hendricks thought to himself. The Elliotts were a thorn in his side. They alone threatened his grip on this town. This backwater outpost didn’t amount to much. It was nothing compared to the vast swaths of land he had once owned. But it was all he had. And it was what kept him alive, clinging to survival.

“I can give you power,” a whispering voice said.

Hendricks’ eyes widened. Where had that come from?

“Power unlike any you’ve ever seen,” it continued.

The flames danced. Was that voice in his mind? “Who are you?” he said.

“We are diabolen,” the voice said in a low whisper that seemed to echo inside Hendricks’ skull.

He clutched his forehead, grasping at it. He detected that it wasn’t one voice speaking to him but many. They spoke in unison, precisely timed to sound like a single voice but they weren’t.

“Place your hands on us,” it continued. “And grant us shelter.”

“No,” Hendricks said, stepping back, mouth gaping. “Y-you’re evil.”

“Not evil,” it said. “The men who lied to you—evil. The country that exiled you—evil. The Elliots—evil. We are merely power.”

Hendricks clenched his jaw and balled his hands into fists.

“We can help you,” the voice said. As it spoke the flames within the behemoth grew brighter and larger, almost jumping out from the creature’s eye sockets. “Grant you the power to take back what is yours—and more. Much more.”

“H-how?” Hendricks said, his legs lightening up.

“You will see,” they said. “The diabolen need a host. You must help us. But we do not have long. It must be now.”

Hendricks hesitated. Did he really want those things inside him? What would they do to him? His soul?

Blast his soul, he wanted revenge. He wanted to destroy the men who had destroyed him. And on his way out he’d stick it to the Elliotts.

Hendricks placed his hands on the skull.

Nothing happened.

He furrowed his brow. Wasn’t something supposed to happen when he placed his hands on the evil demonic skull that offered him unlimited power?

Two figures approached him from behind and he turned. He could barely make them out in the dark but soon realized it was Oren and the boy, Max. Speak of the devil.

“What are you doing?” Oren said. “Hendricks?”

“Get away from me,” Hendricks said, snarling. Had he really just snarled? He gathered his composure. “I’ve had enough of you for one day.”

Max spoke up. “What did you do to the behemoth?”

The flickering eyes within the skull were snuffed out. All that lay within it was darkness.

Ignoring the two, Mayor Hendricks walked away, back to his home.