"You... a demon, is it?"

A large demon with six arms looks at me with a whimsical, appraising expression.

It squints, and then nods.

"I am the demon lord, Astartes Torvath, the Cultivator. What is your name?"

I laugh, and stand up from this uncomfortable crouching posture.

"Not falling for that, buddy. Who gives their name when they're summoned by a demon?"

The demon tenses. It looks strong?

I'm not sure about it. But... considering I'm naked, exhausted from battle, and now apparently without the Basilisk's Tongue, I may have issues. My hand to hand combat is rusty, and most of the Prime Blood is depleted. I don't even think I can use my eyes.

"But since discussion is difficult without a moniker, call me Aya. My... name... is Aya."

There is a snapping sound of a rupturing spell. Heh. Figures. Control by true name, triggered by 'my name is'. Man, I feel underestimated.

"It seems you are quite a savvy human, after all." The demon smiles.

"Savvier than you, at least." I taunt.

My vision focuses better now. I seem to be healed and strengthened by something? The summoning? Ha!

It seems I can move somewhat freely, but I am contained in restraining magical formation. It’s not a bad spell, to be honest, but it is written without purpose, thought, or pride. It is magic without a soul. Dead. A mere construct fulfilling a duty set for it. And it is made for blocking humans. I could bypass it... with a little time. I should keep the demon talking.

"Do you not have clothing? I'm sure I don't need to worry about you ogling me, but I am a guest." I say, opening my arms. But a portion of my mind divides off, and starts counter-spelling my restraint.

"A mage!? No... you aren't even a human, are you? You are... something else..."

Well damn. He noticed straight away.

An oppressive curtain of power comes down on me, and cuts off my active meddling. I pull back my mind in time to avoid severe backlash, but I still receive a powerful crack of power. I fall back on to my knees from the agony. My head. Urk.

This guy’s power... its aided by a spiritual force? An amplifier? And its nature... is void and darkness? But also, preservation?

You can actually learn a lot by surviving a magical attack. But generally, it’s not something you try. Because it requires surviving a magical attack.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Fortunately, it seems he held back. I circulate the dark power around and out before it controls me.

I cough up some phlegm. It is black and wriggling. I sheath my fist in a sonic vibration, and smash it like the bug it is. The skin of the back of my hand burns from its corruption. But the prime blood flows, and quickly, the contaminant is incinerated in blue fire and my flesh is restored.

I flick it off, grin, and stand up again.

"You really want to frickin' control me, huh? Not if I can help it. If I survived the inquisition, I can survive some two-bit self-proclaimed demon lord. Hell, you don't even have any minions!"

The demon now looks truly frustrated. Good job, Maria. You were supposed to keep it talking.

Aha! It doesn't matter. The formation holding me shatters. I really am underestimated.

In an instant, the Prime Blood increases my strength twenty-fold, and I launch forwards like a stone from a cannon.

Well. I'm rusty, but it seems this one is untrained entirely. It doesn't even try to block my grab. I grab at the demons’ neck and immediately throttle it to prevent it incanting.

No! Somethings wrong! I throw it away full force.

Even so, something severs my wrist.

Tch.

I grab the severed hand with the surviving one before it spins out of reach, and reattach it with the Prime Blood.

I then immediately leap aside instinctively. Space itself is rent in a line, disintegrating some of the floor. And again. Twice more. Some of my magenta hair is severed.

I realise he never hit the back wall when I threw him. He teleported!

I dance left and right, avoiding literal dimensional shearing slashes.

Ah. Goddamnit. I was corralled. I realise too late. I stepped into a restraining circle again. Of my free will. That one will be inescapable...

I let out a string of curses as ethereal chains slam me to the floor. I underestimated his frightening ability to silently cast so many spells at once... shit...

"Hmm. I believe we are both guilty of underestimating one another." The demon says.

Damn... this circle is also a thought-reader?

I force my head up and spit at his clawed feet. I remove my thoughts, concentrate on rage.

"You have a tremendous tenacity, Miss Aya. Enviable, in fact. Powerful too. I realise it is futile to control you now. So... how about I instead give you a deal?"

A deal with a demon is almost as useless as a deal with the arch-cardinal. But what choice do I have, now?

I hesitate, but then I nod.

"I doubt you'd honestly trust any real contract I could offer, so I won't. I'll simply ask you a single thing."

I feel the restraint on me loosen. I can sit up. So, I do. Wearily.

"How many lives is the world’s survival worth?"

"As many as it takes." I answer immediately.

"And if I told you, from years of study, that humans were the main cause of the problem?"

"Then the problems should be culled." Obviously... what a tiresomely obvious question... wait...

"It seems we're not so different as you may imagine, Aya." The demon chortles.

... ... ...

I see.

I guess good summoning rituals select optimum choices. Those desired by or compatible with the summoner. There is, after all, no love lost between me and humanity in general. I was one of them, once, perhaps. But though I still resemble a woman, am I not closer to a demon, for all I have done in my life?

Once, I was a highwaywoman. Once, I was a courtesan. And then, a blood hunter. The best. A rags to bloody rags story if there ever was one.

I killed the rest of my kind to make us stronger. There can be only one with the prime blood. One to protect the veil. Only the strongest could survive.

And I survived.

My entire life has been one of conflict. I have been betrayed by humans again and again, and now, on my eleventh hour, about to die, I find myself saved. In a new world, summoned to aid a demon lord, the sort of thing I once destroyed.

I am Maria Aya Kray. 'The Blood Overlord.' 'The Basilisk of the North.' 'That Filthy Vampire Bitch.' I have been called many things. But a hero was never one of them.

It is delicious irony. But what isn't, in life?

Perhaps I'll listen, if just... for a moment.