“Everything can become outdated after a few million years, even evolution.”

- Hob

***Deep Space***

***Fiona***

It has been days. At least that’s how it feels like. Rocking back and forth, I glare at the door to my prison. Something must’ve happened, otherwise they would have switched the speaker system back on. I wasn’t aware what a blessing it was to hear the others until it was taken away.

At first, I embraced the silence. But now, after days without any form of entertainment, I start feeling like a drug addict on withdrawal. The others were annoying, but they at least provided some sort of entertainment.

In the V.C., there aren’t a lot of things someone can do to harm a person. Accordingly, there aren’t many laws. Killing someone in virtual reality is seen as nothing more than a simple bar-fight. After all, the personality in question will simply reincarnate inside a new virtual body.

The only real offences which are left and feared, are deprivation of liberty, any form of enslavement, or torture. The few real doctors in the V.C. are psychologists, tasked with taking care of personalities who were damaged, by accident or intentionally. It’s all too easy to lose one’s self in the many dreams which are offered by the virtual world.

The thought sends a sudden chill down my spine. It even continues downwards to the tip of my tail.

What if our captors were killed and the ship is now drifting? Will we sit here for months until our bodies finally fade away? Will I end up in one of the mental wards when I return to the V.C.?

I mewl, feeling a slight claustrophobia coming on. The walls of my cell suddenly feel so much narrower and the thought that the ceiling is just a single layer of metal sickens me. Edging closer to the edge of the isolated part of the floor, I play with the thought of throwing myself onto the metal which surrounds my little safe zone.

The current, which is intended as punishment, isn’t strong enough to kill me immediately. As Raimund demonstrated, the first shock will be bearable. Then the strength will gradually increase until the prisoner is forced away from the walls. Eventually it will kill me, if I stay in contact for long enough.

If I can bring up the determination. Despite my interest in martial arts, I was never a fan of actually experiencing pain.

My suicidal thoughts are interrupted when the speakers crackle and a sweet voice finally ends the torture. It’s Lisandra’s.

“Hello? Sorry that it took us so long, but things happened. We were very busy and had to take care of important business.”

It feels petty, but this time I join the chorus of complains, realizing too late that an outburst like this was the reason why the speaker system was switched off in the first place.

When my captors come into view, their faces showing their annoyance, I yell for everyone to shut up. Finally silent, I almost throw myself against the door as I crawl as close as possible. “Just let us out! I can’t take this any more! I will do anything!”

The others also follow in affirming their willingness to help in exchange for getting out of their cells. As our captors were standing in front of my cell, I was the only one who could notice their mixed expressions of worry, relief, and guilt.

When the grovelling becomes too much, Silith raises her voice. “Enough. We have thought about the situation and decided to try our luck, though don’t mistake us. There are several safety measures in place which could end you very quickly. If you agree to this, then Antioch, Lisandra and I are the absolute authorities. There will be no talking back, unless you have something constructive to bring to the table.”

She continues explaining their plans, and what they envision for their future race. Jenny and Martin ask them several questions, but I mostly keep my mouth shut.

At last, Silith turns to her daughter, Min, and asks, “So, how do we do this?”

Min nods and explains. As an admin, she should know how a race is founded. Even I don’t know the exact requirements. Up until now, there are only very few races which allow the inhabitants of the V.C. access to the real world. None of them appealed to me, so I didn’t follow their live-streams. That’s why I am not sure about the exact details.

“… so there are several ways to finish the quest. In our case, the simplest solution would be to have a big orgy between the four progenitors...” her voice lowers in volume and falls completely silent as she looks up at her father, whose forehead developed several crunched-up wrinkles at her words.

Stuttering, she picks up where she left off. “B- b- but that would be awkward in a situation like this one. After all, we have to add a complete stranger to the quartet. A symbolic blood ritual should be enough for the system to acknowledge the race creation quest as complete. The four progenitors have to cut their palms, mix their blood together, and affirm that they want to create the new race.”

Silith looks down at her daughter. “Seriously? A blood ritual?”

“It’s not our fault,” Sam mumbles. “The system needs some sort of special action or achievement to give quests or to count them as complete. What’s important is that its something unique. You could also rehearse a dance with four participants, or sing a national hymn if that’s what you want. Since we already go with the whole demon-theme, a blood ritual seemed appropriate.”

He raises a pink mug with a little, red heart painted onto it. “Who wants to go first?”

Silith wrinkles her nose and snatches the mug out of Samuel’s hand. “That’s my morning-tea-mug!”

Sam raises his hands in defence, expecting some sort of retaliation. “Sorry, it just seemed the most fitting for the occasion. It’s known that the system does strange things, randomly generated boons when a new race is created. The admins have almost no control. I was hoping that the blood ritual would transform the mug into a special item. After all, all four progenitors would have provided a sample of their nano-tech.”

“Hell, no!” Antioch roars. “What if the mug gets turned into some kind of national symbol!?” He turns, walking away. “Wait here, I will get something assembled real quick.”

He leaves and Silith pockets the mug. Somehow it vanishes inside her lascivious dress, which is apparently more practical than seemed to be the case at first sight. When I first saw it, the flowing robe seemed like nothing more than a ballgown, but the wide trousers – which look like a skirt – clearly have hidden compartments.

After glaring at her son a final time, she returns her attention to the prisoners. Looking at me, she asks, “So, now that we have this dealt with, who of you will join us as the fourth progenitor?”

“I will!” I quickly raise my hand before anyone else can butt in.

After thinking through the different possibilities of increasing our population, it should be pretty clear to anyone that there aren’t enough guys available on this ship. With Martin, Jenny, and the others, I am already fairly certain that there is no place for me to fit in. By the almighty serverdown, they will most likely tear each other apart, fighting for Martin’s attention.

I don’t have a problem with becoming a progenitor, even if it distances me from the others. Why not? If I prove myself to Antioch, Silith and Lisandra, it will be a position of power. It seems like Antioch and Silith are already a firm set, but I’ve noticed his attention on me. He has a thing for curvy catgirls. I can wait, even if it takes a few decades. And in the meantime I can simply play with one of the girls. It pays off to be interested in both genders.

Silith puckers her lips, sensing something. “Why are you smiling like an imbecile?”

I quickly steel my expression. “Sorry, I was just thinking about something stupid. I am not the most earnest person.”

Antioch's return saves me from further explanations. He reveals an ordinary, but large bowl of metal to the others, then he produces two demon-horns from his pocket and drops them into the bowl. “Those are for Fiona, once she becomes a demon. We will add our own, and if Sam is right, then we will hopefully get something useful… and not the almighty 'Mug of Lovemaking'.”

“Oooh, I like that idea!” Lisandra snaps off her own horns without a second thought, causing me to wince. At least it doesn’t seem to be painful. Are they designed to do that? One by one, the others add their horns to the bowl.

When it becomes apparent that this ceremony-thing can’t go on without me, they throw wary glances at me.

I smile in response, trying to show them my best side. For whatever reason, it seems like they aren’t exactly fond of the idea to add me to their quest. Something must have happened which left them no other choice, and now they are eager to get it done before I decide that getting spaced may be the better option.

Hopefully, I am not making a big mistake.

To my relief, it’s Silith and not Antioch who reaches for the controls of my cell. The door slides open and I get to my feet. Not willing to risk it, I step over the metal floor between the isolated part of the cell and the corridor, even avoiding the door-frame.

Five pairs of eyes follow my every move.

Realizing that the situation is more than awkward, I try my best to do something about it. “I think that we started off on the wrong foot, so why don’t we try this again.” Holding out my hand, I reintroduce myself, “Hi, my name is Fiona. You could call me a free spirit from the V.C., as I am not affiliated with any faction. I guess that I saw a little bit of every world the V.C. has to offer, and after a while I wanted to do something with my existence. That’s why I tried joining the survivalists… and… erm… it sucked… got enslaved… until you messed up the slavers…”

Man! This is awkward. Their demon-style really works! I feel like I am standing in front of a hellish cabal. Why aren’t any of them taking my hand?

Uncomfortable with their scrutiny, I fidget a little. “Thanks to your intervention, I managed to start a rebellion and... you know the rest… here I am!”

Lisandra saves me by breaking the ice. She takes my hand and shakes it. “I am Lisandra.”

The others also reintroduce themselves and I apologize to Antioch for kicking him beneath the belt-line. It feels only appropriate to do so, now that we are playing in the same team. After it’s clear that I am not going to lash out at them, they visibly relax. I also feel much better to be out of the cell.

Once that’s done, we discuss the procedure and Antioch uses a little knife to cut his palm. Going first, he allows a few droplets of silvery blood to fall into the bowl with the horns. “I want to found a new race.”

According to the twins, it’s not about the amount. The gesture is what counts. Not to mention that our bodies are too sturdy to collect large amounts of blood. Antioch had to squeeze his fist just to get out a few drops before the blood coagulated and the wound closed itself.

Next is Lisandra. Her blood looks normal with its red colour, but she has to shake her hand to get it off her palm, as it tries to crawl back into the wound. She also states her wish and hands the knife to her sister.

When it’s Silith’s turn, she just pricks the tip of her thumb and squeezes a syrupy, black ichor into the bowl. The droplets hiss and sizzle upon touching the material, and I wonder if the horns will be okay. Grey smoke rises from the bowl, causing me to flinch back upon getting a whiff of the sulphuric scent.

Silith notices that everyone is looking at her, so she shrugs. “I thought it would be a cool upgrade...” She returns her attention to the bowl in Antioch’s hands. “I want to found my race.”

Finally, the ball is in my hands and Silith offers me the little knife.

Huffing, I quickly take the blade and cut my palm, causing blue blood to well up and out of the wound. A while ago, I took an upgrade which switched my blood from an iron-base to copper, giving it antibiotic properties. The proper name is Hemocyanin and… I look up and notice their raised eyebrows. “I just thought that it would be pretty… I admit.” I look at the bowl and also state my wish to found the race.

As if my words had some sort of effect, our blood evaporates into coloured mist, creating a little, multi-coloured tornado inside the bowl.

Playing their roles properly, the kids ‘Ooh’ and ‘Aah’ at the sight of the spectacle, while Antioch's face shows only concern. He is clearly considering to simply drop the bowl and to run for the hills. Having experience with nano-tech, and especially with system-created skills, I don’t think that he would be wrong in doing so. Though, since nobody is running, I just take a step back, hoping that it will be enough if the nano-tech decides that it needs more energy for whatever it’s doing.

The troublesome thing about V.C. nano-tech is that it tends to eat stuff if there are no clear limitations in its programming.

It doesn’t happen in this case, but the little tornado also doesn’t stop. When I am about to ask how long it will take, I get a system message.

G.O.D.: An epic quest has come to an end. But it’s just the beginning of a far bigger adventure! Do your best as the mascot of the team! Do you really want to betray the Beastmen and join the Demon-race? Choose 'Yes' or 'No'. Demon Demons are a militant race which is naturally inclined to form a hierarchical caste system. Their current political disposition is chaotic-neutral. Physiology: Demons have sturdy and strong bodies. Depending on their environment, they develop different traits and appearances, but their overall identifying features are the horns and a sensitive tail. Don’t touch it, unless you want to find yourself skewered like a piece of shish kebab. Proficiency: They are proficient in several sciences with no particular preferences, but as tool-users they strongly depend on technology. Political Structure: Demons live in a hierarchical Monarchy with a king and a queen at the top. As they progress in rank, their influence on lower demons increases. Population Growth: Very high. The fact that there tend to be more females than males, means that they can increase their numbers exponentially. Depending on education, offspring can reach adulthood in less than a decade. Demons have no natural lifespan and can only die due to violence or illness. Technological Abilities: Currently limited to a level-eight tech-base. Further developments are possible. Preferred Environment: Not determined, but due to the fact that one of their progenitors was a Survivalist, they get access to various classes which make it possible to thrive in almost any situation.

Racial Skill –

Law of the Lords:

The four progenitors of the demon-race are their highest authorities. Their horns are the symbols of their status. Through them, they can mentally communicate with all their offspring, wherever they are. Don’t make the mistake of believing that a single demon isn’t a danger. Because where there is one, there may be many. Special Traits: Telepathic, Nomadic, Rapid breeders, Competitive

Further information about various classes is available, but I have no time to read through it. Scrolling through the wall of text which impedes my vision, I finally reach the end of the massive system message. Two big buttons ask me with pulsing pompous text whether I want to take this step or not. Concentrating, I chose the ‘Yes’ option.

Again, my field of vision is covered by messages, informing me of my new status as a progenitor and new skills and abilities. I dump all the information into the mail-box to read it later.

Judging by the expressions of the others, they are experiencing a similar flood of system-spam.

Finally, the swirling tornado of multi-coloured mist evaporates, leaving Antioch with his bowl. The horns which were put into the bowl still have their old colour and appearance, but now they are covered by a complicated pattern of golden symbols, marking them as important artefacts.

The others retrieve their horns and I am handed the set which was intended for me, two black spikes which are supposed to curve backwards above my head. My body has yet to adapt to my new race, so I pocket the artefacts for now.

Antioch raises his eyebrows as he inspects the now empty bowl. There is something inscribed on the inside. As I look at the symbols, recognition spreads through my mind. Now being counted as a demon, I apparently unlocked a new language and the system downloaded it directly into my mind.

Antioch’s expression lightens up as he experiences the same, so he starts reading. “Abandon all hope and your former self, ye who drink from this bowl! Join the demon race and serve the progenitors.” He harrumphs. “That might come in handy.”

Min’s expression crunches up in confusion. “I don’t see the point. You should be able to convert any V.C. member to our race if you give them an invitation. There is no point in such a relic.”

“Maybe it allows us to convert anyone, even non-humans?” Silith suggests in a questioning tone.

In absence of further information, we decide to put the bowl aside. It may become useful in the future, but first we have to find fitting test-subjects. Luckily, the bowl isn’t needed to convert Jenny, Martin, and the others. Speaking out a simple invitation and their acceptances are enough.

The situation returns to being awkward when all of the others are free. Not that there are any hotilities between us captives and our captors. The opposite is the case. Now free, Jenny and the other girls are glaring at Martin who is sweating buckets. Turning, he makes sure that he has a wall behind him and backs up against it. “I know what you are thinking, girls, but believe me, there was no ill will behind it. I just wanted everyone to be happy.”

Sensing that another execution is imminent, Min does her best to prevent it. She claps her hands to gain our attention. “Now that we are all friends, why don’t we find some fitting accommodations for you? Please follow me.” Turning, she strolls along the corridor and leaves the ward.

I glance around and follow her. “Oh, yes! I really could need a warm bath! The water hose inside the cells was always cold.”

Walking along the corridor, I notice a pair of eyes on me. Now aware that I am being watched the attention makes me feel mischievous, so I add a little more roll to my hips. Swaying erotically as I walk, I give my spectator nice show. I bet it’s Antioch.

Shortly before I reach the exit, I glance behind myself, expecting to catch the ogler in the deed.

To my surprise it’s not Antioch. Lisandra quickly averts her eyes, pretending that the wall is way more interesting than my bottom. Looking straight ahead, I allow myself a slick smile. There may be someone unattached on this ship after all.