Marching down the sandy streets with the mediator ahead of me— she slithers along, her batlike wings folded and arm-length spikes keeping me a good distance away from her.

I would walk beside her, but I’m distracted. The city— the demons aren’t the same. All around as we pass, the demons that’d bare their teeth and ooze off hostility enough to make me quicken my pace and brace— they’re all but docile now.

That said, I am getting interested looks from others, the kind far more threatening than the demons I’d look out for on a daily basis. Demons well into the highest levels of Crimson Essence and especially those reeking the same levels Gerim and the mediator ahead of me do.

‘They’re…interested?’

“They are,” the mediator says, and I grimace at being so easily read, “And so am I.”

“You are? What do you mean?”

She doesn’t turn back at me, keeping the pace all while speaking, “You’re the Lord Crimson now, word travels fast. Your bullies no longer see a benefit in picking on you, in fact, they’re wary. And your betters— well, with the forthcoming battles they’ll want to have a good demon on their squad. Much like I do, Lord Crimson.”

‘Lord Crimson…’

From the psychic bombardment I experienced after the fight, I could barely do anything but accept the will of the audience. I know I’m the Lord Crimson, but it’s the significance of the title that evades me.

She senses this, “I understand that you were lured to the pit by a squad member. Naïve, but you are quite young and new here, so I’ll fill you in so you don’t embarrass yourself in front of Lord Calridian.”

Blasted Hargoil. I may have made a fuss trying to leave the pit before time to search for him. Worst of all, because I didn’t get to leave— thanks to the mediator’s defining presence and rigid need for procedure— the bastard got away.

“You’re still the farthest thing from any sort of royalty, so don’t expect reverence of any sort.”

I snap away from my thoughts as she starts giving the breakdown, mind open and eager to capture as much as possible from her.

“Being Lord Crimson means very little to outsiders, but if you’re in the service of Calridian or any of the Noble Generals, then you would care about it. The Lord Crimson, much like the Lord Orange is chosen through battle for a singular purpose.”

At this, she slows her pace enough that I nearly stab into the spikes protruding from her back. Ahead is Calridian’s lair, the single solid structure in the city.

“And that purpose is to gain the attention of a Noble General and ours, is Lord Calridian. In the coming war there’s going to be a need for exceptional fighters and you’ve proved yourself worth his boon by defeating all others in the pit.”

A mixture of surprise and excitement come over me. Surprise because I hadn’t known there was a coming war and excitement at the prospect of reaping even more rewards from the conniving demon.

“Can I choose my boon?” I ask, knowing exactly what to ask for. The secrets he’s withholding about the Deities will be enough.

She stops just short of the lair and at last turns to face me. Being more powerful than Gerim even, her stare is imposing. I almost flare up with Essence to protect myself before catching the impression of scorn and disappointment she exudes.

“In the last war I crawled out of the pit and was recognized as Lord Crimson. Right afterwards I prostrated before Lord Calridian, our Lord and sought his judgement. He saw fit to grant me powers beyond what I’d known and charged me with the mediation of the royale.”

She heaves, wings twitching, “Do not dare assume a sense of entitlement, Lord Crimson, the wild masses betting on your head to roll aren’t what ordain you to your station— he is.”

There’s nothing else to do but nod. It’s rare— this much devotion, loyalty. If all Blood Orange are like her then demons may not be as disorganized as I thought. Calridian may be a fiend I’m latching onto until I can get out of this hell and enact my revenge, but he is still Lord.

She nods as well, but then as she gestures to one of the rather tall and wide demon guards at the door to the lair she adds, “I take back what I said about being interested in you. You may remain with your vile, backstabbing squad mates or join whatever poor squad leader thinks you worth the risk.”

By the tone and impression of the words I can tell she meant it to be a slight. But I couldn’t care less if Gerim or some other brutish demon retains me in their squad. I don’t care about any of this at all, no. Their war, whatever or whoever it’s with is the furthest thing from my mind.

She leaves and I’m left with myself and the guards. One has disappeared into the lair, likely to announce my presence to Calridian and the other simply stares straight ahead, a staff longer than its body firm its two left hands.

With Calridian ahead of me I set aside all the unimportant things the mediator demon divulged and stir my interests to the surface of my thoughts.

That purple light, the one that vanished the demon. The spells and the weapon I asked for. The mission to kill-

The doors swing wide open and the second guard strides back out and gives me the nod to go in. I do and almost immediately the doors come shut behind me as I stand at the top of the stairwell leading down into the main part of the lair.

It’s a mess, more so than usual given there’s debris everywhere and…Calridian is nowhere to be found. The shapeshifting hulk of mass I recognize him as is gone but his suffocating presence isn’t.

“Lord Crimson!” Comes a holler from the left side of the lair, the farthest part of the room with a long circular row of stairs now…split open? It’s also the most damaged, the concrete beneath is a smashed crater pooling with a thick red ooze.

‘It…smells familiar.’

In the midst of all the chaos a man stands. A man.

I blink at this, the man below, swishing through the ooze towards me is no doubt Calridian— even transformed into the normalcy of a humanoid he simply can’t disguise his signature presence.

Stark naked Calridian strides forward and smiles up at me. Unlike the rippling muscles in his arms his face seems to have nothing of the sort. Sunken cheeks and dark circles under his eyes complete a familiar image of a malnourished individual. Something within me cries and I frown, acknowledging the fleeting sensation of…empathy as one of the few vestiges of my human past.

‘I know that pain. The waking nightmares won’t stop tormenting me with glimpses of what I assume to be my past. Only I can never tell who I was in any of these nightmares, the plights of having no discernible gender.’

“I sent you to learn a few spells and you return to me the Lord Crimson.” His smile grows into a grin, “I’m impressed.”

It’s a strange thing to see his mouth move and an even stranger thing to hear my language out of his mouth.

I resist the downward twitch of my lip and keep a straight face, focussing on the matter I’m here for.

He blinks, a wide range of disappointment and hurt flashes across his…face, “Oh you don’t like me speaking this? I thought it’d ease you.”

I’ve never been good at keeping my big mouth shut for long so I snap, “So you invade my mind and pick out one of the last things I know of my origins? To use against me I’m sure.”

He shakes his head, calmer and well put together for a naked man, “Nonsense, if it bothers you so much I’ll stop.”

‘Now that bothers me.’

He reads my mind flagrantly and his grin grows even more so. Bellowing out with mad bout of laughter he sighs, “Oh…so foolish these young ones. But I suppose your audacity is one of the many things that have brought you in front of me again. Audacious enough to leap into the pit, risk your life and limb for…my favour? No…you were baited by my troublemaker son.”

“Son? Hargoil?”

He shrugs, “As much a son to me as these little ones.”

Said little one’s approach in multitudes, cooperating with one another to heave a rather large bag of…Crystals. I begin to appreciate Hargoil’s mischief a bit as the bag is set down next to Calridian.

Hopping down the stairs I start to approach what must be the rewards from the pit when Calridian steps in the way.

‘What now?’

“Now? Well, now I decide if you’re worth the Crystals, or if I should simply keep them.”

My eyes narrow at this, “Why would that even be in question? You want Morthul dead, don’t you? I’m going to need a lot more than a few spells and a weapon I think.”

His grin drops and the overwhelming presence grows, “There’s a lot I want, Nil, but not a lot I deserve. It’s the same for everyone and it’s the same for you. Fortunate for you, I get to judge if you deserve anything at all, and you get to be right in front of me as I do.”

He leans in to emphasis his words, “I don’t think the Deities gave you that honour, now did they?”

For the second time since we met, my head dips down in submission. He’s right. The mediator was right too, right to honour and respect him.

“Alright,” I start, voice low and unchallenging, “You’re right and I should respect you for that. I think I’m a very…disregarding person.”

His stern gaze softens and his impression gives off understanding, “You’re still discovering yourself…rediscovering. I understand that, but for the moment my interests take priority.”

He steps away, wet feet smacking the floor as he walks back into the ruined hideaway between the circling stairs, “Before I give my judgement though, you were reciting some questions and propositions when you stepped in. You have my attention, Lord Crimson.”

An open floor to speak.

“I saw a lot of things down there and met a lot of challenging opponents. Frankly, I don’t think I would’ve survived more than five minutes if it weren’t for the Invisibility spell.”

He nods, still listening as he puts on a ring and points it towards the pool of ooze. In a flash and burst of mana the ooze vanishes into the ring. It finally clicks what that smell is.

‘The Dawern.’

“I’m grateful I learned it in time. Jumping straight in to a battle for my life right afterwards also helped me learn of its limitations in time…” I trail off at the end, expecting him to cut me off and refute that his spell would have any sort of limitations.

But he continues to stare down at some tank so I take a brace and get on with it, “…these limitations are going to be a pain in the neck and a death sentence for me if I’m to challenge someone like Morthul. I need more power, more than an enchanted weapon because it won’t matter how good it is if I’m already too dead to use it.”

He nods, staring up at a demon he ripped out of the tank. It squirms in the air above his head, held up by the same magic force reaching out past me. I sidestep out of the way as a scroll launches out of the shelf to hover in front of Calridian.

“So what are you saying? What are you asking for?” He says, tone completely indifferent with absolutely no impression at all.

He only ever lets off the emotions and thoughts he wants me to know. ‘And that’s just another reason he’s dangerous. Unlike Hargoil he doesn’t have any sort of body language I can see through.’

Things and moments where I notice this always have me doubting my senses. What if he wants me to believe he can’t leave and kill Morthul himself? What if everything has been a lie and he’s the only one who gets to tell the truth?

“I…I want the right to go in the desert and return whenever I want. Not just with Hargoil and Gerim. I need to anyway, I need to get stronger and I won’t ask you to give me power for free, I’ll earn it. I’ll earn enough power to kill Morthul and come join whatever war you’re having.”

For a moment the air is still and so is he. Then he moves, looks at me with those dead, sickly eyes and grinned. The grin doesn’t follow any impression of amusement so it lands flat, like a smile on a corpse.

“So many have asked for that right, Nil, so many have begged, sworn their loyalty for that right. I thought you’d ask for something original.”

‘What the…’

“The answer is no, of course, and before you argue that practicing the spells with the wild demons would help, remember I gave you everything you’d need to kill the demon.”

He waves his hand and the scroll floats over to be, though I already know the contents without looking. It’s a copy of the [Minor Illusion] spell.

“Prepare,” he starts with a stern gaze, “you’ll be needing these powers for so much more than Morthul.”