Once more, he was back in the village.

It was surrounded by dirt brown hills, dry bushes, and rocky trails. On the horizon were jagged mountains and murderous caves.

Back when he was in the village, he saw dark shapes spiraling in the air. Black wings flew under bone-bleaching sunlight. Hundreds of beaks anticipated the coming feast.

The scent of feces and blood was heavy in the air. His ears were filled with the dying cries of friends and enemies. Of humans in conflict.

Someone was yelling directly in his face.

It wasn’t his idiot CO. That happened a few years ago.

“Quinton’s hurt!” Mariah yelled. Her nails were digging into his bicep. She’d been shaking him, pulling him back from the memories. “And Roberto hasn’t come back yet. He should be back by now.”

DeSean stumbled against her, feeling weak suddenly. The adrenaline was dropping. Lylothia’s aid wasn’t enough. He’d fought too hard. He’d endured too much. But his demon princess was perched on his shoulder. Her eyes were on him, along with the rest of the survivors’.

Weakness is pain leaving the body.

DeSean straightened his posture, a painful shudder escaping him as he reassessed what was happening. The flashbacks dispersed, revealing Hailey’s cooling corpse under him.

Oh, yeah.

He failed to stop the nicked artery in her leg. She’d bled out and died to a cardiac arrest.

Shame. She might’ve had what it took to be a leader in this new world.

Now she was laying in the front yard where they had relocated.

The house was on fire. Stacks of noxious smoke and ash billowed into the sky. Roberto was somewhere in there since he was the only one who had the Strength for it.

“Trust your brother.” DeSean pulled his arm away from Mariah and crouched down. He wiped the tears from the political major’s eyes and closed them. She looked a little more dignified now.

“Quinton,” DeSean barked. “How bad is it?”

“I’m okay, but Casey needs more attention than me,” he said. He was knelt down next to Social Media, sealing a sucking chest wound. The contents of Glenda’s medical bag was spilled messily next to him.

DeSean hobbled over with Mariah in his shadow.

Social Media was struggling to breathe. Every inhale sounded like a gargle. What remained of her friends hovered nearby.

Botany and Art History looked up with pale faces and hazy, shell-shocked eyes.

“We can’t lose her,” said Art History. “We can’t lose anymore of our friends.”

“We’ll try.” DeSean nodded and paid heed to Quinton. His side was bleeding and he was moving stiffly. His big hands weren’t lacking in dexterity, not normally. But now it was obvious he was having a hard time. When he reached for the scissors to snip the length of a bandage, the instruments slipped out of his hand. He reacted too slowly.

“Quinton, move to the side,” DeSean ordered.

“I got this,” Quinton said.

“You’re going to get her killed if you put your pride on the line,” Quinton said sharply. “You’re not in the condition to aid her. You need aid. Move it.”

Quinton whirled around, anger lighting up his face. But all he’d find were DeSean’s uncaring, dead-eyes. The golden-boy backed down and moved to the side sluggishly.

“You don’t want to lose a friend,” DeSean muttered, snatching Art History roughly by the arm. “Get the fuck down and do as I say.”

He shoved Art History to the ground. He pointed at Mariah and gestured her to help out Quinton. “He should know first aid. Work it out, you two.”

Mariah crouched down next to Quinton, following through. While the two of them worked on Quinton’s injury, DeSean instructed Art History through a few basic steps to help keep his friend alive. Botany hovered like a ghost, watching, until she’d mumbled randomly to herself. She mentioned something about medical herbs and life-saving plants. But she stayed completely still instead of running off into the forest to find those.

That was probably for the best. The forest east of the house was on fire. Lots of things are going to be on fire. It hadn’t even been a full twenty-four hours yet, too.

“This isn’t enough,” Art History said softly. “This is Rubens’ Consequences of War. We’re to be trampled into the dirt, begging the skies for salvation.”

DeSean had some disagreeable words regarding being in the dirt and forced to beg for a savior. He kept his mouth shut and concentrated on ensuring Art History wasn’t speeding up Social Media’s death.

He was fully aware of the demon princess on his shoulder. She remained just as silent, observing the pathetic struggles of little mortals.

“I found two!” yelled Roberto, smashing his way out of the front door. Trails of black smoke and orange embers roiled in the air behind him.

He coughed and sputtered, but remained upright with his prize in hand.

There was a reason to help those who could still be saved even if it was grim. It might even seem pointless. There was no medivac or a Corpsman that could be relied on here, after all. Chances were every hospital in the vicinity were going to be overruned or torn apart.

The arrival of the System had ruined much. But it also brought new miracles, too. Roberto held two such miracles⁠—clear vials filled with a red blend.

Health Potion (Basic Consumable) ⁠— A System-trusted product that provides partial recovery and a slight and temporary boost to Endurance. Must be consumed entirely by one creature.

Mariah looked her brother over first before asking, “Is that all you found?”

“I checked nooks and crannies just like D told me.” He stopped to cough and spit before continue. “Found a Stamina Potion and another Od Elixer. There might be more in the shed and the barn if we look.”

DeSean knelt down and looked into Social Media’s unseeing eyes. Arm outstretched, he felt Roberto slap the vial into his palm. The surface was cool, but he sensed a thrumming energy packed inside the container.

“Help her up carefully,” DeSean instructed. He glanced at Botany and found her eyes sharpening. She was grounded in reality again. “Here, you can administer this.”

Botany got to her knees, responsive and ready to help. Good, good, there was something worth savaging in that psyche of hers.

He was about to uncork the vial and pass it to her when the thunderous crack of a rifle and the air-snapping flight of a passing bullet interrupted them. Social Media shuddered hard and started to fight against her friends like a fearful animal in death throes, worsening her condition.

DeSean turned away from the panicking university students and saw Jebediah Junior walking out from the shadow of his burning house. In his shaky arms was a rifle pointed at DeSean. He had the eyes of a man who’d lost too much and was willing to sacrifice his good judgement to keep from going insane.

“I’m going to give you this one warning,” DeSean said. “Stop this before you regret it.”

“Put fucking sock in it, you sonuvabitch,” Junior spat. “Give me that. Give me everything you took from us. Or. Or I’ll lay you down like the bandits you are.”

“Don’t point that gun at my brother!” Mariah yelled. “You’re going to get yourself and Social Media killed if you⁠—”

“I don’t give a corn-picking god damn about your retarded brother and some damn internet kid!” Junior roared. “My wife is dead. My father is dead. And this all happened when you stormed into our home and took over the place like it’s yours!”

Social Media made a quiet, wet gasping sound followed by a muted gurgle. Most people would’ve given up by now. But she clawed weakly at her friends’ arms, fighting to live. Her eyes veered DeSean, begging for the potion.

“Please let us save the girl, sir,” Quinton begged.

“Fuck you,” spat Junior. “Drop the stuff and get off my property!”

Mariah shifted.

Junior snapped off another shot that nearly took the girl’s head.

He swiveled the gun from her to Roberto to DeSean. He kept a bead on DeSean until his trembling, maddened eyes landed on Lylothia’s perched form.

“Summoner,” Lylothia said, her deep and musical voice resonating across the yard. “I am displeased and offended by this pathetic display. What will you do to appease me?”

“Shut that thing up!”

“Princess,” DeSean said, “I’ll tribute him to you. Alive.”

Before Junior could react to the threat behind DeSean’s offer, the single optiling that was still in commission smashed into the back of the mad farmer’s head. Screaming, Junior whirled around and fired off multiple shots at the absconding minion. None hit, and his weapon clicked empty.

DeSean saw Junior’s cheek was bloodied, and didn’t need to press his claim any further. He returned his attention to Social Media who was on her last string of life.

“Mariah, his leg,” he instructed as he passed the potion to Botany. “Then his shooting arm.”

A boisterous crack sounded off behind DeSean. It was followed by Junior’s squeal and the solid thump of a man’s body hitting the ground.

Another shot rang out just as Botany tipped the vial into Social Media’s bloodied mouth and poured the content. With the threat eliminated, DeSean observed the potion application intensely, for it was event that showed another facet of magic.

The influencer’s eyes glinted like an ember refusing to go out, her life force a slowly growing flame. A red light glowed from under her skin. It acted like a sophisticated X-ray, revealing the webs and frames of her anatomy beneath the skin.

However, DeSean’s Attunement perceived more than just that. The magic was coursing through her intelligently, like a doctor made purely of mana. The potion’s power flared the strongest around her sucking chest wound, pulsating in waves that made his mana membrane tingle.

Using Focus alone, his heightened perceptions could hear the wet and fleshy regeneration of flesh. He stopped listening closely when Social Media coughed up excess blood to clear her lungs. She didn’t sound particularly healthy, but she was getting better rapidly.

It was a freaking miracle rich medical practitioners around the world would pay fortunes to study. Magic.

“Should we give her another?” Art History asked. “She looks like she can use another.”

“No,” Botany answered. “We should observe in case her condition changes radically. There could be adverse side-effects if we administer more. Careful dosing is best.”

“When were you a doctor?” he snapped.

“The first doctors were herbalist. They learned the hardway what’s good and what’s not. Don’t question me on that.”

Art History turned to DeSean, but he would find no allie there. The Marine Veteran made it obvious he trusted Botany’s reasoning here.

“Quinton?” DeSean glanced at him.

The Air Force Veteran had his shirt off and a crimson wrap of bandages and gauzes covering his side. He looked a little pale, but his condition was stable.

“Had a bullet slip through my side. Mariah helped me get things under control, so I won’t be needing the last potion,” he admitted.

Mariah gave a thumbs up, a fair enough assessment on Quinton satisfying DeSean.

“I need to check on my mom,” Quinton said. “She’s still passed out in the truck.”

“Go. I’m going to deal with Junior,” DeSean said.

At the sound of his name, the wounded farmer whimpered.

Quinton hesitated, his jaw working up and down with the beginning of an argument. Whatever he wanted to say, it stayed underheard as he limped off to his truck.

DeSean took the health potion from Roberto and tossed it to Botany. He trusted her to know what to do with it, and they seemed to both have an understanding that it was a precious consumable, basic or not.

DeSean hobbled over to Junior’s lying form, Roberto to his left and Mariah to his right. His demon princess had his right shoulder. Then the minion swooped in and landed behind his left shoulder. Together, they stood over Jebediah Junior’s bloody form.

“What we’re going to do with him?” Roberto asked quietly.

“You’re going to check the shed,” DeSean said. “That’s what you’re brother’s going to do, right, Mariah?”

“Si.”

Roberto looked uncertainly at them and found a united front. The preteen sulked and did as he’d been told.

“D-don’t go,” Junior stammered. “They’re going to kill me.”

Roberto hesistated.

A few words in Spanish from Mariah put some sense into the boy. He hustled away. With his brother gone, Mariah bent down and removed the rifle.

“It’s going to be worse than that,” she said quietly. “If you were supposed to die, you’d be dead by now.”

“You’re going to let him torture me,” Junior gasped. “What’s wrong with you? We’ve welcomed you, and you turn out like this. A bunch of animals! All because nobody’s brave enough to stand against the fucking Marine.”

“This fucking Marine,” DeSean said, “was going to ask for a quick death. But I think that’s not much of an option now.”

Junior blinked. “What?”

“He tributed your measely life to me,” said Lylothia. “But do not fret, lowly mortal, for I will have you serve a purpose. It will be greater than the sum of your pathetic existence.”

DeSean glanced at the princess, and his heart skipped a beat. The cute, doll-like face was twisted into a monstrous mask of serrated teeth and glowing red eyes.

“Let us explore the curse magic sphere, shall we?” Princess Lylothia announced with a booming guffaw. “I know. I know. Curse magic is not an application one would attribute with a Hell Princess such as me. I’m inclined to disprove you of the notion, however. I’ve brought to fold covens of hedge witches and made them their own legion of the Forty-First Disc. I had them catalogue the curse magic craft thoroughly, especially the elements that appeals to me when in war. In fact, you must know I’m very, very particular toward’s blood curses when I wish to satisfy my more… chaotic urges.”

***

DeSean could tell Lylothia was managing the lesson on tempo to Junior’s nearing demise. The wounds to the farmer’s leg and arm weren’t deadly, but the blood loss would get to him soon enough. The Hell Princess proved to be as exceptional in teaching as she was at being petty. Clearly, she had been bothered by Junior’s hostile grandstanding and wanted to make an example of him.

Whether it was for DeSean’s benefit, or it was to massage the Hell Princess’s ego, or a mix of both, DeSean didn’t dig into it. He was more concerned by the lesson itself. It was a lot faster than the summoning one since they were working on the limited time of a man’s waning life, but Lylothia touched on all the key points. She refreshed some topics for Mariah. She hadn’t the benefit of listening to last night’s instructions since she fell asleep then.

Curse magic tended to rely on seance and physical emblems more than pentagrams and runic circles. Most applications required a physical representation of the target, or the curse magic would have to be directed at an area where it could affect victims that come across the spell.

This sphere of magic was also emotionally charged and oddly creative. There were a countless number of curses. As many curses as there were people, for they could be made to do strangely specific things. They could llinger for a few minutes to generations to even longer. The most powerful of curse magic could respond to a specific trigger, adhere themselves to a focal point, and sustain themselves by absorbing various ambient energies for mana, persisting without the original caster’s maintenance.

The key was keeping the curse simple even if its effect could lead to devastating results. Something a Marine Veteran could understand.

With the lecture out of the way, DeSean did as he was told by the letter. He took out a knife and scraped up droplets of Junior’s blood. The farmer spent his remaining energy trying to crawl away even though he was privy to the lesson like everyone else⁠—curses could completely ignore distance. So, DeSean didn’t bother following him and held up the bloodied blade to the sky.

Next, he revisited what he felt when Junior nearly robbed Social Media of the life-saving potion. DeSean felt a tired annoyance more than anything. That was not a strong enough emotion, though. He could probably dig into his past but DeSean had a better idea.

He turned to Mariah. “What did you feel when he was pointing the rifle and⁠—”

“Threatening my brother,” Mariah cut in. “And getting in the way. I felt like I wanted to rip his head off.”

“Clever, my dear, clever,” Lylothia said, cackling. “You don’t have to be the source of strong emotions.”

I was actually thinking of using her anger to prop up my own, DeSean thought. He then said, “Do we need to hold hands?”

“As long as she’s harboring the strong emotion willfully and is content of letting you have it then the spell would form.” Lylothia returned to her cuter appearance and hid her doll-like smile behind her wing. “It is an old tenet, but there is the belief that true mages borrow not from their own reserves but from all that’s available around them. Better so when usurping the power of another.”

“I got more than enough hate to spare,” Mariah said.

DeSean was also filled with more mana than was natural. It was like last night. His mana depth stretched further than its supposed limits, humming powerfully around his body. He had Free Od to spare. He could put more points into Attunement, but he wanted to discuss the implications of having a Main Path with Lylothia first.

Hell, he might not even need those points.

I’m filled up with more mana than my current capacity. His magic wanted to get out and do something. His body was tired, and he was beat up to all hell. But the hum of power flowing over his body was lively and bursting from the seams like a ripe fruit.

That was a lot of power at his fingertips, which should’ve been enough.

The Hell Princess thought otherwise.

Lylothia slid a sliver of her own mana into him. DeSean gasped. His mana depth ballooned further than he’d thought was possible. His flow hummed like a giant generator, making the air shimmer visibly around him. The Hell Princess didn’t stop there. Phantom fingers traced over his hands⁠⁠—they softly urged him to follow along. Her bat form turned to his ear and whispered dark secrets.

He had the power of his own collection and that of a divine immortal. He had the idea of what he wanted to happen⁠ stamped into his mind’s core—the intent. All that remained was taking Mariah’s strong emotions and fusing them with emblematic words that would unleash hell. Moving his hands was more a formality that helped his concentration, but that was barely necessary since he had way more Focus now.

“Gluttonous snake, fangs of chaos

Boil the hands of wolfish reach.

Mutinous heart, gut of poison

Devour the blood, flesh besieged.”

There was a split-second where DeSean felt like a volcano moments away from blowing its top. Then the magic lunged out of him, lapping up the blood on the knife before hunting down the intended prey. All that power leaving him, especially the portion that belonged to his patron, was the near pinnacle of climaxes.

By the time Junior died, what remained of the bubbling brown flesh sloughing off his bones, and the red-tinged vapors twirling into the air, gave off such a putrid smell even DeSean had to turn away and gag. He only did so after the farmer’s screams had came to an end. The Marine Veteran was the crafter of such a devious spell, so it was his duty to see it all the way through.

“Fuck,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “That was some nasty shit.”

It was one thing to imagine it, but to see it come to fruition was a different thing. Holy shit, magic could be scary as fuck.

Kind of badass, too. He kept that to himself, of course.

“Smells like the abandoned bath house,” Mariah said quietly. “It was behind my home. My old home. The gangsters would take the chopped bodies there. Then they would use acids to melt those down. It would leave a smell.”

Lylothia tilted her head at the teen girl. “I like this one.”

That’s… troubling, DeSean thought.

He glanced at what remained of Junior, shaking his head. I’m going to have to reserve this spell for when I really need to prove a point. This is some Geneva Convetion breaking power.

Then again, Geneva Convetions was a Pre-System, Pre-Apocalypse law. It didn’t take a genius to know the world had changed radically overnight, and so did its social mores, historic treaties, and philosophical concerns. There was a lot of implications to explore there.

Nonetheless, he was going to need more practice with curse magic. Even with his fattened mana depth and Lylothia’s offered power, his mana was significantly reduced by the end of the spell. He barely had enough to maintain one minion, Lylothia’s form, and the stat boosts. At the same time, he didn’t get any Od from Junior’s death.

Probably too weak to offer much.

“Did he really deserve that?” Roberto asked after returning from the shed with more loot.

DeSean turned from the preteen to the three remaining university students, Quinton, and finally Allison. The woman looked much older now, but at least she came out untouched. She had fainted around the time mechanical engineer got splattered, somethingt Mariah had told DeSean while moving Social Media and Hailey outside.

The accountant was gone. He’d taken his sedan and children out of the area. He left behind his wife’s body.

Everyone else had been KIA.

DeSean glanced down at Hailey’s supine corpse. He looked over to Social Media’s unconscious but still-breathing form. His wandering eyes stopped on the human soup that was once Jebediah Junior.

“Yeah, he deserved it,” DeSean said.

“What now?” Mariah asked before anyone could voice their concerns. It was written on most of their faces.

Lylothia hummed delightfully, taking an obvious liking to Mariah. The Hell Princess’s voice cowed the others. For now.

“What now, huh? Well, we decide if we want to continue going as a group,” DeSean said. “There’s multiple vehicles on the property. We can split what we have and go our separate ways, or stick together. I won’t force anything on anyone here. It’s up to you.”

By the time they were ready to leave, the barn house was a roaring conflagration. They took an enclosed trailer from the property and hooked it to the monster pickup truck. Roberto had ensured the area was picked clean of guns, magazines, and ammunition, and System-consumables.

They all mounted up in the truck. Allison took the wheel. Roberto rode shotgun with the farm’s pump-action in hand.

Quinton and Social Media had the spacious backseats to themselves. DeSean sat in the bed with Mariah, Botany, and Art History—the university students didn’t want to split-up or drive the van. It was, or had been, Hailey’s van.

Her corpse laid in the bed with them, wrapped in a black tarp they’d taken from the shed. They also had patches of hay laid around the bed to make it more comfortable.

“She’d like to get buried by the Lake of Ozark,” Botany said in a tired, croaky voice.

“Then we’ll bury her there,” DeSean replied.

“Will we go to a hospital?” Mariah asked.

“I talked to Allison about it. She knows a place that would be out of the ways of major hotspots. Might still be staffed if we’re fortunate. It’ll take us north toward the lake, too.”

They needed to make sure Quinton would come out alright. Or they would have to use the last potion. Both DeSean and Quinton could agree saving the health potion for an emergency was a necessity, but Quinton’s condition worsening was a greater detriment.

“I put Od into Attunement,” Art History piped up. “It’s up to ten now. I, ugh, can see stuff.”

“Ears?” DeSean asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why are the ears on the ground anyway?” Botany asked. “Oh, and I got twenty-one Od in Attunement now.”

“It is for us rulers of the Seventy-Two Hells, my little mortals,” Princess Lylothia answered amusingly. “We hear your exploits. We decide who to deliver our boons.”

“I’m… troubled,” Art History said. “I loss my friends. I’m barely able to do anything while Casey’s dying. My family’s not responding. I’m following a guy who… melts people inside-out. Now the literal devil-on-the-shoulder is talking to me.”

The university student rubbed across his face and muttered, “I’m in a Bouguereau’s work. This is Dante and Virgil in Hell.”

“Funny,” DeSean said. “My middle name’s Dante.”

“How am I not surprised.” Art History fell into a morose mood.

They departed.

Above their heads, an optiling flew on hot, smoky gusts beneath a darkening sky. It left behind a gathering of carrion. Black wings and hungry beaks sought the remains of Riley’s Farm.