It was a new morning when DeSean found himself waking up in the back of the suburban. He was naked, sore as hell, and missing his left arm from below his elbow. On his chest, a little demonic bat humanoid with a doll-like face, big red eyes, and elvish ears was watching him closely. She was perched in the shadows beneath rays of golden sunlight glittering off of millions of dew droplets outside, the remainder of the storm that had passed last night.

Ever so slowly, DeSean shifted his head to look past the princess. Lylothia’s eyes followed him, forever awake and aware. He just needed to see past her to make sure—ah, good, no crazy-hard morning wood. That would’ve been a little embarrassing.

“You have a respectably large penis,” the princess said in a matter-of-fact way. “The succubi supporting my legions will not find you lacking.”

“Except for my arm, here.” DeSean raised what remained of his left.

“This, too, is only a mere inconvenience, Summoner,” she said, the end of her reply dripping with petty spite.

“How many times do I have to say sorry?” DeSean groaned, reaching slowly for the back of Lylothia’s head.

She eyed this gesture suspiciously, but she didn’t stop him. He’d started doing this last night, and he knew despite her cold expression she liked this. She didn’t refuse the scratches behind the ear last night, and she didn’t refuse it this morning.

She had a really good poker face, though.

“There will not be enough sorry excuses in all the realms to make me forget how troublesome you can be!” Lylothia hissed. A few seconds later, she softened. “I am, however, willing to forgive. The explanation you gave me last night cooled my thoughts. It was less the fault of your allies, and more the fault of the enemy. The Chosen have improved themselves to an incredible degree at a faster rate than anticipated.”

“He was on the verge of taking a Main Path,” DeSean muttered, switching his scratches from behind one ear to the other.

Lylothia hummed throatily. “You were outmatched, technically, but you made use of all that was available to you and completed a volatile spell while under constant duress. You could’ve killed yourself with the curse quite easily. Most would have. But you’ve succeeded anyway.”

She ambled forward and touched her thumb claw to his scarred left cheek. “This is impressive, Summoner. Even the System recognized it.”

DeSean nodded, looking back at some of the System Notifications from last night. It was as much a boon as it was a bane for a couple of reasons, but to see some recognition for his near-death brawl with a super strong Chosen was kind of fun.

Strange, he never cared for medals and honors in the military. But here in the apocalypse, getting recognition gave an actual benefit that progressed his abilities.

You’ve obtained +10 Free Od.

You’ve obtained [Hardcore Grit] on your Records.

[Hardcore Grit] — You’ve pushed yourself beyond levels of strength and endurance that would break most men. While in the shadow of a defeat that looked almost certain, you threw aside fear, embraced the pain, and ripped from the enemy’s meaty clutches a dirty hard-fought victory. In recognition of your merits, you’ve earned a permanent +10 Strength and +5 Endurance.

You’ve developed a Skill without a Path: Vicious Curse Spinning (Great Passive).

Vicious Curse Spinning (Great Passive) — You’ve shown an excellent ability to spin and weave curses even while in the throes of battle. This passive will shorten the seance requirements needed for curses that have been practiced, and give a minor increase to the curse’s effectiveness and further your energy sensitivity when near unknown curses. You also get a 10% Attunement when actively crafting and holding a curse, which is capped at 30%.

You’ve obtained +5 Free Od.

DeSean sighed, reviewing the messages with a well-rested mind. Last night, they were a blob of words that he couldn’t discern while he was hurt and weary. Getting the second health potion and some sleep after those dramatic turn of events helped a lot, and what he saw was pretty damn good. Out of curiosity, he brought up his first skill for a review.

Talented Summoning (Great Passive) — You’ve shown an uncommon aptitude for conjuring and contracting otherworldly creatures. This passive will help refine your summoning control, enable a minor reduction to overall mana depth costs, and further your magical aptitude for more unique summoning attempts. You also get a 5% added boost to Focus for every variable summon that’s active, which caps at 25%.

Between these two passive Skills, DeSean could see himself having an easier time summoning creatures and spinning powerful curses while in the middle of a fight. Although he was certain he wouldn’t be able to manage both of those skill sets at the same time. But if he could switch from one to another seamlessly, that would up his combat abilities.

On top of that, these percentage boosts encouraged further development in each Skill. He wasn’t pushing their full potential yet. Apparently, it’s possible to conjure and hold multiple curses and summon a variety of creatures contracted to me. If he could prep before a fight like a good Marine, he would have way more tools at his disposal. Then those special assholes like the muscle-man from last night wouldn’t have gotten the jump on him so easily.

“Speak out your mind, my dear,” Lylothia said, pushing away his hand with a wing. She’d taken enough scratches for now, which was fine with DeSean. She sounded more pacified and welcoming. A calmed demonic patron was possibly more easier to be around.

“I’m just reviewing the System Notifications and my Skills,” DeSean explained. He read out both for their reviewing, just in case. “These Skills sound great, but do they get stronger once I hit their limits?”

“The Great-Quality is only second above the bottom quality, Basic. There are seven more qualities of power. These qualities reflect in your race, too, since you are still a Basic Human and haven’t developed your Main Path, yet. Beyond this stage is Superior-Quality, where you’ll start to shed the trappings of mortality and climb further. You will see who truly can stand beside you, and who will fall under your shadow.”

“You’ve mentioned we have to get past Superior-quality gatekeepers to enter the Chaos Portal—”

“Or higher,” she muttered.

“And we have less than 638 hours to find a Chaos Portal before the Lord of Light and Order reaps the world of Chaos Marked.” DeSean scowled. He didn’t like how his voice got hijacked by the System, resonating eerily to emphasize the coming doom for all Marked.

“This is true. With the coming of the second wave in the next three nights, we shall see a greater reduction of Chaos Marked,” Lylothia said. “Then it will further shrink as more powerful Enlightened Chosen are released.”

“The numbers are insane, Lylothia, and that’s coming from me.” DeSean shook his head. “Humanity will be dead, and Earth will be taken by the enemy. And who knows how hard it is to get to Superior-quality to get past the gatekeepers.”

“It is quite difficult. Most will not be able to achieve such a quality within the limited time,” she conceded.

DeSean felt his chest fill with heat. He sucked in a sharp breath, and said quietly, “Princess, how rigged is this game?”

The demonic princess watched him for a long time. “There is minimal chances for any human to survive without the sustained aid of a Princess. We are to take from this Cycle unique champions, and leave the rest to be destroyed by Hypersun. From the destruction of humanity, the Heavenly Tyrant and his peers will take from the world its resources and the Enlightened Chosen.”

“I can’t,” DeSean said, “accept that.”

“It is destined to come to pass, my dear,” she said softly. “Worry for yourself, and those who may be strong enough to reach Superior-quality and be of aid to us.”

DeSean glared at the princess, feeling the rabid dog in him. The personal demon on his back. The burden he carried when he courted with death, tired of the rule under his abusive father’s house. He felt the burning might of the warrior he forged himself into when he went deployed as a Marine and saw combat face-to-face and shot it between the eyes. The look in his eyes would’ve crushed regular people, but the princess stared back, her own expression unreadable. It was like looking into a mirror.

Quinton’s debate with her was an old debate, the argument between what’s good for the betterment of all and what’s needed for the betterment of the self. DeSean couldn’t scare, unbalance, or get the princess to back down because they shared a similar vein of darkness between them. He was a hellion of a man, and she was a princess of Seventy-Two Hells.

DeSean sighed.

The princess looked to the side. “Your spirit. It is thrilling at times, for you are weak of power, but mighty of will. You are an interesting mortal, Summoner.”

“Give it time, Princess, and I’ll make it so that you can’t get enough of me,” DeSean challenged.

The demonic ruler from the Seventy-Two Hells chuckled darkly, warping the air around her with a taint of power DeSean could feel. It was not much, but he could taste it was the tiniest slivers of her power that was kept at bay far, far away. It was crazy to think that this was not truly the princess, but a tiny, tiny portion of her true body, and that she could somehow thread her own power from one realm to another, crossing dimensions, and implant it in his world. Then again, DeSean was essentially doing the same thing when he summoned his optiling minions and… wait, no, he wasn’t.

Thinking back to the lesson, the summoning circle had a section specifically beseeching a powerful demon from the Crimson Forest Lands as a middle-man. This demon fell respectfully under Princess Lylothia’s rule, and provided dimensional power that helped cross the optiling from one side to the other. That level of power… was astounding. And it didn’t even have to come from a princess. It came from her subject of the Forty-First Disc.

“Huh, I really am like an ant in comparison,” DeSean said, which was a humbling thought. Maybe even calling himself an ant couldn’t describe how small he was in the grand scheme of it all. Did that make the rest of humanity just mere microscopic mites under the lens of entities so far beyond their understanding, it was laughable to think they truly had any control. They were being ferreted around, given binary choices with little time to understand the consequences, and hunted down for the sport and amusement of gods.

“You’re seeing it now,” Lylothia commented. “The smallness of you. And how it is particular that a tiny creature such as yourself has pulled at my attention. It is thrilling in a sense, to be part of your exploits when you are like an ember in a maelstrom. But it is unusual for me to invest in such a way. Why is that, Summoner? Why you?”

“I….” DeSean heard the roaring sermons of his father. “I….” He heard the dying screams of his Marines. Then the echoes of the past shifted toward the voice of a single sinister man howling in mad laughter. It sounded like him, and he sounded insane. “I’m wondering the same.”

He sat up slowly, propping himself on his remaining arm. Lylothia scuttled around onto his shoulder, fluttering her wings before wrapping them around herself. Every movement made him wince a little. He wondered if he would be moving at all if he didn’t have 26 Od in Strength now. I didn’t think that’ll become my second highest stat without Lylothia’s boosts.

DeSean Dante Solomon (Basic Human)

Records: [Chaos Marked], [Great Defense Leader], [Hardcore Grit], [Great Chaos Finder].

Main Path: [Unlocked - Ready for Selection]

Skills: [Talented Summoning (Great Passive)], [Vicious Curse Spinning (Great Passive)]

Od Level: 134 (+15)

Strength: 26

Agility: 17 (+5)

Endurance: 22 (+5)

Focus: 23 (+5)

Attunement: 46

Free Od: 25

“What takes to your attention now?” asked Lylothia.

“I’m Od Level 134 with 25 Free Od,” DeSean said. “I don’t get why it’ll disturb my Od development if I delay my path selection.”

“Try inputting Od into a stat,” she instructed.

He attempted it.

Od allocation denied. Please access your unlocked Main Path to complete Selection.

“Oh.”

“You will also find it harder to obtain Free Od unless it’s from Skill development, and even that has it’s limits. The System will actively suppress you until you select your Main Path.”

“Why’s that?” DeSean asked.

“It is a System mystery like many others,” Lylothia said demurely. “Apologies for not knowing.”

“Heh,” DeSean said. “I can’t get over how nice you are to me even though I’m like a tiny thing.”

“It is not that I am nice, Summoner. I prefer to be cordial. And… I do wish to be closer to you to further our relationship. But you must strive, little mortal, to show me more of your abilities. If it becomes too much of a burden for me, I will leave this contract and only come to you when it is time to collect on my favors.”

DeSean didn’t know how to feel about that. But he was not one to let anyone make him feel like a needy bitch. He switched subjects.

“So, my stats are all over. Without your stat boost, my Agility is a 17 Od, the lowest out of all five. Close behind that is Endurance at 22, which is kind of high compared to how it was before last night.” Yet, he still felt like shit. He’d taken a lot of damage from that fight with the bodybuilding Chosen, and the basic-quality of the health potions clearly had their limits. As for the rest of his stats, everything else seemed respectable, especially with his decently high Attunement.

“Hm, I do not favor this development,” she said. “Too much Strength. Agility should be your third highest stat behind Focus. I value the Agility stat, for it is the great killer and saver of warriors compared to mere Strength.”

DeSean frowned. He thought the same, but the bastard from last night forced him to dump Od into Strength. Then [Hardcore Grit] pumped up his Strength further.

“We will have to readjust in a more unique direction,” Lylothia said slowly. “I have a close peer of mine who sees me in my court regularly, and I in hers. We share wine and morsels quite often and talk great lengths of the developments of the Hells, especially during the time of a Cycle such as this. She values Strength to obscene lengths. I will confine with her what could be done for you if this heavy investment into Strength may not be an outlier we’ll straighten later. But the path we’ve laid forward will continue unobstructed.”

“Today we work on my elemental magic?” DeSean piped up excitedly.

“Yes, and once a Skill comes from it, then you must choose your Main Path.”

“But would that be after getting input from your friend?”

Lylothia shivered, her soft chest fur ruffling. “Let’s not call my relationship with her friendship. I do not have friends.”

Huh, that just makes you a little cuter for some reason. Like an ice-cold beauty who was distant from everyone. What would it take to crack that shell?

The demonic princess flicked an accusing glance at him? “Why do you smile in such a way?”

“It’s nothing important.”

She glared. “It better be respectful. You know now how tiny you are compared to the likes of me! I’ll smash you with but a press of my toe.”

She flapped her wings, smacking his cheek, which made him break into laughter regardless of her threats. This only encouraged her to make even more absurd threats. No matter how true they were, the Marine couldn’t help but mock the princess.

***

DeSean wrapped a dried blanket around himself. He’d found it in the suburban’s back, and was more than happy to have it. With the sun out, he used a rag to wipe down the car’s hood before he laid out his beat-up and bloodied clothes. He quickly realized it was difficult to maintain the blanket around himself and straighten his clothes so they could dry under the sun.

“Wait… I got minions for this,” DeSean said.

“You’re finally catching on,” Lylothia commented dryly.

A minute later, DeSean pulled into reality three slobbering, clicking, pug-looking imps with bat wings and googly eyes. He gave them simple instructions, because they didn’t look any smarter than a pug, and they got to work. They scrambled around the suburban’s exterior, placed his clothes decently where they needed to go, and only left a few scratch marks and droplets of drool.

DeSean’s stomach grumbled. He looked around the parking lot of Dr. Patterson’s private practice outside of Camdenton. He and the university students had come back with both the truck and the suburban after the impromptu magic lesson and Hailey’s burial. It was as good a spot as any to hold up, but it was scarce of resources and plenty with people trying to find a safe place to hideout and receive medical attention.

It would be nice to ask around for another pair of shoes, but the occasional passerby kept a wide distance from him. They probably didn’t like the look on his face. Or the literal devil on his shoulder.

He started to consider breaking into the grocery supplies in the truck’s trailer when Art History and Botany came out of the truck. They were in their underwear and eyeing DeSean’s blanket enviously. Birds tweeted morning songs as they stood around awkwardly.

“So, what are we going to do about breakfast?” Art History asked.

“Anything but more jerky,” Botany mumbled.

DeSean hummed. He glanced at his three minions settled on the suburban’s roof, soaking in sun rays giddily.

“You three stooges. Hunt down birds and squirrels. I want three animals from you each. You can eat the extras if you catch more.”

The optilings hopped to it, clicking and chattering cheerfully as they soared away. DeSean, Art History, Botany, and a handful of random people watched them disappear behind the tree line. A babble of gossip picked up around them.

“Did you see that? He brought out demons and sent them to terrorize the forest animals,” one old lady said.

“Between these false prophets and satanists, the reckoning of the Almighty has arrived to punish the sinners,” another old lady replied to the first.

“You think if you ask him, he might bring us food, too?” asked a burly man.

“I’m not going to ask him. He looks like he escaped the insane asylum. And look at that thing on his shoulder.”

“He’s like a demonic pirate.”

“Should he even be here around us? What if those Chosen folks are looking for someone like him.”

“Don’t speak like that. We don’t want that type of attention. He might do something dangerous or crazy.”

DeSean sighed, putting the random gossip out of mind. He ignored the humorous glint in Princess Lylothia’s eye especially.

“I must admit,” Art History said. “I think I like that summoning magic more than what we’ve learned last night. Little peons to do my bidding? That’s an attractive offer.”

“It is an offer extended to one who has the talent for it,” said the princess, “and that’s not you, artsy mortal.”

“Damn, that’s a burn,” Botany said, her expression brightening for a moment before sinking quickly after. “Did last night really happen? Did I really… use magic?”

DeSean glanced at the patch of flowers beautifying the front of Dr. Patterson’s business. “Yeah, you really did.”

And what she was able to pull off last night was just one example of the myriad of uses elemental magic could achieve. Sure, summoning minions was nifty. Curses had their uses for unusual occasions. But elemental magic was a power that was inherently wondrous and easily understandable to the layman.

Hell, looking back, even DeSean found it incredible. And that was merely the icing on the cake, honestly. They had found a Chaos Zone yesterday and were rewarded for it, too.