Chapter 40 - Primal Imp

Name: Trey Bon

Level 8

Class: Infernal Summoner

Trey faded in and out of consciousness over the next three days. His mind was hazy due to the constant concoctions being poured down his throat to keep him drugged. Much to the displeasure of the king: Trey’s hands, feet and tail kept growing back - and in the end Trey had been placed in his own special cell out of fear that he may awaken and break loose with the aid of his still-bonded sword. Aside from this drugged state, two elite soldiers were to be stationed at all times within his cell. He was chained at the neck, both wrists, both ankles, and a series of metal hooks had been set impaling his tail and sticking it to the dirt floor of the lowest dungeon. All of his bindings were imbued with the highest quality of magic suppression enchantments, and the dim light of the torches cast shadows about the underground room in flickering waves.

“How could this have happened under your watch, captain?” asked King Hethemon while he glowered down at the prostrated, nervous soldier. “A prison break? A third of the garden district ablaze? Houses and shops burned down, and 404 dead civilians including three nobles? I was only gone a couple days and it appears the city has fallen into disaster. Who is to blame for this?”

The captain of the guard shuddered in anticipation of what was probably about to happen to him. The king’s two champions out to either side just shook their heads with folded arms in disgust at the absolute lack of control their underling had shown.

“Our informants whisper of a guild that calls themselves The Undying,” replied the captain hesitantly, bald head still bowing to the furious king. “It seems that we had one of their members imprisoned here…”

“A guild?” questioned the king as he paced slowly back and forth. The healers were still working on him even now, the damage from the chaos magic along the hand he’d grasped the sword with was still minimally present even with the thorough work to repair it.

“A guild?” repeated the king again with a flare to his eyes, the words flat while he tried to stop himself from becoming dumbfounded. “I hope you jest, soldier.”

The kneeling captain shuddered. “I’m afraid I do not… sire.”

The king frowned and tapped his boot against the floor at an ever-increasing rate. “If the public were to find out that a mere guild had infiltrated the palace housing the royal family of Yosemar to execute a prison break, my reputation would be ruined. Would you not agree?”

The captain of the guard did not reply, and began to mutter a silent prayer to the gods he had worshipped since he had been a little boy. But in the end, it didn’t stop what was to come.

The king sighed, drew his sword and cut the man’s throat without hesitating. The captain grasped at his wound in terror and began to cough. Seconds later, the man fell down to the floor to die - a pool of blood surrounding his body.

Hethemon turned to look at Xaltare. “Appoint a new captain, make sure that the next one is useful. Feed this man’s family to my dogs as an example, and make it public. Lastly, let it be known that it was the kingdom of Otare who staged an attack on our country - not some guild.” The king eyed the dead man as two soldiers picked up the body to drag it out of the dungeon. “Of course, keep the whispers coming. I want to know more about these ‘Undying’ ones… put out a bounty on their heads and label them as criminals. I’m sure you can think of a crime to frame them with ASIDE from the one they may have actually committed.”

Xaltare nodded and turned to leave, and he shut the heavy door behind him. The king would no doubt be up in the mage’s quarters trying to figure out a way to manipulate Talsh’Noc’Un into doing his bidding in the near future. Hopefully that would leave Xaltare alone long enough to go see his wife and children without being pestered by his majesty.

Xaltare sighed. He was tired, and he needed to take a nap. He went through another door and up a flight of stairs, coming to the ground level where he started for the north palace entrance. He never saw the faint, gleaming, white eyes of the little monster noiselessly following him, and soon enough the creature had left him behind to dart into another dark hallway of the keep.

[Ancient Demon Dialect] “Ugly humans no no catch me sneak...” whispered the imp to encourage himself as he darted in and out of the shadows. He’d been able to keep up with the horses after he’d come back to the cabin for snacks during his walk, being surprisingly fast for his size, and had finally been able to navigate through the palace to find where his master was being kept underground. Atharost and Rivia were close by and waiting on the signal, but Napoleon wasn’t sure what it even was that they were planning on doing.

It had taken the imp quite a while to find Trey, and because Napoleon was abnormally intelligent for an imp and what would be considered a ‘genius’ by humans… he’d already memorized half the castle layout in the short amount of time being there. The other filthy human friend, Jason, was locked away in a jail cell on the fifth floor of the northeastern-most tower. Stealing the key to the fifth floor cells would be easy, but before letting that useless sack of meat out - Napoleon would have to get his master out of the more secure cell down below. Once master was out, the rest would be much easier. Napoleon just wasn’t sure how he was going to accomplish this primary objective.

But he had absolute confidence in his ability to find a way.

“Your sneak skill has increased by 1 level.” The All Spirit’s voice whispered into Napoleon’s mind.

The imp slunk into a closet and laid down inside a barrel to think. It took him a while, but eventually he settled on a plan to go talk to another, older friend of his. Napoleon wasn’t sure if it would give him any helpful advice, but it was better than doing nothing. He owed his life to his master and would do everything in his power to set Trey free. So Napoleon curled up into a ball, patted the wooden boards beneath him to find a comfortable position, and waited for darkness to descend.

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Simplified Status Page

Name: Napoleon

Race: Oblivion Imp, Lesser Demon

Class: N/A

Level: 5

HP: 94/94

MP: 150/150

SP: 66/66

DP: 1/1

Skills: Firebolt (lvl. 8)(Fire), Sneak (lvl. 5) Fear (lvl. 1)(Curse), Small Blades (lvl. 1), Assassination (lvl. 1)

Traits: Fragile, Intelligent, Trey Bon’s Minion

Magical Attributes: Curse, Fire

Opinion of you: Admired

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***

The queen was slapped hard across her face as her husband lashed out in anger. She stumbled and fell back to the ground where a maid quickly rushed to help her back up.

“If you have nothing of value to say then take your leave, wench!” the king hissed, spitting on the woman in disgust. The room fell silent as the spectators watched the queen silently turn, clutching her bruised face, to quickly go. Her three handmaidens followed her, and soon the scholars had returned to their work once more. His mistress smirked from the corner of the room and smoothed out her black and gold-laced dress.

They were within a large hall of sorts, longer than it was wide, with tapestries adorning the wood furnishings and chandeliers glowing soft light to illuminate the shelves reaching the ceiling far, far above. It was lined with narratives, records, pieces of knowledge from forgotten eras, maps, and anything else you could think of in an educational aspect. Books littered the long tables with dozens of scholars working upon deciphering ancient texts that described the lost living weapons - specifically looking for the one named Talsh’Noc’Un but also examining others for ideas on how to proceed. Any clues as to its nature were being documented, and any rituals, miracles or spells that may have promise in converting the Greatsword over to a new master were catalogued to try later. So far, four different spells and two miracles had been performed - leaving six of six court mages and holy men dead when the sword reacted to their attempts. To say that the willingness of the researchers to participate had declined would be an understatement, and already the progress was going remarkably slow.

“I WANT RESULTS!” screamed Hethemon in a tantrum. He swore loudly and glared at the weapon that stood at the end of the room. The huge dark-gray weapon had been laid down into a large glass box with fortifying runestones built into it. Resonating blessings shimmered from the contraption, specifically designed to seal away dangerous or cursed items.

It didn’t seem to be working very well.

“500,000 platinum to the one who achieves my goal!” Hethemon suddenly roared out, slamming a fist into the table and spitting as he screamed. “500,000!”

There was another small pause as the number sank in, before many - but still not all - of the men present there began to scramble as they redoubled their efforts. With 500,000 platinum, one could live many lifetimes over as a very rich man.

“I’m sure you will have your prize in time, my king.” said his mistress with a bow as she came up from behind the man. Hethemon eyed his sexual brunette plaything and pulled her closer by the waist to whisper into her ear.

“I will be expecting your company tonight, girl. My wife doesn’t do nearly as good a job as you do.”

“Of course my king. I assume you will want the same pleasures as last night?”

Hethemon grinned. “Go.”

The mistress bowed again, then straightened and held her head high while she strode confidently out of the library.

“My lord Hethemon!” called out a skinny robed man as he held up a book. “Come take a look at this! I may have found what you need!”

The king whirled and promptly strode over with excitement evident.

Hopefully this would finally be the one to work.

But it took another three attempts, and another three gruesome deaths of chaos magic ripping apart scholar’s bodies piece by piece, before the king gave up that night. He dismissed the scholars and posted six guards outside the room, which had only one entrance, before locking the door to the library to carry the key away. The marble hallway echoed his footsteps as he left, candles lighting his path to turn a corner and disappear from sight.

A few minutes of silence in the darkness had passed before Napoleon poked his head out to view the empty room. The chandeliers that had once brightened the large hall now hung lightless. Napoleon’s white eyes devoid of pupils were the only source of meager light that touched the room’s interior. He dropped from his hiding spot from one of the top shelves and landed on all fours, his slick black body weaving between the legs of the tables and chairs until he finally came face to face with the giant sword he had introduced his master to. As the imp approached, the sword’s large crescent rune at its base began to glow crimson.

“I have been waiting for you… imp…” the ghostly voice spoke out softly amidst the quiet. “And in turn… our master awaits us… we must not waste any more time…”

Napoleon nodded. “How how I get you to master?”

The imp scratched his head. “I no no know how to without being seen. And I not summoner, can not not carry big sword.”

A distorted chuckle lightly met Napoleon’s ears. The glass container holding the weapon upright began to melt, and seconds later the sword was hovering above the small demon. The gigantic weapon then slowly floated down to where the tip was an inch away from Napoleon’s face.

“Do you know… from what your ancestors originated… imp?” the ghostly voice of Talsh’Noc’Un asked.

Napoleon shrugged. Frankly he didn’t have any clue as to what the Greatsword was talking about. Though Napoleon had been friends with the weapon far longer than Trey had been, so the imp was used to the strange questions and riddles the sword seemed to like speaking in.

“No no. Me no know.”

The sword chuckled again with a sinister aftertone. “I believe it is time… for you to unlock your true potential… imp… but only if you wish it…”

Black-red threads wound their way out of the rune into the air, and surrounded Napoleon to gracefully embrace the small creature. Napoleon cocked his head to one side. “What what you mean ugly?”

The threads of magic began to seep into the imp. “Our master… is still young… he does not know the potential that he wields… and he also cannot control the potential that I wield… yet.” The sword paused, “He will need our guidance… and for this end… I will restore you to your rightful heritage…”

The threads of magic had now completely entered the imp’s body, and could be seen wriggling around underneath the pitch black skin. Napoleon still looked confused and inspected the wriggling things upon his flesh, but then looked back to the Greatsword. “Fine fine fine hurry hurry.”

The sword acknowledged his words with a deep thrumming sound, and the crimson threads spread in rapid succession to engulf the tiny body. Soon, Napoleon had become nothing but a glowing red-black ball of magic and flesh that rotated about in the air. The ball then began to grow. It morphed into various liquid shapes, enlarging and shrinking over and over again. Quick sparks of crimson or black electricity jolted out about the evolving mass, along with the occasional squeal. Talsh’Noc’Un stood silently hovering in front of the demon it was reshaping, and in time it was satisfied with its work.

From the roiling, blob-like mass, the arm was reforged - and then a torso, head, the other arm, and legs. By the end of the transformation, Napoleon was lowered back down to the ground and placed his feet on solid stone.

A single curved horn in the center of the imp’s head lit up with intermittent bolts of bright green curse mana that soon spiraled down the rest of his body before extinguishing to reveal the rest of his form. His eyes remained the same blank white color, but his body had become leaner. More muscular, despite staying the same size. His mouth sprouted an abnormally large smile from end to end with multiple rows of razor teeth that dripped venom. The tail had slightly elongated, his ears had become three times larger, and his claws had sharpened. Otherwise he looked very similar to what he had been just a minute ago.

“You have been forced into an evolution. Your race has been changed from Oblivion Imp to Primal Imp, and your base qualities have therefore been increased to 110 HP, 240 MP, and 100 SP to match your new race. Your base speed and strength prior to stat amplifications have vastly increased. Your innate senses of hearing and smell have vastly increased. Your trait ‘Fragile’ has been lost, and a new trait of ‘Sturdy’ has been added.” stated a mechanical voice from within Napoleon’s mind.

“You have acquired the Venomous Trait. You have acquired innate auto-filled knowledge of the spell Curse of Burden. Congratulations. For inquiries, be sure to pull up your status page for more information.”

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Simplified Status Page

Name: Napoleon

Race: Primal Imp, Demon

Class: N/A

Level: 5

HP: 204/204

MP: 390/390

SP: 166/166

DP: 1/1

Skills: Firebolt (lvl. 8)(Fire), Sneak (lvl. 5), Fear (lvl. 1)(Curse), Curse of Burden

(lvl. 1)(Curse), Small Blades (lvl. 1), Assassination (lvl. 1)

Traits: Sturdy, Intelligent, Venomous, Trey Bon’s Minion

Magical Attributes: Curse, Fire

Opinion of your master: Admired

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Napoleon felt… different. Strange - would be the most precise word to use… but powerful was also another accurate description. He liked the big ears he had, he could even hear the heartbeats of the soldiers on the other side of the door. Everything was… more intact. The Vibrations in the ground, the scurrying of insects. He could hear it all, and the smells…

With one finger he touched one of the teeth in his mouth, pricking himself on one of the razor sharp canines on purpose. He felt the venom enter his bloodstream, a very cold burn radiated for just a second and then dissolved away into nothing. He knew… just… knew… that this venom wouldn’t harm himself, but by the brief burning sensation he had after doing it gave him a general idea of what the venom would feel like.

He briefly scanned his status page to examine some of his new abilities and traits:

Curse of Burden (lvl. 1)(Curse)

An instant cast ability that causes fatigue, the target feels like they are carrying a great weight.

Venomous

Your teeth give off a venom that slowly wittles away HP over time.

[Ancient Demon Dialect] “What… is this this?” asked Napoleon with curiosity riddling his voice. “You… you changed me me?”

“[Ancient Demon Dialect] “I have merely delivered you… to your birthright…” replied the sword. “But now is not the time for questions… Napoleon… You may not be able to wield me… forever… but in order to help us escape… you may wield me just this once… so that you can deliver me... to the one we serve...”

Napoleon smiled devilishly. As he grinned with his now abnormally large rows of knives underneath silky black lips.... He took hold of the weapon by the handle.

“Do not use me for long… because my power… will ruin and destroy you… the longer you channel it... Your body can only sustain me… for a small time...” The sword hissed, its power flowing through Napoleon’s new, more muscular body. “Call the others… Let us begin...”

Napoleon nodded, keenly aware of the upcoming battle. Taking a single sharpened claw he ran it through his own flesh, spilling blood onto the floor and grimacing as he did. The drop in HP would signal his friends to come, and then he threw a fireball into a nearby stack of books.

It was time.

***

The closest soldier standing next to the thick wooden door was the first to smell the smoke, and also the first to see it rise from underneath the door’s frame. [Human Dialect] “Oh shit!”

The other five guards turned to look just before a storm of chaos ripped through the thick door and slammed into the first soldier’s head, spraying brains all over the wall in a violent display of artwork.

[Ancient Demon Dialect] “SMASH SMASH!!!”

[Human Dialect] “WHAT IN THE GOD DAMNED HELLS?!”

The two closest companions to their fallen comrade drew their swords just as the little black figure lunged at them, cleaving through one man’s leg in a screaming mess and then ripping through the next soldier’s pauldron into his heart. The cackling imp turned and sidestepped a bolt from a crossbow with a speed that both surprised and frightened the offending soldier just before he began to feel weak. Fatigue overcame him and green curse-light flashed from the imp’s palm. The soldier dropped to his knees, struggling to pull himself up and barely able to lift his eyelids as his companions died swiftly to his right.

“You have gained XP.” The All Spirit chimed into Napoleon’s mind.

Shouts of men that soon became screams of panic sounded down the hall as it lit up in flames. Second later, a flaming inferno flew through a nearby window and landed next to the soldier that was just now beginning to recover from the burden curse. The ifrit turned and incinerated the hallway to its right, wreaking havoc amongst the two mages who’d survived the initial attack. The blast shook the palace walls and torched the two connecting passages with further screams of agony.

“Let’s go go! I have sword and I know way way!” Napoleon beamed at his bigger companion, and like a little hellion - dropped the sword to spring at the recently cursed soldier. But even with the curse wearing off, the primal imp tore and rend at the soldier’s face with teeth and claws to shred it to pieces. The man screamed and pleaded for the demon to stop. Though after tearing out the vocal cords and eating them in front of the dying human, Napoleon quickly left him as a corpse.

“Where Rivia?” Napoleon asked, confused only to see Atharost.

The ifrit shook his flaming head, heat radiating out and burning the tapestries along the walls. “She’d just slow us down… Why do you look different? Nevermind, can you keep up or do I need to carry you?”

Napoleon cackled, waving the gigantic sword fifteen times his height around like it was nothing and giving Atharost pause.

“I BEAT YOU YOU THERE!” screeched the little imp, turning and with speed the caught Atharost completely off guard - went rocketing down the hall behind them. “FOLLOW FOLLOW MEEEEE!!!!”

Atharost cocked an eyebrow, then grinned.

“Well I’ll be damned back to the hells if I let that little monkey beat me there!” Atharost laughed, the blazing inferno that engulfed his body bursting forth with another surge of mana - and he rocketed down the hall to follow the speedy little creature at an intense momentum.

Carrying Talsh’Noc’Un with him, Napoleon streaked through the passageways - throwing out an Obliterate attack from the blade to his left while passing another pair of soldiers who had just turned the corner in showers of metal and body parts.

It would have been ridiculous to see such a little creature carrying such a big weapon if it wasn’t so devastating to everything it hit.

Atharost was close behind, lighting up tapestries, wooden furnishings and doorways as he went flying by with his fire roaring all about him. He was certainly fast, but to his amazement the imp was keeping a pace that he could only barely match. He didn’t know how it had happened, but Napoleon was now changed into some greater version of the imp he’d been before.

As Atharost literally flew through the hallways, he passed by many people that the imp had missed - soldiers and servants alike - who lit up in flames to scream and roast. Getting XP notifications as the men and women died horrible agonizing deaths, Atharost thought about how disgusting these human creatures were. Neither of demon had the time, nor did they care, to differentiate between potential hostiles. They had to get to their master, and fast - before they were intercepted by the more powerful fighters here. Even passing one of the hallways to his right, Atharost saw for just a moment another figure sprinting down the passage towards them. He felt the rush of mana emanating from that man, and Atharost grew worried. Whoever this mortal was, if that man caught them… it was finished.

That thought only made Atharost angry. The idea that a fucking ape of all things wielded that kind of power went against the natural order of things.

A blur of marble, stone, and windows rushed by as he flew. Atharost had finally caught up to be right behind Napoleon’s little figure, and they were fast approaching the entrance to the underground cell.

The ifrit looked up to the night sky above through a passing window as it blurred by, amidst the screams left in their wake, and cast firestorm: his only tier 2 spell. The spell began to take form as the ifrit’s body burst into brighter flames. Rings of fire encircled Atharost and began to spin or rotate, rapidly connecting with one another until it had become a single whirling sphere of fire that engulfed him as he shot ahead. Seconds ticked by and it seemed like an eternity, until eventually the channeling sphere of fire dissipated and the spell went to work. He didn’t have time to see the effects of his spell before he suddenly felt weak, and watched an enormous chunk of his mana drop from his MP bar.

This was why he never used the spell. Firestorm was long to cast and ridiculously expensive in terms of MP, his entire mana pool wasn’t even enough to perform two of the spells back to back.

Napoleon’s frame zipped down the stairwell leading underground, and took two turns before arriving at his destination with Atharost directly behind him. He saw two soldiers standing outside the cell, but they didn’t have time to react before a fireblast slammed into each of them only to be followed up with strikes from a roaring chaos-lit greatsword. The two guards screamed and dropped to the ground, trying to roll around to put out the flames even despite having deflected the brunt of the attack with their armor. The blade roiled with energy and chaos mana poured forth from the weapon as it clashed into each of the two wounded guards again in quick succession, killing them both.

A sound like thunder rocked the palace, the explosions that followed caused them to halt briefly, and Napoleon turned with a questioning look to the ifrit.

Atharost was nearly certain that his firestorm was the cause of all the commotion, though without being able to see it - it was hard to imagine so much noise and destruction could be anything else. He knew that many innocent people would die, but he didn’t care. They were humans, inferior species, and his master was in need. Their lives would serve a greater purpose in death as a necessary distraction.

“I don’t know how long it will last. We need to get going.”

The spell had done exactly what he had intended for it to do - cause enough destruction and mayhem that they could escape the castle with as little confrontation as possible. Of course, confrontation was inevitable - but the less the better.

Atharost blasted down the thick iron door leading into Trey’s cell only to have two crossbow bolts sail his way. The bolts were both incinerated upon hitting a quickly constructed wall of flames, and he let out multiple firebolts before realizing his mana was very low. He had used the majority of his MP, in large part because his firestorm had taken two thirds of his mana down instantly. Upon seeing the elite guards drop the crossbows and draw sparking longswords to charge him, he immediately realized he'd be hard pressed to win this fight without help.

Thankfully he had a crazed imp on his side.

Napoleon shrieked and flung himself through the air in a whirling tornado of metal to collide with the first soldier. The elite guard barely deflected the attack, not even being able to see what was wielding the weapon and only focusing on engaging the weapon itself as he blocked another attack and rolled to the side with sparks of lightning thundering across the room. The little black blur holding the sword zipped across the floor and then flanked him, and it was all he could do to block yet another swing as the two magical swords clashed.

Atharost let down his flames and flew into the room, swiping with his tail and lunging at the other of the elites who braced against the charge. The soldier dodged, but to the man’s surprise the ifrit passed him by and cast a curtain of burning around the demon and its master. The flames burned brightly and the elite soldier cast water magics to try and douse the flames, but moments later a blazing torpedo rocketed from behind the wall and slammed into his armor - engulfing and almost incinerating him.

Shrieking and casting water magics on himself this time, the guard didn’t see the incoming tail before it wrapped around his neck to yank him through the wall of flames - snapping bones in the man’s neck with a violent twist.

Atharost whirled, seeing Trey locked down to the floor in an instant. However, his mind was lit up with notifications from the All Spirit and it was giving him a disorienting headache - primarily from all the people his firestorm was killing topside.

Napoleon hacked furiously at his own opponent, skirting the flames and feeling a deep burning laceration where lightning had struck him. He hissed at the soldier who had only grown more furious after realizing what it was that had engaged, and the soldier shot another bolt of lightning at the imp just before he had a flaming fist clock him upside the head. Napoleon took advantage of the ifrit’s surprise attack and with a hateful squeal darted towards the falling man to slice off his head with a single downwards swing.

“You have gained 1 overall level. Your Small Blades skill has increased by 1 level.”

Small blades? Talsh’Noc’Un was anything but a small blade! Maybe the All Spirit was just an asshole and making fun of the small imp’s stature, such things for the All spirit wouldn’t have been unheard of. Napoleon almost laughed at the notification and would have if he hadn’t been in such a dire situation.

These anti-magic bindings were tough, and Trey was too far gone to move even if his limbs had still been intact.

“They come come!” Napoleon shrieked, hearing footsteps and yells of the approaching reinforcements while his ears stood up and in the direction of the doorway. He could tell it was many of them, way too many for he and Atharost to handle. “I CUT CUT! YOU MOVE NOW!”

The imp slammed the greatsword down onto the chains over and over again, huffing and growing evermore anxious as his improved hearing was continually bombarded with the sounds of armored soldiers rushing down the nearby stairs. He continued to slam it down until the chains gave way, finally beginning to feel the toll of the sword’s power on him as his hands began to blister and rip under the chaos mana.

Atharost in the meantime had thrown up a thick wall of flames with the last of his mana to impair the oncoming humans. “HURRY, IMP! WE MUST LEAVE, AND SOON!”

Thankfully the chains did give way with that next strike, and - when the imp cut Trey’s tail off so that the iron hooks wouldn’t hold him down any longer - Atharost picked both Napoleon and Trey up. In a final burst of speed - he relinquished the flames, blasting by the surprised mass of soldiers. Back up the staircase he went, holding both an unconscious drugged Trey in one arm and the Greatsword in the other. Napoleon just clung to Atharost’s neck, cackling in excitement and flinging firebolts from his ruined, blistered hands as they went.

“You have increased your Firestorm skill to level 3,” said a mechanical voice. “You have gained XP.”

Even more messages like this one continued to flood Atharost’s mind as his firestorm raged on, and he was beginning to tire of the All Spirit bothering him so much.