Fire. Acid. Raw Force which toppled buildings and sent stone crashing down mangled streets, heedless of the fleshy obstacles in their way. Bodies littered the ground, limbs bloody and bent at odd angles. Faces were crushed, or melted.

In his dream, Mason could feel so many scattered parts of himself reacting in different ways. Parts of him cold and indifferent- critical of the poor planning and training which had led to the destruction. Parts of him merely regretful- ashamed to have fallen too early, and of having lacked the strength to intervene. There was a part that was thrilled by the destruction, that saw it as an opportunity to grow and prove himself. And a single, small, quiet piece of him was awed and terrified by a world and events that he had never expected to encounter.

He didn’t wake in a cold sweat- but wrapped himself tighter in his blanket as he fitfully confronted the scattering within him. In some ways, it was as if he had every thought several times over, each a little different than the last, and he felt assaulted by their contradictions.

There was a white room- a blank canvas in which to breathe and rest. It was safe there, and quiet, and for a while he thought nothing at all. It was a relief, and the calm of silence gave form to his person.

Mason Nevels.

Mason Nevels.

Mason Nevels.

He fought to retain that identity, because here, asleep, sheltered from the pressures of immediate conflict that suffused his reality, he could see blurring of his sense of self, the bastardization of it that bred that strange and unwelcome alter-ego so frequently called Demon.

A small voice reminded him that he had chosen to accept the consequences of his actions.

But then he woke up and those questions were pushed aside.

He woke to a room he hardly recognized, lit only by a small glowing mana-stone set into the normal stone of his wall. As his eyes adjusted, he reminded himself where he was, and switched to his mana sight so that he could see more clearly. He could hear the sound of running water as it poured through a channel behind his room, and pulled a latch so that some of the water would fill a basin that he could wash his face in.

His head was groggy from sleep but cleared with remarkable speed as the cold water touched his skin. Shivers coursed down his back and legs, but they made him smile. The ripples gave him a means to measure out the shape of his body, and the past few days of rest had left him with the chance to really take stock of how he had changed.

An honest man would have described Mason Nevels as he entered the Trials as scrawny. He wasn’t thin in an unhealthy way- nobody would call him sickly, but he had the distinct appearance of a modern human, which is to say he didn’t work for a living. This left his skin water-heavy and his muscles sparse, and with slightly pale skin and a tendency to wear ill-fitting clothes, he lacked any sort of distinct presence.

But the Mason Nevels that sheltered among the Biord was not that boy. He still carried himself as if he would be glad not to be seen, often hunched over or slumped back, but time and experience would surely cure him of that mentality, as it had his weakness. However he moved, and whatever way he looked at himself, he recognized himself as a man changed.

His muscles were tight bundles of honed flesh. Not large- he was no heavy axeman- but refined. They flexed and stretched as he moved about the room, recovering his clothes from where he had thrown them off hastily the night before. If he had any way to see his old self, he’d know too that he had gotten slightly taller in the past months, and when he wasn’t busy hiding himself, his improved posture and confidence accentuated that fact.

If he could go back to Earth for a day, and walk into any bar with suitable mates, he would likely turn heads. Probably a good many of them would turn back to their drinks and their conversations shortly after- little about Mason was truly distinctive- but nonetheless he had a body and the developing countenance of someone who could impress on sight.

Below the surface the changes were even more pronounced. Magic coursed through his- well, not veins, magic formed its own channels- but through his body. And unlike even most Marrans, it flowed freely from within him from a font of mana that any Source Mage would recognize in a fledgling. Around this font was a single established rune which connected him to the Source Point of Force, allowing him to convert that pure mana into Force spells.

The guardians of this font and this rune were two men: Mowrytal of the Darkest Night, an offshoot of the Marrans, a race brought to life and sustained by mana itself, and Geralt of the Maledite, a race which to Mason’s mind was almost entirely unknown, save for their strict and aggressive culture, and familiarity with The Trials.

Below these guardians and their guarded font was a foundation which none of them had truly identified. It was born of a legendary artifact, the Staff of Mardun, which boasted great strength and origins more mysterious than that of the Maledite. This foundation was derived of a single rune tailored through the staff’s design to enable Mason to pull life, stamina, mana, and even the soul from an opponent.

This foundation remained subtle, almost undetectable, to any who might encounter it. It was improperly formed, for one, and hardly powered, for two. But it contained an identity which was an amalgamate of each material consumed for the creation and strengthening of that foundation.

Mason’s thoughts were hardly that deep though. He hedonistically observed himself and considered his progress as something of an ill-gotten gain. The Trials, as unknown as many of their rules were, gave their victims a very noticeably form of compensation in that they did something which greatly improved the rate of improvement for nearly any aspect that could be worked in.

Through the completion of several challenges, and the development of several skills, Mason had earned a great many Focus Points, which seemed to be a currency of sorts that translated into The Trials facilitating the growth of his general attributes. He was faster, stronger, smarter, and much more adept with magic than he suspected he could have ever become in two months without The Trials, even under similar duress.

Rest had done him a world of good. It had let the progress from all his hard work sink in, both in terms of his actual strength, and in terms of his mental state. He felt stronger, and that gave him a confidence that allowed him to begin asking himself questions about how he wanted to be perceived and what he wanted to accomplish.

It had been just in time, too. Negotiating with the Biord had turned out not to be as simple as anyone had expected given Bazy’s earlier assurances, but it was more than just that. The Marrans seemed to have collectively decided to hate Mason, and he in turn was forced to decide how to respond.

~~

“I will speak with no one unless the Demon is present!” Bazy huffed, glaring across the room at the representatives Marra had sent to treat with her.

She was seated in a stone throne on a stone dais in the very throne room in which Mason had first appeared in The Trials, but despite her elevation, she was still hardly the height of the Marrans before her. Flanking her and lining the throne room were Biord guards, heavily armed and armored, but shifting nervously despite their greater numbers.

Only five Marrans had been allowed to stand before her, and it had nearly come to blood as the refugees picked. Ultimately, they had chosen Torysen and Coltren to represent the armed forces, Leenel and Manlen to represent the civilians, and Eldran as… Nobility?

It was safe to say that none of these picks had been popular with a majority of the Marrans. Many insisted the full council should go forth, others insisted the council had failed, and that the other Roving Bands and Defense Force Leaders should fill the spot. Nobody quite understood why Eldran had been selected, other than that his name had continuously come up, and supporters of his seemed to be notoriously vocal.

Bazy wasn’t impressed. Torysen, of course, she greeted as a friend, though she admonished her for not having returned sooner, or with a more likeable cast. The rest she sneered at, “I hoped to treat with friends, and a fair council. But most of you are strangers and you are missing the ambassador I sent to spoke on my people’s behalf. Where is Shaywise? Surely she would know better than this.”

“If I may,” Eldran stepped forward, ignoring the sudden adjustment of Bazy’s nearest guards, “I know the fair Shaywise, and she is a good healer, and her mana detection is well acclaimed, but she holds no office to be speaking on the behalf of our people. And as for this… Demon you speak of. He is currently under great scrutiny, and we did not think it wise to include him in a discussion regarding the fate of our people.”

“Let me repeat that I named Mason the ambassador to the Biord, and let me clarify that I do not intend to make any deals with you Darkest Night-”

“Ahem,” Councilman Manlen coughed, “We are not Darkest Night. That is what our enemies often refer to us as, but we are Marran, from the planet of Marra.”

Bazy stood in her chair, and even still she seemed small, but the look on her face was surely something she had learned from her talks with King Arlon because it made the councilman step back. “I will not make any deals with your people if they do not include an alliance with the humans as well. Mason is essential to this process.”

Councilwoman Leenel stepped forward, “Lady Bazy, you have to understand that tensions are high among our people. Our city was destroyed just days ago. We’ve all lost a great deal, and our suffering is still fresh. Many blame Mason-”

“With good reason,” scoffed Coltren.

“-of being involved in some way with the attack. Bringing him to speak in a setting like this could cause a riot.”

“I was with Mason every hour he was outside of the city. He fought alongside my Band and fought well, at that. We fought the goblins and Corrosi- why would he not have defected if he were working with them?” Torysen shouted for what seemed to her like the hundredth time.

“We do not know the extent of his dealings or what further treason he plans!” Manlen accused.

“We do not know that he had any dealings, Councilman,” said Leenel.

“Enough!” Bazy squawked, her shrill voice rising above the argument. “I made my position clear, and I do not think any of you understand the situation. You cannot enter my city without my agreement. Even as weak as the Biord may be, this city is not without its fortifications and there is only a single, small entrance through which your people could pass into it. I have demanded that Mason be here for this negotiation, and you have deliberately refused my wishes.

“Let me be clear and say that my people are also suffering. For all I know, there are hundreds or thousands of Biord still fighting for their lives behind the seals which I cannot break without risking an attack on the few that are safe. Your people knew this, and yet only managed to come to my aid when desperate yourself. I find it hard to feel pity for your people’s suffering in light of these facts.”

As the tensions rose, this silenced the Marran representatives. The wise ones, at least.

Eldran dipped his head before her quickly and asked, “Help us to understand. What is it that makes one human boy so important to you? He is the representative of a race whose strength and numbers are completely unknown to any of us. They might be a trivial matter, and surely that conversation can be had at a later date?”

“I am under no obligation to share my strategies with you. Perhaps I see in him a sort of security. Maybe I just find Mason more handsome than you. Either way, I’ve spoken, and I will not again until you return with him.”

~~

To everyone’s dismay, when they finally brought Mason down to see Bazy, she did not address them all at once like she had claimed. Instead, she ordered the throne room sealed, and brought Mason into a small room off the larger chamber where the two could talk in private.

The room was brightly lit compared to most of the underground city, and featured a long table decorated with carved sculptures and refreshments. Mason recognized similar fare to what he had scavenged on the surface, but he dipped happily into the mushroom wine he had been treated to his last time dealing with Bazy.

The small, feathered, reptilian woman watched Mason with a look of pleasure, and then began to explain to him what had occurred earlier, reinforcing her eagerness to involve him. For all the authority she displayed in front of the representatives, she seemed casual now, and suspiciously open.

“I can hardly believe they’d try to pull one over on me and leave you out altogether. I don’t care what grudges they’ve formed, I trust Torysen and you’re hardly the type to lead a war-force against a city.” She smiled and stared openly at him and then seemed to change her mind, “Well, without cause.”

“As flattered as I am for your loyalty, Bazy, can I ask why you really were so insistent for me to be part of the talks? I can’t have left that much of an impression on you. So far I started a civil war among your people and then tackled you through a doorway. It’s not as if you really owe me much.”

“You killed a tyrant and then spared my life, if you want to reframe it.”

“I did neither of those things intentionally and we both know it. Bazy, we’re both underdogs in this world, so I think we should at least try to be honest with each other. You have no idea what living with the Marrans has been like,” Mason said as he leaned back in his chair. His head was buzzing from the mushroom wine and he knew it was making him more relaxed and agreeable, but he hardly minded.

“I fear I’ll understand very well what living with them is like, if they have their way. But you’re right, we’re both underdogs in this world, and neither of our races is very strong if your old self is any indication, and that’s exactly why you’re essential to me,” she stood from her seat at the end of the table and moved to a chair next to his, leaning close with a seductive smile. “I need the humans as insurance, and you need me to raise your value.”

Mason furrowed his brow, “I’m not following.”

“Say I let the Marrans in to the city. They’ll spread out, help me fight off the threat beyond the seals, and maybe, if we’re very lucky, we’ll find more Biord. That’ll all be well and good, but will that be enough for the Marrans? They’ll want to have authority, power, control. Anyone used to power will want exactly that- Arlon made that clear enough to me.”

“But if they have to worry about what the humans will do when they get here, they might be more hesitant to make enemies of the Biord,” Mason said with a slight gasp.

“They’d have to exterminate us entirely, or make sure we stay happy. Otherwise we could sell them out to the humans who will probably also be coveting this city, or they’ll have yet one more threat to worry about.”

Mason pulled away from Bazy and stood up, pacing a little around the room as he nibbled on some nuts. “This makes some sense, but it’s a whole lot of guesswork. I can think of a million ways things could go wrong.”

“You’re overthinking it. We’re not going to war, just trying to prevent it. A few thinly veiled threats and a handful of unknown variables should be enough to keep anyone with any brains in their heads from acting too brash. So I’ll let them know that you’re under my protection, and you let them know that the Biord are under human protection. If they hurt you, the Biord rebel and try to get the humans to avenge you. If the Marrans hurt us, we leak information to the humans and try to use them to oust the Marrans.

“Sure, in reality nothing will be that clear-cut or simple, but it gives us both leverage which we desperately need.”

“Well, at the very least, it might help reduce the number of wanna-be assassins coming after me,” Mason admitted.

“We’re desperate, Mason,” Bazy said suddenly, looking at her folded hands on the table. “This is important.”

“The seals?” Mason realized. He walked back to the table, “I should have tried to get a force back here sooner. So much happened and I’m still trying-”

“I get it, Mason. I wish the Darkest Night had returned sooner, but I don’t blame you for that. But it’s not the seals that worry me so much it’s that…” she looked pained. “Do you know what it’s like being the only one of your race with a brain? I’ve been able to talk to a few Biord and raise their intelligence somewhat, but Arlon was a genius. Geralt, too, could think, even if he was less of a conversationalist. But I’ve become the de facto leader of my people because I’m the smartest of them and I’m honestly nowhere near Arlon’s level.

“I can see all the ways we’re really suffering. All the dangers that we are ill-prepared to handle, yet I’m not smart enough to really know what to do about any of it. That’s another reason I need your help. For at least a little while until the rest of the humans come, you’re alone too.”

Mason put a hand on hers and smiled, “All you had to do was ask for my help, Bazy. You didn’t have to go and make me sad about things. I know they’re all kind of being assholes right now, but there’s good people among the Marrans, too. A lot of them have risked their lives for me, and I’m sure they’ll do the same for you and the Biord if you let them.”

“I’m certain they’ll make good allies, Mason, albeit guided by a few threats. But I’m counting on you to be a friend.”

Mason shrugged, “You’ve got some seriously misplaced loyalty, Bazy. I haven’t done anything for you.”

She just smiled, with only the faintest hint of mischief buried in her features.