There was a satisfying crunch of bone as Shakka finished her breakfast.

“You’re getting strong,” Juva whispered. “It’s really quite remarkable.”

Shakka sat on the floor of their small bedroom apartment, surrounded by several empty plates. She’d never had breakfast before this morning, and now she couldn’t imagine starting the day without it.

“Don’t overfeed her, Juva,” Tarikh said as he fastened the galerus armor plate to his shoulder.

From behind impenetrably thick bangs that covered her eyes brow to snout, Shakka glowered at the Demon Lord.

“Why not?” Juva said. “She’s clearly getting stronger.”

“Besides,” Shakka added after a big swallow. “The deal was I could eat as much as I want, whenever I want, which is always and ever.”

Tarikh heaved a grumbling sigh. “Look, it’s not that simple. Those cursed with the Quintessence of Gluttony must also fast if they are to be of any use in battle.”

“What do you mean?” Juva asked, frowning.

Shakka snorted. “He means my abilities won’t work on a full stomach. But that won’t be a problem. I get hungry all the time now.” She poked her practically non-existent bicep. “But what use are my abilities when I’m wea—eh—not yet at my full strength? Now is the time to make some gains, and after, I’ll do a little fasting.” She snickered and wrung her hands together. “I’m actually looking forward to the day I have to leave some room for my enemies.”

Tarikh shook his head, waved offhandedly, and ducked out into the hallway. The room felt a lot more spacious without his mass looming over them.

“Master, where are you going?” Juva called after him.

“To get supplies. We’re going to Birjand next,” he answered back, and the sound of his footsteps faded as he went down the creaky wooden stairway.

“Birjand…” Juva mouthed. “That’s a long way from here.”

Shakka recognized the name but couldn’t think of a reason anyone would go there. Birjand was notable only for being so utterly unnotable. It was a land of barren mountains and herdsmen. A hardy sort of people lived there. The sort that scraped together their meager existence by traveling from one unfertile hill to the next.

“Why does he want to go all the way out there?” Shakka asked.

Juva’s brow beetled, and she suddenly got up, grabbed a leather-bound tome from the nightstand, and studiously flicked through it.

“What’s that?” Shakka asked.

“The Master’s journal.”

“Does it say something about werewolves?”

But Juva didn’t answer and kept flipping through the pages.

“Eh, Juva?” Shakka tried again after a while.

“Oh, now I see…” the Goblina said softly, pressing a finger to her full lips.

“What? What do you see?” Shakka climbed onto the bed next to her, sneaking a peek at pages filled with notes written in indecipherable handwriting. “Juva, what does it say?”

The goblina nodded a few times to herself. “It’s not about Birjand; it’s about what lays beyond it.”

“And what lays beyond Birjand? That place is pretty much at the end of the known world.”

“Najafabad lays beyond it,” Juva said.

Shakka frowned. “You’re saying that like it’s supposed to mean something.”

“It should—it would if it still existed.”

“What do you mean, still existed?”

“I mean, you’ve never heard of it because it’s been wiped off the face of the world. Physically and culturally. Even the name ‘Najafabad’ has been purged from lore.”

“How can that be?” Shakka sat a little higher, tucking her feet under her. “The Hufuf maps don’t show any lands beyond Birjand. And those are ancient.” But then again, Shakka knew the maps were incomplete. The known world was only a fraction of what was really out there.

Long ago, werewolf scholars had calculated the circumference of the world. It was impossibly large, which meant that most of the world was still a complete mystery to civilization. And civilization stopped about four solus travel from the gates of Hufuf.

“Najafabad was once a great city,” Juva explained, “and the center of an empire of man. Its king proclaimed their civilization would last a thousand-thousand years, but in less than ten, no one would ever mention Najafabad again.”

“A thousand-thousand years? A human realm?” Shakka clicked her tongue. “Tch. Didn’t anyone tell them they were only humans?”

“Apparently not,” Juva said softly, her amethyst eyes darting left to right and right to left as she read.

Shakka sighed. “Anyway, then what happened?”

Juva continued to decipher the notes. Shakka could only guess how, since many of the lines were so smudged and the paper so stained it could have said anything.

“It says here that a savage army of Frost Giants swept down from the northern steppes. They caught the Najafabad forces unawares, unable to defend themselves, let alone the city. After the royal army was crushed, the invaders sacked Najafabad at their leisure.

“The enemy spared the king, though not without humiliating him in the most unspeakable ways. The king was eventually found wandering the desert naked, and his first decree was to forbid any mention of Najafabad in tome, song, or speech. And so, the city was forgotten. Thus, humanity’s greatest humiliation was lost to history.”

Shakka didn’t quite understand what all the fuss was about. All races lost wars from time to time. Not the werewolves—Gorgineh, of course, but most others did.

“Pathetic,” Shakka said disdainfully. “The king should’ve had some honor and fight to the death and die along with his men.” She nodded self-righteously, arms folded across her chest.

Juva smirked a mirthless smile. “Yeah, perhaps.”

Shakka let herself fall back onto the bed and rubbed her tummy. “An army of Frost Giants…”

“Do you think they melted?” Juva asked.

“Hm?”

“The Frost Giants. Do you think, since it’s so hot here, that they melted? They never did return, and no one has ever seen a Frost Giant since.”

“Maybe,” Shakka said absently, though she was more puzzled by the image of a human army. She tried to imagine it; a pure human army. Weak, silly humans in their ridiculous armor suits fighting against monsters—giants even. It sounded ridiculous.

“Shakka?” Juva said, twisting some frilly twine that stuck out of Shakka’s burlap shirt.

“Hm?”

“If the master is out for supplies, then maybe we should do the same and get some stuff that we need.”

“Like food?”

Juva chuckled. “No, I mean clothes. It can’t be comfortable to walk around in such a nasty rag all day.”

Shakka felt a flash of disappointment, but her nose twitched, and she tugged at her hem, which, she could smell, wasn’t only uncomfortable but also stained with sweat.

“It does feel a bit itchy,” she admitted.

Juva beamed, and before Shakka could blink twice, she was up, money satchel in hand and ready to go. “Then let’s go shopping!”

Shakka scratched the top of her head. “Eh? R-right now?”

“Yes!” Juva took her by the hand and dragged the young werewolf with such tenacity that Shakka nearly tripped over her own feet.

“Wait,” Shakka cried out, reaching for and missing the doorpost completely. “I was still waiting on a rack of lamb!”

~

Tarikh caught a whiff of Juva’s new perfume and leaned in, much like a dog would when it suspected that its owner was hiding a rather delicious bone behind their back.

“You smell very—squeezable.”

“You like it?” Juva giggled. “It’s lemon fragrance.” But the demon wasn’t listening and continued to list precariously toward her. “Oh, and look what I got for Shakka!” Juva said, and as she skipped to Shakka while the Demon’s tilt followed. “Master, look!” Juva put both her hands on Shakka’s narrow shoulders as if she were a proud mother. “Doesn’t she look precious?”

The goblina’s words finally penetrated the Demon’s thick horned skull, and he shifted his gaze with a blink to the small morsel of a werewolf standing under a shapely bosom.

“You gave her clothes,” he remarked helpfully.

Juva beamed while Shakka said nothing. “Isn’t it the most beautiful sweater? It’s made from the finest cashmere wool to keep her cool when it’s hot and warm when it’s cold at night.” She hugged Shakka as if she were a toy plushy. “And it came in Tyrian purple, so it matches her violet-y hues.”

Shakka still said nothing.

“Juva,” Tarikh said, “that stuff isn’t suited for combat, and it needs to be maintained properly.”

“Oh, I know, Master, it’s why I bought extras!”

“H-how many did you buy?”

“About a few.”

“About a few,” Shakka added flatly.

“And the black trousers?” Tarikh asked.

“Linen,” Juva sighed.

“You sound disappointed,” Tarikh said.

“She just doesn’t like the deal we made,” Shakka said.

“And what deal was that?”

“I’d get the final say on half the clothes we’d buy.”

“I see. It looks sturdy enough. Fit for long treks. How many did you buy?”

Shakka grinned. “About a few.”

“About a few,” Juva added flatly.

Tarikh had never seen them look more guilty. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right, are you both ready, then?” They nodded. “Good, then let’s go. My scalp has been itching all day. They’re antsy to stretch their legs.”

“They?” Shakka looked up at Juva and saw her smile knowingly.

“My mounts,” Tarikh said, “Fikar and Khatereh, the Princes of Hell.”

“They’re the sweetest little fawns in the whole world,” Juva beamed.

“Eh—fawns?”

“You’ll see,” Juva said, petting Shakka between her ears.

~

“Please come again,” the server chirped with a slight wave of her hand.

“Thank you for everything,” Juva said, bowing courteously.

“Truly, it was our pleasure.” The server chuckled and bent through her knees to be at eye level with Shakka. “And I’m really going to miss you, Shahkhantibalisi.”

“Shakka.”

“Sorry, Shakka. That’s a much easier name, though. I like it.” The server smiled and reached out.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if—” Juva tried to stop her. But she wasn’t quick enough, and the server ruffled Shakka’s hair. Nothing happened. “Oh, Shakka, you’re fine with her touching you?”

Shakka glanced up at Juva, the server’s hand still on her head. She shrugged. “It’s a little awkward, but I’ll allow it.”

The server chuckled. “Now you go give that big bad vampire a big wallop for me, alright?”

Shakka squared herself proudly. “Oh, don’t worry about that, human serf.”

“Server.”

“At the rate my powers are growing, that fanged bastard won’t know what tore him apart.”

The server grinned. “I don’t doubt it.”

“Right. That’s enough, Juva,” Tarikh growled, and he walked off down the street.

“Coming, Master!”

Juva and Shakka gave one final parting wave and caught up with the impatient Demon Lord.

Shakka peered over her shoulder to an empty patch of dirt where most of their stuff and supplies had stood, including several barrels of ale and about a few items of clothing. “So,” she asked, “did you hire a porter to pick up our stuff or—”

Juva snickered.

“A porter?” Tarikh said gruffly. “Why would we hire one of those?”

Shakka blinked, feeling like she was missing something. “To-to carry all of our food and stuff.”

“Juva carries all of my food. And most of my stuff.”

“And I never lose a thing, Master,” Juva said proudly.

Tarikh glanced over his shoulder, a glint caught in his infernal gaze. “You do good, Juva.”

The goblina flushed.

Though that still answered nothing, and Shakka reared her wolf-eared head, scrutinizing the golden-haired goblina up and down. Besides her dress, the only things on her person were the money pouch, the small ceramic vial that hung from her neck, and a worn leather shoulder bag.

“How?” Shakka asked.

Juva giggled, lightly stroking the leather bag that rested on her hip. “I have my tricks.”

Shakka could only assume that it must’ve been magic. Juva was being difficult, and the Demon Lord was, as usual, of no help at all.

They followed Lord Tarikh until he stopped just at the edge of town, though out of sight from the trade caravans.

“Are we hiding?” Shakka asked.

Tarikh shook his head. “No, but this part can be a bit too much, even for this crowd.”

“What part—”

And she now understood what part he meant as to her horror; the demon tore the horns from his own scalp. They burned, the top of his head glowing, smoldering like molten lava as he pulled the horns free. His opened cranium, which looked like the top of an active volcano, resealed itself, and within moments his tousled black hair had regrown to the length it was before.

Shakka felt the hairs on her head bristle, and she wasn’t fully aware that she’d clutched to and half hid behind Juva’s arm.

Lord Tarikh held a set of horns in each hand and brought them in turn to his lips where he whispered the name of each mount, Fikar, Khatereh. When Shakka saw what happened next, she suddenly wished she was a lot hungrier.

As soon as the demon whispered the enchanted words, he held the horns at arm’s length. Black smoke billowed from the horns along with scintillating embers that sparked and shot this way and that. The horns grew, and it turned out they weren’t horns at all, but antlers. They were red and wet with blood as the antlers branched and ripped through the velvet skin that had briefly covered them as they aged in seconds.

But the abhorrent scene didn’t end there. The turbid smoke coalesced into bones, blazing organs, sinew, and heavily muscled limbs marbled with liquid fire. The cadaveric sight lasted seven heartbeats before a thick black hide spread like drops of ink on white parchment.

Finally, spinning embers burned imperious eyes into the creatures that were like those of the Demon Lord, only more vicious.

When it was over, Fikar and Khatereh were two of the most foul-tempered beasts Shakka had ever seen, with antlers as wide as their bodies were long. The moment Tarikh released them, they reared on their powerful hind legs and fell upon each other, crashing with thunderous violence, shaking the ground on impact. It was as if they’d resumed some ancient feud.

Shakka didn’t know how Lord Tarikh would ever get them to stop, for the beasts seemed determined to murder one another. But it wasn’t Lord Tarikh who calmed the creatures. Fearlessly, Juva stepped between them just as they were about to lock antlers again.

“Juva, what are you doing!?” Shakka hissed, dragging her feet to keep the goblina back, but she just kept walking until she stood right between them.

Both stags instantly stopped, and without as much as a flinch, the goblina took the reins of Fikar. After that, Fikar became as meek as a hapless lamb while Tarikh had a much harder time subduing Khatereh, putting the combative stag into a headlock first.

“Stop squirming, you stubborn beast,” Tarikh said, seemingly enjoying the rut.

Juva chuckled as she scratched Fikar’s cheek as if it were a large dog. “Next time, I’ll ride with you, Khatereh, I promise.”

“Well, Shakka, are you ready to ride?” Tarikh said, even as Khatereh buffeted at his back.

Shakka stammered, waving her hands in front of her. “Oh, no! You’re not getting me on one of those murder cows!”

“Shakka,” Juva said, “they’re really quite sweet once you get to know them!”

“Yeah, real sweet-like. Sure. Forget it, Toots. I’ll just walk.”

Tarikh took the reins of Fikar and said to Juva, “I’ll help you up.” Juva giggled and accepted his careful boost onto Fikar’s pitch-black back. They both looked at Shakka expectantly, and Tarikh crooked his pointy finger. “Your turn,” he said.

Shakka vehemently opposed this and tried to make a run for it. But, unfortunately, she wasn’t very fast and felt Tarikh’s large hand grab her by the hem of her sweater.

“Hey, careful! That’s cashmere you’re mangling!”

But Tarikh didn’t care and plopped her right in front of Juva, leaving her sweater pulled out of shape.

“You ruined it!” Shakka protested, but at Fikar’s sulfur snort, she quieted.

“That will teach you to do as I say when I say it,” Tarikh said before mounting Khatereh.

“Don’t worry,” soothed Juva. “You can switch sweaters at our next stop.”

Shakka grumbled under her breath. “It’s about the principle…” But in truth, she would rather complain about anything so long it kept her mind off what she was riding. Which was on the back of a hellish stag, controlled by a bubbly, naïve Goblin woman.