Over a few more drinks, Rajal explained how each and every demon hoped to grow strong enough to join an Order as a Cavaliere. Then after that, they aimed to be promoted to Knight. Then Commander. Then Knight Commander. After that, there were only three people between you and the Grand Cross, who was the right-hand of the ruler of your Dominion. From there, there would be only one person in the way of ruling the Dominion yourself.

It was a pipe dream. It was the idea that you could work your way up the corporate ladder. It was the idea that anyone could be rich if you just worked hard enough. It was the idea that you could be president someday even if you came from nothing. It was the exception, not the rule, and I bet the ratio in Hell was worth more than on Earth. Or at least I hoped.

But that meant that the Rashirat were always going to aim for another plane of existence. They'd been warring since the beginning of creation to establish a pecking order they could call "natural." The weakest demon wanted to be the strongest just as much as the strongest demon. That meant the strongest Rashirat wasn't content at the top. Because to them, it wasn't the top at all. They didn't just want to be the strongest Rashirat and have the biggest Dominion.

Because Dominions could only be so big. There were three other planes of existence they could conquer. Not to mention, above the Rashirat were the Shevirat. Why stop at being the most powerful demon when you could become stronger than the gods? Just like they hadn't stopped at just corrupting Soul Systems on this plane, but they were also corrupting the World System. They wouldn't stop until they'd corrupted the Nix Fin Lux.

So Di'at had mentioned apocalypse. Sounded about right.

After I paid our tab, I showed him to my apartment. We walked in silence for most of the way, then once we were on a busier main road in the red light district, I asked, "What do you think about it all? Is that something you could get involved with if it was an option?"

"It's an option for now," he conceded. "Less demon you are, the more of an option you have really. The whole hierarchy thing means that if someone stronger than you tells you to do something, you sorta have to do it. That's why so many weaker Demeot especially the ones that don't have a violent bone in their body, wanted to live away from it all. That's how you got half-demons and Tieflings and Cambions. All just different mixed blood Demeot races."

"So at one point, there was a choice to live on either plane?" I asked. It felt like something was missing here. A thread I needed to tug on.

"Not quite." He gave a full grimace. "No, to live on this side, you have to make a contract with someone already living on this side. Either they summon you or they let you possess them."

That was the thread. "Contracts?"

"Uhh, I didn't do either of those things, for clarification..."

"I didn't ask." And honestly I didn't care. As long as he wasn't being controlled by a stronger demon and he had a mind of his own, it didn't matter. "Though how do I know you're not acting on someone else's orders?"

"The hierarchy doesn't really work on me," he said with a shrug. "It's a passive Skill."

I wanted to question him more about that because as far as I was concerned, that was no explanation. How did he know if his Skill worked? Was there really a way to test that? Would his Skill really work on a Rashirat?

"And I'm too humanlike," he added.

I squinted.

"That's why the Demeot even care about this plane," Rajal said. He opened his arms to gesture at the busy street of mostly half-naked people, the lights made vibrant by magic to attract attention. "People born of outside of the Plane of Demeot aren't part of their hierarchy. Well not unless they bring it here."

Which they were. Making contracts with the strongest people on this plane had given them influence over the World System. But the strongest people also often had political power, they were the rulers of a great many nations, big and small. That also was a way of spreading influence and creating a hierarchy of power. Their work seemed almost complete in more than one area.

Di'at had really waited until the last damn minute to try to prevent the end of the world. That was called procrastination.

"The contracts then," I redirected back to what I'd initially wanted to hear more about. We'd reach my apartment soon and I'd rather leave this conversation at the door with Danio around.

"You wanna make one with me?" He grinned.

"I'll pass but tell me more. What's the process?"

"There's a summoning spell. Not that hard to find, either. Best to know the name of the demon you want to summon, but even saying their name doesn't guarantee that one will show up. The more Energy you put into it, the more likely a stronger demon will answer your summon. Then they usually offer you a contract."

I understood how contracts worked. "What can you get from a demon contract? More power?"

"Depends on what you want to offer them." He kicked a rock out of the way, hitting someone who gave him a glare but didn't make a fuss about it. He just grinned sheepishly then continued, "The ones that just want to escape the Plane of Demeot? They're happy to protect you as long as they can stay on this plane. The stronger ones want way more, and they usually have the Cunning or some persuasion skill to help them get what they want. Which is your soul, ideally. Possession. Full crossing over."

"So more power." I stopped us since we were outside my building now.

"Not just more power." His expression darkened and he lowered his voice although he'd said his silencing spell was still active around them. "A contract with the right demon could mean going from an F-Class Stage 1 Soul to a C-Class Stage 3. That could be going from a C-Class Stage 3 to B-Class Stage 3 or from a B-Class Stage 3 to A-Class Stage 2. It means all of your Skills have higher caps. Plus the Bonus from the Soul level-up can be wild."

[Notice] Congratulations! You have completed your Mission [Learn More About the Demeot]. Mastery of [Demeot Eyes] has increased by 1%.

So this was the information Di'at wanted me to learn. Hadn't Danio mentioned the level-up as well? I remembered hitting the Stat Cap in two of my past lives, too, but I hadn't needed to surpass them to be an average Royal Guard. But in the life after that as an Assassin, I'd trained hard to surpass them. So hard that I'd gained a Skill that had eliminated them. A lot of wakefulness potions that life. Probably would've died young anyway.

"It's not easy to get that kind of level-up so quickly," I admitted. "So that's the appeal? I'm not impressed. Better to earn that yourself rather than have it given to you. Come on, I live on the top floor here."

"It's not for... everyone..." As he followed me inside to the ground floor, Rajal paused and looked up to the top floor. "Top floor?"

Then I felt it, too. Rajal was asking me what was wrong, why we'd be perceiving such danger, such malicious intentions, such bloodlust. But I'd forgotten I was in a different body and on a different world. Instead, I was Jerome again and I was walking into my sister's apartment knowing in my gut that something was wrong. It's a deep wrenching feeling. Like a knife twisting your intestines.

I'd ran then, too. Going up all these stairs now to get to Danio and the dozen or so steps it'd taken me back then to find my sister in the bathroom felt the same. Each step was devoid of time at all. As if I wasn't getting any closer at all. Back then it'd been fumbling with the keys to open the front door. Calling her name as I raced through the living room and kitchen. Checking the niece's bedroom and the guest bedroom on the way to the master. That last step was the worst. When there was no where else to look. The dread of what you'd find.

Would I find Danio in the living room or dining room or kitchen? Or would I find him in bed? Or would he be in the iron footed bathtub like my sister?

And who? Who broke into my apartment? I'd kill them.

The front door was open so there were no keys to fumble. It'd been torn off the hinges. There was man pacing, shoulders squared, huffing and puffing as he paced outside of Danio's bedroom door. He was a balding blond-haired man. Big blue eyes. Deep wrinkles on his forehead.

"You got her killed," the man was mumbling. He folded his arms over his chest then immediately unfolded them and started tugging at what little hair he had left. "You made me kill her, you little brat. You made her leave. You got her killed!"