Calridian kicked me out before I could get another word in. Another word of the purple light or another about the Crystals he still hasn’t handed over. His justification no more than his very right to do such and less.

  Still, I didn’t leave empty-handed… or empty-headed rather. In relation to the vanishing purple light of mana and training my [Spells] and [Abilities], Calridian places both blame and responsibility on Gerim for my ignorance.

  This is all because he never sets out. You wouldn’t be so eager to venture into the desert if you knew what lies out there, and you’d know well enough about that light.

  He isn’t wrong. I’m not blind to see that Gerim tries as much as possible to reduce the amount of time he has to venture out. For a Demon he’s quite strange. If it weren’t for him, I’d have a regular route in and out of the wild desert and maybe I wouldn’t be so startled at a Demon getting swallowed up in a flash of purple light.

  To make sure I use the alternatives in place, Calridian sent me to Gerim’s hovel.

  I pace through the communal row of habitats and what I’m starting to recognize as businesses—the ambient wisps of mana and Essence trailing around these mostly whole buildings host Demons exchanging the services of mortal slaves, thralls… meals.

  There’s a culture among the Blood Orange tiers littering the Broken City, and while Calridian may be patron and ultimately the strongest Demon, it’s all he can do to tax the profits of these Demons. His enforcers monitor the establishments rendering out strange Beasts of Reais to Blood Orange commanders and fair, delicious meals to the languishing Crimsons obsessed with food—Demons liable to attack me for a lick.

  Now that I know there’s some war coming, the city thrums with a different light under the hazel sky that rains sand from the desert. It’s the rather sophisticated part of the city—as much sophistication as a power-hungry species can have anyway.

  It slinks away behind me as I escape the border of the main city and slink into my district. It’s a compact space of dug-in hovels. Most of the Demons here are too wild to think past having enough sand to burrow under during storms and others are too busy fighting.

  It’s rare to see a Blood Orange tier here. I figure when a Demon’s hit that level they’ve got enough Essence to behave intelligently. Although Demons like the Dawern disagree with me on that point.

  It’s not regular, but some of these borderline wilds pay me visits, usually on the rare occasions I bother to sleep. I could do without it but I don’t: the waking nightmares are tougher to deal with.

  People—Humans, Orcs, Elves, Dragons, and even Vampires linger at corners. Acknowledging them renders me helpless. I’m sunk no matter what I do, transformed into whatever perspective I look from and forced to suffer the trauma. Half of these people and their events wouldn’t match up to a Demon, even one of my level, and yet I can’t stand it.

  My visitors bring growls and pounding against the walls. Pleas for me to shut up no doubt. I’ve improved Gerim’s initial designs to the hovel, although now I doubt it was Gerim that dug it up—one of my visitors could be a previous owner.

  It’s a lot more spacious now. I’m closer to the edge of Calridian’s influence, but the space to train my [Abilities] and even some kind of shelter from the sandstorms has been a boon. I settle in and get to practicing one of the moves the waking nightmares have ingrained in me.

  The only perceptible thing I’ve gained from the waking nightmares is the reflex memories it unlocks. The nightmares are more often than not violent and sometimes the perspective I possess is the perpetrator of said violence.

  I wish I had a weapon.

  Glaives, lances, swords, bows, and daggers—there’s the occasional odd weapon like a string of bones, some kind of staff and sickle, even a slingshot. Barehanded fights aren’t as frequent, but they end swiftly when I find myself in them.

  Keenly aware of the war to come and my mission to kill Morthul, I settle in and prep my [Abilities] for whatever tests may lie ahead.

  Might be a good idea to start some fights.

  ***

  I’ve turned my neighborhood against me.

  But I’m not the least bit apologetic. I’m not the strongest one out here, but I’m certainly not the weakest. I didn’t win any fights but I didn’t lose any either. Calridian’s flying enforcers are quick to break up fights in the open.

  The Demons, even the ones above my esq, have a guarded gait when I pass by now. It took three months of beating before my first win against the toughest nut here. After that I stopped taking the brunt of the hurt, the practice against the swild—a name I coined for the borderline-wild Demons of my neighborhood— serving me well, very well.

  I learned to take advantage of my high agility and minimize the injuries I receive by biting several chunks out of the thickest enemies early on in the fight. That way I could apply [Quick Mold] and have even thicker skin on areas I can’t defend as much.

  Admittedly, I got lost in the thrill of getting better and sunk in another six months after that, all the more so because I finally understood why Calridian forced me to go through [Crimson]- Lvl.5. The new ability [Essence Amplification] allows me to boost specific Essence-centric nascent Demon [Abilities], like regeneration.

  After thorough beatings where I’d beg for Calridian’s enforcers to pull me out of the fight, it only takes three weeks for me to recover whatever I lost to my opponent.

  Before some fights I’d gather and amplify Essence throughout my body, crunching and condensing its power and worth so when I needed little boosts in mimicry or even punching holes through especially thick Demons it would help.

  By the time I ventured out into the city again, squads of Demons tagging along with strange monsters—sometimes dead—fill the city. The buzz of war is here.

  Calridian didn’t send anyone to remind me of the pending assassination he’s sent me on or even the training with Gerim, and I know he’s taken note of my aggression toward the Demons around me. I could stay some more and keep practicing until he sends someone to urge me on if he disapproves, but as is, I’m on equal footing with the toughest swild backed up by its goons. I’ll need a better challenge if I want to progress; besides, I’m still getting nowhere casting [Minor Illusion].

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  So I head out to Gerim’s place.

  The earth dug out to make the burrow has long been cleared out, unlike mine. He doesn’t have much of anything, but like everyone else he has more than I do. Within the rather dark crevice is a long, makeshift shelf lined with several strange looking pieces of metal… no, those are quills.

  There’s enough space for someone of my size to summersault in unrestrained, but I doubt it’s enough for Gerim himself. The floor is smooth, a stark contrast to the bumps and sands that cover the rest of the city. Trailing my fingers along the surface, I can tell there’s been an attempt to smooth out the walls as well, but that’s met little success from what I can tell.

  The hovel is calm, quiet to normal senses, but the pinging in the back of my head tells me this place is saturated with the various psychic impressions he goes through. In a way there’s a long echo of all the thoughts, feelings, and struggles he’s gone through in here.

  But with such little telepathy I can’t do much aside from recognize that there’s something like that. I can’t process any of the information.

  “What are you doing?”

  Startled, I nearly trip over my own feet at his appearance. He marches in and shoves me away from the shelves. He’s brought in a corpse of Demon, riddled with his quills and missing more than a few limbs.

  “Uh… nothing, I… Calridian sent me.”

  He begins digging into the Demon’s corpse, pushing the ribs open in search of something, but he halts at Calridian’s mention.

  “Why?”

  “Training.”

  He turns to face me, his broad, buff, quill-filled body looming over me as he approaches. “Your training?”

  I nod and a flash of annoyance comes across his face before vanishing. “Hargoil can handle you.”

  “Hargoil threw me in a pit and left me to fight for my life!” It doesn’t take much more than that to rile me up; my fists ball up and I glare back at his narrowed eyes, “I think it’s time you started taking me seriously, I need to grow, and since Calridian won’t let me go out on my own, you’re the only one I have. And besides, aren’t you responsible for this? Shouldn’t you have been training me from the start, like other squad leaders?”

  At the mention of other leaders, he snorts and flexes his fists. “I should have killed you out there.”

  That shuts me up. He steps into my space, forcing me to step back. “Hargoil threw you into a pit to fight for your life.” He growls. “Pathetic. You are the Lord Crimson? Something must’ve gone horribly wrong for you to become the watched protégé of this city.”

  He continues to call me out, a growing impression of aggression present throughout. “You have no clue, do you? You think anyone cares? You think I do? You think you’re going to punish Hargoil?”

  Again he snorts. Shaking his head and heaving a sigh that wipes away all aggression, he says, “If that were true, you ought to be mad at Reais itself, because as long as you’re here, you’re going to be fighting for your life. Consider that my first lesson.”

  Biting my cheek, vile indignation boils in me. “Oh yeah? Well you’re not one to talk, are you? You’re more of a coward than me, more pathetic than I am! I’ve heard them speak of you—Calridian, Hargoil, random fucking Demons on the street! You think you’re going to survive by hiding? You think you can just stay here in your hovel and avoid all the chaos beyond Calridian’s protection?”

  I shake my head, a wry laugh escaping my throat. “You’re wrong. You won’t survive any more than I will being entitled to power. The chaos will come, one way or another, and you’ll be weak. Weak in the worst sense, because you won’t even have the will to fight for your life!”

  A cold silence blankets us, both our faces contorted into fierce scowls.

  “If you want to train… heal yourself.” He says this and strides back into his hovel, filling it again with waves of psychic impressions that’ll leave a lasting imprint.

  I don’t dare follow him. I’ve had enough, and I know well enough that he’d probably attack me if I did. So I heed his advice. Healing.

  I’m a tad roughed up from my last battle, but it’s an order I can follow without trouble.

  I should increase my senses next. If there’s a war and I’m to be a part of it…

  I let the thoughts of hopefully far-off events die and focus on healing.

  When I’m done healing, I take a deep breath and let all the built up exhaustion wash away with it. But it should have been long enough that Gerim isn’t still slighted.

  I walk up to the entrance of the hovel; it lacks a door, but there’s a boulder at the top of the “roof,” so I assume sometimes it does.

  “I’m done. What now?”

  His back is turned from me and has opened up another hole in the ground, something I’d completely missed in my initial tour of the place. The hole looks like it goes deep and wide, likely hiding several of Gerim’s valuables—if he has any.

  He steps out with a pair of quills long and thick enough to hold. I frown. “This… no, I don’t think—”

  “Yes, you don’t think. Just do as I say and we’ll all be happy.”

  It’s either this or… well, there’s no other option.

  I grab one of the quills, twirling it around a bit before setting it at him and slowly backing away. If we’re going to have a practice duel, then there’re several things to look out for.

  With a large figure and a weapon with a pointed tip like this, it’d be easy to get in more than a few stabs. My legs fuel with Essence, enhancing my agility even further—toes grip and twist the sand underneath. At any moment I’ll need to lunge at him or out of the way.

  He narrows his focus on me, eyes glowing a bright red from the Essence flooding into them. Why the eyes?

  I only catch his feet shuffle before he disappears from my sight. Not waiting around for an attack and leaping off the ground just in time for him to reappear, I jump as his quill strikes the point I stood half a second ago.

  It explodes.

  Rock and debris shoot out from the ground, and my eyes open wide at such an attack. I land and make sure to skirt a few more paces away as I watch. He pulls out the quill, and as he twirls it it wafts off the Essence in waves.

  How did he… can I do that too?

  Wordlessly, he continues the attack. Dashing at ridiculous speeds for his size I’m barely able to keep up my dodge tactics as the area around us unearths from each of his explosive attacks.

  Wait… is he trying to kill me?

  No… this is Gerim, a Blood Orange Demon. If he wanted me dead… well, if a single of those attacks lands on me I think that’ll do it.

  Fuck. I curse inwardly, rolling off the floor after another close call. Picking myself up, I find him twirling the quill again. With mine still in hand, I know what he wants me to do. Except I’m barely fast enough to avoid his attacks, I doubt I can get one up on him.

  His feet shift again and he launches at me, quill poised for the kill. But this time I stand my ground. Rather than enhance my agility, I flood my left side and arm with Essence, buffing and strengthening the area the quill will pierce as I raise mine to counterattack.

  In the split second before his quill stabs through my shoulder, Gerim’s eyes go wide and an impression of fear overcomes him. The quill slides in without any trouble, as though my preparations were all in vain, but they’re not.

  As the Essence coated on his quill battles mine for dominance, splitting and pushing my shoulder apart like water in boiling oil, I take the opportunity to do the same to him.

  “Raaarrgghh!” Roaring through the pain, my free arm pushes out Essence from the pore of my hand and onto the quill before stabbing it right in his eye.

  My shoulder explodes and the arm drops limp on the floor. Blood pours out of the wound and I stumble away from him.

  He stands there, unfazed and unbothered by the quill sticking out of his left eye. It bleeds, pouring out thick, dark blood from the wound. He breathes and begins pulling it out; the squelching of his eye distracts me momentarily from my arm lying limp on the ground.

  “You made an attempt,” he starts. He twirls his quill in hand a bit more as steam oozes from his eye socket, restoring the injured part within seconds. “It’s a hard skill to learn, one that requires… intense focus and an ability to multitask. But you… you’re a quick learner.”

  Groaning in pain, staunching the wound, I nod, “Yeah, thanks.”

  “Heal. We’ll continue in time.”

  “Wait,” I call out before he turns away. “Why are we… doing this instead of magic? I thought… Calridian said…”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “The magic comes later. I’m not sure why he’s showering you with so many favors, but for the coming battles it’s best you learn how to end Demons quickly. And you’ll need a weapon for that. He’s preparing one for you now, isn’t he?”

  “You know about that?”

  He doesn’t say another word.

  here.