A smoke cloud shaped like the continent of Pairi-Daeza floated in the air between Oak and Ashmedai.

  What do you think will happen to this landmass, when an Angelic Choir manifests upon it? Oak repeated the demon's question inside his own mind, turning the words over. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He had little success.

  “Nothing good?” he finally said.

  Ashmedai chuckled, but there was no mirth to be found in his voice. “The mere presence of a Choir will cleanse all life from the continent. The tablet will be scraped clean.”

  “I…I don’t understand. What good is a barren wasteland to the angels?” Oak asked. He felt strange. Truthfully, he did not know how he felt. This was too big. Too enormous for him to make any sense of it all.

  “I know not their full intentions. Maybe the Choirs will repopulate the lands with members of their congregations living beyond these shores.” Ashmedai shrugged. “But make no mistake, Warlock. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. All things must end, and the angels have decided in their heavenly wisdom that the curtains should fall early on Pairi-Daeza.”

  The candle on the table had burned down to its halfway point. Oak stared at it, wondering where the time had vanished.

  “There you have it,” Ashmedai said. “The death rattle of the old order, come to drag us into the abyss.”

  The demon stared Oak straight in the eyes and the shadows of the great hall grew deeper. Trapped by that uncompromising gaze, Oak felt like he stood naked before an erupting volcano. Winds of cinder pierced his body and passed through him, caressing his very soul. A question rang inside the heart of Oak’s being.

  Will you cower before the lash and the chain? Or will you fight the coming end to the last drop of blood?

  The winds receded, but the question remained. Oak did not flinch from Ashmedai’s gaze. He looked at his patron and allowed himself to feel the fear coursing through his mind. Like all things, it would pass. He accepted the enormity of the task. Most likely, it would kill him.

  “Out of all souls in Creation, it falls upon an evil man.” Oak laughed at the absurdity of it all. “If it is all the same to you, I will spit in the eyes of the Choirs, as I slaughter their dreams. I will scatter their Chosen and cast down their kings. That is my vow, Demon of Wrath. Let the open sky fall upon me, if I break it.”

  The smoke cloud hanging in the air dispersed.

  For a time, they sat in silence, looking at each other. Demon and man. Ashmedai leaned back in his armchair. There was something new in the demon’s gaze, though Oak could not place it.

  “What did I tell you, Oak? You have potential. It didn’t take long for you to earn your place as my Warlock,” Ashmedai murmured. “Humans never cease to amaze me with their sheer perseverance. Maybe that’s why I like you so much. Most of you are flashes in the pan compared to the lifespans of the Mother’s elder children, but what magnificent flashes you are.”

  “Thank you, that was kindly said,” Oak replied. He felt untethered from the past and the future. The weight of his promise was only beginning to settle on his shoulders. He looked at the candle again. Less than half of it remained. “Since our time draws to a close, I must change the subject. Before I leave, might I receive a boon or two? As I mentioned, I have been busy feeding souls to my engine.”

  Ashmedai clapped his hands in delight. “Of course! Let us get straight to it. I would be a lousy patron if I let my Warlock perish out of negligence.”

  The demon snapped his fingers and brought the familiar image of a vast night sky filled to the brim with knotted branches glowing with boons into being. At the heart of the vision stood a young tree with four branches grafted onto it.

  It hasn’t been two weeks yet, and so much has changed. Time to change some more.

  Ur-Namma had emphasized the importance of speed and, after hearing the elf’s arguments, Oak agreed with him. Frankly, some type of boost to reflexes and speed of movement was a necessity for a Warlock like himself, if he was going to overcome tough opponents in the future.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Oak was no coward. Nevertheless, trying to fight a grafted, like Soot, for example, without enhanced reflexes was more of an elaborate suicide than an act of bravery. And Oak had no intention of dying to the first grafted follower of the Choirs who took exception to his existence.

  “The elf recommended some form of enhanced reflexes and speed,” Oak said. “His arguments won me over.”

  “Interesting. Ur-Namma has a wealth of experience to draw upon,” Ashmedai said. “I would not discount his advice lightly when it comes to martial matters. Let’s see what I can offer that would make sense in your situation.”

  The breathtaking vista of branches twisting over each other across the cosmos came alive, and one by one, different branches spun to the forefront before Ashmedai discarded them. The process was too fast for Oak to follow it. This continued for some time, until Ashmedai made a pleased sound, and the movement of the vision ceased. Three branches remained, floating in front of Oak.

  Ashmedai lifted three fingers and started going through the options. “First, we have the safe and steady option. The Branch of Gaap is a branch focused on consistent enhancements to reflexes and speed in all situations. It's not flashy, but it does not need to be, and it will get the job done.

  “Our second branch is a bit more tricky. Just like the first option, the Branch of Kimaris offers an increase to your lethality in all situations, but the consistent increase in speed and the faster reaction time will not be as great. Instead, one boon higher up the branch will allow you to, for a brief time, massively increase your speed.”

  Oak was intrigued. “Exactly how fast will I be in that brief window?” he asked.

  “Fast enough to cut people to pieces before they can even blink,” Ashmedai responded with a nasty smile on his face.

  “I like the sound of that,” Oak said. “What’s my third option?”

  “Your third option is a curious one. Besides a minor increase in speed and faster reflexes, the Branch of Haagenti offers to vastly speed up your processes of cognition. In essence, you would have more time to consider your options in a fight.” Ashmedai clapped his hands together. “What do you think?”

  “You damn well know what I think,” Oak muttered. “You offered to eventually make me fast enough to cut people apart before they even register what is happening. I ain’t choosing any of the other branches after that spiel.”

  “I figured you might go for the Branch of Kimaris.” Ashmedai chuckled. “It will be expensive soul wise, but not too bad. Have you thought about your second choice? You have enough fuel for it.”

  Oak had indeed been thinking hard about what he should choose. He had been bouncing between the branches of Flauros and Buer, but Flauros had won out in the end. Increased healing or durability would be very useful, and he would invest in them, eventually. Right now, though, he wanted more options and greater offensive power.

  Since the Branch of Flauros was already grafted to him, he had been spending the few available moments of downtime by examining it.

  “My flames are pitiful at the moment,” Oak said. “Can you bring up the Branch of Flauros you already grafted to me?”

  “Certainly,” Ashmedai said, and waved his hand. The vision floating between them focused on the Branch of Flauros, and showcased the different forks branching out of the main branch. There were several boons to choose from, and Oak had considered them all carefully.

  There were boons that could make his flames hotter, increase his reach, or make the fires he lit spread faster, but those had felt like inferior options to him.

  Ashmedai’s revelations had only made Oak’s choice clearer. One could not stand against the might of the Choirs and slay a dragon relying on strength that was uninspired. Applications of simplistic force would not move the Heavens.

  Just by looking at the Branch of Fire, Oak could tell that every boon he chose would, in small ways, increase the efficiency of his casting anyway, and his soul would eventually get used to the strain. Spending precious resources on making casting easier could very well stunt his growth in the long run.

  Instead, his gaze fell on a certain interesting looking boon, forking off the main branch.

  “I want that one,” Oak said, and pointed towards the first boon of Pyrokinetic Telekinesis. It would provide him with the basics of fire shaping, and telekinetic force projection through his flames.

  As he examined the line of boons dotting up that off-shoot from the main branch, Oak noticed something interesting. Before the fork he was following with his gaze connected back to the main Branch of Flauros, it intersected with the Branch of Zagan. Liquids and gases. Now, there is a synergy with some potential. Images of utter havoc filled his mind, as Oak considered what could be achieved with a combination of certain difficult to acquire substances, and an open flame.

  I will have to keep that in mind.

  Ashmedai cleared his throat, interrupting Oak’s musings. “It is a second tier spark, so grafting it will tie up most of the unattached souls you currently have,” he said. “Are you sure about your choice?”

  “Yes, I am,” Oak replied. He could not wait to send some fool flying with a burst of flame.

  “Marvelous!” Ashmedai said and snapped his fingers. The representation of Oak’s powers vanished. “As usual, I will keep you unconscious for the duration of the grafting process. Night, night, Warlock.”

  Oak didn’t even have the time to thank the demon, before sleep claimed him.

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