Bozzen - Kraan Druu’roth (High-Devil), Thrallok Ran (Demon Lord), Ruler of the Vakrazh (Misty Castle) stumbled out of a portal into his chambers. He collapsed to his knees and attempted to steady his emotions through sheer force of will, while the memory of what just happened played in his mind.

  He’d seen the giant too late to stop it. The bloodlust buried him like an avalanche; crushing his lungs, arresting his body, blanketing his mind with an emotion he wasn’t used to - Fear.

  “Khoraz, Druu’roth. Var nakhor zhan? (Greetings, Devil. What brings you here?)” The giant asked in Bozzen’s own tongue - his easygoing smile set Bozzen’s nerves aflame.

  He’d recognized that smile anywhere.

  Vakiin Thrazz (The one above god.)

  Pain flared in Bozzen’s head, and he slowly moved his hand towards the source of the pain - black blood poured from the open wound on his forehead. The dark liquid slowly flowed between his fingers, down his face, over his nose, and past his lips to drip onto a lush, crimson carpet.

  Dagger-like fangs pierced his bottom lip in frustration as wicked looking nails sank into the carpet fibers. He buried his bloody face in the carpet and screamed. All of his pain, hatred, fear burst forth from the depths of his black soul.

  All he could remember was the sensation of his thrall activating the spell that would send him home, then darkness and pain as the spell took hold… He hadn’t seen the giant move.

  That realization caused another to surface; Bozzen could have died right then and there. And the worst part? He wouldn’t have even realized it was happening had the giant not questioned him first, giving his thrall time to act.

  Had events gone slightly differently the Demon Lord Bozzen would no longer exist.

  His shrieking alerted the servants stationed outside his door that something was wrong with their master - but none dared open the door. Their master was calm, cruel, vicious to any who irritated him. The last demon to enter his chambers without invitation had his frozen head used as the centerpiece at a banquet and his body turned into an entree.

  The demons had never known their master to display his emotions so openly. He could be cruel, yes. Sadistic, certainly. But their master usually had the emotional depth of a teaspoon and thus was predictable. Who knew what would happen if they disturbed him now.

  Sure, they might die once the Master regained his senses and realized they’d left him alone. But a calm Bozzen was an efficient killer, whatever death they’d face would be quick - possibly even painless. They weren’t worth the time it’d take to torture them, after all.

  The shrieking continued for another twenty minutes before the room fell silent.

  Truthfully, the demons hoped the silence meant their Master was dead, or at the very least had gone back to normal. So, when an emotionless Bozzen opened the door and stepped out of his chambers., the servants were nearly as relieved as they were disappointed.

  Bozzen ignored the looks on the servant’s faces and fully entered the hallway.

  Dressed in a well-tailored suit consisting of a black jacket over a black shirt, white pants and white leather shoes - Bozzen looked the part of the Baron he was… Well, except for the cauterized lump of skin where his horn used to be.

  “Clean up that mess before I return.” He told the two Velzara maids waiting by the door.

  His arm became a blur as he began to move and black blood splattered across a maid’s face. The red-skinned woman didn’t react to the blood splatter and merely nodded her understanding.

  Of the two Grothak guards stationed outside Bozzen’s chambers, Kurzol the elder was one of them. Grothak were massive humanoids with ash-gray skin that resembled tiny stones - and Kurzol was no exception. The oldest Grothak in the castle stood a hair over ten feet tall and likely weighed a thousand pounds. A single thick horn protruded from the center of his forehead to scratch the high ceiling of the hallway.

  Emotionless white eyes watched as the other Grothak’s head tumbled to the ground, stopping just shy of his right foot.

  Kurzol dipped his head towards Bozzen. “Kurzol thanks the exalted one for his mercy.” he said, ignoring the *crash!* of his kin’s dense body falling to the ground.

  Bozzen had already walked off by the time Kurzol spoke, so his voice reached only the maid’s ears. Berenxia, the maid in question, was only a few decades younger than Kurzol. However, Velzara maintained a youthful appearance until the moment of their death.

  Possessing smooth scarlet skin, a clear complexion, a mane of shiny black hair, and violently seductive curves. Berenxia was every hot-blooded male's deepest, darkest desire.

  She had to be. The mana coursing through her blood made it so.

  Berenxia placed a comforting hand on Kurzol’s shoulder before following the other maid into the room. They weren’t friends, but they’d known each other a long time. She knew he felt responsible for the lives of the younger Grothak.

  Kurzol was the first Grothak to join Bozzen’s legion. The rest merely followed his example - they looked up to him; the honorable ‘war hero’... Bozzen was aware of this too.

  By the time Kurzol lifted his kin’s body into his arms to carry him away, Bozzen was long gone.

  The Demon Lord threw open the doors to his personal study and barged inside with purposeful strides. He normally found the room quite peaceful, a place to get away from the hungry eyes of his subjects and indulge in his own pastimes.

  But not now.

  Bozzen’s face tightened at the sight of the younger Devil sitting on the leather couch in the center of the room - A glass of Dakesh (Blood wine) in one hand and a fist-sized chunk of gold in the other.

  Ripping his eyes away from the target of his ire, Bozzen glanced at the four demons around the room. “Get out.” He said, not giving them an inch of leeway.

  The two Vornazir (Blood drinkers) shifted uncomfortably but did as he asked.

  The Zarak-Vaarg’s (Shadow-Wolf’s) lupine face transformed from annoyance to fear, before he followed suit and vanished from the room.

  The Nazk Druu’roth (lesser devil) narrowed her eyes at the injury above Bozzen’s head, bowed at the waist, then departed the room without a word - making sure to shut and lock the doors before leaving to find something to eat.

  The four demons were his aides, and they’d been awaiting his return all night. Normally they’d give him their reports of the ongoing management of his territories, but it could wait until their master calmed down again.

  “I need to speak with your father.” Bozzen told the younger devil.

  “I was right, wasn’t I?” The Druu’roth showed Bozzen a cocky grin and tossed the lump of gold onto the floor between them. “With the resources mined from that planet we could arm a hundred armies for a fraction of the cost-”

  “No, we can’t.” Bozzen shook his head, drawing attention to his missing horn.

  The young Druu’roth’s smile fell, and he motioned to the missing horn with his glass. “What happened to you?”

  The corner of Bozzen’s lip twitched upward in a movement so fast, the other man wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it.

  Bozzen moved behind his large desk and sat down on his tall leather chair. “You lied to me, Ursahr.”

  “What’re you talking about?” Ursahr scoffed. “Who’s lied? I never lied.” He said, motioning to himself with the glass.

  Bozzen’s lip twitched again.

  “When you brought me the coordinates for that world. You told me one of your father’s thralls had discovered it in the archives. You told me it’d been abandoned by the old Rhann Zharokar (King of the Devils) for unknown reasons, and your father was looking to open it again. Those were your words - correct?”

  Ursahr said nothing for a moment, instead bringing the glass to his lips and draining the rest of the wine in one go.

  “It was abandoned, and it was found in the old king’s archives. What of it-” Ursahr flinched as Bozzen’s fist smashed his desk to splinters.

  “For good reason!” Bozzen shouted. “Were you too busy screwing those damnable maids to pay attention to your tutors?” Ursahr’s body tensed, and he glared at Bozzen.

  “Watch your tongue, Baron. I’ll only tolerate your tone for so long-” *Smack!* Ursahr’s face whipped to the side as Bozzen’s open palm slammed into it. “Are you insane!?” He shouted, standing up and shoving Bozzen away.

  He could taste a sweet tang in his mouth. No doubt one of his fangs had pierced the inside of his lip - That bastard!

  “Mag ársa was never meant to be unsealed.” Bozzen said, venom and anger dripping from his words. “It’s partially my fault; I should’ve done more to look into the planet before letting you proceed using *my* thralls.”

  “What’re you talking about!? The place was abandoned for six *hundred* years. Whatever outbreak the old king was worried about is long gone, just like everything else. Why should a planet full of resources - That we urgently need, by the way - just sit there and go to waste? I don’t understand; what’s so special about that dead rock?”

  “It’s not the rock that’s special, you fool. It’s what was *trapped* on that rock.” Bozzen’s eyes suddenly grew wide, and he lashed out, grabbing Ursahr by the collar of his fitted shirt. “Were there any portals established? You were using the one-time doorways to get the thralls in and out, and you never set up a proper portal - correct?”

  “Wha-”

  “Answer me.” Bozzen hissed.

  “Not as far as I know!” Ursahr shouted before grabbing Bozzen’s hand and twisting it away from his body. “I’d planned to open one, but there were some setbacks. The thralls were missing a few key pieces to complete the ritual, so the portal was delayed. Last I heard they were still a week away from opening it.”

  “Good… That’s good. As a favor to your mother, my *sister*, I'll give you exactly one chance to fix this. Contact the thralls and tell them to return.”

  “Not until you tell me what’s got you so spooked.” Ursahr said, folding his arms across his chest. “If I pull back the thralls now, it’s my name that’ll get dragged through the mud. And I needed those resources to even the playing field, my older siblings are already centuries ahead of me in the race for the throne. I need every advantage I can get.”

  Bozzen laughed. “Then you better be grateful for the opportunity I’m giving you. Because if it’d been anyone else in my position, including your father, you’d be executed long before you could look upon that throne. Because the treasure you so sought was buried alongside the old king’s rotten corpse and the monster who killed him.”

  That got Ursahr’s attention and his red skin paled. “Oh.”

  “So, you will contact the thralls, cancel any plans you’ve made for that world and the things it contains, and forget it ever existed. Is that understood?”

  Ursahr nodded as he was unable to find his voice.

  He’d never seen the elder druu’roth so worked up before… What had the thralls uncovered on that forgotten old rock?

  Aldritch watched the temple fall into the abyss with remorse in his heart. It always bothered him when the temples of Oakairo were destroyed or abandoned to nature. For so many years, those temples had housed the homeless, the downtrodden, the sick, and asked for nothing in return but all the gold the worshippers could carry.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Oakairo loved gold. You could even say he was obsessed with it. Which was why most races looked upon Oakairo with disdain or distrust.

  But not the dwarves.

  No, for the dwarves who worshipped gold above all else, Oakairo was the perfect deity to worship. So, they built all of his temples and halls out of gold and only used lesser metals like silver or platinum when there was a shortage.

  Aldritch was vaguely aware of the idea there were other, more precious materials than gold. But really, wasn’t that a matter of opinion? Gold was a soft metal, so you couldn’t forge weapons out of it. It also didn’t transmit mana well, so you couldn’t use it in rituals or as a base for enchanting.

  But it was gold. Gold didn’t need another use to make it valuable to the dwarves. Its very existence sang to their souls in a way nothing else ever could. That alone made it stand above everything else to a race known for their stubborn and industrious nature.

  But truthfully, they were all a bunch of romantics at heart and Aldritch was no exception.

  Seeing all that gold plummet out of sight caused a visceral reaction within him. It was like watching your grandmother being eaten alive or a precious pet being kicked.

  Just the thought of it was enough to get the heart racing, but the real thing caused a physical pain within the depths of his chest.

  “We need to go before the portal closes.” Sulika said from a few feet to Aldritch’s left.

  The giant nodded his understanding and turned away from the cliff. “I just need to grab a few things first.” He said and began walking.

  “Oh, of course.” She replied, motioning for her team to follow him. They set off at a fast walk, moving towards the remains of the temple’s front steps. “Is your stuff nearby?” She asked, jogging to keep pace with his much longer strides. “I don’t know how long the portal will be -” Sulika’s thoughts ground to a screeching halt as she laid eyes on a small mountain of corpses lying amidst the ash and snow.

  Many were broken, bloody, vague remnant of the people they used to be. A few, however, remained untouched - As if they’d simply fallen asleep. “Oh, my gods…” Sulika whispered, horrified by what she was seeing - her sensitive ears latched onto something.

  She doubted she’d have noticed it at any other time. But inside the all-encompassing silence surrounding them, it was almost impossible to miss the quiet cough.

  Ash and snow fell from the elf’s body with each subsequent cough, revealing the true extent of his injuries to the party.

  She and her team sprinted around Aldritch and arrived at the elf in a few seconds. Sulika and Ralocan made short work of checking his vitals while Derrik and Zarud inspected the rest of the pile with practiced efficiency.

  “Hey, boss?” Zarud muttered while dragging a woman’s body off the pile.

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t these people look a little strange to you?” He asked and pointed to the scarlet tint of the woman’s skin.

  “Think about that later. Right now, the only thing you should be thinking about is saving as many people as… you… can…” Sulika trailed off as she looked up and saw Aldritch.

  The giant was standing over Ralocan and watching him work on the dying elf. However, emotion in his reptilian eyes wasn’t one of concern, but of confusion.

  “We’re obligated to save everyone we can inside a dungeon. And besides, it’d leave a bad taste in my mouth if we just left him here.” She explained, thinking he was confused about their actions.

  “I understand.” Aldritch replied, a slight smile on his face. But the confusion returned to his expression as he turned his gaze back to Ralocan.

  “Have you never seen someone use mana before?” Ralocan asked, growing irritated with the giant’s staring.

  “None like yourself,” he said and took a step back to give the Cleric some space.

  Unbeknownst to them, Aldritch wasn’t actually staring at Ralocan. Rather, he was observing the divine mana flowing through his body… Or lack thereof.

  Though he no longer remembered when it happened. At some point in his long life, Aldritch’s eyes went through a form of mild evolution - this new form of vision was dubbed [Truesight] by Oakairo.

  [Truesight] allowed Aldritch to see the flow of mana, no matter what state it was in.

  Because of this, he could guess which type of mana a person specialized in just by observing the way it flowed through them… Yet Ralocan’s mana didn’t move as it should. Rather, it seemed to be stagnating inside his chest.

  Ralocan placed both hands on the elf’s chest and closed his eyes. “O’ Noble Cyndarr, keeper of the flame most radiant, hear my despaired plea.” He prayed while pushing down on the man’s chest.

  A golden aura flowed freely from the amulet hanging from his neck, swirling around his body and down the path of his arms to the elf’s chest. Instead of the usual fiery manifestation of Ralocan’s divine mana, this time it was subdued - Like being enveloped by the warmth of your home’s hearth, instead of being tossed into the depths of a raging bonfire.

  “Let your love flow through this fragile vessel, mending flesh and soothing spirit with your boundless all-seeing light.” He said and moved one hand from the elf’s chest to the top of his forehead - causing the golden aura to spread across the distance of his hands and envelope the man’s torso and head. “As your devoted servant, I beseech you: Healing Word.”

  Aldritch watched the golden aura force its way beneath the elf’s skin and start working on healing the elf’s injuries… And still, Ralocan’s mana didn’t budge an inch.

  “How curious.” Aldritch glanced around at the others. Their mana was flowing, albeit slowly, throughout their bodies as it should. So, why was Ralocan different? Because he was a cleric? Or did something else set him apart from the others - something Aldritch didn’t yet know?

  Aside from the oddity with his mana, Aldritch couldn’t find fault with the spell he was using. It was functioning almost perfectly - Sure, there was some mana being wasted, but it wasn’t bad by any means.

  For a young cleric, Ralocan showed a lot of promise.

  “Out of thirty-seven bodies we only found six survivors. This was more than an attack; it was a massacre.” Zarud reported to Sulika in a sullen tone.

  “Aye. And I don’t know about you, boss. But I cannot think of a monster who would leave the bodies on display like this… They’d normally just eat them.” Derrik explained with disgust.

  “This was no monster attack.” Aldritch said without looking away from the unconscious elf. “And I don’t enjoy eating flesh - Well, not anymore. I dislike the way it sticks to my teeth.”

  Everyone went still at Aldritch’s offhanded confession. Shock, horror, anger, these emotions and more flitted across their faces before landing on a single emotion.

  Confusion.

  “You did all of this?” Sulika asked with more than a little skepticism in her voice.

  “Indeed.”

  “Why?” She practically yelled in confusion.

  “They attacked me, I put them down.” Aldritch explained, his voice uninterested.

  Sulika looked around at the bodies, it was tough, the urge to look away from the mangled states of the bodies was… Something else. But she forced herself to look, to really look at them. And in doing so, she noticed a pattern emerge.

  The bodies wearing armor were far more mangled than the ones in normal clothes.

  And though no one had a weapon on their person, Sulika noticed many empty scabbards amidst the bodies - everyone with a scabbard suffered broken limbs or were covered in large, but sealed, gashes and cuts.

  “And what of the sleeping ones?” Ralocan asked, motioning to the seemingly unharmed group of people off to the side.

  “They surrendered.” Aldritch said in a tone that implied it should’ve been obvious - the giant suddenly looked around at the bodies and made a decision.

  He moved over to the sleeping ones and reached for the neck of a female human - “Hey, what’re you…” Ralocan’s voice died as he saw Aldritch pinch the woman’s shirt between his fingers and easily pull her off the ground.

  He placed the woman on his right shoulder before bending down and grabbing the arm of a burly dwarf - who was also easily lifted and placed onto his other shoulder. “I understand that you wish to save these people, yes?” Aldritch asked while grabbing the arm of a skinny human male.

  “Of course we do.” Sulika replied, confused as to his intentions.

  “Then perhaps it would be better to save the ones who can be saved first, and come back for the others if time permits?” He lifted the skinny human into the air and placed him atop the dwarf’s back.

  Sulika, Derrik, Ralocan, and Zarud look from Aldritch to the people lying on the ground… “He has a point.” Sulika muttered. “The sooner we get them out of here, the faster we can get them the treatments they need to survive.”

  “I second that.” Ralocan said, nodding his agreement. “I’ll stabilize them one by one while the rest of you transport them to the warehouse.”

  “No need for that.” Aldritch said before pointing his left palm at the pile of bodies - seemingly unbothered by the weight of six people laying across his shoulders - A violent golden mana swirled from Aldritch’s open palm towards the bodies. “Sphere of Recovery.” He intoned, forcing his mana into action.

  A sphere of liquid gold appeared in the air in front of Aldritch’s palm for a split second before falling to the ground. The liquid splashed against the ash and snow, forming a large puddle at Aldritch’s feet.

  Sulika was confused at first… And her confusion only deepened as she witnessed the puddle shift on its own. As Aldritch started walking away, the puddle shifted again and began inching its way towards the pile of bodies.

  “That’ll keep them alive while we transport them.” He said without looking back.

  Ralocan, Zarud, and Derrik jumped back from the puddle of gold as it passed between them and began to change shape. The golden liquid wrapped around the bodies at the bottom of the pile, lifting them a few inches off the ground. Once they were in the air, the liquid hardened on the bottom and raised into the air near the edges.

  The four hunters watched as a semi-transparent dome formed around the pile - Then their hearts lept into their throats as the sphere started to roll after Aldritch like a lost duckling.

  “... Did you three see what I just saw?” Sulika asked, pointing towards the sphere.

  “Yes.” The three men replied in unison.

  “Good. Just making sure I wasn’t losing my mind or anything.”

  “Actually, mass-hysteria has been documented to happen inside dungeons. We could all be hallucinating and not realize it.” Ralocan muttered while staring after the sphere.

  Derrik slapped Ralocan on the back and smiled up at the elf. “You just had to make this worse, didn’t you?” He said half-jokingly. “C’mon, Ral.”

  “Ral?” Ralocan repeated. “Who in the nine hells is Ral?”

  Sulika rolled her eyes at the men and started jogging after the giant.

  “Have you ever willingly traveled by portal before?” Sulika asked as they approached the portal.

  “Can’t say I have.” He said while watching first Derrik, then Ralocan, and finally Zarud step past the threshold and disappear into the darkness of the portal.

  “Then let me briefly explain what’s about to happen, alright? The first thing you’re going to notice when you pass the threshold is a feeling of weightlessness. That’s absolutely normal and will pass in a few seconds. The next thing you need to remember is to never stop moving. The inside of the portal might seem infinite. But trust me, it’s not. Think of the inside like a small tunnel; there’s just enough space inside for two humans to walk abreast without fear of bumping into each other. Also, there could be traffic either in front of you or behind you, so make sure you alway keep your eyes open so you don’t accidentally run into anyone. Got all that?”

  “I understand. Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Keep your eyes focused in front of you. There are things that live in the void outside the portal, and they don’t appreciate being stared at.” She said with a slight smile on her face.

  Aldritch watched her step into the portal with a look of confusion on his face. Had she been serious about things living in the void? Would he be able to see them if he looked hard enough? What would they taste like if he could catch one?

  These are the questions that plagued Aldritch’s mind.

  He motioned for the sphere to precede him into the portal while he took one final glance back at his home.

  Mag ársa wasn’t a perfect home. Not even close. Even before the demons invaded, the citizens of Mag ársa were constantly at war. Except back then, they were at war with each other.

  Because of a sudden population boom amongst the humans, they were forced to look elsewhere for their essential supplies, since their own infrastructure couldn’t keep up with the demand. Which inevitably led to them attacking their neighbors to avoid starvation.

  That war lasted about a hundred years.

  After about twenty-years of relative peace, the hiatus ended, and another war broke out. This time with the lizardman coalition of the southern territories – which lasted fifty-seven years.

  Over the course of his life, Aldritch had been involved in about thirty-seven wars, some big, though most were small. And after the devils invaded, Aldritch had lost all hope of ever being able to retire, take a step back, and live like the old codger he was.

  As he stepped into the portal, the darkness reminded him of the devil he’d seen, and a cruel smile spread across his face.

  The portals the devils used to invade had stopped appearing after he killed the self-proclaimed devil ‘king’. Aldritch couldn’t remember the devil’s name, only that the portals stopped appearing after his head was separated from his shoulders.

  After his death, any devil or demon that was already on this side of the portal was trapped here - Stuck in a hell of their own making with Aldritch hunting them down to the last.

  The feeling of their black blood staining his hands and flowing through his fingers… Well, it was something he never grew tired of. After killing what he’d thought was the last living devil, he’d lost his purpose.

  It was nice to have something to look forward to again.

  Unknown to Aldritch and Oakairo. The moment they entered the portal between worlds, they inadvertently triggered something that would come to affect not only Aldritch’s life, but also the life of Sulika and those close to her.

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