Erik’s descent into the midst of the death cult was slow and deliberate, each rope handled with a reverence that belied the grim nature of his predicament. As he touched the ground, the cultists murmured among themselves, their words a mix of awe and fear. Erik’s heart pounded with an unnatural rhythm, each thud echoing the demon’s futile struggles against its bonds.

  “Welcome lord devourer,” one cultist, a thin man stepped forward, his voice quivering with a fervor that made Erik uneasy.

  “We are honored to serve you.”

  Erik managed a weak nod, his body still reeling from the demonic energy coursing through him.

  “Yeah, about that... I’m not really in the ‘lord’ business?”

  The cultists exchanging nervous glances, unsure of how to interpret his casual demeanor.

  As they led him to the feasting area, the smell of roasted meat filled the air, intensifying his hunger. The table was a grotesque display of abundance, laden with what Erik initially thought was ordinary game. But as he neared, the true nature of the feast became horrifyingly clear. Human limbs, charred and seasoned, glistened under the torchlight.

  “Is this...?” Erik couldn’t finish the question, his stomach churning.

  “Yes, Lord, a feast fit for your hunger,”

  another cultist, a woman with a serene expression, answered with a disturbing pride.

  “The flesh of the unworthy, to strengthen the worthy.”

  Erik backed away, horror etched across his face.

  “No, I won’t—”

  But before he could reject the macabre meal outright, the temple shook with a new intensity. A heartbeat, strong and defiant, thundered through the stone floor…Erik’s heartbeat, amplified by the demon’s fury.

  “You cannot ignore me forever, human,”

  the demon’s voice snarled inside his head, a sound like gravel scraping over metal.

  “Release me!”

  Erik grimaced, rubbing his temples as if he could physically silence the voice.

  “Keep it down, will you? I’m trying to not become a cannibal here.”

  “Fool! You dabble in powers you cannot comprehend”

  The argument was cut short by the cultists’ sudden movement. They brought forward a young woman, her eyes wide with terror.

  “A gift, Lord, to appease your hunger,”

  the lead cultist said, pushing her towards Erik.

  “no,” Erik said, his voice firm, trying to infuse some sense of authority he didn’t feel.

  “But you must feed, to sustain your strength!” the woman cultist insisted, misunderstanding his refusal.

  As the situation spiraled, Erik felt the demon’s presence surge again, the chains in his mind clanking as it tested its prison. The energy flared, and for a moment, Erik considered letting the demon loose just to end the madness.

  “Listen,” Erik said aloud, addressing the demon directly.

  “I don’t know what the usual protocol is here, but how about we don’t eat anyone, okay?”

  The demon’s laughter echoed in Erik’s skull, chilling and mirthless.

  “You are weak, human. Too weak to harness the chaos you’ve unleashed.”

  “Let me show you power, release me and I will free you from this place,” the demon hissed

  Erik, recalling a page from a demonic book in his father's collection, knew better than to trust such offers. Demons were notorious for manipulating agreements to their advantage.

  “And what does that even mean? I let you out and you just kill me anyway? No, I don’t think so. Let’s start small,” he negotiated.

  “Fine, but on my terms and with specific conditions. You can... talk, but only from here,” he pointed vaguely at his hand, not fully grasping the implications, “and you can only say a limited number of words each day.”

  Moments later, a grotesque mouth formed on his palm, the lips thin and sharp-toothed. It snapped hungrily, its dark voice whispering one ominous word: “feed.”

  “Great, a talking hand,” Erik sighed,

  watching as the mouth devoured an offered apple with voracious speed.

  “Just what I needed.”

  But then, a different kind of chaos erupted. Erik’s attempt to control the rogue limb failed spectacularly as his feet left the ground once more. He floated, his body rotating slowly as if he were a piece of food being turned over a fire, his hand leading the ascent. The cultists gasped and fell to their knees.

  “This is not how I pictured my day going,”

  Erik muttered, trying to swim through the air back to the ground.

  The situation reached its climax when the mouth, in a fit of demonic defiance, unleashed a scream so potent it shattered the temple's tranquility.

  The sound wave blasted through the walls, sending a shockwave into the jungle beyond. Seizing the moment, the demon unleashed a burst of dark energy. A beam of pure demonic power tore through the temple walls and out into the jungle, leaving a perfectly oval hole through the large temple structure and carving a path outward for miles. Erik stumbled forward as the demon's hand yanked him toward the exit, only to be abruptly stopped by the magic bindings within the runes reacting sharply. As the demon tried to manipulate Erik's movements, the runes within Erik that were etched into his body recognized this attempt at control and decisively shut down the demon's power. The demon, frustrated, blurted out,

  "Oh, come on!"

  Now grounded, Erik looked back at the death cultists, then bolted away as fast as his weakened body would allow. Despite his fatigue and hunger, his flight was swift, leaving the cultists trailing behind in a confused procession.

  As Erik dashed through the temple's enormous breach, the oppressive heat and humidity of the jungle closed in on him, reminiscent of the stifling air of a swamp. He felt enveloped, trapped by the heat that clung to every breath. Looking back, Erik noticed the cultists doggedly following him. He paused, and they paused; he moved, and they moved. They kept up at a distance, their dedication undeterred. As night fell, Erik’s desperate run came to an abrupt end when he tripped over a log, collapsing from exhaustion and starvation. The relentless drain from the entire ordeal had taken its toll, leaving him unconscious and vulnerable.

  ***

  He awoke to darkness and muffled sounds of conflict… shouts, the clash of steel, and bursts of magic. Trapped inside what he assumed to be a wooden box, Erik lay still, trying to make sense of the noises outside. The box rocked and shifted, suggesting the tumult was close. The sounds of battle grew louder, and Erik could hear the cultists voice proclaiming their wrath and the imminent sacrifice of the intruders to their slumbering demon god. The response of the cultists enemy was filled with disdain and palpable in his curt dismissal of the cultist followed by a gurgle and following thump on the ground.

  “Open it” the voice ordered.

  The box was carefully opened, and inside was a man covered in dirt, clothes stained and torn laying on his side smiling.

  a large boot coming at his face was the last thing Erik saw before the world went blank. .

  When Erik next awoke, he found himself in a surprisingly comfortable bed within the cold, stone walls of a dungeon cell. The contrast between the dark ritual and his current "accommodation" wasn’t lost on him. Despite the softness of the bed, the reality of his situation, some sort of demon trapped within him, captured by some unknown threat and his unintended role as a demon god to a fanatical cult, weighed heavily on his mind. He lay there, pondering his next move, the silence of the dungeon a stark contrast to the chaos of the day before.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  The trapped demon within Erik had not spoken since the temple and seemed unusually quiet after its initial outburst of rage and disbelief at its own entrapment. After a long silence, it finally spoke again, its voice less imperious and more contemplative.

  ”we’re stuck… in here… together.”

  Erik, nodded slowly,

  “Yes, that does indeed seem to be the case in multiple ways.”

  “And what are you going to do about it?” The demon said

  ”what am I going to do about it? I don’t even know if this is real nonetheless how to get out of here. Don’t you have that screech owl power you used to get us out?” Erik said, feeling a bit strange talking to himself out loud which further emphasized the point that he indeed did feel a bit insane.

  "The realm from which I hail," N’zol began, its voice echoing with a somber gravitas,

  "is not merely a place of fire and brimstone as your human tales suggest. It is a complex hierarchy, a society where power is both currency and weapon.” The demon started to explain

  “so that would be a no. no you can’t use the screech owl ability then..Thanks all mighty and powerful demon lord” Erik rolled his eyes

  “Be quite human, you make a mockery of my linage.” The demon responded then continued on

  “Imagine a vast empire, divided and constantly at war within itself. Factions vie for dominance, each led by a Demon Lord like myself, though many are far stronger." Erik listened, his mind painting the dark landscapes described by the Demon.

  "So, it’s a survival of the fittest?" he asked, trying to wrap his head around the concept.

  "Yes," the demon replied.

  "In the demon realm, strength dictates not just status but survival. The weak are consumed, literally and figuratively, their essence absorbed by those with the power to take it. It's a perpetual struggle, climbing over one another to reach a pinnacle that is never truly attainable."

  "And you," Erik prodded, "were you a king or just another pawn?"

  The demon laughter was dry, humorless. "I was a lord. Ambitious, but not powerful enough. My quest for power led me to your world, to manipulate those who worshiped me as a deity, offering sacrifices in exchange for promises of favor and fortune."

  "And me? How do I fit into this? I have no magic?" Erik responded with genuine interest

  The demon seemed to consider its words carefully before responding.

  "Your existence is a rarity. Your body, its meridians are extreme. The amount of magic that can be held is.. beyond the normal capabilities of a human.."

  "The irony," Erik mused,

  "a demon lord trapped by a human without magic. So, how did this happen? How did you end up sealed inside of my body?"

  "There are runes on the outside of your core, what looks like slave runes," The demon explained,

  "The runes should not be there…”

  ”but yet they are” Erik responded

  ” Yes. Humans are born with cores, and the very foundation of a core is akin to a heart. Imagine taking a heart out and carving the required patterns into it that were on slave chains and cuffs? The process alone would be torture and would likely end up with the core being destroyed or the human being killed.”

  ”ok, so my core has all the tunes that shouldn’t be possible to have in the first place. And by having them, what does that mean?” Erik shifted in his bed now sitting up looking towards on at hand that was missing the demonic face.

  “When the ritual performed by those cultists, a keyhole was created in your body that allowed my essence to enter unperturbed into your core. Because of your… unique condition, it made you the ideal vessel. A blank slate with enough meridians to contain a demon lord without killing the human. although I was expecting to only temporarily inhabit the vessel...." the demon let out a groan at the memory

  Erik absorbed this in silence, his thoughts a whirlwind of disbelief and dawning understanding.

  "So, the meridians would have allowed you to stay then?”

  "In a manner of speaking," the demon conceded.

  "But what i intended to do was to permanently merged with the core, sharing your body as a vessel.

  "And now you’re saying I’m... what? A vessel?"

  "Not just any vessel," The demon emphasized.

  "A vessel with the potential to change the very dynamics of power. You’ve bound a demon lord. That is no small feat. You've turned the tables, inadvertently perhaps, but the potential within you is enormous, as this is not possible as my essence is not compatible with many humans, however due to the lack of magic… it seems there is indeed an exception."

  Erik felt a mix of awe and fear. "And what about you? What do you want out of this?"

  "Survival," the demon said bluntly.

  "I may be bound, but I am not powerless. I do not know if there ever could be a permanent merging made between a human and a demon. However we have a chance to shape our destinies. You seek freedom and understanding; I seek release from these chains. Perhaps there is a way to achieve both."

  "Let’s say I believe you, that all this is true," Erik finally said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

  "What’s the first step? How do we begin?"

  "Trust," The demon replied

  "Trust and patience. Learn to harness the power you’ve been given, and I will guide you. Not as a master, but as an ally. For now, at least."

  Erik chuckled dryly, a sound that echoed slightly off the stone walls. "Never thought I’d be allies with a demon."

  "Nor I with a human," the demon retorted, its tone laced with a begrudging respect.

  ***

  In the dimly lit confines of the dungeon, the heavy tread of boots reverberated against the stone breaking the stale silence between Erik and the Demon, heralding the arrival of three figures who carried themselves with an air of undisputed authority.

  The first, a commander, bore the scars of many battles, his stern face set in a mask of stern scrutiny as he regarded Erik. His voice, gravelly and resonant, broke the heavy silence that had settled in the room.

  "So, you're the cause of all this commotion," he stated more than asked, his gaze piercing Erik as if trying to unravel him layer by layer.

  Flanking the commander was a priest, his frame gaunt, his eyes like flint, sharp and calculating. He moved with a disquieting grace, holding a tray that bore simple fare; bread and water, alongside an array of gleaming magical implements. His voice, smooth and chillingly calm, added a layer of menace to his words.

  "We’ve brought you sustenance."

  The third, a burly guard whose armor clinked with every movement, set down the tray with a clatter that echoed off the damp walls.

  "Doesn’t look like much, does he?" he chuckled, the sound harsh and jarring.

  Erik, under the weight of their stares, maintained a composed exterior.

  "Thank you for your... hospitality," he responded holding his hands up as if showcasing the cell he was in, his tone edged with caution as his eyes flicked to the magical tools.

  "And those would be for?"

  "Precautions," the priest replied curtly, the single word heavy with implication as he fingered a silver rod intricately etched with runes.

  The trio’s questions began, probing and persistent, as they sought to uncover the depth of Erik’s knowledge and intentions. With each question, Erik parried with sharp, educated responses, his banter revealing a keen intellect that seemed to only heighten the priest’s suspicions.

  Midway through the interrogation, without any visible sign, the priest muttered a discreet incantation and directed a subtle spell towards Erik. Inside his mind, the demon hissed a warning,

  ”Do not trust them. They are casting a spell right now” the demon said within Erik’s mind

  Almost simultaneously, Erik felt a slight tingling on his hand as a small slit appeared where the outline of a mouth drew in the magic of the spell without the priest’s notice.

  Unruffled, Erik continued, weaving a tale laced with enough truth to be plausible.

  "I hail from across the sea, from lands now shadowed by some darkness that cast me out," he shared, his voice smooth and controlled.

  The priest chuckled at Eriks response and began chanting, readying a spell that Erik knew was meant to purify darkness with light fire, Erik braced himself.

  " We shall cleanse you," he added, his eyes gleaming with a sinister light.

  Turning inward the demon for assistance, Erik was met with the demon’s typical recalcitrance.

  “Prove your worth to me, human. I am no one's servant.”

  To which Erik responded with dry wit, "that’s rich, coming from someone who can’t even use his powers to get us out of there."

  Before the demon could retort, the fortress was rocked by the sounds of an assault. The clamor of chaos echoed through the stone walls, halting the ritual preparations as the three tormentors exchanged concerned glances. They turned and fled upstairs, leaving Erik alone in the cell, the heavy air thick with tension and the distant sounds of battle.

  Just as soon as the trio left, a new sound echoed the walls and originated a the top of the stairs. Erik's eyes widened as a figure shrouded in the long lengths of tattered black robes akin to death itself stepped into the dungeon. The air became cold and sparse of life, as the figure slowly approached, and now clearly seen as clad in ancient, rune-etched armor that whispered of countless battles, a stronger presence filled the room with a cold, formidable aura. Its eyes, glowing faintly blue like cinders of old coal about to die beneath his helm, fixed on Erik with an intensity that belied an undead nature.

  With a fluid motion, the figure sheathed a the sword and knelt before Erik.

  "My lord," the figure’s voice was a gravelly echo from the shadows, cold and ancient, "here to serve, from Vraekhar Dominion. your will, my law."

  Erik squinted in the dim light, trying to make out the details of the figure before him. Clad in the same deep crimson robes as the cultists, the figure’s presence was imposing, exuding an aura of death and dark power. A hood shrouded its face in darkness, revealing only the faintest glimmer of lifeless eyes.

  Erik blinked, his mind racing to catch up with this unexpected twist. A moment ago, he had been steeling himself for the worst, and now this; a knight-like figure kneeling before him, swearing loyalty. The absurdity of the situation was almost too much to process.

  "Fortress Siege." the figure continued, its voice a rasping whisper, "Dominion come for you. Prophecy now. must go."

  Erik’s thoughts snapped back to the recent memories of near-torture. He glanced warily at the figure.

  "What about those people... the ones who were just here trying to, uh, cleanse me?"

  The figure’s answer was succinct, almost indifferent. "not here"

  Erik hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "ok…Lead the way."

  As they moved through the shadowy corridors, the sounds of battle became more pronounced—a symphony of shouts, clashing steel, and the crackle of dark magic. Erik trailed close behind the silent figure, whose presence seemed to absorb the darkness around them. The only sound was the soft rustle of the figure’s crimson robes and the faint clink of armor hidden beneath.

  It was surreal; following a silent, thing through a besieged fortress. Erik couldn’t resist muttering under his breath, half to lighten his own mood and half to stave off the rising tension,

  "Rescued by a knight in... crimson robes. What’s next, a dragon?"

  The figure made no response, but Erik sensed a faint shift in its posture, as if acknowledging Erik. The silence, however, only heightened the eerie atmosphere.

  They soon reached the outer gates, where the cold night full of thick and moist air greeted Erik like a slap to the face. The keep loomed behind them, a dark silhouette against the fire-lit sky; a stark reminder of the twisted world he was stepping back into. The figure paused, waiting for Erik to pass through, before silently resuming the lead.

  Erik glanced over his shoulder at the fortress. He was no longer a prisoner, but neither was he free. With a demon bound within his core and an enigmatic servant from the apparent death cult at his side, the path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty.