Name: Nil

Race: Demon

Type: Transformed Deviant Soul

Age: Immortal – 7years, 4months.

Crystal Essence: [Crimson]- Lvl.5— 140.9esq

[Available Essence Points— 0]

Strength: 20

Agility: 56

Wisdom: 22

Abilities: [Faithless Absorption], [Faithless Mimicry], [Faithless Essence Amplification]

[Available Trait Points— 0]

Traits: [Armoured Form]- Lvl.1, [Greater Cognizance]- Lvl.1, [Psychic Resistance]- Lvl.3, [Quick Mould]- Lvl.1

Ascension Perks: [Reais Fiend]

Spells: [Invisibility]- Lvl.1

Patron: Nil

Panting, I skid away from his swipe and pull on the smidge of Essence left within, pushing it out and onto the quill in hand. It still costs a lot of focus to get even a bit of the Essence I’ve gathered to attach and seep into the external weapon, but I can tell I’ve improved the skill with Gerim’s constant exercise.

Despite earlier assumptions about his worth, Gerim’s continued to prove himself rather capable and I’m beginning to understand why even though he isn’t the strongest of Calridian’s men, he’s still the right-hand man.

Knowing better than to wait before he completes the series of swings he habitually performs after each attack, I lunge at him. Deficient with Essence its a futile struggle. To punctuate that he doesn’t shift at my charge, unfazed as with a callous swing he smacks me aside.

The breath knocks out of me as— not for the first time— my rib and inner organs are crushed.

It’s over. Another blow and I’ll die for sure.

I lie on the floor gurgling blood and choking on it and my crushed up bones. I can smell my insides. ‘Does he always have to end it this way?’

Gerim walks up to me, stares down with the ever unimpressed and angry look etched in his face, “Heal.” Is all he says before walking away from my damaged body for what must be the hundredth time.

He always says that too— Heal— like I don’t have the sense to do so without him saying.

He’s been deliberately, albeit brutally, correcting the mistakes I make. This entire agonizing process is because Calridian is making a weapon for me.

‘He’s teaching me how to maximize damage with a weapon.’

Or at least that’s what I like to tell myself. He’s taught me a little more than that though— magic. Training for [Minor Illusion]— the second spell Calridian demands I learn before attempting to kill Morthul— is slow. More than that, it’s stagnant. Gerim keeps saying to channel the magic but that’s a lot easier said than done.

Although I’ve taken all the worthwhile tips from Hargoil and implemented it in the casting of this spell— it keeps failing— I keep failing.

Gerim doesn’t show any signs of caring aside from that one bit of useless advise, he’s a lot more invested when I fail with what I’m assuming is weapons training. As a result, it’s been our primary focus and where I’ve improved the most.

Taking a deep breath, I accept the gruesome pain of having my entire topside collapse onto itself as fact.

I take another deep breath, agonizing pain subsiding as I maximize [Essence Amplification] and reach out to the Essence around me, to the core of this torturous layer, to Reais.

Amplifying and guiding ambient Essence to my wounds is a faster way to recover than using the Essence in my Soul Crystal. But I hate doing this and there’s a number of reasons why.

Whenever I do I put myself in the most vulnerable state I can be in. My Soul Crystal opens up, a strange and eerie feeling I’m now acutely aware of. But it has to if I want to absorb the ambient Essence from the layer.

There’s a distinct difference between my Essence, Ambient Essence and another demon’s Essence. Mine is the safest and most reliable to use, Ambient does hurt but it doesn’t have a base Esq so active absorptions can be a painful task. Conversions happen passively as a closed, shielded Soul Crystal shifts the balance between my Essence and Ambient Essence in some sort of osmosis.

However, as much as Ambient Essence won’t outright kill me even with my Soul Crystal opened up, the same doesn’t apply for another demon’s Essence.

I understand why this skill Gerim is teaching me is so destructive. It takes your personal, volatile Essence and coats it onto a weapon. Striking someone with this and releasing the Essence coated on it would cause a cascade of volatile reactions.

Like a shoulder exploding.

It takes a lot of Essence from me to trigger even a small chunk of Gerim blowing up though.

‘The quality matters, but so does quantity.’

With my Crystal open, swallowing and converting the layer’s ambient Essence into usable Essence, the entire world is free to end my life with a quick injection of their personal Essence. The reaction would surely be lethal.

Another reason I hate using the ability is because of what the layer feels like. The entire Realm of Reais is eager to unlock itself to me, to make me a singular part of it. And it’s tempting to just let it flood in.

The realm would swallow me.

I don’t know how it’s possible or even what it really means, but that’s what the lull of the layer, of Reais is.

‘More torture. Everything has to be a battle, doesn’t it?’

Even after that, battling with the lull, I’m privy to an extent of what this place is and what exactly is going on.

I know there’s more to Reais than here, I know there’s something…someplace in every direction of me. The sense of an endless void adds to the lull, but also my understanding of where I am.

Forgetting the other places all around me there’s a tear in this one— a divide and three of them no less.

With this I understand what this coming war is about.

‘Nothing more than intensifying the fights that’ve been raging since.’

Except this time, rather than a general, albeit, mild struggle between the three contesting divides and their Demon Lords, this is directed. Orchestrated and prepared for.

I understand now why Calridian wants Morthul dead and wants no one finding out he’s even a problem to begin with.

There’s very little information of the layer I can digest in this state, but aside from the other places on the border of this one, I’m keenly aware of smaller places within this layer.

And one of them happens to be Calridian himself.

‘How does he count as a place?’

I shake my head, desperately needing a better name than just ‘place’. It baffles me still but although he’s a place, he doesn’t count much to the aching divide in the layer.

Aside from him I know of one other place. And it’s not at all far from here.

‘Must be the Queen of Ticks everyone keeps whispering about.’

Calridian and the Queen fall under one of the larger divides vying for total control of the layer. If Morthul were to step out and create another of these small places…everyone would feel it. Everyone capable enough to passively sense these disruptions anyway.

I have to kill Morthul before he forms a fourth, rogue divide in the layer or else Calridian’s going to get in trouble with the Demon Lord of this layer.

It brings a bloody smile to my face that even Calridian is frightened of someone. But also terrifies me. Enough to put away any thoughts of striking out on my own so soon.

I’m sure there are perks to having a place and if I had to guess, I’d say the fact that the wild demons out there in the dunes have never dared attack is one of them.

It takes a while to recover the Essence I’d lost and an even while longer before I fully healed myself. When I open my eyes, roused from the deep meditative state, the clouds and shade of the sky had changed, darkened.

It’s dark enough I’d consider it night— previously a rare occurrence in this divide but since there’s been more talk of the coming war, it’s been happening rather often. Almost enough to pattern a forming weather.

During these nights the blistering sands turn cold and torrents of wind form multiple storms. Large enough storms that I can catch them from here. So I don’t think it’s a good sign when Gerim walks up wearing a cloak.

He hands one over to me and walks away. I know better than to waste my time asking questions so I swallow the dread of facing the desert as it is and toss on the cloak.

When we leave the city I stop waiting for Hargoil and the twins to appear and join the trail behind Gerim— not that I’ve seen either since I started training with Gerim.

‘It’s just us heading out.’

At the beginning of my near three-month mentorship with Gerim, I’d figured out he’s more than aware of Calridian’s order to do away with Morthul. I don’t know if he’s always known or if I’m the one that spilled the beans.

But either way, I’ve been a bit on edge around him. Despite having the information of a cache of magical items capable of strengthening him up to the point he’d have his own place…he hasn’t done a thing.

And now…I’m not sure what to think. But I’m hoping like most things, this is simply my paranoia getting to me.

We tread deep into the desert in an uncomfortable silence, uncomfortable for me anyway, Gerim gives no impression of being bothered. He gives no impression at all.

Even as we march in the direction of a raging sandstorm he isn’t fazed— and I have to follow him in. Gritting my teeth and shielding my eyes with a coat of Essence, I brace for the coming pain.

But it doesn’t come. Even with a desert cloak on all the pain of a sandstorm wouldn’t be nullified and yet this one feels regular. Nothing like the agony of having flesh torn from your cheeks, feet and every exposed area. It’s inconvenient at most.

‘This…this is a normal sandstorm.’

Normalcy. It’s an odd thing since— ‘Who are those?’

Sight sharpened by the Essence coating my eyes, I catch glimpse of three figures in the storm. Two of them of humanoid shape and the last at the centre…Fex.

It’d be impossible not to recognize the large hammer and the demon tick wielding it. Fex. It and the two humanoids approach once they catch sight of us. The two by his sides are nothing alike in appearance.

[Ashka]

One a pale bug-faced demon with long mandibles and twitching antennae on its head. Like with many demons it has four arms and in each of them are seemingly miniature versions of the hammer in Fex’s grip.

The other is shorter, almost as short as Fex crawling across the desert. Flapping out behind it are large, colourful patterned wings. The [Leptir] has rings adorn on its fingers and connected to each end like a rope is dangling green chain. Unlike its four armed, thick counterpart, it doesn’t have any muscle. It’s a wiry short thing stretching its leg across the sand like a strong wind could take it away at any moment.

But I won’t be deceived. Aside from the [Udele] level strength wafting off the two, their weapons are the same as Fex’s— giving off its own power.

‘Enchantments.’

I’m a bit excited about the prospect of killing these two and taking their weapons— with my Invisibility and Gerims training I think I have a chance. Though I’m assuming Gerim is no slouch and will win a fight against Fex, even though he’s much stronger Essence-wise.

However, none of this is to happen as Gerim and Fex set out ahead and meet in the middle, giving the impression to be left alone and blocking me out of their telepathic conversation.

‘Whispering.’ I scowl. Being left out of the loop doesn’t sit right with me, but the way the [Leptir], wiry as it is stares down at me is worse.

“You’re Calridian’s Lord Crimson?” It’s voice echoes in my head, the impression of doubt clear in the telepathic thought.

“Yes.” I reply, “Were you expecting something else?”

“Yes.” They answer in unison, further insulting me.

Alas I understand, I too would’ve expected someone of their level to carry the title, but here we are. They’ve got to deal with it and so do I.

Gerim and Fex step away and he returns to me, looming in front of me he finally says something, “This is it, Nil. Calridian’s judgement.”

All other thoughts are banished from my mind at this, I seal my mouth shut and open my mind. Eager to hear when and how I’ll get the crystals I’m owed.

“You’re Lord Crimson now so you’re privy to standing here, with me, at the beginning of the Demon Lord Vark’s end. If you survive, if you do well against the enemy…then you’ll receive all the benefits.”

“The Crystals?”

He nods, “For this mission and this mission alone you are permitted to absorb any Crystal you end.” He reaches into his cloak pockets and pulls out a short blade with a plain handle wrapped in black cloth. “Your weapon.”

He hands the blade to me and I’m assaulted with a notification.

[Seeker Blade]- Tier 1

[Bond] [Absorb]

Tracing my fingers across the blade’s handle my thumb smooths over the little bump at the pommel. A Soul Crystal. The blade’s source of its signature Essence.

“Bond.”