The desert is unlike before. I’d call it unfamiliar but when would I have familiarized myself with the vast dunes?

Still, it’s clear that there’s been a change and I remember what Gerim said about the Demon Lord preparing for war against Varks, the Demon Lord of the fire divide. The effects on the desert aren’t severe, but they are noticeable, and inconvenient.

My desert cloak has long since burnt away, stripping me of the only viable protection from the desert’s new mood swings. The winds billow calm, harmless sands in our faces this moment, but in the next it could be the most hostile attack or simple a wide and rapid spawning of demons.

Blight that it is, it’s still a marvel to watch demons spawn— be birthed from an ether of Essence and the will of the Demon Lord, wherever they are.

The demons spawned are nothing Haern and I can’t handle, in fact, they’re rather bothersome when they get in the way. Their moods range from insane, mad at the world and everything that moves to mindless, droning westward, far from wherever it is I’m headed.

My guess is they’re answering the call of their creator. As Gerim said, the Demon Lord is raising an army for the war— this is it. It’s not very impressive at the moment, all the demons spawned are either Pink or Crimson levelled— cannon fodder compared to what we’re warring against. But I figure that’s why the mood of the desert switches about so often, from the calm march of a mindless, new-born army to the frenzy of death and consumption that leads to bigger and better demons.

Demons like the Dawern raging at us right now.

The Seeker Blade dances around it, chipping and slicing endlessly at the demon’s segmented, seeping rows. Haern disturbs it personally, whipping his chains about it, searing it best he can with acid no more potent that the one the Dawern spits out.

Haern and I have come across more than a dozen smaller sized Dawern’s. Those fortunately didn’t seem concerned with us and simply burrowed out towards the Demon Lord’s call, but this one I figure has eaten and consumed enough of its counterparts to get this large.

It leapt out of the sands, snatching out steed from under us and nearly biting my legs off. It may have taken all my luck to escape the sudden attack— these demons, the newborns, their minds are clean of thought or emotion. There’s not a single impression coming off of them. It’s as though ever one of their actions are merely automated responses to the environment.

Thinking about it that way I figure it may have been inevitable that a Dawern would come out at the top of the pile, the strongest demon among its mindless peers.

Unfortunately for it though, I’m not all that interested in how it came to become so strong in such a short time or its purpose in service to the Demon Lord. It’s at least a level 6 Crimson so this ought to be quick but worthwhile.

Quickly morphing my arm into the slick, cutting edge white pincers of the [Bichu] I devoured earlier, I leap at it, joining Haern and the Seeker Blade in its execution.

Although just as massive, this Dawern falls short in power compared to the first I took on with Gerim, the twins and Hargoil. It’s sourly outmatched and wastes no time dying after I tear out bits of flesh with my pincers and send the Seeker Blade in for further destruction.

The Blade returns to with the Crystal soaked in blood and I end my mimicry of the [Bichu] to absorb it, and devour bits of the Dawern.

Haern is silent as he munches down on the stringy, acidic meat, but his impression isn’t as meek. I’ve been rather stingy with Crystals recently, I know. He isn’t pleased about it, to say the least, but he dares not protest it aloud.

His leaking impression is the only form of protest he can manage, or rather the only form of protest I will tolerate. I keep telling myself I’ll let him have the next one but then I end up killing the demon and convince myself I’ve earned the Crystal— it’s selfish, perhaps greedy too.

I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with that attitude, not sure if it’s something I want to keep up. Sure, the perks are sweet, I get more Essence and get stronger, far stronger than I thought I’d get— I really should’ve stepped out into the desert long ago. But at the same time I see where it’s flawed, when the frenzy starts and we’re surrounded by demons near and far, it’s all I can do not to get overwhelmed. Having Haern saves me the trouble of getting dogpiled by demons I would otherwise be far stronger than.

If I want to keep my head above the mess of demons then reasonably, I should make sure Haern gets fed as well. Knowing what to do isn’t the same as doing it though.

At this…infuriating behaviour of mine I wonder if this was a problem I had when I was…human. The sillouette of a woman in armour stand over at the bottom of a Dune we’ve long passed calls to me at the thought, her regal manner soothes and disturbs me. She lets me know all is well with her, to leave it all and follow but at the same time I sense my individuality stolen away by her might.

“Where are we even going?” Haern starts, startling me out of my existential thoughts. When I look back for the monarch she’s gone, the dread in her as a vision wasn’t as bad as all the others. I wonder what would have happened if I approached but Hearn’s still speaking. The strain of discontent is clear as he speaks. I pick up the pace and push my senses, looking for the sign Gerim mentioned.

Since our long march began I haven’t taken note of anything that could be considered a clear sign of Morthul’s presence. I’m not even sure what that means, what that would even look like, but I keep moving anyway. It’s better to be aimlessly getting stronger in the desert than not at all after all.

“You’re not saying anything.” Haern points out, “You don’t even know where you’re going huh.” He snorts and picks up after me.

“Do you have a plan? Is this the plan? To wander the desert killing demons?”

I almost answer him when the sands ahead are disturbed. A demon rises out of it, small, vulnerable and ugly. He gets distracted as well and launches his chain at it, eager to get even a smidgen of Essence whether Pink or Crimson. Foolish, consuming Pinks worsens Esq, I want to tell him not to bother but it’s better for Seeker and I in the long run.

A light envelops the demon, rendering it intangible and invulnerable to all attacks. I recognize the light from the royale back at Calridian’s city, but also from the past days.

The light vanishes along with the demon and Haern’s impression worsens. “That’s been happening a lot now.” I say.

“So?”

I glance back at him but ultimately keep marching forward. Calridian was right about how Gerim sheltered me, if this is how often that light vanishes demons away it’s no surprise Haern nor anyone else is fazed by it.

“Where do you think they go? Do they come back?”

“Why do you care?” His dissatisfaction begins to seep into his words a lot more than I can tolerate, another stern glance at him sets him straight and he answers, “I don’t know, probably to the Demon Lord or whatever Noble General calls for them. I don’t know if they come back, I don’t think they do but…no one cares enough to find out, no one I know anyway.”

He has no defined answers. And his theory that the Demon Lord or Noble Generals call them can’t be true. If it were then why are so many of the newborn marching westward? And the Noble Generals? I doubt that. I’ve never seen the light drop a demon off at Calridian’s city. But then again, they’d probably be transported directly to Calridian’s lair if that were the case.

I’m not sure about any of it, but it concerns me. “Ever think you’re going to be next?”

“To vanish? Huh, I don’t think about it if I’m being honest. You think you’re going to be vanished?”

I don’t have an answer to give so I keep marching. We’ve long since passed Calridian and the Queen’s city, I’m not sure what else is out here. Another General maybe, I can sense one out to the east and several others in the west, surrounding what must be the Demon Lord itself. But I don’t sense anything new.

Taking the Seeker Blade in hand I go on practicing Gerim’s teachings— fusing my Essence onto it, strengthening the already menacing blade. The exercise is a lot easier with the blade, likely because I’ve bonded with it.

With all of Haern’s subtle whining and complaining, I’m beginning to regret not stopping by at Calridian to find out his exact location.

Though, not by much.

Calridian can’t be the only person capable of giving the answers I need. I turn to Haern I ask, “What kind of demon are you?”

“What do you mean?” He says rather absentmindedly, flapping about a few feet above the ground.

“I mean…are you like these guys, crawled up out of the layer by the will of a demon far greater. Or…are you like me?”

His flapping slows and his feet drag along the sand, “Like you? Human?”

“I’m not human.”

He rolls his eyes, “Yeah, not anymore, but you were once.” I nod. “Well, I’m not sure. I’ve been alive for a very long time and I’ve only gotten so strong. My earliest memory…well, it was of the Queen. I was stained in blood and dragging the guts of something around when she picked me. Given my age I think I might be like these guys. A wild demon gifted with consciousness…proper consciousness anyway.”

I’d figured such was possible after Calridian mentioned Hargoil was his son. I figured, a lot of demons in the city were in some way his children. But I also wonder about the wild demons, the stronger ones like the near Maroon tier Dawern we took on.

It had an impression, a functioning mind. It had no desire to converse with its assailants but I could sense the outrage at being attacked in its home. It could perform magic even. I think you need some kind of consciousness for that.

Can it be called a wild demon then? If it possessed some form of consciousness, enough to calculate and understand what magic and mana is. I’m not sure. But I think there’s got to be a point of power where the wild demons gain a consciousness.

Otherwise it’d mean the entirety of Reais is ruled by souls of previous mortals, like myself.

“What’s it like?” Haern asks, walking beside me now.

“What?”

“Having a life before now? Being human? Coming from another place.”

“Oh.” I mouth and pause to think about it. What is it like? I can say with certainty that it’s been awful, knowing some other world, a better one most suited for me exists…well, I can’t say I’m suited for any mortal world now can I.

Here I am marching through blistering sands that spawn the ugliest creatures and on my way to kill a specific ugly bastard. No, I don’t think I’m suited for a human world anymore.

“It’s…torture. I’m confused and doubtful all the time, I’m tired and desperate too. I’m hungry and thirsty but…I don’t need to eat or drink and when I do it’s not even because I’m hungry. I don’t like it but I can’t change it, at least, I don’t think I can.”

Haern says nothing at this, only hums and lifts off the sands again.

We continue on like this for days, except this time I’ve chosen to be a lot gracious to Haern and let him have the Crystals from the kills. The volatile mood of the desert whips back and forth as usual and at some point I’m forced to cast [Minor Illusion] to keep the rabid horde of demons at bay. It works well, Haern strikes from above and through the wide illusion the Seeker Blade makes surgical strikes at vulnerable demons.

It’s a costly spell to use on several subjects so it takes a lot of mana out of me. Although we can keep going, I suggest we stop and recuperate. Haern isn’t opposed, his chains, like the Seeker Blade, require a constant pump of Essence and mana to work.

While we recover health, Essence and mana, I stare out into the void of the wailing sands and winds until I stop something. A beast…an animal of sort. Enhancing my sight, I find it’s not an animal, but a lookalike demon.

A smile crawls onto my face, “Haern, we’re getting closer to our destination.” I say, pointing over at the demon.

He has a look then turns back to me, “Is that…an ape?”