Unknown Dusk Moon

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The orphaned moon drifted along its phantom rails, pulled by the distant strings of larger celestial bodies. It might as well have been stationary for all the help it did to the occupants. Most of all, the one slumbering under the caked ash of the moon. The dust-packed cavity of his burrow sat as a silent grave, he made no noise as he slept; akin to a statue than a living being. A gentle rumble sent a trickle of dust atop its head. His eyes stirred, but refused to open. Another tremor ran through the sanctuary, sending a large clump of ash free, striking him atop his head.

The demon awoke, eyes snapping open at the disturbance. He let out a low grumbling sigh as he closed his eyes once again. A final shudder ran through the cave, shaking a several hundred pound rusted crystal down upon his head. It burst with a shatter, sending large detritus throughout the caked ash room. He snapped awake, his first feelings of irritation at being disturbed. He sat up, brushing the debris from his scalp, but otherwise unharmed. He pushed himself free, smacking his dry mouth as he surveyed his ruined chamber. The annoyance of the moment vanished as he halted, pondering the events of the past.

He remembered vague darkness. Fighting. Devouring. More fighting. He realized almost all of it was fighting. Surviving. Growing. Being drawn to this moon. Spending eons traveling. There it emerged in the blackness of space. It traveled, alone and forgotten. A mighty destructive force akin to a planetary impact. A terror to all that knew him.

It had a name.

He had a name.

His name was,

He forgot.

He blew air from his snout as he scoffed at the dilemma. It didn’t matter. They would name him again soon enough. He only need to escape the moon and find richer game. Except as long as those things still roamed he was trapped. No ground was kept for long on either side. He had fought to a standstill. Tired and bored, he remembered burrowing down and escaping from sight, going to sleep as a way of passing time. Now they were moving again, disturbing his rest. He rubbed at his temple and eyes with the back of his long clawed hands. He sniffed, catching the scent of the metal ones, the glowing one, and a new yet familiar odor. He blinked, trying to process what he just smelled. He breathed in, catching the scent again.

“Human,” he muttered as his beady glowing blue eyes scanned the room.

He let out a low chuckling at the revelation. His sad gargoyle face contorting to a disturbing parody of a smile.

“A human. Here.”

He sat for a time, smelling the odor. It wasn’t so much a scent as it was a spiritual mark, defining what they were. Something he became really good at tracking. He crossed his double-jointed haunches, as he clasped his hands, his mind finally and fully awake. The situation had changed.

There is no time. The human could be stopping by for samples, aid, or any number of reasons. Once he grows tired of this place- and he quickly will- it will fly on; my chance to leave gone for another eon.

He flexed his grey membrane wings to their full fifteen-foot span, the joints popping with stiffness from ages of rest. He would have to navigate the moon’s surface once again, battling those mountains. It would be harder, as he needed to rush the human before he could escape. Once caught, he could then finally leave this self-made prison. Then the rest of the galaxy was wide open. It was a simple matter; human’s usually traveled in packs. They usually valued one or more of their kind. Leverage that weakness and the human would sign a contract, or even willingly allow for possession. Devouring would be the worst option, as he would have a vessel and no pilot.

He stood, shuffling the ash and crystal debris from him. He gripped a crystal shard with his six-fingered hand, sporting a hooked thumb on both sides of his palm. A gentle flex popped the crystal into tiny shards, showering the room with high-velocity fragmentation collapsing the room of ash atop himself. It didn’t matter, he was finished with his ‘chambers’ anyway. He dug up to the surface, thinking back to what he was.

Demon. What type was I again? Definitely not a demon of the mind that’s for sure. Not a lesser demon or imp. They are too weak to even stand a second against anything on this moon.

He definitely felt tough, thriving off of conflict. Right now he felt stale, like moldy bread lost behind a counter. Whatever that was.

Am I an average demon? No. An army of them would be swept aside by the forces above. Greater demons would be crushed, even those capable of conquering civilizations. An Elder demon… Yes, that sounds correct. I know I am too weak to be considered a prince, duke, deity or god. I am possibly on the verge of growth. I just need that human. And his vessel if he has one. Either way, I will be that much closer to escape. It makes me wonder why I ever came to this pit in the first place… Pointless thoughts.

His head popped up out of the surface for the first time in an age, like a cursed demonic vegetable. He spotted the familiar albedo overcast, the ashen wasteland, and those damnable metal mountains. The scent of the human was strong. He was close. The elder demon shuffled the dust from his grey sculpted flesh, his appearance was a six and a half foot sad gargoyle. He ran a thumb through crumbs of ash, fondly remembering the fights before. The entire moon was rich with the detritus. He barely remembered what it looked like before he arrived.

After all, the ash, the crystals, and albedo of the moon were all remnants of himself.

He stalked along the wasteland, following the scent.

It wouldn’t be long now before he left this hell-forsaken plane.