Something has changed among the demons. No longer are they mad hordes, but there seems to be an intelligence about them. There is something in their eyes that tells of something deeper—darker. I see the Abyss in their being and it terrifies me.

This time last year we were victorious; we had pushed the creatures back beyond the mountains after decades of them infesting the entire range and striking out into the plains of Ashrad. Today my company was decimated by the monsters while traversing the Cairn Valley pass. I can not sleep for fear of what I saw in that demon’s eyes—the darkness behind my eyelids resembles the Abys to closely.

—recovered journal of a soldier of the lost regiment

Sirit watched the Pinkies stumble through her home. There were a lot of them; more pinkies than she’d ever seen before, then again, she’d only ever seen one Pinky before. It was tasty. Sirit licked her lips at the memory. Mama had chopped the Pinky into small bloody pieces, a little at a time so the pinky would stay fresh. Mama also said revenge was the best seasoning. Sirit didn’t know what revenge was, but it sure tasted good. Too bad papa couldn’t try some.

These pinkies were not as loud as that other one. That one was so noisy—it kept yelping and yelling and screaming, “Mercy! Mercy! Kill Me! Kill Me!” Sirit scrunched her little button nose and batted at her ears as if to beat away the memory and annoyance.

Finally, when they had eaten all the arms and legs—plus a little more—the Pinky went quiet. The next day mama left on another Pinky hunt. She still had not come back yet. Surly mama was just having trouble finding a pinky because so many of them had come here instead of wherever she went.

Mama was really just silly. Maybe Sirit could surprise mama? There were so many Pinkies right here and wow—what was that—they were being led by a Browny. Sirit Had never seen a brown Pinky before. The Browny was leading the Pinkies and yelling at them. Sirit decided she did not like the Browny, it probably tasted like tree bark anyway. Bleh. What was she thinking about?

Right. Sirit was going to surprise mama. She could catch a few Pinkies. Easy peasy; her claws were sharp—but mama said to stay hidden. She should do what mama says but mama didn’t know there were so many Pinkies here. Mama also said that decisions had to be made with “today information” and not “yesterday information” and Sirit should do what mama says—staying hidden was “yesterday information.”

It was decided then; Sirit would hunt the pinkies. That out the way Sirit needed to choose which one to take out first. A brown-furred one looked like it wasn’t paying attention to anything and Sirit knew a thing or two about hunting—unaware prey was perfect. Except something about that Pinkie made her mad. Sirit didn’t think that one would be too tasty.

The Pinky walking next to brown-fur looked good. The rest of the herd was not paying attention to it and the closest Pinky to it was the oblivious brown fur. Yes, the prey was perfect. It had round cheeks that told her of juicy fat, and it was a little slow. A little tired. Less able to fight back.

Noises startled Sirit. The brown-fur pinky was talking with a red-fur. Sirit didn’t like the red-fur, it was very noisy—it probably tasted bad and was stringy. More noises the red-fir jumped then ran. The red-fur was running towards Sirit. That was bad—very bad. Sirit could not be seen yet. Good hunters did not get seen by prey. Sirit was a good hunter; mama said so. Therefore she could not be seen. Good thing the stupid red-fur did not lookup.

Red-fur separated from the Pinky herd and entered Sirit’s domain. It didn’t even notice when it passed right under Sirit’s branch. How easy it would be to take it out, but Sirit didn’t want to hunt the stringy red-fur and she didn’t know how to kill it quietly. Mama said it was sometimes best to let prey go, Sirit would do as mama said—Sirit was a good girl. The red-fur made a mess of the yeldressi as it tried to tear its way through the leaves but eventually got out of the way. Finally, Sirit was clear to pounce, and the funny brown-fur was looking even more oblivious than before!

There was no sound of branches snapping or rustle of leaves shifting when Sirit carefully stalked the round checked prey. Sirit was a quiet hunter and Sirit was quick. She was on the Pinky in a flash tearing away at the soft flesh and getting sprayed with the Pinkies blood. The Pinky was screaming—not good—Sirit tore at its mouth and throat. The Pinky went quite—good—but the oblivious pinky was not so oblivious anymore—not good. Before brown-furs eyes could spot her, Sirit was gone.

Unlike the stupid red-fur, Sirit knew her home and so knew how to move and hide in the yeldressi without making a sound. She hid her small form within the large glossy leaves and watched the panicking Pinkies intently. They were running to make a circle but there were stragglers. There were always stragglers. Those separated from the herd were Sirit’s to hunt.

Right there. A yellow-furred pinky ran towards her bush, more than three strides away from any other Pinky. Would it taste like a Troll Dandy since it had the same yellow top? Sirit hoped not—Troll Dandies were bitter. Yuck!

The right moment to pounce was almost there. Now! The Pinky was directly before Sirit and she sprang from her hiding place to rake her claws down the prey’s back. They sliced into the back of Yellow’s neck only to be harshly stopped by horrid mettle scales; looping and iron and In. Her. Way.

She snarled and pushed, tore, ripped at the horrid links. Sirit would kill this prey, strange scales be damnd! Her ears twitched. There was movement in the air—something fast—something moving towards her. Danger. Sirit twisted away from a Pinkie’s straight metal claw. The straggler was no longer straggling. Drat. Pinkies with huge metal claws were approaching her. Double drat.

But the Pinkies claws were odd; held in hand instead of a part. Sirit could use this. A dash forward and to the right brought her to a startled Pinkie’s side. It couldn’t track her speed, let alone dodge her strike. Sirit’s sharp claws made quick work of the Pinkies wrist and it yelped in pain and dropped its claw. Just like planed. Sirit was so smart, she would have to tell mamma all about this when she returned.

Another mettle claw swung towards Sirit, and again Sirit nimbly dodged out of way. Another wrist was torn to shreds and the claw was dropped to the forest floor where it stabbed the dirt. Poor dirt—but better dirt than Sirit. She quickly whispered “Sorry” to the attacked soil then scampered off to the trees knowing a failed ambush when she was in one.

The Yeldressi shivered as Sirit ducked into its leaves but settled quickly; hiding Sirit and letting her catch her breath. Fighting was so tiring, no wonder mama said to always ambush prey. The prey, as it were, was now alert and grouped together. There would be no more ambushing but that was ok. Sirit had downed at least one of them and now Sirit needed to only wait for the herd to leave in order to collect her prize.

She watched and waited…and waited. Waiting was boring but important, Sirit reminded herself. Watching wasn’t so boring—Sirit would do more of that. She watched the Pinky herd closely. Observed their shuffling movements and tracked there searching eyes. Ah-ha! They were searching for Sirit but they would not find Sirit. Sirit was a very good hider and a very good watcher.

A Pinky caught Sirit’s eye. It was the oblivious one—the brown-fur. Something about it, Sirit did not like. It made her feel bad—angry. Its face made her just so angry. Oblivious was a very bad Pinky. It had done something very not nice. Sirit felt it deep within and felt De’Ammat. De’Ammat was Angry, no, livid.

De’Ammat hatted—loathed—despised the brown-fur, so Sirit hated him too. So much so that Sirit forgot mama’s words for a moment. Forgot the downed prey waiting for her and forgot the strange mettle claws and scales of the Pinky herd.

Sirit attacked the brown-fur and then Sirit never did anything again.

De’Ammats eyes stung but they withheld their tears. Sirit, the poor child, was not the first to die for their folly and would not be the last. Not while De’Ammat still felt hatred, so not while humans still lived. This was the nature of war after all—the death would not end until the war did. Still, the death of Sirit was regrettable as it was meaningless. Mamma was already dead.

They laughed but did not smile—the story was all too familiar. Kirrial smiled but did not laugh—De’Ammat had given him a mission—there were humans nearby. They must have felt so safe this near to the wall. Idiots the lot of them. He would show them the there were more than children in this area.

No

No? De’Ammat reined in their thirst for blood. They knew that Kirrial was too far away from the humans, they would be safe in the wall long before he could arrive. Kirrial wanted to protest, De’Ammat understood—all Kin understood—Kirial knew his mission. He would bury the child with her mother. They deserved at least that much. May the Yeldressi grow from their grave.

High in the World Tree, the air was chill and thin, but Sellis shone brilliantly and warmed Maya skin. It had become bone white and the same way her hair had become Abys black and it drank in the star’s warmth gladly. Maya knew that if a human were to touch her, they would say she was ice cold. Even a lesser demon might say as much but they would know that there was no warmth to be found in the Abys and they would know that she was Abys personified.

Maya still found that odd.

In the blur that was the destruction of her world, the darkness of the dungeon and then the bloody escape therefrom, she had not quite been herself. She had been more than herself and she still had difficulty grasping this not to mention the multitude of minds they became, were, are. De’Ammat was still a baby barely one moon old.

And Maya was easily lost.