Thoz wasted no time giving a confirmatory nod to the unseen voice, not wanting to take much more time to deal with these brutes than necessary. There was a faint breeze carrying a chill of death through the air as the yet unintroduced spirit floated away. It also gave the devilish leader a chance to open up the new minion’s stats and review the circumstances.

He was weak, remarkably so, but with a flurry of skills and abilities that made it almost impossible for ordinary people to defeat him. Thozronnath liked those odds. He also made a note to remember his new associate’s name. Uzdaax.

The would-be marauders faced an unearthly horror just a few meters away as they were beset by a chill from beyond the grave and a voice they could not place, loud and angry, besieging them from all sides.

“INTERLOPERSSS!!” Uzdaax echoed through the trees around them, his voice weaving and screaming between the patchwork of scattered Ironwood trees and normal oaks that began to bleed through here on the edge.

The incorporeal spirit had to materialize for a moment to actually attack his enemies, and in doing so revealed a powerfully intimidating visage.

From the waist down, Uzdaax slowly evaporated into mist that clung to his form like death itself. Even when ‘visible’ he was partially translucent, eyes sunken and cheeks hollowed by death. The spirit’s body was emaciated and stringy, though seemed strangely quick and sharp, both hands ending in long sickle claws. To top this off quite literally was a shock of silver-white hair that floated above him defying gravity as he defied death, shifting in a wind one could only feel when he moved by.

The men stalking the monsters had but a moment to take all of this information in before they were attacked, defending themselves and their very lives. Their simple swords and daggers slashing aimlessly at the air around them as Uzdaax attacked them with the only damaging skill he had. “Call of Death” was a remarkably effective move when used on the living, and the spirit could use the incredible agility and speed afforded to him by his form to dodge most things.

Congratulations! Your efforts have bore fruit. +1 Dexterity.

Your magic withers your enemy from within. -10 HP. Recovery blocked.

That was the true power of Call of Death as well, it placed a lingering curse on the target preventing their natural regeneration, healing skills, and outside rejuvenation spells. It only lasted approximately twenty four hours unfortunately, but the curse could effectively turn each successful attack into a stacking debuff on enemies.

Nothing was without weaknesses though, and the brief moment Uzdaax, Uz for short, was required to latch on to an enemy and drain them was also his most vulnerable moment. A fact underlined to him as he was cut from hip to hip by the enemy behind him during his attempted drain of another.

Thankfully he didn’t have any bowels to be removed by this involuntary procedure, and any damage he was taking was significantly reduced.

Your enemy's mundane weapon fails to fully overcome your resistances.

You have suffered a minor injury. -3 HP.

The attack was uncomfortable even though Uz couldn’t fully feel pain, it caused his corporeal form to flicker for a moment, releasing the enemy he was cursing. Uz took a few more slashes from blades before going intangible again, repositioning beyond his assailant's perception.

This ethereal meandering afforded the spirit a moment of self reflection. Uzdaax was not in immediate danger, he could theoretically survive ten more attacks with no threat of death even if they did a bit higher damage. Similarly, his curse on the previously attacked gentlemen, now clearly a leader of the three, seemed to be slowing him down significantly. This battle was his to win.

Returning to the land of the living by recorporiation, Uz made short work of the injured thugs. His speed was almost twenty percent higher than the average human, and still gave him a sizable margin of error for those above average.

The resulting fight only lasted a few seconds truthfully, Uzdaax clamping onto an enemy and slowly draining their life force before dodging away. There were a few more nicks and scratches from the thugs, but once they realized they had no chance of victory their focus shifted to fleeing. They could not outrun the spirit tailing them though, eventually succumbing to the withering plague now sufusing with their souls. They died before even breaking the tree line.

With his success in battle, and the promise of the next day off confirmed, Uzdaax received several notifications all at once.

Sloth Accepted!

Level up!

Level up!

…..

Level up!

You are now a level 9 specter!

Proficiency gained! Call of Death is now level 2!

The resulting XP split also shifted Thoz’s level up to three for his just recently acquired transformation, seemingly much slower to level than the previous ones.

The group then took a moment to overlook the corpses of the fallen men for any valuables. Organic matter and any weak metals could be dissolved by Zildoxoxi, so they were mainly looking at clothes, weapons, and currency.

They recovered:

1x spare shortsword (all other weapons deemed damaged beyond use)

1x spare set of clothes (all others too tattered or didn’t fit established disguises)

1x gold coin

3x silver coins

15x copper coins

It wasn’t a fortune, but it was usable salvage, and when combined with the reward of finishing this quest in a few hours they would be able to have a lot more wiggle room in their funds.

Thoz also said a silent prayer of thanks to the Infernal King. A capable, intelligent minion that could infiltrate human society unnoticed and didn’t even need food, sleep, or clothes? By his reckoning it was nothing short of divine intervention to bring a miracle to the most downtrodden of devil kind. Truly awe inspiring. He would have wept if he were so capable.

The fruitful search of the fallen adversaries was not something Thoz trusted to be left entirely to his minions though, and for good reason. What the devil saw there was not something any of his minions recognized, nor would have made note of, but it was extremely important that Thozronnath saw it.

Literally branded into the skin of each of these humanoids (Specifically a human, some kind of giant-descended man, and a half dwarf) was a mark that Thoz had only ever heard rumors of. A punishment that had only been afforded to the devils caught committing the gravest of sins, treachery. Being convicted of traitorous activity as a devil is incredibly difficult, as it requires you to have not only been caught, but to have also lost any attempted coup as well, very few devils were that confident and powerless at the same time. Those that were, were branded with the mark of subservience. A burning ritual curse that locked the recipient into the service of another for eternity. By inscribing the name of their would-be master onto the flesh, and often soul, of these devils they would tie their lives together. If the master died, all bound marks killed their host. It was brutal, efficient, and incredibly difficult to do.

So why did all these humans have the name “Varekoth” branded into them with the infernal script?

For the first time since leaving hell, for the first time since being freed from the influence of Varekoth’s mind prison. Thozronnath was truly afraid. Of course he’d been afraid a few times while here on the mortal realm, he could experience true soul death now, but that was not the same kind of fear.

Life or death fear for continued existence is a sharp fear, it quickens the mind, enhances the senses, puts everything in fight or flight. It can make you stronger.

The fear Varekoth had instilled into Thoz when he was still an imp all those many years ago was an entirely different kind of fear. Like a child flinching every time an adult raises the voice, or a woman covering her face when a man lifts his hands. It was the fear of an abuser.

Thozronnath was aware he was not the same devil as he was all those years ago, he knew this on an intellectual level. Some parts of him however, still felt inferior. A non minute portion of his subconscious still worried if he was the useless whimpering creature Varekoth had always said he would be. To him, the pit fiend was an insurmountable mountain of malice. An unstoppable force and an immovable object at the same time.

Thoz went pale. This is a bit difficult to do when you have red skin, and he ended up just looking a bit pink as a result, but his distress was obvious.

“Maassster?” Uzdaax whispered in concern, prompting Prisaela to make her own interjection.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, glancing around at their immediate surroundings as if to check for some unknown second wave.

“We need to talk.” Thoz replied curtly, his eyes locked on the corpses of the men beneath him. In this moment he could feel the muscles in his body tensing and twitching with nervous energy, and the heart he was now aware of was beating to the edge of bursting. It was a feeling the devil only knew how to sum up in one way.

“Fuck.”