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Walk A Demonic Path - Chapter 2 - Infiltrating Home
🕑 Added 2026-01-04 18:59:00 +0000 UTCChapter 2 - Infiltrating Home
“How did I let you talk me into this?”
I whispered under my breath, the noise being drowned by the sheer amount of people shuffling into the museum. I’d hoped that because it was a weekday, the Bael museum of devil history would have been empty. I’d been dead fucking wrong.
Who even went to museums these days? We had the devil net.
“You don’t need to speak to talk to me, Ash.”
It was a learning experience, having someone living in my head. Doubly so when he could choose to materialize himself in front of me at any point he so wished. He’d already made it clear that he was visible only to me but incorporeal in nature, so any chance of summoning the literal demon of erasure to get me out of a sticky situation was nil.
“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Sticky situations are nothing but learning experiences.”
Oh, he had jokes.
I walked deeper into the museum. Exhibits from the war, and some from even before graced the exhibits. Of course, none of them were real. It would be stupid for the archangel Michael’s sword to be here, after all. Michael had never been defeated in the war, nor after, as much as Lucifer probably wished it.
“To showcase treasures not even conquered, from a war not even won. How distasteful.” Bael's annoyance was clear, but I was still unclear on my purpose here. I watched his ethereal form drift through the museum. He wasn't simply sightseeing; he was searching for something specific.
“It’s not here, but I can sense it. It’s nearby.” he stated. Naturally, if it wasn't on display, it would be in the underground storage—the area specifically designated for items too dangerous or simply not worthy of public exhibition.
The more pressing issue: entering that area was highly illegal.
“Legality is nothing but a social construct. Fear not, the prize will be worth the risk,” he countered.
“Sure, a social construct with the threat of incarceration. I’m not exactly looking forward to spending the next decade in jail,” I thought to him.
“Would you rather spend it wallowing in mediocrity?” Bael's question was scathing. For all his eloquence, he knew exactly how to provoke me. The fact he'd accessed my memories when we exchanged information likely played a role. He was right, and I hated that he knew it.
"Then I guess it’s a good thing I spent most of my last life learning how to be stealthy,” I commented. I quickly retreated into a corner, out of sight, and cast Meld. The spell felt familiar despite all the recent turmoil.
The path down to the storage was surprisingly easy. There were no guards, not a single soul, in fact. The only protection was a single warding sigil that hadn’t been maintained in decades.
"Of course there are no guards; who'd be stupid enough to rob a museum owned by the Bael clan?" Bael chimed in, his ethereal form flitting between storage containers.
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who convinced me this was a good idea, and now you’re the one warning me against it?” I countered.
"Don't worry," Bael reassured me. "This is all technically mine." He then led the way. "Come here, I think it's inside this one."
"I doubt that's how this works," I muttered, opening the container next to him. A cloud of caked dust erupted, forcing me to cover my face. I had to stifle a cough, just in case I missed a defense mechanism.
"What exactly am I supposed to be searching for?" I questioned, sorting through the metal box. It contained numerous trinkets—old, certainly, but utterly ordinary. Despite the beauty of their craftsmanship, their significance was dwarfed by the items on display in the main hall.
The sheer waste was astounding; any one of these pieces could cover a year's expenses. That is, if I could find a buyer. Not a single damned broker in the underworld would go near them.
Selling the property of the great king was detrimental to both business and safety.
“Ah, there!” Bael exclaimed, pointing out an unremarkable gold brooch. Embedded with a simple white diamond, it looked expensive - certainly something I’d need decades of work to afford - but otherwise plain.
“Okay, what exactly is this?” I asked, taking it from the storage box. I could sense a minimal trace of magic on it, nothing significant.
Bael approached. “Ah, of course you wouldn’t understand why this brooch is important,” he said. “I’ll get this started, but remember, once you’re in, you’ll have five minutes to get back out.”
“In where? Five minutes? What are you talking about?” I stammered as the brooch began to emit an ethereal light.
Bael gave a smirk before the light surrounded us, commenting, "Don't worry, I'll tell you what to take."
That absolute bastard.
LB
“You can look later. We have to get a move on.”
I knew we were on a timer. I knew that Bael’s words made sense, but it was hard to obey, considering the sheer grandeur I was surrounded by.
The chamber was a cavern of unimaginable wealth, a geological impossibility carved and glittering from floor to vaulted ceiling.
A central, rough-hewn dais was piled high with the bulk of the gold—stacks of ingots dull with age, mountains of coins from a thousand forgotten sovereignties, and artifacts so intricately crafted they seemed to hum with silent power. Rivers of gold spilled over the edges like hardened lava, pooling into the chamber floor.
Weapons jutted out of the ground. They ranged from massive, serrated demon-forged greatswords and pulsing obsidian scimitars to celestial, silvered rapiers with angel-wing guards and shimmering lances. Each was a priceless treasure from a time long-lost, each with a story I couldn’t even fathom.
"We need to keep moving. There's no time for unnecessary delays," Bael stated as he entered the antechamber. "Soon enough, you'll be able to create dimensional pockets like this one yourselves. For now, though, this one is actively attempting to expel us."
“Is that why there’s a time limit?” I pressed.
“Precisely. It’s one of my more effective protective measures. If someone who isn’t me tries to force entry, my treasuries would instantly kill them,” Bael explained. “The best I could manage was a way to temporarily trick my defenses. That’s why you only have five minutes before you’re ejected.” He paused, standing by a slowly-opening gate.
“So, what exactly are we looking for?” I asked, my attention still fixed on a particular demonic sword. It was obsidian black and seemed to be calling to me. My hand was almost on it when the sound of grinding gears caught my ear, pulling me out of my trance.
“Oh, and seriously, don’t touch that one, by the way,” Bael commented, snapping me out of my reverie. “There’s a pagan god trapped inside. Give him an opening and he will steal your soul.”
I shivered, taking one last look at the sword, then replied, “Noted.” As I walked toward the door with Bael, I added, “I’m honestly taken aback by the sheer amount of treasure you possess.”
Bael responded, “This is merely one of my treasuries, and it was the most accessible to us. I wish I could modify their security systems to grant you direct entry; it would simplify everything. Unfortunately, the simplest defenses are often the hardest to breach.”
"You could buy a small country with this much," I commented.
"Yes, you could," Bael acquiesced, "but you wouldn't be able to hold it. That requires true power."
"And that's what we're here to attain?" I asked.
Bael clarified, "No. We're here to gain potential." He then led the way through the now open gate and into a small antechamber. I followed him into the room, which was much plainer than the last. It contained only a small altar and a painting I neither recognized nor understood.
On the altar, a small goblet held a liquid of absolute, pitch blackness.
Bael began, explaining the nature of his kind: "You must understand that malleability is the defining trait of demons. We were not born strong; in fact, we were weaker than even your current self. We developed ingenuity as our primary weapon, but a legendary weapon is useless when wielded by a feeble body."
"Therefore, we chose growth. We augmented ourselves, each developing a unique method. Mine was quite straightforward, certainly not as advanced as some of my peers," he continued. Then, gesturing toward the goblet, he concluded with an ominous note: "Crucially, my method was no less potent. Now, drink."
“Do we have time for you to explain exactly what that is?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Blood of a primordial. Chaos, to be specific. I mean, isn’t the painting indicative enough?” he asked.
“And I should drink this… why?” I asked.
“It’s an elixir. The primordials represent a lot, but they all came from nothingness.” Bael explained. “They started as motes of existence and grew to be the most terrifying forces imaginable. This?” He tapped at the goblet. “This is the sheer essence of growth, of potential, diluted into an elixir that even I was only able to sample sparingly. This? This is my second gift to you. So, drink.”
I dry-gulped as I picked the goblet from the altar. It was heavy, heavier than it had any right to be. The blood itself was viscous, dark, but with specks of light that emulated the night sky. It didn’t have a smell, and as I brought it to my lips, I remarked that it did not have any taste either.
What it did have, was a burn, a burn that seemed to grow with every passing second, with every gulp I took. By the time I’d drained the goblet, the burn had spread all over my body, and every second that passed hence, it started to get more and more unbearable.
I fell to my knees, gasping for air as my body seemed to burn with a sightless fire. Then came the smell. I wasn’t sweating, no, because no sweat was this repugnant. No, it felt like my impurities were leaving my body. I would have rejoiced, if my body wasn’t on fire, or if the smell wasn’t making me nauseous.
“Ah, I should have specified.” Bael began, looking down at me with a concerned but curious look on his face. “I assumed you’d take a single gulp. That’s what I usually consider a safe dose.”
"You could have... you could have fucking told me earlier," I gasped, fighting the burning pain and struggling to stay conscious. I gritted my teeth, attempting to drag myself back upright, but failed.
Bael rose to his feet. "Well, there's a reason elixirs are generally administered in much smaller doses. No matter. Think of this as a lesson. Just clench your jaw and try not to ignite."
“W-wha?” I gasped.
“Yep! Good luck! You’ll need it!” Bael replied.
The burning sensation intensified, quickly becoming unbearable. I lost track of time, drifting in and out of consciousness as the fire consumed my body. One moment I was closing my eyes in the treasury, the next I was opening them back in the museum's storage area. The only thing separating me from being caught was my desperate struggle to hold back the screams.
The struggle ultimately ended in my favor. The burning subsided, replaced by a profound sense of relief and completeness. Though I couldn't move or leave, I simply remained there. I was alive, and in the face of imprisonment and impending punishment, that was the sole important thing.
Bael observed, "Curious. To be able to ingest and master such a deadly quantity of my elixir. You truly are exceptional, aren't you?"
"Eat... my ass," I retorted, before promptly collapsing into sleep.
LB
I woke up in a bed again. This time, though, it wasn't mine.
The huge bed, all cool, deep violet silk sheets and a lemon-scented mahogany headboard, sat under a crystal chandelier. Morning light bounced around the room, which basically yelled ‘super fancy guest suite’ with its velvet chairs and gold trim.
More importantly, I was okay and definitely not on fire.
The relief vanished as I tried to sit up. A cold, heavy clink of metal echoed the motion, and a sharp tug stopped me short. I glanced down. My left wrist was circled by a gleaming silver handcuff, which was secured by a short chain to the ornate, lacquered post of the fancy bed.
I was caught. The thought was somehow both a small comfort and a greater terror because it wasn't the authorities who had me.
This was my reality now. With a sigh, I let myself fall back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling to pass the time. At least I was clean and had fresh clothes - the absence of that repulsive smell, which had been plaguing my mind, was a welcome sign.
Bael's ethereal form materialized casually at the foot of the lavish bed, a half-smile playing on his lips.
“You were quite the spectacle for a time there. I must confess, I hadn't expected you to simply... drain the goblet." He commented.
"You gave me the thing and then gave me a five-minute timer. What was I supposed to do, sip it like a fine wine? Besides, you said it yourself: you assumed I'd take a single gulp. An assumption you conveniently kept to yourself." I countered with a frown, watching a playful look appear on his face.
"Ah, but Ash, where is the growth in perfect instructions? If I'd given you a safe, measured dose, you would have been merely augmented. By taking the entire cup, you forced a metamorphosis. You can feel the changes, can’t you?” He asked.
I drew on my mana. While there was an increase in quantity, it wasn't enough to justify the immense suffering I'd endured. However, the quality felt radically different -far purer and more malleable. I no longer needed to struggle with my intellect and focus to control it; it simply obeyed instantly and without resistance.
This was a qualitative leap, not a quantitative one. It was a wonderful feeling, yet it still didn't elevate me to the level of pure-blooded heirs. I was closer, yes, but not quite there.
Bael noted Ash's frown with an air of disinterest. "You're frowning, Ash. Were you, perhaps, expecting to awaken with the power to crush kingdoms?"
"I'd hoped the immense suffering would yield a more significant, quantifiable increase in power," I replied, maintaining my frown. "I am stronger, and my mana is purer, but I'm still not on par with a pure-blooded heir. I'm closer, but I haven't reached that level. The risk-reward ratio feels… disproportionate."
"That," Bael countered with a smile, "is where your mortal perspective falls short, young scion. You focus on the surface, the 'tip of the iceberg,' and misjudge the entire mountain. You are still focused on power when what you have truly achieved is potential."
He elaborated, "Your mana reservoir is no longer just a container; it has been fundamentally transformed into a perfect conduit, a dimensional well of limitless growth."
"Limitless potential doesn't help me right now," I grumbled in return.
"No, it's the key to escaping mediocrity - a much stronger constraint," Bael monotoned. "The elixir didn't give you power directly, but it granted you the capacity to achieve it faster and greater than any other living being."
He concluded with a smug grin, "Strength will develop with time and experience, but the sheer potential you now possess is what truly makes you a threat."
“So how do I go about converting this potential into strength?” I asked.
The figure offered a dry, almost patronizing chuckle. "That is a very mortal question. You have been granted the perfect engine, but an engine requires a driver. Do you genuinely believe I, or any of the Great Kings, achieved our power by passively waiting for it? No.”
I shot back, "I require a roadmap, not a philosophical lecture."
“It is simple: Fight, struggle, and grow,” he stated. “The core tenets of growth are ancient. Your advantage is twofold: First, your body can now achieve infinite growth, provided it receives the correct stimulus. Second, you possess the combined knowledge and abilities of seventy-two demons in your mind. That is your roadmap.”
I nodded, concluding, “So, it seems there’s really no substitute for discipline and diligent effort, is there?”
He let out a soft laugh. “In my countless millennia, I and my peers have yet to discover one. But if you do manage to find a shortcut, be sure to inform us. You'd earn the praise of practically everyone.”
“I’ll certainly remember that,” I quipped. “By the way, is it my imagination, or are you becoming noticeably more translucent?”
Bael confirmed with a nod. “Indeed. Our time together must pause for now. Do not fret, though. Your actions have already garnered the attention of some of my colleagues,” he commented. “Expect invitations from a few of them quite soon.”
"Will they be as utterly annoying as you are?" I inquired.
“Oh, significantly more so. I am the very embodiment of noble grace. My peers? Mostly unrefined brutes,” he quipped. “I must depart now. Best of luck, young scion.”
"Understood. Well... thank you, Bael. For the clarification. And for the... elixir," I confessed abruptly. "I mean that sincerely, more than I can properly express."
“I know, Ash.” he gratefully accepted my blundering thanks. “Do try to stay alive. I would hate to have wasted all that elixir if you don’t end up putting it to good use.”
His form dissolved into motes of light, leaving me alone and still chained to the bed. A single, critical question remained, one I had frustratingly forgotten to ask:
Whose room was this, anyway?
LB
I got my answer one hour later.
The grand mahogany door opened with a soft, weighted thud, and the quiet authority of the person who entered instantly eclipsed the lavishness of the suite.
He was a known quantity, though I’d first met him much later in my career. Not that it changed his visage much. He wore the impeccable, richly tailored attire of a true nobleman, which only amplified the deep, unshakable aura of strong dignity that radiated from him.
Zekram Bael wasn’t just an elder, he was the elder.
The man paused, his eyes settling calmly on Ash, who was still chained to the bed. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips.
"Nice to meet you," he stated, his voice a low, commanding baritone that seemed to belong to history itself. "My name is Zekram Bael. I trust you had a restful recovery after your... deep dive of my museum coffers.”
Any other devil in this situation would have groveled, using flattery to try and manipulate their way out. However, I had served under him and been promoted by him. Regardless of my past life, it was unlikely he had suddenly developed a tolerance for dishonesty.
So, I was direct.
“I must have looked quite pitiful, unconscious in that basement, for you to decide not to hand me over to the authorities,” I joked. “And I suppose my sheer nerve was intriguing enough to warrant a personal audience with you.”
He managed to hide his surprise well, though his smirk certainly grew a little. Boldness had worked; the challenge now was to ensure it didn't cross the line into disrespect. It was a delicate balance I had to maintain without Bael's help.
That bastard got me into this mess and didn't even have the decency to stick around and offer support.
Zekram chuckled as he observed, "He looks quite pitiful for someone who underwent body reformation. Honestly, I wasn't aware we devils could even do that. The principles of the tao, after all, typically clash with the devil body's constitution."
“I couldn’t say. Was it ‘body reformation,’ as you called it?” I muttered, playing the part of a clueless teenager. My age was an advantage - a child barely in his teens wouldn’t be expected to understand such a complex concept. I intended to use that innocence to my benefit.
Zekram’s response shifted the topic. “A kid your age should also know better than to try and steal from a museum,” he countered. “I checked your file. The Academy gives you a stipend. Are you really that desperate for money?”
“I didn’t want to steal,” I insisted, shaking my head. It was a childish defense, but effective. “It just… it called to me.”
Beside me, Zekram set down the brooch. It was broken in two. Whatever defenses Bael had placed on his treasury had resulted in the item's ruin. I nearly cried over the destruction of multi-generational wealth.
Frankly, I was regretting my lack of foresight. I could have simply grabbed some gold coins or a few minor trinkets instead. Would have been enough to set me up for a while, especially considering I knew exactly where to invest in order to get the best out of it.
I had knowledge of the future. Fucking hell, I needed to scrounge up a nest egg before Bitcoin exploded in price. I definitely wanted a piece of that action.
Zekram's gaze was analytical, assessing whether I was being truthful. I prefer to think that because I had deliberately chosen something relatively inexpensive, and given my age, he ultimately saw no reason to suspect me.
His expression softening confirmed my initial assessment.
“It's an unusual situation, I grant you,” he conceded. “However, the brooch is destroyed. While not the most valuable item in that collection, it was ancient. If it genuinely 'called' to you, as you assert, there must have been an underlying reason.”
“There was, actually,” I responded. “I gained knowledge from it.”
“Gained knowledge?” he echoed, his voice tinged with intrigue. “Then demonstrate it. If you've managed to extract something worthwhile from an artifact of that age, I might even forgive your transgression.”
I nodded, trying my hardest to keep a calm face. I concentrated, my mind scanning through the complex, painful knowledge Bael had violently flooded into my mind, the centuries of research, trial and error, that led to the creation of Erasure. That power was still impossible for me to summon, a power far beyond my current limits, and a power that I did not want to reveal to Zekram anyways.
Instead, I searched for the simplified derivative, the "lower" form, the one this world coveted oh-so-much.
I held my left hand - the one still cuffed—steady, and focused my newly purified mana. It was still immensely draining, a frightening draw on my whole being, but I did not stop. A simple demonstration would not be enough. I needed to show Zekram that this wasn’t an imitation of his power of destruction.
No, I needed to show him that this was the upgrade.
A priceless look of complete shock washed over Zekram's face as the Power of Destruction erupted from my hand. Crimson sparks illuminated the room, instantly vaporizing the handcuffs as if they were made of mere gas. In a fraction of a second, my hand was free, hovering beneath a crackling sphere of destructive crimson energy.
“You… how?” He asked, and for the first time in both my lives, I saw Zekram flabbergasted. The man who defined the term ‘self-control’ was staring at the spell in my hand.
"I've actually been able to do this since last year," I claimed, a blatant lie. "Though it used to exhaust me, and it certainly wasn't this... electric. It looked more like Lord Lucifer's magic back then."
This was my subtle way of asserting the superiority of my magic - a product of Bael's research and advancement - even if I lacked the raw, destructive power wielded by his family. It was an uncharacteristic show of pride, but it was now my unique magic, and I felt entitled to it.
Zekram's breathing was heavy, his voice low, and a manic expression crossed his face. "This... this changes everything." He reached out, grabbing me and scanning for familiar traits, desperately trying to find a connection.
"You have no last name. A whoreson," he observed, though it felt like a judgment. "Do you have any idea who your father was? Did your mother offer any clues?"
I shook my head. "My mother was... active, as you said."
“My apologies,” he growled, clearly annoyed with himself. “I should have phrased that better. Blast it all! You are of my blood, and you carry an evolved version of our most prized trait - the only one of your generation who does.”
“What about Lady Gremory?” I countered.
“Gremory,” he stated simply. “That name is enough to answer your question. I wish to adopt you. Tell me what you want from me. Just name it!”
I took a deep breath. As Bael had predicted, this was almost too easy. I had successfully demonstrated the potential evolution of his family’s invaluable trait - something his own grandson had failed to do.
Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to take what rightfully belonged to Sairaorg. He deserved better, not to have his inheritance stolen. No, I would not be a Bael.
Despite this, I still intended to secure Zekram’s powerful backing.
I saw Zekram freeze when I spoke. "As much as I appreciate that, I don't wish to be adopted." The idea of someone willingly turning down a chance to be part of the Bael family was utterly foreign to him.
“Do you truly grasp the scope of my offer, the potential you are turning down?” he inquired, a hint of confusion, rather than disrespect, in his voice.
“Despite my youth, I am quite certain,” I replied. “With all due respect, my ambitions extend beyond the confines of the Bael clan.”
A frown creased Zekram’s face. “That is a dangerous path to go down, young man.”
“Isn’t that the most enjoyable part?” I countered. A moment of silence passed, then Zekram broke it.
“What exactly are your aims?” he asked, simple and direct.
“Isn’t it obvious? I want to experience what this world feels like from the summit.” I answered, a hint of longing in my expression.
Zekram, momentarily forgetting he was addressing a child, pressed, “You crave power… purely for the sake of having it?”
“Is such a dream so terrible?” I retorted.
“Absolute power leads to absolute corruption,” Zekram stated.
“By that measure, shouldn’t the current Lord Satans be despised?” I challenged. “By that same logic, wouldn't you be a tyrant?”
“I am one, and so are they. Tyranny, when viewed through the right perspective, can appear as benevolence. Naturally, try to defy us, and you will quickly realize the extent of our tyranny,” he responded.
"Then you understand my ambition," I concluded. "I desire the kind of strength that guarantees no one will ever dare to oppose me again."
"I do," Zekram affirmed. "However, I must know what your course of action will be once you achieve such power."
His voice carried a finality, posing a question that would dictate the future of our entire alliance. Fortunately, I knew Zekram's sole concern, the one objective he had been subtly advancing from the background, even manipulating behind the four Satans he helped ascend: the betterment of devilkind.
This single goal justified his complicity in removing the previous Satans and served as the foundation for his moral code - alongside the preservation of the Great King Faction's influence.
“We’ll see once I get there, won’t we?” I joked. “Plus, isn’t it the job of elders to guide their juniors?”
This was my strategy: I, the promising young teenager, sought counsel from a respected elder. My stated objective was simple—something anyone from my background could strive for. However, the true significance lay in the fact that I willingly asked for Zekram’s guidance.
The old man's smile confirmed the move was correct.
"Well, I suppose I can agree to that. It would be wrong of me not to guide the future of our kind," he said, the words lighthearted, like a grandfather teasing a child.
His usefulness was assured, as long as I remained useful to him, a perfectly acceptable arrangement.
For now, at least.
LB
I was back in the tower.
Having collapsed into an exhausted sleep almost immediately after returning to my flat. The sheer effort of the walk from the Bael estate to my one-bedroom place on the outskirts of town had completely drained me. I knew this level of weakness was unacceptable and that I'd have to start working on my body again.
The moment sleep took me, I found myself here once more.
Before I could worry if this meant I'd be transported here every time I slept, a nearby door swung open. It was the room closest to the front gate. The symbol on its door was a single face - a featureless one, which made the fact that it seemed to shift the longer I looked at it incredibly concerning.
The moment the door, marked by the shifting, featureless face, swung open, I stepped across a threshold that defied geometry.
I didn't find a room. Instead, I stood on a narrow, iron-wrought balcony, cantilevered over a colossal, seemingly infinite library. Bookcases of polished black wood spiraled down into a lightless chasm and stretched up to a vaulted, starless ceiling. That ceiling occasionally pulsed with a cold, internal light.
A profound silence filled the space, broken only by the faint, distant rustling of pages turning miles away in the darkness. My breath hitched, and I gripped the railing with dawning terror: every single volume was titled in a language I couldn't understand. The devil's gift of tongues was meant to overcome any linguistic barrier, yet this library defied it. That fact alone was terrifying.
It wasn't a room; it was a sheer drop lined with endless knowledge, and the curator of said knowledge was in the center, sitting along on a high-backed chair made of the leather of a creature I didn’t recognise, writing into a book by candlelight.
Then, before I could take a single step forward, I was in front of him. A wordless incantation, casted without so much as looking up once from his book.
“You have accepted my invitation. Excellent.” The creature spoke in a thousand voices, a thousand languages, each in a different cadence, yet each perfectly understandable. Languages that I couldn’t place, Words that sounded ancient beyond measure, all spoken from a face with no mouth, no eyes, no light.
The curator of the library began to move, a slow, silent unfolding from its chair. When it reached its full height, I was looking up at nine feet of impossible grace - a slender, towering silhouette of dark elegance.
The robes it wore were the most unsettling detail, appearing to shimmer between the antiquity of forgotten eras and the clean lines of modern design, their polished black fabric drinking in every hint of light.
Its face was a perfect, unnerving blank canvas, utterly without feature, yet with every rapid blink of my eyes, the smooth surface seemed to ripple, subtly shifting as if a dozen different expressions were struggling to manifest and instantly vanishing.
"Dantalion," it announced. "That is my name; please use it when you speak to me." With the book still in hand, it moved deeper into the library. I intended to follow, yet no matter which direction I chose, each step I took inexplicably landed me right beside it.
Dantalion, declaring, "I am the seeker of words, of patterns, of expression," slid the book onto a shelf. Having completed his task, he resumed moving. I was compelled to follow, strung along and incapable of leaving even if I desired to, as his impossibly slender fingers brushed across the spines of numerous books.
“I created the matrices - the simplification that allows devilkind its innate ability to transform imagination into magic,” he stated, pulling out another book. The entire time he spoke, he didn't once look at me. He seemed to be speaking to the air, as if my presence were merely an insignificant detail in his daily life, despite the fact he was the one who invited me.
He continued, “I designed it to be foolproof, something serfs could use while I focused my research on mastering the art of coaxing mana to my will.” Finally, his eyeless gaze settled on me.
“I want to take it from you,” he commented. “Such a limited system is unworthy of a demon.”
“In that case, I presume you’ll offer a superior trade?” I asked.
Dantalion fell silent for a moment. I was about to ask him why, as my question hadn't seemed particularly offensive, but he spoke first.
"I forgot that people can speak," he admitted. "To answer your question, yes. I would be remiss not to offer something in trade. However, I cannot offer you knowledge in the way Lord Bael did."
I registered the respect in his voice - or voices - for Bael. It was logical. The Dantalion house was considered one of the weaker devil houses before its eradication in the war. It made sense that the hierarchy among the original demons was reflected in the real world.
“Why not?” I asked.
“An information load that heavy would drive you insane.” Dantalion commented. “My research was not as laser-focussed as Lord Bael’s. Even an intellect like my own requires this entire library to compartmentalise. How could one feeble mind like yours hold all that I am?”
Closing the book, he declared, "Therefore, you will first learn how Demons utilize magic."
“Now come. Our time is short, six hours, give or take. Let us see how well our successor learns,” he said, setting a brisk pace back toward the library's center.
I simply followed.
LB
Here’s chapter 2. Chapter 3 will be posted in approx 2-3 days. Chapter 1 will be posted on FFN after that.
Also, feel free to leave any feedback. The method of writing I’ve been using on this story is quite experimental. If it’s really not working right, I can always kinda make the jump back to my original style.
Anyways, here’s all for today. As always, join the discord for more shenanigans. Link is https://discord.com/invite/AP8nG65RmA
Cold Daylight
