Devourer

Rosa grumbled as she sank into the ornate chair beneath her. This was the worst assignment she could imagine. The air was dry and acrid, heavy with the stench of sulfur and ash. Demons, when they died, eventually crumbled to dust, and now she was forced to breathe and wear the remains of the damned. She was covered in dead demons.
Only Serchax would think it fitting to conjure gilded chairs and a touch of courtly grandeur directly behind a trench line, as if the slaughter before them were nothing more than a stage play to be enjoyed from the best seats in the house.
“Don’t look so glum, Rosa. It’s not all bad. Here, have some wine.”
Serchax’s voice was light, mocking. Rosa looked up, expression grim, just as a bound demon was levitated toward her, thrashing and screaming into its gag.
She sighed and raised her hand, magic flowing as she seized control. The gagged shrieks faltered into silence as she drew the creature close. Rosa opened her mouth and bit deep into its neck. In a blink, its body shrivelled like a punctured bladder, leaving only a withered husk.
With a flick of her hand, she cast it aside, where nervous servants hurried forward to drag it away. Another in a long line. This was no campaign, no clean war, only a grinding quagmire that had dragged on for months. Demons hurled at each other like fodder. Most of them slaves, souls shackled by desperate contracts they could never escape.
“Ah, Rosa Maledicta…”
The voice cut across the chamber. Rosa turned, already expecting the presence of an Ars Goetia. Demonic nobility were not bound to their lesser wings. They played the Great Game across the Rings of Sin, untouched by the endless slaughter of their pawns.
“And of course, how could I not greet you, Lady Serchax? You are just as terrifying as I remember.” The demon bowed low, his tone steeped in courtly grace. “I almost failed to recognise you. Your mastery of illusion truly has no equal.”
“Of course,” Serchax said, her grin sharpening. “My illusions are lies made real, deceptions that trick the world itself.”
The Ars Goetia nodded reverently. “I have heard the tales, but even now, I see nothing. Only the faintest ripple of ether, as if reality itself refuses to betray you.”
“Ah, how I missed the flattery you demons are so quick to pour.” Serchax laughed, but her amusement died swiftly. Her eyes went cold, her presence sharp as a blade. Rosa felt her hair rise as the weight of it pressed over the chamber.
“Now,” Serchax asked, her voice like frost, “what do you want?”
The Ars Goetia stiffened and bowed again. “It is no trouble, I assure you…”
But he faltered as Serchax’s third eye shifted hue, burning an ominous blue.
“Your head is too tall, Ars Goetia,” she said with casual disdain, leaning back into her plush chair. “I dislike raising mine.”
The noble froze, then quickly sank to his knees. He pressed his hands into the ash-laden earth and dared only to raise his head enough to meet her gaze. Sweat ran down his brow.
“Do you know why I let you prattle on and pour out flattery as if it were wine?” Serchax asked.
The demon strained but kept silent. Rosa almost respected him for it. At least he knew when to shut up.
“Because it tells me you are afraid,” Serchax continued, her voice cool, each word sinking like a stone into water. “Every compliment, every honeyed phrase, drips with fear.” 𝖗𝒶₦О₿ËS
For a moment, mirth flickered in her eyes. “And you must have truly angered someone to be sent groveling before me.”
“Now out with it,” Serchax went on, her tone sharpening. “The attack is due soon, and my new master expects me to play my part. If you are still wasting my time when it begins, I may just drag you along for my amusement. Let us see if you die out there. That would be… entertaining.”
Her smile widened. What had moments ago been pearly-white teeth now stretched into long, needle-like fangs, the maw of some abyssal predator bared in delight.
“Simply this, my lady…” the demon forced out through clenched teeth, straining as if every word fought against a spell that bound him.
“I highly doubt it is simple,” Serchax replied. “You Ars Goetia are never simple. You only pretend at depth, dressing yourselves in layers of intrigue that do not exist.” She idly inspected her nails, brushing them against her dress with careless grace. “The theater grew tiresome ages ago.”
Her eyes lifted, cold and amused. “So tell me, what dull little scheme have your betters concocted this time?”
The demon froze as Serchax’s gaze locked onto him. For a heartbeat the illusion of her body wavered, and something far older pressed in, vast and crushing, as if the deep sea itself had coiled around his throat. The weight of ages bore down, drowning every thought he tried to summon. Rosa watched him tremble and half wondered if he had been sent here to die for someone’s amusement.
“To… recover a relic you might… be interested in…” the demon gasped.
“Ohhh… trinkets…” Serchax purred. She clapped her hands together, and at once the pressure lifted. The demon collapsed forward, dragging in ragged breaths, freed from the invisible grip that had bound him.
He remained on his knees, head bowed low. Rosa grimaced. He didn’t need chains to know how to show humility. Serchax was the Mistress of the Azure Sea, a being fashioned by the hand of an Old God itself. As the old saying went:
“Now,” Serchax drawled, her tone honeyed and cruel, “what toy do you bring me? Surely you don’t expect me to fetch it myself. You said recover, but you cannot be that stupid… can you?”
Her mouth stretched wider than any mortal’s should, grotesque and unnatural, needle-like fangs flashing as she smiled. Her eyes widened, and the pupils thinned into reptilian slits. The glow behind them burned brighter, a cold and alien light that seemed to peel back the illusion of her form, if only for a heartbeat.
“I… cannot recover it… and I don’t have it…” the demon said his voice shaking in fear.
Then Serchax reclined back, her features slipping seamlessly into their illusion once more. She tilted her head, lips curling into a childish pout. “Then what use do I have for you?” she asked with a singsong sweetness, as though she were asking whether to keep or break a doll.
Rosa winced at the words. The implication was clear enough. The Ars Goetia might soon be short one member.
Serchax sighed dramatically, as if burdened by some unbearable dilemma. She pressed a hand to her cheek and let her eyes go wide in mock despair. “Oh, what shall I do? Should I make you spill your guts… and then
your guts?” Her tone carried the lilt of play, like a child savouring a rhyme. “Or perhaps I send you to fetch it after all. Or maybe I should just kill you,” she said as her smile widened, teeth glinting.
“The relic is a tome, filled with powerful daemonic spells… written by Magne Morningstar. It lies in a vault, sealed beyond our reach. That is why we have come…” the demon replied stiffly, his voice tight but steady, somehow managing to keep his composure.
“Magne Morningstar, you say… now that is interesting,” Serchax murmured as she leaned forward, her eyes glinting with sudden curiosity.
“Tell me more, little gnat.” she said with a grin, her voice lilting like a taunt. “Before I decide to pull your wings off, one by one, just to see how you squirm.”
“It is beyond the trenches, further in,” the demon said. “A fortress with a vault. It holds many secrets. We believe with your power you could open it without a key.”
Serchax tilted her head slightly, an unspoken gesture urging him to continue.
“There are great treasures within. All we ask is…”
A sudden flash split the air. Rosa flinched as the Ars Goetia vanished, his body reduced to a smear of ash and gore in the dirt. Serchax had not moved. If not for the faint smoke curling from the third eye on her forehead, one might never know she had done anything at all. She clearly had no intention of hearing what he wanted in return.
She rose smoothly, dusting herself off as if she had brushed against something mildly unpleasant.
“Right then,” she said brightly.
◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.♚.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦
Montis looked at Old One Eye, who met his gaze with a grin. He had been here only a few days, yet the planning was finished and the agreements sealed.
“Honestly, General, this is the best deal I have ever made,” Old One Eye said with a laugh as he raised his cup of Elysian wine.
“I was expecting more resistance,” Montis admitted with a frown. “I have more or less annexed you.” He was suspicious. It felt too easy. How did you annex a people with nothing more than a garrison, food, and wine? Granted, it was just one small town, but still.
“You know the last time we ate like this?” One Eye asked.
“I am uncertain,” Montis replied.
“I will tell you. Never! What the fuck is a fruit? We did’nt even know what sugar was!” One Eye roared, spittle flying across the table.
“You think we like living this way? It’s miserable. Our booze is whatever we can scrap together, and not a year goes by without some child dying from ether poisoning. With the crawling ether it is only a matter of time before we are swarmed by refugees from the west.”
Montis paused, staring at One Eye. What he said was true. Yet Montis had expected them to fight harder for their independence. Instead, they had caved almost immediately.
“Fact is, we ain’t got much to lose, truth be told. Population’s going down,” One Eye said bitterly.
“O’Neer and the younger ones think they can turn the tide, but the facts are straight. We got a few more generations in us at most. Won’t even need the ether wave to kill us.” His voice turned sombre as he took another sip of wine.
As he spoke, Montis studied him in silence. Old One Eye looked every bit the relic of too many battles, a scarred and greying fox whose missing ear and ruined eye gave him a permanent air of exhaustion. The fur along his muzzle had lost its fire, dulled to a tired ash, and the lines in his face ran deeper than age alone could carve. His single good eye, once sharp, carried the weary glaze of someone who had outlived too many comrades. Even as he lifted the cup to his lips, there was no triumph in the gesture, only the hollow reflex of an old soldier who knew the war was already lost.
“My people have a saying. Fear an old man in a profession where most die young.” Montis stated.
“Aye, but I just got lucky. This,” One Eye muttered, gesturing at the ragged stump of his ear. “And this,” he tapped the scarred ruin of his eye. “That is all it is. Not skill, not strength. Just luck, and a cruel sort of luck at that.”
Montis caught the way his one good eye dulled as he spoke, its fire fading into something colder. It was not the pride of a survivor but the weary admission of a man who had lived too long and lost too much.
“How open would your people be to leaving this place, to lands beyond the mountain?” Montis asked. He noticed the flick in One Eye’s single good ear.
“Partially. Some would go, mostly the parents. The young bucks and vixens would want to stay. This place is home, harsh and unforgiving as it is, but still home…” One Eye said. He drained the last of his wine, and Montis pushed the bottle across the table, offering more.
“What about you? Would you go? And if you said something, would they listen?” Montis pressed.
“I haven’t got many years left in me, General. The future is in the hands of people like O’Neer and the rangers out west and in the north. If it were up to me, I would just want to see a real tree once in my life, with green leaves like the stories said. Maybe drink more of this stuff while I can.” One Eye said, his voice caught between bitterness and a quiet longing.
“I assume the real problem would be crossing the valley. The ether levels there are too high for a mass exodus,” Montis said. One Eye nodded silently.
“Rangers scouted it a while back. Found the same thing. This place will be our grave at this rate. Truth is, I don’t see what else you all could do to us,” One Eye said with a sigh as he refilled his cup.
“Frankly, at first I wasn’t so sure about you lot. But after seeing the food, and the wine… well, I can tell you come from a better place.” He sighed again, his single good eye heavy with resignation. “I am on borrowed time, and so is everyone else. The way I see it, better to gamble on you than let this damned land swallow us whole.”
“So you are willing to cooperate with us? Help us locate the world gate, and I am sure we can work something out. My home is not opposed to refugees. I oversaw refugee settlement personally in the Averlonian Empire. I can assure you we have systems in place. I built half of them myself,” Montis said.
“Sounds fair, but you will have to persuade the young ones, not me. I would push for it, but let’s be honest, it will be some time before you reach that gate,” One Eye said, locking his gaze with Montis.
Montis paused before replying. “We need a resupply hub. I can place a garrison here and bring in supplies. Consider it a token of goodwill.”
One Eye was silent for a long moment, then smiled faintly, baring a jagged row of teeth, many of them chipped or missing.