When I took a bullet to the liver and was left to bleed out in an alleyway in Orlando, Florida—probably the worst place for someone like me to be in these interesting times—I was not expecting to learn the answer to what awaits us after death. Unfortunately, it's that daemons are real, and they occasionally get so bored they find random mortals to offer Faustian bargains.
And, as everyone knows, those are never worth it. Right?
Alternative Title: The Literal Devil In My Walking Stick, The Beguiler Of Mankind And Betrayer Of The Divine, Is A Trans Wrongs Activist?!
I have a severe case of brainworms, a friend who is undoubtedly a terrible influence on me, and a desperate need to vomit a self-indulgent power fantasy onto a document and then post it for the world to see. So I'm dragging said friend into this too and narratively bullying them for providing me both with enough motivation and inspiration from the utter nonsensical shitposting that ensues in Discord to do this.
This is your fault, CC. I blame you for this.
Props to Bowler Hat Guy for graciously allowing me to adopt his own take on the DxD setting for this.
Depending on who you ask, what awaits you in the unknown beyond the light of life can be many things. For the less theologically inclined—and the more irritatingly pessimistic—the answer would be a void, an absence of thought and feeling while the remainder of the universe's lifespan passes without you and you're forgotten in but a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of that time. For others—the ones that mail you irritatingly gauche flyers through your letterbox—it could be either an illustrious paradise or an unliving nightmare, your spiritual essence set free or bound to an eternity of suffering at the behest of an entity whose motives were inscrutable, again depending on who you asked.
It had been a rather fervent desire of mine to not ponder it at all until I was in my twilight years, once I'd had an enjoyable existence spent indulging in what it had to offer and potential children I had passed my probably very limited wisdom onto. Sure, there had been moments where I had briefly mused upon it and then banished any further thinking of the topic as the raking fingers of dread started to claw at the back of my mind, and like the "rationalist" I was, I had always envisioned the former group to be correct and the materialist objectivity of the cessation of consciousness to be rather final.
Alas, I did not get the chance to do this, given that the last few moments of my less than three decades long life that I could recollect from the scattered mess of emotions and memories I was currently, probably composed of involved being shot in the chest by some asshole who caught me in the criminal act of "wearing a wig and makeup as a 'man'". And, more importantly, I found myself understanding that the second group probably had a point, since being trapped in a endless expanse comprised of a myriad of colours that affected some kind of agony if I focused too hard on them and my very soul laid bare before an abomination against reason, God, and good anatomical sense felt disturbingly close to the prelude of that eternity of suffering.
On a related note, fuck Florida. It wasn't worth going to Disney World again for this bullshit.
I was still reeling from the experience of being unceremoniously torn from my flesh and yote into a nightmare hellscape when the abomination opened its too-many-mouths and spoke. "Speaking" was being generous, though, since that implied something that resembles speech. Even though I could understand it, on a very primal level I knew that it was blackened and eerie and blasphemous noise. Smarm dripped from it like an oil slick, just as toxic and incendiary, even while it shimmered tantalisingly in the chaos, promising fortune and glory if I was to just lend my ear for but a moment. All the while, I could feel rather than just see the grins on its faces, each one vocalising just out of sync, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
"Hello, mortal. I would like to make a deal."
It was somewhat like conversing with a used car salesman, greased-up hair and all, but just a little to the left of eldritch.
There were many, many things I could have said at that moment. Indeed, about a dozen of them scrambled in the mad rush of confusion and terror. 'What the fuck happened', 'why in the fuck would I do that', 'where the fuck am I', 'who the fuck are you', 'sweet merciful God I repent for my sins', all very eloquent and appropriate for the refinement of a lower-middle class British girl.
"Why do you sound like Robin Williams?"
I preferred to think that that was the best one.
"I, too, fancy myself a comedian," it responded, missing nary a beat.
Some part of me was mildly disappointed that the esoteric nature of my 21st Century knowledge had not brought the Lovecraftian monstrosity up short. Another part was screaming at me to stop listening, because the cacophony of voices was remarkably akin to nails being dragged down a chalkboard. Yet another part was still curious about the deal, and the final part was desperately trying to choke the third out of existence, with little success.
"I see?" I said.
"How? You have no eyes," the abomination pointed out.
"I have no mouth to scream either but we're having a conversation," I rebutted.
Internally, my screaming intensified.
"Indeed! Much more refreshing than the usual fare. It is a rarity when they are capable of more than mindless gibbering. I will, however, have to ask that you use your indoor scream, please, as it is rather distracting. I would hate to have to dismiss you."
Internally, I quieted down again.
"Thank you! That's much better," the voices echoed, scratching at my very soul.
Vaguely, I wondered how exactly I was not somehow catatonic from this exchange and the events leading up to it, given that I was becoming progressively more convinced that I was speaking to Satan himself after having been shot dead.
"Oh, shock, probably. Don't think about it too hard. I would rather not be deprived of your charm just yet, miss."
"You can hear my thoughts," I observed. A question seemed redundant.
It also gendered me correctly, which managed to elevate an ungodly obscenity above a good few people I'd met in life in my hierarchy of individuals I afforded respect to. It felt both profoundly disappointing and reassuring.
"Come now, a good businessdaemon is polite to their prospective clients," it chided me, not unkindly, as its serpentine form undulated in the space around me in a way that made me recoil, "and yes, you are but glyphs on parchment to me. Not just your thoughts, but your very being. I Know you as you Know yourself. Here, in the Empyrean, our natures are laid bare for us to See. You, however, being chained to a fleshy shell for most of your existence, lack the context to truly comprehend this. Perhaps this is a good thing."
It flexed in a way that was distinctly uncomfortable to the point of being painful to witness, and I felt it draw a little closer. Had I still been in possession of a physical form I probably would have wet myself and started crying, but thankfully, I did not, and I settled for feeling like a mouse in a cage with a snake, except the snake had eyes in its scales.
"But we are terribly off track. There were never any rails to begin with, of course: that would be boring, and I do very much despise boredom, but I did exert some effort to bring you here and I do have my reasons for doing so. To wit: would you like to make a deal?"
No! No I don't! I would rather just pass on and escape this madness and remain blissfully ignorant of all that transpired here!
That, of course, would have been the reasonable, rational response. Not even that difficult of a question: when offered what is likely to be a Faustian bargain, you refuse, unless you happen to be the star of some tragic legend retold to others as a caution against fronting your immortal soul for eldritch car insurance collateral.
And yet, something compelled me to keep talking. Fear of what would happen had I refused? Bitterness at the ignominy of my end? Naked curiosity?
I wasn't entirely certain… and I wasn't sure if I cared.
"I have a few questions," I began after a moment's consideration, though the following chorus of laughter brought me up short.
"Yes, yes, of course she does! And I will answer!"
Without warning, the abomination drew close. Far, far too close. The detail I could feel before seemed to evaporate as it approached me, burning away as a halo of immaterial flame ignited around its form, reducing it to a black emptiness so dark it shouldn't exist. It was like staring at a total solar eclipse on the surface of Mercury, standing at the top of Barad-dûr beneath the heat of the Great Eye, baking alive under the heat of its raw presence. It burned me even while I had no skin to catch fire or eyes to boil in their sockets but I still felt it happening and I wailed and tried to pull away but there was nothing to hold onto, no purchase to be found in the ever shifting tides of the chaos even though I wanted to get away from it and the pain and hide from this madness—
And just as quickly, it vanished, and the aetherial chill nipped at the fringes of my soul. The presence was still as close as before, but it was cold. Cold enough to have left me shivering, if not for the lack of muscles to do so with.
When it spoke again, the voices had also disappeared, leaving just the one left, whispering into my ear so close I could almost feel its tongue touching me.
"Ask as many as you like, my dear."
I flinched away from it, almost snapping a scathing response back. I wanted to rebuke it after doing what it did but the reptile hindbrain that dealt with large, scary sources of danger told me this was a terrible idea and I should instead just let it go. So, terrified as I was, I listened intently.
It took me a while to regain my composure—or at least, enough of it that I could create coherent speech—but I couldn't really tell how long that was. Time slipped by like oil on glass: maybe a minute, maybe millennia passed before I pulled myself together enough to just say something.
"Jesus fuck."
"I knew the man, and I can assure you he most certainly did not. Now, your questions?"
I 'blinked'—it was more of a fleeting period of time where any thoughts I had just hung in place owing to the lack of any real body to blink with—and decided to overlook that information in favour of asking something useful.
"…How can I trust you?"
A moment of silence passed, and briefly, I feared I might have insulted it. Then, I heard it chuckle softly. It drew back a little, the suffocating feeling of its being surrounding me diminishing as the chuckle became a laugh, and then the discomfort returned in force as the voices faded back in, cackling along with it in stereo, different pitches and genders and ages, some giggling softly and others falling about with glee.
And then it stopped, and it was eerily quiet again.
"You can't."
The chill strengthened slightly as I waited for it to continue.
"But I am feeling rather magnanimous today. So, I shall give you three full truths, and three truths only. That much, I promise you."
The chorus of laughter echoed through the void again, the serpentine mass flexing in an unholy way, "but, well, that would be two now, so I do implore you to make them count!"
If I'd been slightly more courageous at that moment in time I may have called bullshit on the very obvious rules lawyering. Alas, any vestiges of it had been banished by its earlier stunt of forcing me to experience the sensation of being burned alive, and I chose my words more carefully.
"Letter of the deal, then. Okay," I said, as neutrally as I could manage, and lapsed back into silence.
It was extremely disconcerting, being unsure of how much time was passing while I bandied about thoughts and questions. I took care not to voice them in case the thing decided to take that as a cue to waste one of my opportunities to deepen my knowledge about the utter shit lake I'd been submerged up to the neck in. Even that made it all the more strange, more abstract: the void we occupied seemed to have no rhyme nor reason, nothing concrete to latch onto. The more time I spent here the more I wanted to just leave.
Eventually, I settled on something, and when I turned my focus back on the daemon I felt it perk up.
"What am I getting out of this?" I asked, and when I felt it move to answer me with a very smug aura about it I decided to add a clarification, "the full package, please. The body I am reincarnated in, location, time, anything you're going to give me as part of the deal, and what it'll cost me."
The smug aura didn't dissipate, but I did sense a hint of appraisal sneak into the way it was regarding me. Like I was an otherwise very generic trinket pulled off the shelf of an antiques dealer, and it had just discovered something very interesting about me it hadn't noticed before.
I didn't much like the feeling.
"Clever, clever," it mused, the words sounding like it was gargling gravel at the same time, "alright then, your initiative has earned you that much. As I understand it, you were somewhat of a… what's the word? A fucking weeaboo?"
For some reason that made my hackles prickle more than I'd expected, "I had good taste, damnit—"
If it had heard me it simply bulldozed straight through my protest, "I suppose you could consider this much like that isekai drivel you consumed. Perhaps you might earn yourself a harem of felinids? Who knows, really?"
The daemon wormed its way towards me again, and reflexively I tried to scrabble backwards to ward off its terrifying presence out of pure panic-induced primal dread. I couldn't take that scorching heat, not a second time. I was already near my breaking point as it was.
So it was almost more shocking to feel, instead, a gentle kind of pressure against the membrane of my being. Gentle, but insistent.
"Do pay attention, my dear, I'm trying to provide you with some enlightenment. Words are very malleable things, you see. Like lies. Or perhaps playdough. Easily mistaken, oft misinterpreted; why tell when you can be shown?"
The innate response of the average higher primate would be to screech and flail and reject whatever kind of fey nonsense was involved in this transient melding of thoughts. Not to say that isn't unreasonable: it was certainly a lot more fucking intelligent than my decision to let possibly-Satan touch my mind, because the moment I opened the metaphorical door to my equally potentially literal mind palace I was greeted with the sensation of a nail being driven through my forehead.
Though before I could strongly voice my displeasure with that, an image struck me like a bolt from the black, projected onto my soul clear as day.
It was… me?
Or, well, close to me. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was seeing a reflection, but while the woman that stared back at me was strikingly familiar, there were some subtle differences.
I'd struggled a little with my weight while I was alive, though while I'd been slightly chubby in places, she was more soft and rounded; a figure I'd always wanted but never quite been able to attain. Her hair—it was just like mine had been early on, before it had lost some of its lustre despite my best efforts to revitalise it. A gorgeous golden brown, run through with ringlets and curls that reached just below her jaw. They framed her heart-shaped face in a way I could only describe as statuesque. She carried herself with a confidence I never could, a kind of imperious air in her stance and her gaze.
The only thing that really took me off guard was her eyes.
Mine had been a bright blue. My favourite feature, the one I'd always loved the most. They were the first thing people would comment on when they complimented me, and I spent hours getting my makeup just right to make sure they were brought out to their fullest. Eyeliner, mascara, shadow, the whole nine yards. I'd always believed that I'd never trade them for anything else, I was that fond of them.
And yet, I found that resolve faltering as I looked at my doppelganger.
Hers were a scintillating violet. Each iris flickered and flowed like ripples on a pond, flecks of gold, blue, green, and a deep blood red surfacing before being swallowed by that shimmering purple. And… I felt envious of her, and their otherworldly beauty.
"…I liked my eyes the way they were," I said, trying to feign some kind of disinterest to hide my now rapt attention.
The way it grinned at me made it clear that I'd fucked it up immensely.
"You don't really think you'd leave this place without some sign of its touch, do you?"
I was almost tempted to ask where—and more specifically what—'this place' was, but I held my tongue at the last second. I only had the one question left, and I already knew what I wanted to use it for.
"Sure. Weird glowy purple eyes of power, that's a fair trade for a new body, I guess. But you haven't told me the full details."
"Yes, yes, I was getting to that. Patience is a virtue," it said, sounding more amused than exasperated, "though, far be it from me to lecture you on virtue when I ply my trade in sin."
It shifted again, space contorting around it like an abscess under the skin, and the painful lights wove together as threads and filaments into dozens, hundreds, thousands of windows. Through them I could see… scenes. Places, people. Landscapes and backdrops, creatures and objects. Some were small, like the cute yellow-brown fox creature perched on the shoulder of a young woman, ears perked as it cast around for something. Others were… decidedly less so, like the enormous cathedral-ship cruising through an empty void backlit by dying stars.
I pushed the latter away from me almost as an afterthought: I certainly didn't want to end up there of all places.
"The currents will take you to a place you know of, at a time of your choosing, for another round at the roulette of existence," it explained, gesturing to the vast panoply of windows.
It twisted again, and the scenes were replaced with static images. They were just as varied as before, weapons and trinkets and tools and flashes of powers, magical, technological, and mundane. I recognised just as many as I didn't: I caught a glimpse of two crossed swords, black and white, pushed to the side by an ornamental wooden staff.
I really wasn't expecting the Gundam, though. Any doubts I had about the inhuman thing simply skimming the foam off my thoughts for its perusal were quite neatly banished by it.
The daemon 'coughed', or made a noise about as close to an 'oi, I'm right here' cough it could manage, and I reluctantly ripped my attention away from the giant fucking robot to listen.
"I will bestow upon you a single boon, again one of your choosing, and a sliver of my own power—that of the tides of the Empyrean—to do with as you please. Consider me a patron, of sorts. You've played a warlock before, figure it out."
Empyrean. I recognised the name, and I felt my hackles prickle at the mention: there were many places I'd rather be than here. The Warp was… to call it hostile was about as grave an understatement as saying that death was usually a minor inconvenience, given its nature as a storm of the sum total of every emotion and thought and feeling experienced by every thinking being in existence from which malefic beings bubbled up to pop and spit hot oil over material reality.
"You're a daemon, then."
I chanced another scan of my surroundings, casting my perception into the void briefly. The fluctuating ebb and flow of the indescribable essence that comprised it forced me to look away after only a few scant moments. I didn't, couldn't have any real comparison, given I'd only ever experienced it through pictures on pages, but I had the sneaking suspicion that if I ever was to look into the Sea of Souls with my own eyes that this would match those impressions pretty closely.
When I'd recovered enough to refocus on the daemon, I had the sense to ward off its attempt at answering me as its many mouths opened: I had only the one truth left, and I was loath to use it on something I was already fairly certain of anyway.
"Don't answer that," I grumbled, before mulling over its explanation again.
More than a few doubts reared in my mind as I considered the offer.
"It's a good deal. Too good. Seems way too biassed in my favour."
Its chuckle rang through the void, and I had the wherewithal not to listen too closely this time, for my sanity's sake.
"I suppose it would, for a thing so short-lived as yourself. I, however, find myself in dire need of entertainment."
I twisted the formless, vague entity that I understood as me into something that best approximated a sceptical glare in reply.
"Oh, come now, even blasphemies like myself need some form of stimulation to whittle away the timeless aeons. I must reiterate: I truly hate boredom, and this my way of staving it off."
I narrowed my glare further, and… I couldn't even find words for the kind of motion it made. Frankly, I was glad for that, because I had the suspicion that digging too deep would have allowed me to get first row seats to the experience of an ant gaining the consciousness of a human for a few seconds. I'd had enough traumatic mind expansion for one day, thank you.
That being said, the closest equivalent I could think of was that it recoiled with an affronted expression at my unspoken accusation.
"My dear, if I had wanted your soul I would have simply taken it! Hardly any reason for me to regardless, it's a meagre thing at best."
It slithered around me, encircling me with its coils. Not squeezing me, but leaving just enough 'space' that the threat was immediately apparent and agitating the little part of me that I'd suppressed into making a muffled scream through its mental gag.
"But those are my terms, no cap."
And then it was my turn to recoil, "fuck's sake, why—? Don't mix the whole Victorian vernacular thing or whatever you've got going on with modern slang, please?"
"Your disgust is amusing to me," it said, with the kind of tone one might use to comment on the weather.
"Well, fuck you too, I guess?"
It made a sharp bark of a laugh, and its coils tightened ever so slightly. It leaned down towards me, and I shrank back on instinct, but thankfully, all it did was stare at me with far too many eyes that blossomed across its shape.
"So, do you accept?"
It was too good to be true, even putting aside the absolutely calamitous consequences that were sure to follow making any kind of deal with the devil, let alone an actual fucking daemon—which apparently were real and could reach across the manifold of time and space to pluck my immortal soul from wherever it was going to have a chat and could casually torture me on a whim. I knew that. The sensible thing to do would be to politely turn it down and embrace oblivion, which would both allow me to evade the probable eternal damnation and the likely alcoholism that would ensue upon regaining a physical form again to try and banish most of what occurred here from my mind.
And yet.
I was still angry. It was hard to forget what the last moments of my life had been. Hard to ignore how much of it I'd had to live, and how much had been lost to me by the virulent, toxic, petty, puritanical hatred of a single asshole. I was furious. It gnawed at me like a cluster of maggots nibbling at my soul, like a wisp of flame fed by tinder and growing by the second. I was burning with fucking rage. I wanted that second chance, more than I'd wanted anything else in my life, more than the caution I knew I should exercise could push back against it.
I needed another chance. I needed to live, even if it was purely out of spite.
I'd had my life stolen from me and I was being handed it back on a silver platter for the low, low cost of providing a little bit of escapism for a bored daemon with evidently nothing better to fucking do. There was going to be a catch, I was absolutely certain of that: no such thing as a free lunch, after all.
But it was worth it.
I refused to be put down so easily.
I turned my perception outwards again, and was met by a very self-satisfied grin reflected across a dozen mouths.
It already knew my answer.
"Fuck it," I snarled, returning its smile with a manic one of my own, "you've got yourself a deal."
It unwound in an instant, snapping back into a loose ring of vague soul-stuff again. The creeping claustrophobia vanished with it, and I let out a 'breath' I hadn't realised I'd been holding.
"Capital!"
The moment it had finished the word, a web of otherworldly chains spun themselves from the aether. They moved faster than lightning, snapping around me in an instant, and then flickering across the gap between us both to ensconce it in a maze of iron. Giving it an experimental pull didn't achieve much: there wasn't much slack in them to begin with.
"I guess you were born from the soul of some theatre kid, if you're being this dramatic about it," I snarked; it wasn't that out of place, given the Warp's propensity to turn ideas and concepts into half-real simulacra.
I just hadn't imagined it to be quite that literal.
"Oh please, mortal theatrics cannot compare to the delights our kind can put on display," it drawled, "have you ever seen an alien turn inside out and watch its organs perform a tap dance routine?"
To my vague sense of horror, my curiosity was briefly piqued by that, which prompted the realisation I probably wanted to get out of this place at a slightly faster pace given I allegedly had round 2 in the barrel and was apparently going insane. If I wasn't already, of course, and this was all just a hallucination born from my brain's dying moments.
In which case I'd rather have taken the anime slideshow of my life's events, at least that would have been less fundamentally unhinged than whatever the fuck this all was.
"I'll take your word for it," I deflected, "but I'm still curious about one more thing."
It didn't give me any verbal answer, but the way its mouths all quirked up at the corners was all I really needed anyway. I hesitated for a moment: in hindsight it was something I should've asked earlier, before the heat of the moment got to me and I walked—floated? existed?—straight into a contract with a being beyond my ken. And now, I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to know.
Then the part of me still running on the adrenaline high took the reins and the words tumbled out before I had the chance to reconsider.
"Who are you, really?"
A ripple ran the length of its body. There was nothing inherently sinister about it, beyond it being a nightmarish creature from another dimension, but I shivered all the same. Like I'd just stepped on someone's grave.
"Your kind knows of me in many ways, so familiar are you with me," it said, the mangled mass of mismatched voices switched out for a single, low, rumbling cadence, "Loki. Apate. Anansi. The coyote and the serpent, the crow and the raven. Conmen pay tribute to me, every cult leader preaches at my altar whether they know it or not, urchins and kings and all in between have dealt with me in words and deeds. Both lovers and enemies know me, civilizations have been built on my back, entire worlds constructed on the sand on the shores of my domain. I am no friend to the pathological liar, but intimately familiar with those who speak in kindness.
"You were not one of those who spoke of Abraham and his Lord in reverence, but I am sure you know that story well. The story about a certain pair of brothers? A farmer and a shepherd, both making offerings of their toiling to their God, and only one seeing His favour. In the end, one brother's blood fed the soil and that which grew in it.
"When their Keeper came and asked the farmer the whereabouts of his brother, that farmer nourished me, helped me grow. I grew fat from his succour and those of his children, and his children's children, and so on, from before you were born to well after Man set forth to conquer the stars for a second time. I am an old soul, and there are few as old as I."
It twisted like it was offering me a bow that I couldn't help but think was insincere.
"But you may call me Nakhash, if that's easier for you."
I sighed, feeling a prickle of frustration. I was tired of getting vague answers, and tired of not being able to focus on anything but the daemon without risking my mind unravelling at the seams. 'Nakhash'—I knew that wasn't actually its name, just a convenient moniker—had conveniently spoken in enough of a riddle that I could only hazard a guess as to its true nature, so I was not much better off protecting myself from it than I had been before; no doubt it wanted to keep its cards close to its metaphorical chest to pull a fast one on me later.
"Was the monologue really necessary?"
"My dear, it is a rare opportunity for me to speak at length about something I hold great passion for. That we're even having this conversation still is a wonderful change of pace: ordinarily you'd be incoherently shrieking right now."
The prickle turned sour; if I'd had teeth to grind I would be doing it at this moment.
"I'm not surprised, if you consider torture part of your conversation strategy."
Nakhash made a dismissive flex of its body.
"Details," it said, as if my earlier experience of melting to the bone wasn't worthy of mention.
Then again, it was a daemon. To expect some sympathy from it would be like trying to draw blood from a stone.
Not that it made me any less pissed off. I was rapidly approaching my tolerance limit, even though it was miraculous I somehow hadn't in the first place, of this bullshit. Getting murdered, toyed with, my mortal soul held over the fucking fire all in one day; either I'd genuinely completely lost it or this was real and I was seconds away from having a conniption.
"Now, let's begin."
It didn't give me the chance to get a word in before I felt the chains squeeze me like a hydraulic press. I didn't even have breath to crush out of my lungs, but it felt like it anyway, even as the rest of me buckled and bent under the pressure. My soul was stretched and warped and moulded by a force I couldn't perceive; spectral bones I didn't even realise existed cracking and snapping and fusing back together too quickly for me to keep track of.
"Motherfucker—" I choked out, but that was the only thing I managed before I had to scream instead, the fringes of my soul straining as they were twisted like a goddamn pretzel.
Then my stomach dropped out from underneath me. The Warp didn't have gravity, so I could only assume that we were being taken somewhere on its currents.
Raw stuff of chaos rushed towards us both on the descent, needles that pricked at me and twining around the mangled mess of my soul. I could feel them knitting into something physical, something real—and that just made it hurt all the worse. Distantly, through the wall of agony, I could tell it was reshaping me, creating the form I'd been promised. It was a very cold comfort, though, as the process dragged on for far too long: the timelessness of this expanse was just mocking me at this point.
By the time it had finished, I wanted to throw up. I'd had headaches before that had been so painful they'd reduced me to a shivering wreck covered in the remains of my lunch; this was worse. But there was nothing for me to vomit, not even bile, and while I retched and gagged on air I finally, finally decided I'd had enough of this.
"One boon, is that fucking it?" I swallowed my spit and hissed, "fine then! If you want entertainment then how about a front row seat?"
The chains that joined us went taut, a blistering heat suffusing each link and the aetherial metal turning an eye-searing white. It hurt like hell, but Nakhash's hiss as the bindings bit into its form was like music to my ears. It strained at the ghostly shackles, its serpentine outline writhing and bucking at their touch. A little taste of its own medicine, and some payback for the torment it put me through earlier, and I—
Stopped.
It was still smiling at me.
"Arrogant, impudent, and not a half bad choice at all!" it chuckled, "I give you my generosity and you choose to stick your hand into the fire!"
"Should've fucking thought about it before agreeing then, huh?" I spat, too motherfucking angry to be knocked off balance now, the pain having faded to a dull ache as I wrangled the chains, "come on, you made the goddamn deal, where's your loophole to wriggle through?"
It answered me with another uproarious cackle even as it thrashed and flailed, the metal digging deeper into its body. Maybe it was just a reaction to the pain, but at this point, I didn't care. I grabbed hold of the binding and yanked myself closer, even with the void battering at my soul like a hurricane trying to rip me free of the one lifeline I had left.
"You know what a daemon weapon is, right?" I snarled, teeth bared in a wide smile; the first I'd worn in a long time, "that's what I want. I want you bound and compelled to keep me safe from harm! No infringing on my goddamn autonomy either, you fucking snake!"
I was close enough to reach out and touch it—so I did. My hand sank into the morass of raw supernatural power, and I felt it crackle along the limb all the way up to my shoulder. My body was steadily weaving itself together from the storm of chaos that battered us both like leaves in a gale, energy turning to matter turning to flesh and bone and sinew. The phantom electricity stung, but I grit my teeth and pulled as hard as I could.
Being shot had hurt more.
"I'm not going to dance like a puppet for you, you hellspawn bastard, if I'm going to be stuck wherever I'm going then you're coming with me!"
The chains creaked as they followed my lead, dragging the daemon down with me as I fell through the void, faster and faster. It was catching against me like a membrane, bending around my skin for just an instant before it snapped and spiralled away into the pandemonium. Every passing second it got more insistent, trying to grab hold of me and slow my descent, trails of iridescent soul-silk wrapping me in a damp, chilling embrace.
Nakhash chortled, its gaze boring into me, "if that's what the lady so wishes, then I can only oblige! If, of course,"
Dozens of hands sprouted from its mass, reaching out to caress me. Everywhere it touched—my face, my neck, my arms—felt cold as ice, like my blood was crystallising beneath my skin; I was almost complete, so close to being whole again. I could actually hear my heart pounding in my ears, taste the acrid bitterness of its ashen breath on my tongue.
"You are prepared to deal with the consequences."
"Fuck you, and fuck your consequences! Give me my fucking life back!" I screamed over the howl of the nonexistent winds.
"T̶̰̃H̷̜͝E̵͎̕N̶͍͘ ̸̖͂Ǫ̵͋Ń̸̙ ̶̗͂Y̷̤̚Ö̴͖́U̵͖͝R̷̞̒ ̴͙̏H̷̨̐Ȅ̶͔Ā̷͖D̶̳̚ ̷͙̉B̷̨̉E̸̱͋ ̶̗͝I̴̤͂Ṫ̷͕!" it roared, its chorus ripping through them and drowning everything else out.
Something so powerful, so venomous, so certain I felt it like a stake being driven through my heart.
The cocoon pinched, and I was struck by the sensation of being a droplet of water as it peeled away from the surface of a ripple, bouncing into the air. It was the last thing that registered before my back hit something hard and unyielding, and for the second time today—if 'today' even mattered anymore—my consciousness was ripped away from me.
…
The fucker hadn't even let me choose where I was going, either!
A/N: It's not my best work, but I needed this out of my head to get to the fun stuff. As a warning, this fic's protagonist is a Chaos Sorceress and thus you should be expecting the normal unpleasantness that comes with anything involving the Warp. I'll add warnings for chapters on a case-by-case basis, for those of you who might want to gloss over those parts.
I don't promise an update schedule either. I'll post when inspiration strikes me.
Normally the rule is not to include the insertion scene, but in this case it's actually both very relevant and a very good hook, that could probably work for whatever world you sent the insert to, even if we know it's going to be DxD.
Honestly, it's good.
For all that the 'insert' scene is a bit of an over-played trope in Isekai, this reminds me more than a little of Konosuba (in a good way).
The fact that the demon is coming with actually improves it significantly, because this makes the scene a first meeting, empowerment, and forming the party all in one.
Awareness returned to me like a bat to the face. Almost literally, in fact, since what shook me awake was a branch falling from the sky and thwacking the back of my skull. I jerked forward, still only half-conscious; my already precarious balance was found wanting, and I got a mouthful of grass as my reward as I face planted in the dirt.
And there I lay for several seconds while my brain caught up with the fact I was actually alive again, and experiencing something that wasn't complete anathema to my senses. The wet blades of grass against my cheeks, the cool air on my skin, the barely-there whisper of a breeze through leaves; it was a very welcome change of pace. Minus the dull throbbing from the welt on my head, but even that was strangely affirming.
A giggle bubbled up from my chest unbidden. Another followed on its heels, and another, and all too quickly I found myself on my side, cackling like a woman gone mad. Tears trickled down my face as I laughed so hard my sides twinged in discomfort. Some part of me was still reeling from the memories, the eternity spent in that dreamlike void with that abominable snake. It'd be more than reasonable to question if this was actually happening, but somehow, I knew it so surely I could feel it in my bones.
Holy shit. I wasn't dying from a gunshot wound. No excruciating pain, no blood, no brick wall against my back, no smoking gun.
I was alive.
After my laughing fit petered off, I brought up an arm to wipe the tears and snot off my face. It was wet and sticky and fairly disgusting, but damn if it wasn't good to just feel it on my skin. To just experience what that felt like again, something real and tangible.
Getting my arms underneath me was a bit of a challenge. My muscles were weak and shivery, which was fairly understandable given they were brand-new and I was still shaking from the elation of being alive. It took me a couple of tries before I could summon the force to push myself upright and back onto my knees, gripping my thighs to stave off the mild bout of dizziness that followed and blinking away a few spots that danced in my vision.
I took several long, deep, cleansing breaths, a technique I'd learned to help me meditate on stressful days, letting the air cycle through my lungs. The moisture made it thick and heavy, tasting very faintly of petrichor, much like wandering through fog on a cool Spring day. I spent a while just savouring it, both the scent and the way my chest moved. Slow, steady inhales and exhales, muscles working in tandem to keep me alive.
Living, breathing, existing.
The nausea took a little time to clear: the disorientation of having a physical body again came with a vague awareness of my insides moving, and my new brain adjusting to having ears and a sense of balance. I had the knowledge of how to function like a person, how things should move and work, but my body was still that of a newborn fawn's, without the muscle memory to do it. My guts didn't appreciate the sudden manifestation either, since there was a deep hunger gnawing at my stomach as it registered a formal complaint.
I pushed the latter to one side for now—I wasn't quite so hungry I was actually starving, just enough for it to be annoying—and tried to stand up so I could get a better look around. I managed to get one foot underneath me before I toppled over again, the grass turning the fall into a soft landing. I let out a frustrated sigh as I lay there and considered my options, a couple of fingers idly plucking at the stalks: feeling the slight tension and the following snap was oddly comforting.
Fine. I'd crawl, then. Not like anyone was around to watch me make an idiot of myself.
With my choice of locomotion for the foreseeable future made, I turned my attention onto getting a grasp on my surroundings. The second time getting back onto my knees was easier than the first, especially without the lightheadedness. Now that my vision had stopped swimming I could actually try observing things that weren't within arm's reach, too. It took a few moments to get my eyes to focus properly, having to rapidly relearn how to actually use them, but as the world settled into a more concrete image my breath caught in my throat.
The ground continued for about thirty feet in front of me, whereupon it met a small pond bordered by a semicircle of what might, at some point, have been beautiful white marble, before it simply dropped away. Rolling grey-green hills spread outwards in front of it, a gradual downhill slope that eventually met the edge of a murky lake maybe a mile and a half away, so wide it reached from one side of the landscape to the other.
Trees dotted the green space, as well as the occasional stone building or wall only half-intact at best and covered with mosses and lichens, though they became much denser and taller as they got closer to the waterline. The lake itself had several larger structures poking up above the surface, steeples and spires reaching towards the heavens like the fingers of a drowned giant. I couldn't be sure, but it was more than big enough to have an entire city submerged beneath it if the buildings were as closely-packed as the ones I could see.
It was bracketed by rocky cliffs so steep they might as well be sheer, rising up high enough that I couldn't quite see the tops of them hidden by the thick grey cloud layer. As I turned my head I realised that they formed a huge cauldron, with the only opening in the mountains all the way over at the far side, past the lake. I did catch small glimpses of stairs and paths etched into the stone, as well as some towers scattered about in various states of disrepair. The level of decay spoke to this place having been long abandoned, with no signs of whatever bustling community that had once lived here remaining barring the detritus of their passing.
Once I'd turned a full 180 degrees, I flinched.
Community was the wrong word: this place was a fortress, like the castle-towns scattered across the world back home. An enormous bulwark was built into the cliff, the stonework still holding proud and strong despite its time exposed to the elements, but it wasn't really a design I recognised from any history books. It wasn't Arabian or Chinese or European in build, but mixed a few different elements from each together into a half-rounded, half-angular style. If I squinted I could see hints of other cultures there too, like someone had taken the aesthetics they liked most from each one and blended it into something new like a cosmopolitan stronghold.
I could see at least five, maybe six or even seven distinct 'floors', the lowest protruding the furthest out from the mountainside, turrets placed at regular intervals on each one up to the penultimate wall. A few tattered standards still hung from rusted poles, very faded scraps of cloth that were too damaged for me to make out what they might have shown. The uppermost level was little more than a single door a good three or four times my height embedded in the rock, leading to what I could only guess was some kind of inner sanctum.
Castles always had something similar, especially fantasy bullshit like this.
At the ground level, an overgrown courtyard expanded outwards to the little grassy plateau I was sitting on, a staircase on either side of me following the curve of the marble and dipping below the edge, probably leading down to where this outcropping was built on. At one point it might have been a flourishing garden, judging by the assortment of trees and grassy partitions, but most of it was covered in a bounty of wildflowers now, blues and reds and yellows and so many more different colours creating a nice contrast to the dull stone walkways.
In front of me, dominating my sight, was a solitary, leafless tree. It wasn't that big, maybe only a few metres tall at most. The branches were sparse enough for me to see through them, but a few orbs hung from a couple of them; fruits, probably? I wasn't a botanist and they didn't look like any kind of fruit I'd seen before, with onyx black flesh glistening in the meagre sunlight that could make it through the clouds. One branch ended abruptly, the tip splintered and snapped, and beneath it lay the stick that had nearly given me a goddamn concussion.
I sneered at it. Piece of shit.
I sat still for a good few minutes, allowing myself to absorb what I'd just seen. I didn't recognise any of it from any media I'd ever consumed, which led me to a single very important conclusion.
I hadn't a fucking clue where or what this was.
"Fuck's sake," I muttered, lightly rubbing the bruise on my head.
I eyed the pond at the edge of the plateau. I remembered the deal I made pretty clearly—if it had ever happened in the first place—and the body I was promised. So, in lieu of anything else to do, I began to crawl my way over to it.
Thirty feet is a much longer distance on your hands and knees than it is when you're walking. It's a distance you can cover in maybe a good fifteen steps, something you do without even thinking about it on the regular. When you're scuttling across the dirt on all fours like a flesh crab that just learned what a knee joint is, it's marginally more difficult. That is to say, I had to catch myself at least four times before I'd actually reached the pond's edge, and I'd grown thoroughly dissatisfied with it, muttering a few choice words under my breath.
I peered over the scuffed stone lip, bracing myself for whatever I might see; I didn't have particularly high expectations for what I'd been given when crawling was a challenge. That being said, hearing my own voice in a smooth contralto without needing to actively try was a good sign. The water was dark and still, and I was unable to see the bottom, the silvery surface making for a surprisingly good mirror as I stared at my reflection.
A cute golden-brunette wearing a hesitant expression looked back at me. A wash of pretty curls dangled around her heart-shaped face, her brow furrowed in an endearing mild frown. The gloom of the water made the colour of her eyes a bit harder to discern, but I could just about make out the bright blue tone to them.
A soft sigh of relief escaped me. Mostly relief, at least: it was picture-perfect to the ideal I'd been presented with, so I really couldn't find anything to complain about. Though, I was ever so slightly disappointed that I hadn't gotten the—
The reflection's irises flickered, only for a split second, but the flash of amaranthine was unmistakeable.
I jolted backwards, throwing my hands out behind me to keep me steady. The left one brushed against something hard that hadn't been there a moment ago, and I whipped my head around to look at it so fast I felt a muscle in my neck take issue with the motion.
The stick that had fallen on me was touching my hand. Somehow. Despite it being all the way over by the tree, the ground being completely flat, and the wind practically nonexistent.
I swallowed nervously, struggling to bring my breathing back under control from the sudden fright. It was so quiet I could hear my own heart racing.
…Hang on a fucking second.
I glanced down at my shirt—I'd been provided with some garments too, how nice—and even through the loose fitting I could see something move. I froze for a moment, unsure of what to do, before my hands jumped into action of their own accord and ripped the garment off me, taking my sports bra with it. Had anyone been watching, I'm sure they would have baulked at a perky brunette getting her tits out like supergirl tearing her work clothes off, needing the world to witness their glory.
They may also have screamed and ran away. Very understandably, because I had the same impulse upon witnessing the ring of pointed teeth around the gaping hole in my chest just off-centre of my ribcage. A lone, slitted eye, the iris a bright scarlet and glowing like hot coals stared back at me, the blackened mass of muscle it was attached to pulsing in time with my heart beat. The vertigo of seeing my own horrified expression was rather distracting, though I put two and two together quickly enough.
Unfortunately, given it was attached to me, I had to settle for emptying the scarce contents of my stomach into the water instead.
"Jesus fucking Christ," I gasped once I'd stopped retching, bracing my hands on my knees so tightly my knuckles turned white, "what the fuck is that."
"Rather twee, isn't it?" Nakhash's voice—singular this time, the same one it had monologued at me with—chimed in, like it was speaking directly into my head, "I like to call it the heart of darkness."
It sounded far more pleased with itself than I liked.
I didn't answer immediately. In fact, words escaped me entirely: my mouth hung half-open, a strand of saliva clinging to my lip for dear life, my arms shaking from the spike of adrenaline. A dozen thoughts fought for dominance in my head, scrambling over each other to make themselves heard, but in the rush they instead clumped together into one roiling, ugly mass. It bubbled up in my chest, flowing through my spine like hot metal, the hairs on the back of my neck bristling as my teeth ground together.
I spat the remaining bile on my tongue onto the grass and grabbed hold of the stick in a death grip. It fit into my hand smoothly, the wood practically moulded to the contours of my palm and fingers, more like a staff than a random branch. Not that I cared in the moment, as I jabbed the jagged end into the ground and used it as leverage to drag myself to my feet. The burning sensation in my chest gave me the strength I needed to stand, leaning on the branch for support even while my legs quivered with the exertion, my muscles not yet used to supporting my weight.
Marching back to the tree was much easier with the staff providing a third point of contact, a trail of holes left in my path from where I rammed it into the earth with more force than was strictly necessary. I set my feet in a wide stance, keeping my centre of balance a little lower to stay steady, and shifted to a two-handed grip on the branch, grasping it near the base like a batter.
"You motherfucker!"
And I swung it at the trunk with as much force as I could muster.
A crack like thunder rent the air as the stick collided with the tree, a flash of violet light bursting from the point of contact as it recoiled away far harder than it should have. It was bright enough to blind me, leaving an imprint on the back of my eyeballs; I'd overestimated my ability to stay upright, and the momentary loss of vision coincided with me taking a very uncoordinated step back to try and maintain my balance.
This did not pan out how I'd planned it to, and for the third time today I fell onto my ass, though this time it was accompanied by a startled yelp. Not a second later, something fairly tough and unyielding landed on my bruised scalp, and the yelp turned into a shriek of rage as I pounded a fist against the ground in frustration.
Another crackle split the silence, a cobweb of black lightning arcing out from where my hand met the earth in all directions. Every blade of grass it touched curled and blackened, quickly disintegrating as the power of the Immaterium incinerated it into ashes, and the dirt glowed a dull red from where the flash of energy had scorched it.
"Temper, temper!" I heard the daemon cackle, still inside my fucking head, "how was that first taste of power, girl? It's quite intoxicating, isn't it?"
I snatched the length of gnarled wood from where it had fallen next to me and shook it as hard as I could manage, doing my best to fucking strangle the bastard inside.
"Fuck you. Take that fucking thing out of my chest!" I snarled; my right arm was covered in thin pink welts all the way to my fingertips that stung as I tightened my hold on the staff.
"Even if I could, I would strongly advise against it, my dear," he said, like he was explaining this to a toddler, "as part of our contract, I can take no action to bring you harm, and that relic in your chest anchors your soul to your body. I can't remove it without simply killing you."
"You didn't say I'd have a fucking eye for a heart as part of the deal," I growled.
Another cackle, "you did offer me, ah, how did you phrase it? A 'front row seat'?"
"That's not what I fucking meant—" I started, only for it to cut me off.
"Now now, weren't you the one who chided me on thinking about things before agreeing to them? I believe there was something about loopholes as well?"
I didn't have a retort for that, so I simply fumed in silence, glaring at the staff so intensely I hoped it'd burst into flames.
"Though, every cloud has a calcium lining, or whatever that phrase is. Yours certainly does, at least. Sharp, too."
"Get to the fucking point," I ground out.
"Spoilsport," it groused, before relenting with a sigh, "very well. Imprisoning me within a daemon weapon like you had intended would have prevented me from fulfilling the other part of the bargain. That relic allows you to use my power—however limited it is like this—for yourself. You would have needed to be a Psyker regardless, but like this we are Bound, and through me you have protection from the denizens of the Warp that might lurk here. The Empyrean is calm, but it is never safe."
"…So it's a replacement for sanctioning?" I asked, my temper starting to cool.
"Quite. There are other benefits, of course, but that is the most important."
Wrestling my anger back down to actually mull on that information was harder than I anticipated. I almost wanted to try ripping the thing out of my chest purely out of spite to test whether or not I was being lied to, until I was able to rationalise that as a colossally stupid thing to do regardless of whether it was true or not. If I was right, then I had no idea what the consequences were, and if I was wrong, I would be throwing my life away on an impulse.
The life I'd been incredibly lucky to get back, even if there were clauses.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. In through my nose and out through my mouth, letting my emotions filter out with it. I could hear my heartbeat slow on each exhale, still very clear with it being exposed, but the feedback was oddly helpful.
"Okay," I said, once I'd settled back into something that could be called 'calm', "alright. Purple eyes of power and a daemonic heart because I was sloppy with the wording. I can live with that."
"Wonderful. I'd be rather annoyed if you chose to end it this soon. It's very difficult to arrange this kind of thing, you know?"
I rolled my eyes, leaning on the staff again as I got back on my feet, "you didn't let me choose where we were going, though. Wasn't that part of the agreement?"
To my surprise, Nakhash actually sounded a little contrite, "my apologies. I had intended to keep my word on that, though unfortunately, your requested boon had me bound too quickly to steer you. It's a place from your memories, but I know as much as yourself as to where that is specifically."
"…So we're completely fucking lost, then?" I muttered, looking around at the cliffs again, my gaze coming to rest on the slight opening in the distance.
"It would appear so."
My stomach took that moment to remind me of its predicament—namely, that I was still really fucking hungry—with a polite growl.
"Hm. Curious. Is this normal for you?"
"I'm hungry," I replied bluntly, leaning down to pick up the black fruit that had beaned me a minute ago.
"Is this some sort of organism thing I'm too aetherial to understand?"
I turned the fruit over in my hand a few times while I considered the question. It was fairly firm to the touch, a little softer where the skin had bumped against my skull. Smooth, too: my thumb moved over the surface like it was oiled, even though there were no juices seeping out of it. There was a very faint smell to it, something between a grapefruit and a blackberry.
"You eat souls, don't you? We do the same, but physical things," I explained.
Eating random fruit that smacked you on the head was not a particularly smart play no matter how you sliced it. Especially one that you didn't recognise and probably wasn't a relative to anything back home. But I was really goddamn hungry and this was likely the only thing around for miles that was at least intended for consumption, if the tree was supposed to be fruit-bearing.
"Ah! Disgusting."
I shrugged, lifting the fruit to my mouth, "hey, if I eat this and it happens to be virulently toxic, can you help me not die from it?"
Nakhash paused for a moment, "do you consider yourself a fast learner?"
"Sure."
"Then probably. Still, I wouldn't recommend—"
"Good enough," I said, and bit down.
Immediately, my tongue was graced by a flavour I could only describe as exquisite. There was a very mild sourness to it from the trace of acidity in the mix, but it blended delightfully with the wash of sweetness that filled my mouth. There was a strong taste of something perfumed, too, like rose petals or parma violets.
God, it was delicious.
"What was that noise?"
"Nmffin'. Dn wrry 'bout it," I mumbled through a mouth full of fruit flesh, suppressing the urge to moan a second time.
It was the first thing I'd had to eat since I arrived and my tongue was starved for some good stimulation. I was going to let myself enjoy this.
"…I see. Are you always this impulsive?" Nakhash asked, a vague exasperation in its tone.
I swallowed my first bite before replying, "psych back home said I was probably neurodivergent so that might have something to do with it."
"Why are you humans so complicated? Daemonic existence is so much simpler."
I shrugged again and continued devouring the fruit, ripping into it with such vigour that juice poured down my chin. It wasn't strictly wrong, given my understanding of daemons was 'formless mass of emotions and thoughts with sufficient mass to create a thinking entity', but I wasn't interested in giving it a biology lesson. That, and I was preoccupied with keeping tabs on my body in the event that whatever poison was present took a little while to kick in.
Nakhash was gracious enough to let me finish eating in peace, and, blessedly, I didn't feel like throwing up at any point. I took care to spit out the few hard, cherry-red pits I encountered: I knew enough about foraging to remember that most toxic berries and what have you generally either tasted horrendous—the most effective way of telling consumers to fuck off—or kept their poison in the seeds.
I dropped the leftover toughened core on the grass and wiped my mouth with the back of my clean arm, leaving a smear of deep purple juice across my skin. Just having something to eat helped, already feeling more alert and the mild shakes in my legs dissipating. It was more filling than I'd anticipated, too, like I'd had an entire meal than just a snack to keep me going.
Score one for fruits of questionable origin, then.
The air was cool enough to make my skin prickle, so I ambled over to retrieve my discarded clothing and don it. The shirt was still intact enough to stave off most of the chill, thankfully, though I found myself yearning for another layer, if only so I could put more fabric between me and that fucking eye-heart thing. The overcast sky left the entire valley bereft of much light, not even a single patch of clear sunlight piercing through. The lack of wind was the only thing keeping the temperature tolerable.
If it started raining…
I looked up at the clouds again, a single thick, dense, unchanging stratus layer. It was a sight I was quite familiar with, owing to being born in the fucking wetlands of the godforsaken island generously called 'Great' Britain where being pissed on by the heavens was a daily occurrence. As in, it happened once, and lasted for the entire fucking day.
Suffice to say, I didn't rate my chances of staying dry very highly. I turned on my heel and set off towards the castle's ground-level doors.
"Want to go exploring, eh?"
"I want to not die of hypothermia."
My staff clicked against the stone tiling and cobbles as I picked my winding way across the courtyard, pausing once or twice to admire some of the clusters of wildflowers growing in the knee-high fenced off partitions. I took care to navigate around some of the less stable parts that had been uprooted by foliage growing through the cracks. While I wasn't as unsteady on my legs as I'd been a few minutes ago, I was still relearning how to walk properly, and falling onto stone would hurt a good deal more than grass. Lacking shoes made it a fraction more frustrating, as some of the tiles were made of a kind of crystalline rock that looked like hell to walk on barefoot, and several times I had to double back to avoid having to step on them.
"Don't you think a stick is kinda pathetic for a daemon weapon?" I voiced the thought that had been percolating in my mind as I approached the metal portcullis. I wasn't sure what kind of metal, as iron typically didn't gleam like oil when it was just left to rust.
"It's helping you walk, isn't it?" Nakash pointed out.
I made a noncommittal grunt, but pushed ahead with the line of questioning, "sure, but there are still much better options, right? A halberd or spear, if you want the stick part. Or even something like a force staff? You've seen my memories, you know I've had practice with those."
"Yes, you're even more of a stereotypical shut-in than a brief look into your head would indicate. Second verse, same as the first: I didn't have much chance to forge something else from the Immaterium before the contract was sealed. Thus, branch."
I ignored the jab as I stopped in front of the gate, close enough I could reach out and touch it. I kept my hands by my sides, though, wary of any trick or trap that might be present.
"A stick isn't going to be very helpful if I have to defend myself," I said, lifting the staff and tilting it towards the portcullis. Just before it would have touched the metal, it bounced away gently, a ripple of scarlet light pulsing outwards from the spot.
"With something of sufficient quality, and some of your assistance, I might be able to reconfigure it into a true weapon. Until then, both of us will have to make do," it replied, "but that just now… that was interesting."
"Interesting how?" I asked, lightly tapping against the barrier with my left hand. It pushed back against me, not much harder than I'd pressed in the first place, the same ripples spreading from where my fingers had touched.
"Certainly, this has the makings of sorcery to it. But… it's not of a kind I recognise," Nakhash elaborated, sounding genuinely curious, "it's not the Warp's doing, that much I am sure of."
"So, a weird magic barrier thing. Can you get past it?"
Other than the red pulses, the wall of magic was entirely transparent. Through the holes in the gate, I could see an assortment of wood and stone buildings lining a street that kept a straight line to the next wall inwards. Practically a small town's worth in their own right, even. They were in much better condition than the ones I'd seen earlier, not quite pristine, but definitely less worn by the elements. At the end of the street, a pair of metal doors—the same metal as the gate—were recessed into the wall.
There were still no signs of anyone living there, though.
"With some time, yes. Sorcery is sorcery: very little truly lies outside my ken, even if unfamiliar at first."
I hummed, "qualify 'some time'?"
There was a notable pause before it spoke again, "…how does your thrice-damned chronicity work— ah, yes. Perhaps a day or two at most? Its lack of presence in the Empyrean is an exploitable weakness."
"Way too fucking long, then. Guess we're going elsewhere for now."
I felt more than heard Nakhash grumble in the back of my head as I turned away, apparently annoyed at being deprived of the chance to experiment. But I wasn't going to sit here for two days letting it figure out how to break a seal that was who fucking knows how old when I wanted a roof over my head now. Sure, the houses inside looked much better off than those by the lake, but I would take dilapidated but accessible in an hour's walk over that.
Getting back to the outcropping at the tip of the gardens took me about the same time. While I didn't have to test every bloody rock I was going to put my foot on first, I did take the chance to look around a bit more.
From what I could see, the courtyard proper expanded on either side of the castle's outermost wall until it disappeared from my sight. There were a few features I hadn't noticed earlier scattered about, fountains and other water features mostly, all hewn from the same marble as the bricks lining the pond. Again, there was the mix of cultural inspiration in the stonework, done in a way so that each one flowed into the next, little sections merging two different designs before they untwined again.
Though, strangely, there was only one of the leafless, dwarvish tree I'd woken under, so I decided to pay it one last visit before I left.
There were still a few fruits hanging from its branches, so I took up my staff and set my stance a bit more firmly this time, jabbing the base against the trunk firmly. It was a solid hit: the branches shook, and a few of the black orbs dropped onto the grass.
I afforded myself a little smile, "guess I've still got it."
"Indeed. I'd wondered if those tweaks I'd made would behave correctly. Organics are just indecipherable sometimes, but at least you're not Aeldari."
My smile turned a little brittle as I moved to pick the fruit up, stuffing them into the pockets of my trousers; the zipped ones on my thighs were quite spacious.
"You didn't tell me about any tweaks."
"My sister in crime, they're from your subconscious!" The daemon protested, "all I did was ensure things followed the script, as it were. You wanted stronger muscles, yes? You have them."
I kept my hold on the staff tight, "that's all?"
"I kept my word with our contract to the best of my ability. While I commend your scepticism as wisdom, I would ask that you at the very least trust, with everything that I've given to you, that I meant it," it snapped, actually sounding irate for the first time since we'd met.
I went back and forth on it for a few moments, but ultimately decided to let the matter drop: I didn't want to annoy him more than necessary, if we were going to be stuck together for the time being.
"Alright. I'd appreciate it if you were more upfront about these things in future, though."
"Duly noted," it replied curtly, before lapsing into silence. I could still feel it simmering as a light heat sitting in my chest.
I figured I should just leave it to sulk.
I bent backwards to relieve some of the tension on my spine as I straightened up, rolling my shoulders for good measure as I looked down towards the city again. If I wanted shelter, I'd have to walk for it, and hopefully arrive before my luck ran out and I got soaked more thoroughly than my cat after he fell into my (filled) sink trying to play with the soap bubbles.
As I made to descend the staircase and start my journey, I was struck by a sudden urge, and glanced over my shoulder at the tree.
"Thanks for the fruit," I said.
It didn't answer me, of course, and naturally, I questioned my sanity for bothering to speak to a tree. Though, I could've sworn I saw one of the branches flex, even with no wind to move them. I mentally ticked off the box labelled "possibly sentient tree" in my head and took my first steps downwards. Best not to think too hard on it.
"You just spoke to a tree."
"Shut up."
Not like it was the weirdest thing that had happened today.
Supposedly it is rather nice, from what minimal information we're related by the light novels. If you define nice as inclusive of a bunch of hypermurderous fauna and flora.
I love the buddy comedy routine that these two are rapidly devolving into, can't wait for both of them to play the straight man to dxd's ridiculousness
I love the buddy comedy routine that these two are rapidly devolving into, can't wait for both of them to play the straight man to dxd's ridiculousness
You are unfortunately misinformed. Someone else is gonna have to play the straight man, you can't get any less sane than an average Daemon or someone who willingly made a deal with one after all.
Yeah from context alone this could be either a weirdly "well adjusted" changer of ways or if it's mention of earth gods was any indication a deified demon prince of the architect of fate…
It can't be a khorne daemon, they don't really do the whole mystery stick and a nurgle aligned deamon would have mentioned the grandfather first thing… I'm not fully convinced that this isn't a dark prince aligned daemon that is playing the long game which would explain the look of the new body.
But the fact that this story is on SV makes this almost inconceivable so im pretty sure it isn't one although if this is a blue daemon than its really weird that the body isn't more… random?
I mean apart from the heart nothing really seems… off… which would be rather strange for a blue daemon…
I'm betting on it being a unaligned warp predator for now…
These are all good guesses fwiw, it's fun to watch people theorise. A daemon like Nakhash—or any daemon really—is wise not to give too much away about its true allegiances.
I reckon its Malal, one of his blessings is the 'Heart of Darkness' which is described very close to what you described, and given they share a name well... Something something walking duck.
And he'd probably be the nicest patron of the dark gods, hell, I'd argue he's a better patron than Emps. He literally only asks for you to fight other Chaos Gods, and that's about it, how you go about it is all on you. Course it's more likely one of his Great Daemons, but even then their generally nice folk, and given this one mentioned Cain and Abel it's probably old Dreadaxe, the daemon born from the literal rock which Cain used to bash his brothers head in.
Malal is also the only chaos god I can think of that would bother with what a mortal actually wants, and then obey the contract they agreed to, rather than just taking what they want headless of the mortals wishes.
Yeah from context alone this could be either a weirdly "well adjusted" changer of ways or if it's mention of earth gods was any indication a deified demon prince of the architect of fate…
It can't be a khorne daemon, they don't really do the whole mystery stick and a nurgle aligned deamon would have mentioned the grandfather first thing… I'm not fully convinced that this isn't a dark prince aligned daemon that is playing the long game which would explain the look of the new body.
But the fact that this story is on SV makes this almost inconceivable so im pretty sure it isn't one although if this is a blue daemon than its really weird that the body isn't more… random?
I mean apart from the heart nothing really seems… off… which would be rather strange for a blue daemon…
I'm betting on it being a unaligned warp predator for now…
I reckon its Malal, one of his blessings is the 'Heart of Darkness' which is described very close to what you described, and given they share a name well... Something something walking duck.
And he'd probably be the nicest patron of the dark gods, hell, I'd argue he's a better patron than Emps. He literally only asks for you to fight other Chaos Gods, and that's about it, how you go about it is all on you. Course it's more likely one of his Great Daemons, but even then their generally nice folk, and given this one mentioned Cain and Abel it's probably old Dreadaxe, the daemon born from the literal rock which Cain used to bash his brothers head in.
Malal is also the only chaos god I can think of that would bother with what a mortal actually wants, and then obey the contract they agreed to, rather than just taking what they want headless of the mortals wishes.
Malal would also probably not isekai you to a world untouched by the Chaos Gods, after all that is counter to his aims. That is to destroy all Chaos including himself eventually, and probably by proxy all sapient life but you know how it is. Ourobourean bastard...
And about not just taking what you want from a mortal... come on... you know it isn't fun to play a game if you just cheat!
fwiw I don't really intend for there to be any explicit nsfw content. Sex jokes and references to anatomy, though, definitely. Gotta get some of the lowest hanging comedic fruit in after all. Nothing is set in stone, I have about 2.5 arcs planned out thus far and the ending and that's about it.
The winding path that led me to the lakeside was, in a word, pretty. It was a cobbled road wide enough for a bus, following the contours of the hills in an ambling route down. It hopped over the occasional stream with little arched bridges that had stood the test of time, the water burbling quietly as it twisted and flowed through the trenches it had carved. At several points, it cut through little copses of broadleaf trees, patches of leaf-litter and branches scattered across the road as it passed underneath them.
It was calm, soothing, reminding me of some of the walks I'd been on back home through the countryside. I actually felt pretty content, especially with Nakhash choosing to keep quiet for the trip and giving me the peace of mind to take it all in.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me."
So, naturally, the moment I reached the first buildings on the edge of the lake, the first droplets splattered on my hair and neck, thoroughly destroying any hopes I'd had of finding some cover before I got drenched and ruining the mood.
"Son of a bitch, couldn't have given me half an hour—"
The first ones I'd looked into were a bust. Walls that had crumbled to pieces, roofs that had collapsed or had holes so big they might as well be decoration, and the ones that had looked decent had been stripped barren of anything useful. I hadn't found so much as a spare piece of cloth for a blanket, and every passing minute left me wetter than the last. And with the wet came the cold.
I was staving off shivers as I picked through some more ruins, the prickling cold soaking through my skin into my bones. And because my luck wasn't shitty enough already, the wind had picked up too, exacerbating the chill further. I was practically freezing in my lacklustre outfit, one better suited for a warm summer day than this kind of weather, and I was keenly aware that I couldn't afford to be exposed like this for too long.
I'd lost count of how many houses I'd explored on this single side-street alone. It was the fifth one so far, a decent distance away from the lake so if it flooded any more I'd at least be safe from waking up in knee-deep water, running past a small open square that looked like it had been used for markets in the past. It was also the most intact of the bunch, only one or two of the three-story row houses—and shops, going by the scraps of wood hanging off little metal spurs sticking out over some of the doors—having completely disintegrated, but most had major issues of some form or another.
One of them was infested with rats, and while I actually did like the little buggers I wasn't willing to chance spending a night with them. I knew what they could do to me if I wasn't careful, or they were hungry. The couple that had tried getting closer scampered away with a little crackle of warp lightning that trailed over my right arm. The others had fled when the ground had frozen over a couple of moments later from the display, even though I'd not intended to invoke even more cold.
I'd tried to ignore the inhuman face-like patterns the frost had formed around my feet.
I placed my shoulder against another rusted-shut door and shoved, the aged metal hinges giving away with a squeal, and the worm-eaten wood splintering a moment later. The sudden loss of support left me to stumble and take the fall with my shoulder, yelping as I felt it twinge. I muttered a few choice curses under my breath as I brushed the rubble off me, gingerly rubbing at the bump.
I felt Nakhash throw its attention my way for a brief moment, but it quickly went back to sulking.
The lack of rain on my hair was a good sign, at least; I turned my head upwards to look at the wooden rafters supporting the first floor, and saw only a few holes in the boards. The staircase on my left even looked reasonably sturdy, maybe enough to actually take my weight, a grandfather clock no longer ticking stood underneath it. There was a single door opposite the entrance leading to what looked like a dining room of some kind. Unfortunately, the far wall had collapsed, the table in the centre of the room split in two by the stone strewn across what parts of the floor I could see through the entryway.
So I had half a house to explore.
This half of the ground floor was, as best I could tell, a living area. A fireplace was built into one wall, still covered in soot, and a few dilapidated chairs were spread around. The fabric on them was moth-eaten and ragged, the wooden parts looking like they were barely holding together, much like the front door before I'd tested its integrity.
I wasn't willing to chance bruising my ass too just to see if they'd take my weight, so I moved over to the stairs instead and cautiously placed a foot on the first step. It creaked a little ominously, though as I lifted my back foot off the ground it held steady. I took the next few steps up as carefully as the first, letting my grip on the railing relax a fraction when I got to the halfway point without any issues.
When I'd reached the top of the stairs, it occurred to me this was the first time I'd even gotten to see what the first floor of these buildings were like: pretty much all of the others either didn't have anything above ground level intact or no way up. The door directly in front of me led into open space, though the room itself remained as little more than a small platform, so I looked at the one on my right instead. The door to that one looked like it had been ripped off its hinges, lying on the landing in three pieces, but I was far more interested in the interior.
It was fairly spartan in terms of decoration, but I could glimpse a set of drawers, and more importantly, an actual bed. It wasn't big or fancy, maybe a little wider than a single. Probably not the previous owner's, more likely for guests, but it had sheets—a little grey and dusty from how long they'd been sitting there—and a pillow that looked dry enough to use. No three star hotel or anything, but it would be a decent place to wait out the rain and sleep if it lasted long enough.
I allowed myself a little grin: finally, something was going my way.
Rounding the bannister, I put my foot over the threshold and onto the bedroom floorboards, and got about a half-second warning in the form of a very unpromising splintering noise.
I didn't even get the time to yell in frustration before it gave way and dropped me a good eight or nine feet back down into the living room, narrowly missing one of the chairs. I did have the time to curl up into a ball to stop my head from cracking against the stone at least, but the impact knocked the wind out of me. It was jarring enough to leave me stunned for a moment, but not enough for me to miss the cracking of timbers as the rest of the room sagged.
It buckled barely a moment after I frantically rolled towards the stairs to avoid getting crushed, the din of shattering wood and furniture filling the space as the whole bedroom crashed down to the ground. By some miracle, the walls held firm, though I was still treated to a cloud of soot and wood fragments buffeting my arms as I brought them up to shield my face.
Once the dust had settled, I lowered them again to see the extent of the damage.
Most of the living room was now covered in broken beams and boards, the chairs reduced to piles of splinters. The bed was in tatters, the frame smashed from the landing and the sheets torn in multiple places from where they'd caught on other spears of timber on the way down. They could be salvageable, but any chances of being able to sleep on something that wasn't cold hard stone were dead in the water, and I'd have to pick my way across the mess without stabbing myself on something to reach them first.
Slowly, I lowered my face into my palms and released a long, weary sigh.
"Indoor scream, please."
"I will squeeze your snake ass like a fucking tube of toothpaste until the warpstuff spills out," I snapped; I didn't have the tolerance for banter, being exhausted by the search and this setback had pushed me to the limits of my patience.
Nakhash didn't answer me for a good half-minute, during which I silently fumed with impotence, resisting the urge to lash out at something in case I made things worse like setting everything on fire with an errant psychic invocation. I knew how fickle the Warp could be; not literally, but the time my psyker character from a dark heresy campaign had simply been eaten by a screaming hole in reality from a botched roll stood out.
I'd liked her antics, too. Throwing vehicles at people was fun.
"The adjacent room," it said, interrupting my moping, "there's something underneath the floor."
I lifted my head and looked at the pile of rubble through the entryway to the dining room.
"…And you know this, how?" I asked, my brow furrowed as I scanned the debris more closely. I couldn't see anything out of sorts, but it sounded serious enough to actually listen to.
"It's very faint, but there's something pulling on the Warp directly beneath that table. Psyniscience is a difficult skill to learn, especially for novices that have yet to grow familiar with its currents like yourself. You'll pick it up in time."
After a moment's consideration, I blew an errant strand of hair out of my eyes and grabbed my staff. My bruised thighs complained as I dragged myself to my feet and limped the few steps over to the next room, casting my eyes about for any sign of a way down. There was a stove and counter built into the wall on my left, a small kitchen worktop in all likelihood, but no other doors bar the one I'd entered through.
"The carpet," Nakhash suggested.
I'd picked up on it before, but not really paid much attention to it. Underneath the remains of the central table, there was a worn, damp, fraying carpet, the colours and patterns only barely visible. It lay flat on the stone… except for a small circular bump, only a hand's breadth from where the remains of the wall had fallen.
Striding forward, I grabbed the part of the table blocking it and shoved it to one side, kicking the carpet up with my foot. The fabric peeled back to reveal a heavy-set, hardwood trapdoor, with a ring handle at one end. A hidden basement entrance was certainly interesting, though there was still the slight problem of the shitton of stone blocking the way.
I looked down at my arms. Stronger muscles, hm?
Time to see just how much stronger I'd become, then.
I crouched down, placing my staff behind me, and gripped the ring with both hands. I very quickly discovered the answer was 'not enough to lift a solid trapdoor and the hundred-plus kilograms of fucking rocks lying on it', as I strained to budge it more than an inch before having to let go.
Clearing the stone was the obvious solution. Unfortunately, obvious solutions did not make for simple ones: it was a good half an entire house's back wall's worth of debris, and I couldn't imagine it taking less than an hour to clear even at my fastest pace. I'd be spending half of that time out in the rain, too, as I was only barely under the cover of the remains of the upper floor and I'd have to step out to get it all shifted.
As I chewed my lip, contemplating the conundrum, Nakhash chimed in again.
"Did you forget your nature as a psyker, girl? Your mind is more powerful than your body could ever be."
"That's great, but I still don't know how to use it," I pointed out. Everything I'd done so far had been reflexive, even the warning I'd given to the rats: I'd seen them approach and panicked, and the lightning I'd summoned back at the tree had jumped to my call of its own accord rather than any active thought on my behalf.
"Willpower, woman," it said, as if that explained everything.
"You're going to have to be more specific."
I got the distinct impression the daemon was rolling its myriad eyes, "you've seen Star Wars, yes? Fundamentally, a psyker interacts with the Immaterium in much the same way. You listen to its currents, draw them unto you, and simply will reality to change to your whims. There are some other considerations, such as fettering the power you draw and the alloying of your emotions with your intent, but in the words of a certain tutor…"
Its voice shifted again, taking on a familiar short green alien's tone, "do or do not. There is no try."
"Alright, Master Yoda," I grumbled, knocking one of the stone chunks away with a huff, "can we start with step one? How do I listen to the Warp?"
"It's already there, in your mind. All you have to do is place your ear up against the door."
I sighed, "go two notches down on the mysticism ladder, please."
"Oh, for— Haven't you learned how to meditate?"
"You know you could have just started with that, right?" I groused, but I sat myself down regardless, crossing my legs and resting my hands in my lap.
Sitting still and being quiet had never been a strong suit for me: my mind was perpetually cluttered by a thousand and one things going all at once, and I struggled to put the brakes on. I always wanted to do something, go somewhere, and when I had nothing to occupy me it was very easy to get lost in dark places. It had taken practice—a lot of practice—before I'd managed to do even one of the more simple exercises of just imagining walking down a quiet lane, even though I was excellent at just phasing out into daydreams.
So the idea of sitting still, being quiet, and letting my head be empty except for the whispers beyond the veil was conceptually terrifying to me.
I glanced over my shoulder at the mess in the living room; I didn't have the luxury of putting this off.
I took a deep breath in, held it at the peak, and released it slowly. I did it once more, eyes closed this time and trying not to let the pretty patterns on my eyelids distract me, gently pushing aside my thoughts, sorting them into the many little filing cabinets and drawers where they wouldn't disturb me for the time being. The rain pattering on the roof slate tiles, the cobbles outside, the puddles in the street, the spurs of wood sticking out from ruined buildings—all of it sharpened, the mesh of sound disentangling into a steady stream of droplets. Without sight to guide me, everything else was made more keen.
It was a concordant cacophony, and my mind kept trying to backtrack to it, wanting more of the toneless finger taps of the sky on the earth. But it wasn't what I was looking for, so I pushed it aside too, letting it dissolve back into noise.
'Place my ear up against the door'.
I moulded my mental landscape into the shape of a simple, open hall, like the inside of a church, the pues shoved to the sides and no windows to be seen. An equally austere wooden doorway was embedded at one end. It was plain, unassuming, just a very ordinary door. Except, of course, for the dozen metal latches and locks of various designs and one thick iron bar spanning its width holding it shut. There were no windows, just a few chandeliers overhead with hefty wax candles providing the only illumination.
"Overcautious, but a good start," Nakhash's voice echoed through the empty space.
I looked down at my left arm. The daemon was curled around it loosely in the form of a kingsnake, staring up at me from near my wrist. Or, at least, it looked like a kingsnake; I wasn't a herpetologist.
"I'm debating on adding claymores," I said, eyeing the door, "maybe a landmine or twenty."
It was normal. There was nothing about it that should have given me pause.
And yet, just looking at it made me uneasy. There was an aura to it that made my guts twist and my jaw clench, the hackles on the back of my neck standing on end. I wanted to run away, to dispel this mindscape and go back to the real world, get away from whatever was on the other side.
And the longer I looked, the louder the whispers became.
"You won't need them," Nakhash replied, turning its head to look behind me.
I followed its gaze, half-turning to get a better look over my shoulder.
The candles at the back of the hall had been snuffed out, faint wisps of smoke rising from the wicks, leaving a good quarter of the place in darkness. It wasn't a natural darkness, the light from the other chandeliers suddenly meeting a line in the air where it couldn't penetrate further, like it was being rebuffed.
In the shadows, something moved that hadn't been there before, and I stepped back as I realised what it was.
Almost hidden by the supernatural gloom, a huge mass of oil-hued scales shifted minutely, so big it was lying on top of itself to fit even as it stretched across the width of the hall. Two slitted eyes stayed fixed on me, dozens more along the basilisk's length either doing the same or idly observing the surroundings, darting around as something caught their interest. Its mouth was ever so slightly open, rows of saw-teeth angled backwards, a pair of viper fangs each as long as my arms resting on its triple-forked tongue. A fist-sized droplet of spittle rolled off the tip, and it hissed and bubbled where it met the floor, scorching the stone black.
Suddenly, the door didn't seem that bad.
"Easy, girl. By the terms of our agreement, I cannot bring you harm. My presence here is a deterrent, nothing more," the projection around my arm said, though I could see the basilisk's mouth twitch like it was speaking to me as well.
I took a nervous swallow, even though my mouth was bone dry, "yeah. Sure. Alright."
I turned away and calmly, leisurely made my way to the other end of the hall, away from the fucking eldritch murderous horrorserpent sitting in the back of my mind. I did not burst into a sprint when I thought I heard it move to follow me. I was fine. This was fine.
The whispers grew in volume as I approached the door, some of them even becoming coherent enough to make out single words.
"Who…?"
"Shouldn't…"
"Witch…"
Every single second that went by, the feeling that I was making a big fucking mistake got more and more insistent.
"School your nerves. Present no weakness. The Warp will seek out any vulnerability you show. You must be in control of yourself and the power you wield," Naskhash instructed as I came to a stop in front of the bolted door, one hand resting on the topmost chain latch. It was a bright, lustrous bronze, each link the size of my thumb and as thick as a pencil.
"Easier said than done," I mumbled, doing my best to stop my hand from shaking.
"Where's all your bravado from before? You'd verbally spar with a true daemon, and yet the formless vestiges of thought and feeling are what scare you?"
"I was dead at the time," I snapped back, but I unhooked the chain from its lock anyway and moved onto the next one, a simple latch bolt forged from a silvery-grey metal I didn't recognise, "and I wasn't even sure you were real."
"And yet still, you found the courage to try. Now, do it again."
Another deep breath, in, out.
"I swear to God, if I get fucking murdered by daemons here I'm going to find a way to strangle you."
The serpent chuckled, a normal, if bassy laugh layered over a much deeper, growling one that came from significantly closer behind me than I expected.
"Better."
There was just one barrier left. The door bar looked heavy—was heavy, as I put my hands underneath and lifted it, more than just physical mass pressing into my palms. I lifted it away, moving a foot forwards to keep the door held shut as I did so.
"Now what?" I asked. There was still a part of me screaming to just give up on this and keep searching back in the material world, scratching at the walls and ceiling, trying to escape. This was so incomprehensibly dangerous, genuinely incomprehensible in that the Warp was not meant for mortal minds to see, and here I was, about to dunk my entire head in it.
"Something simple, to start. You want to move the stones: exerting your will over matter is the simplest of the kinetic arts. Open your eyes, and keep a grip on this place in your mind."
I hesitated, "what if I do lose my grip?"
"I will hold the door shut, and you will make another attempt," the daemon explained, a lot less frustrated than I'd imagined it'd be, "that you've made it this far already is impressive. Of course, I'm doing some of the work for you, but it seems you have a knack for this."
Genuine praise was about the last thing I expected to hear, but I took it in stride and did as it had directed.
As I opened my eyes again, the world caught up. Rain that had frozen in place moved, slowly at first, and then rapidly returned to its normal pace. The still air resumed its whistling, and the chill nipped at my skin again. The stones were still littering the dining room, the clump on top of the trapdoor still pinning it down. It was a bit disorienting, seeing the real world while a phantom image of the church hall was superimposed over it, only present right at the edges of my sight even though I knew it was there.
"Now, envision your goal and open it. A fraction will do," Nakhash said.
I raised a hand up, splaying my fingers at the rubble, at the same time as my foot retreated an inch from the door's bottom rail. It swung open on its own, coming to a sharp stop as it bumped against my shoe. A dense, glimmering mist spilled through the crack, thousands of colours rippling through tendrils of aether-moisture. Through the gap, I could see the ever-shifting tides of the Empyrean, inviting and terrible and gorgeous and petrifying, oil and water mixing and separating, forming so many beautiful patterns and shapes and sounds and smells like the soft ringing of wind chimes and wood smoke—
"Focus."
The sharpness of the daemon's voice snapped me out of the trance, and I jerked away from the crack in the door I'd leaned closer to, slamming it shut. In the real world, I felt myself jolt awake, awareness reasserting itself like a hammerblow to the back of the skull.
"What the fuck—"
"Power is entrancing, my dear. The Warp is calm, but it is not safe. Don't let it lure you in. You must be the one in control, or it will swallow you utterly. Now, again."
I grit my teeth and willed my arms to stop shaking. The fear was still coursing through me, my heart hammering in my ears, and it took me a good half a minute to finally arrest the quivering.
"Can I just… start with something small?" I said, staring at one of the crumbled pieces of stone at the top of the pile.
Nakhash didn't respond verbally, but I sensed the slight touch of assent against my mind.
Good enough.
I allowed the door to open up again, the slightest trickle of energy flowing through. It pooled around my feet at first, but jumped up at my command, snaking up my body to embrace me in a film of sparkling power.
I reached out for the rock and willed it to move. At first, it didn't do anything, sitting there and taunting me with its immobility, so I let a sliver more in and glared at it.
Up.
It bounced into the air immediately, levitating a foot or so above the mound. Its weight in my mind wasn't much more than a bag of sugar, light and practically inconsequential in the hold of my psychic power. I rotated it with a ghostly hand, tilting my head as I made it bob and weave through the empty space, before flicking it away and seeing it arc through the air to hit the wall with a sharp crack.
A grin split my lips as I watched it roll to a stop.
"Okay, I think I get it."
I shuffled backwards and clambered back to my feet, pulling the door further open beyond just the finger's breadth I'd been holding it at before. The Warp poured through, entwining itself around me like a static hug. It bowed to my command, my will, swirling and seething as I grabbed the mass of debris in front of me and issued a single order.
Move.
It felt like my arm wrenched itself out of me, peeling away from its physical housing and growing to a dozen times its size. It slammed against the stone in a casual backhand that sent rock and dust flying across the room, forcing me to bring up my other arm to block the cloud from blinding me. It was like a whirlwind had picked it up and hurled it away, invisible and intangible barring the results of its passing. Raw telekinetic force, fuelled by the stuff of dreams and nightmares.
It was exhilarating. I'd shunted several times my own weight in rock and rubble without even touching it, and I couldn't help but stare at the remains piled up against the dividing wall with the neighbouring house.
"Holy shit."
I'd just forced material reality to be my bitch. I'd stuck out my hand, told it to get the fuck out of my way, and it did, no questions asked. It felt incredible. It felt powerful. It felt—
Eerie.
The fine powder kicked up by the flurry of moving stone hadn't fully subsided yet. I couldn't really see beyond it into the street, but I didn't need to. The knowledge stuck to my bones like tar, a certainty I didn't have any right to but felt anyway.
Someone was watching me.
I felt a chill run down my spine like someone had touched me and spun around, levelling the spiked end of my staff at the entrance to the living room. It was still empty, no signs of life apparent anywhere, not even the rats I'd seen before, and deathly quiet. It took me a moment to realise that I couldn't hear the rain.
It took me a couple more to notice the figures staring in at me through the front windows. They were faint, almost completely transparent, but the subtle pale outlines and piercing blue sparks where their eyes should have been gave them away. They weren't human either, jagged wings and whiplike tails hanging in the air behind them. Even as I watched, more of them phased in behind the ones already there, some poking their heads around the broken front doorway.
"Human?"
"A magician…"
"Why is she here…?"
The whispers weren't whispers anymore. They were voices, old and young, male and female, features I could actually identify rather than blurring together into a haze of noise.
"Nakhash?" I called out. If it had heard me, I didn't hear any answer; I quickly turned back to the trapdoor, kneeling down to grab the ring, and froze.
Dozens more spectres stared at me from the open street, some so close they were leaning over the remains of the back wall only a few paces away. More were looking down at me from behind the windows of the houses opposite, and even more were floating in the air, observing me with a dreadful curiosity that made my breath freeze in my chest. There must have been hundreds of them, shuffling in place and muttering amongst themselves.
"She can see us."
"Can she help?"
"Please…!"
One of them in the front row, a young child that couldn't even have been two digits old, took a step forward, and it was like a dam broke. The ghostly horde burst into a flurry of movement, surging towards me, arms reaching out for my clothes and skin. I swung my staff around in a wild arc, the wood passing through them like I was striking at clouds as they drew closer. A hand touched my face, and it felt like all the heat was sucked out of my cheek at once, flesh turning grey and pallid and icy cold. I screamed in terror, falling backwards and scrambling away in a desperate attempt to escape—
My consciousness was yanked into the barren church. For a brief moment, I was face-to-face with one of the spectres, its hands grasping my cheeks as it stared at me, its mouth wide open in a scream, its eyes panicked and pleading.
Then a spiked tail whipped past me to slam the wide-open door shut, forcing the ghost back through with it, and the bar was hammered back into place by a silver tongue. The hall was plunged into inky blackness, the only source of light left being the dull crimson glow from the basilisk's main eyes as it moved its head in front of me, its gaze boring into my soul.
Nakhash said nothing at first. It didn't need to: I was keenly aware of the scale of my fuck-up, the freezing touch of the ghost fresh in my mind.
"The restless dead here are many, and the veil is thin. Souls that should have long since passed on still wander. Something keeps them here, waiting, eager for a chance to return to the living. You would have made an excellent vessel," it rumbled, its eyes inching closer, "I hope this has been a salient lesson in ensuring your mind is not left unguarded."
I nodded frantically, still too breathless to say anything. The serpent turned and slithered away, the chandeliers reigniting as it retreated to the back of the hall again.
I snapped back to reality like I'd been struck. My cheek tingled softly, no longer frozen, but when I went to rest my fingers against it it was still cool to the touch. At the very least, the mass of winged spectres had vanished, and I was alone again, much to my relief. I wasted no time in prying the trapdoor open and bolting down the stairs, though, ramming the latch shut behind me.
Once I'd reached the bottom step, I practically threw myself against the wall, hugging my knees against my chest. My breathing was ragged and panicked, adrenaline still pumping through my veins from the shock. The dampness on my feet and ass was a distant discomfort, occluded by the overwhelming cognizance that I'd been walking through a city filled with hundreds—thousands? Tens of thousands? Who fucking knew how many there were—of ghosts that might have been following me the whole fucking time, waiting for a chance to possess me.
A choked wheeze passed over my lips. Jesus H Christ on a jackfuck pogo stick. I'd lost my focus for what, five seconds, and nearly died. I'd let it slip for the barest of moments how dangerous, how fucking terrifying the Warp was and got a stark fucking reminder that the goddamn daemon taking up residence in my head was the only line of protection I had. Without it, I— God, I didn't even want to think about what possession would entail. I knew about it in the abstract from splatbooks but that was a game of make-believe and not the actual fucking reality I was living right now.
"Time, patience, and practice," I jolted at the sound of its voice, cracking my head against the wall right on the small bump that had formed and cursing loudly.
It ignored my swearing and continued anyway, "you made the mistake of a novice. So caught up in the power you wield, you forgot to keep your focus on what you let through."
There wasn't any judgement in its tone, just the kind of detached, clinical observation of a teacher lecturing their student.
"Couldn't you have stepped in earlier?" I asked, too frightened to put any real heat into the question.
"And watered down the lesson? You'll remember this misstep in future. Far better for you to fail early, when your abilities are nascent and the consequences minor."
"I almost got fucking possessed! I almost fucking died! How is that minor—?" I yelled, but before I could go on a full-blown tirade, the daemon interjected.
"They're restless dead, not daemons. Their hold on your body would be weak at best, and you have the strength of will to exorcise them on your own. It would have been unpleasant, but hardly life-threatening."
Some of the tension in my muscles seeped out at the correction. Not all of it, but the knowledge I was at least relatively safe did wonders for my nerves.
"…Okay," I whispered.
"Contrary to what you might think, to have you die this early would be incredibly droll, and it's in my interests to ensure you stay alive. A personal stake, not just one demanded by our binding vows."
I stayed quiet for a good while, flexing my fingers in a meditative rhythm as I brought my breathing back under control. Nakhash waited for me to regain my composure, its presence a light pressure in the back of my head, and for once it felt actually soothing to have its company.
"…You make it sound like we're married. Please don't say it like that," I said, using the wall for support as I slowly stood back up, taking a look around the basement for the first time.
The only real light came in the form of a pair of small rectangular windows at street-level, just above the gutters outside, but it was enough to catch a glimpse of most of its contents. There were a few lanterns scattered about of an old design on various surfaces, none of them lit. A bookcase was pushed up against the stairwell, along with a small circular table and padded armchair. A workbench sat opposite, various implements hanging from wall hooks bolted above it; they looked like they were made for more delicate work, and judging by the very yellowed pages of the open tome pushed to one side they were probably a bookbinder's tools.
Further along the wall closest to me, a bed was tucked away, about the same size as the one I'd seen on the first floor. The sheets and covers were in a much better state from being isolated underground, and underneath the frame there was a pile of chopped logs and tinder. They looked reasonably solid still, and likely were meant to feed the fireplace kept conspicuously far away from anything flammable. A metal rail stuck out at the top, a couple of worn garments hanging from it that were protected by a metal covering over the fireplace.
"We might as well be, as vile as that concept is. I am bound to this stick you carry, and by your provisions, will be at your side for the remainder of your mortal existence."
"Look, if we both agree that it's a horrible framing then let's just not call it that," I said, ambling over to the bed. A quick test of the covers confirmed my suspicions: it was a little damp, but nothing a short stint on the railing wouldn't fix.
"You were the one that brought it up."
"Just… drop it. I don't want to think about it, you don't want to think about it, let's move on."
But that invited the question of where, exactly, I might find a matchbox.
"Certainly, an idea with merit. I suppose now would be a good time to introduce you to pyromancy," Nakhash mused, and I shook my head vigorously at the suggestion.
"Are you kidding me? Nope. Fuck that. I'll do this the safe way," I replied as I hefted a few sizable chunks of firewood, taking a fistful of tinder with them, and moved over to the hearth to arrange them into something I could light.
The daemon made a long, exasperated sigh, "avoiding training your abilities will only hurt you in the long run. You've found shelter, you have sustenance. Now is the time to practise."
I tugged open the top drawer of the workbench and rifled around for anything vaguely box-shaped, "Nakhash, I was just attacked by a horde of Warp ghosts. Humans have this innate thing called 'fear'? We tend to avoid the things that trigger it, like using psychic powers that summon hordes of Warp ghosts. I've had enough psyker shit for today. I'm tired, I'm cold, I just want a break."
To my surprise, it didn't push me further on the matter, sinking into the back of my mind and leaving me to search. I found nothing of interest in the first couple of drawers barring a small pillar of teal quartz that fit into the palm of my hand that I left on the desk, though the third contained a small flint knife that still looked sharp. I paired it with one of the steel tools hanging up and went back to the fireplace to try my hand at recalling my camping skills.
It was a task that rapidly frayed my patience, and I was scraping the bottom of the barrel as it was. I got the sparks to fly but nothing caught, despite a good five minutes' worth of attempts, and it was only after that that I had the idea to actually check if the tinder was in good condition. The dampness of the bed had permeated into the smaller sticks, though, which shut down that avenue of getting warm.
"Damnit, can just one thing go right?!" I yelled, hurling the knife and metal splint against the wall. The former shattered as the tip bounced off the stonework, thoroughly ruining any chances I had left of using it to get a fire started.
"It appears that this would be a good time for your second lesson," Nakhash said, a very slight smugness to its tone that prompted me to huff, "when you feel ready, retrieve that quartz you left on the desk."
I ground my teeth, tempted to just climb under the bed covers to spite him. Even thinking about trying to call on the Warp again made my skin crawl. I couldn't get the image of that ghost's face out of my head, how terrified they'd looked. The way I'd felt their hands sinking into me, my soul being crushed by the presence of another trying to push its way in…
"Quickly, girl, before you lose your nerve."
"I don't think I have one left," I snarked back, but I swallowed down the fear churning in my stomach and marched over to the desk, grabbing the green-blue stone. I didn't want to invite any illnesses on top of my current problems and going to sleep in a damp bed while still covered in rain would not do me any good.
"Why do I need this, anyway?" I asked, turning it over in my hands. Other than the pretty colour, it was very unassuming: just a lump of quartz, a bit rough in places, and vaguely in the shape of a teardrop.
"This is what I'd sensed earlier. It's a psychic focus, fairly crude in make but enough to be useful. Very intriguing for it to be here of all places."
"Doesn't look like any I've seen before," I mumbled, holding it up to my eye. There really weren't any signs of runes carved into the surface or intricate craftsmanship. It was just a rock.
"A wooden amulet can suffice, if a psyker holds a strong enough sentiment for it. The Warp relies on sympathy, concepts and emotions. There are some materials that carry its charge better than others, of course: the Aeldari have their wraithbone to conduct it like their music. Not that it saved them from the Dark Prince. This is, however, the first piece of psychoactive material we've encountered since our arrival, and I'd strongly urge you to make use of it."
"I don't have to do anything like attune to it? Spend an hour in deep meditation weaving my soul through its contours or whatever?"
"If this focus had a master, it has long forgotten the touch of their soul. It is yours now."
I hummed, "that's… a lot simpler than I'd expected?"
"Quite. It seems your luck has turned. Now, back to the hearth. Keep a hold on the crystal, and recall your inner sanctum."
Blue sparks for eyes flickered in my memory, and I bit my lip.
"They won't bother you further. They're too afraid to come close again."
"How do you know that?" I asked.
Nakhash made a chuckle like gravel crunching underfoot, and its basilisk growl echoed in my head again.
"Weren't you?"
"Point taken," I mumbled hastily, power walking back to the fireplace.
I closed my eyes and envisioned the church, feeling reality slip out of my grasp. The door was still shut, though all of the locks had been done back up to ensure it was very tightly sealed. The candles flickered above me. The hall was silent. There was no sign of the incursion that had taken place. The only thing out of the ordinary was a comforting warmth seeping into my palm, so naturally, I lifted my arm to take a look.
The crystal glowed softly in my hand, a weak inner teal light radiating from its core. Small strands of aetheric mist emanated from its surface, like the stuff that had flowed through the gap when I'd invoked my telekinesis. It wasn't enchanting, though, just aesthetically pleasing to watch as it drifted through the air and stuck to my skin like cobwebs. Just a fraction of the power of the Immaterium, seeping through, untainted by desire. It was like wearing sunglasses for raw, distilled emotion, the otherworldly allure filtered out by the quartz's physical nature.
"Is this gonna be enough?" I asked, turning my attention to the kingsnake wrapped around my other arm.
It shook its head, eyes unblinking, "no, you'll have to draw on the Warp as you did before. The quartz will help you retain your concentration and control, but do keep in mind that it only helps you do so. It doesn't supplant your need to retain focus, so don't get lost in your success this time."
I sighed. I had been hoping this would be less involved than 'yeah stick your head into the realm of infinite fuckery again'. I couldn't blame Nakhash for getting my hopes up, though, since I was the one that had made the assumption that I'd been given cheat codes for sorcery.
Or, well, I could, it just wouldn't be productive. It'd make some snide comment about me fucking about with the deal or something and I wasn't in the mood for arguing.
Locks were undone, latches opened, and I found myself with just my toes keeping the gate to the Empyrean in my head shut. I could hear the murmuring beyond the veil, subtle and tempting, calling out for me to get lost in its promises. My fingers curled tightly around the focus as I took a long, steady breath.
Time for round 2, then.
The fog poured in as I drew my foot back, but I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the crystal, ignoring the way the tendrils in the corners of my vision danced and swayed. The light flickered, dimly at first, though as I willed the power to coalesce it turned more resolute, the luminescence bathing my arms and face in a gentle heat that chased out the nipping chill that the mist tried to leave where it touched me. It felt… nice. Like a warm hug from a close friend. Something I could trust to help and comfort, a guiding light piercing through the haze.
I cracked one eye open and took in the moist timber. I saw the fibres and the water between them. I saw how time and creatures that were so small I shouldn't be able to see them but could had eaten away at them.
Burn.
With a snap of my fingers, gorgeous iridescent flames burst into being amongst the wood, a mix of gold, violet, sky blue, and mint green. Their brilliance was brief, lasting for only a few seconds, but when they died down I could see the normal orange and yellow hues of fire catching on tinder, and the red glow of embers and hot ash on the bark.
In my mind, I gently pushed my leg forwards and slipped one of the bolts closed, even as I let out a sigh of relief back in the real world. In both, the crystal glimmered softly, its glow keeping me anchored to the here and now.
"That wasn't so difficult, was it?" Nakhash chuckled.
I rolled my eyes as I went through the motions of sealing up the portal and gathering up the bedding, dismissing my mindscape once I was satisfied that I'd locked up properly. I threw the duvet and sheets over the laundry railing first after removing the clothes already there, laying the pillowcases to one side and the fillings a couple of metres away from the guard on the hearth. My shirt and trousers followed afterwards, peeling them off and letting them rest on the mantelpiece with a couple of paperweights to keep them held in place, and I dragged the mattress over to make sure I wouldn't be sleeping on anything damp.
Which left me in my underwear. It hadn't quite been soaked by the rain, but I could feel it sticking to me in uncomfortable places where the fabric was wet through. If I wanted it to be dry, I'd be twisting myself into fairly uncomfortable positions, and I was really not enthusiastic about the potential of getting something like a yeast infection because I went to sleep with wet panties.
Which was a thing that could happen to me now, given the apparent impromptu magic bottom surgery that I'd weirdly only given about half a thought to since arriving.
It was nice, at least. Much better than having to spend a fucking exorbitant amount of money to see a surgeon who might just fuck it up, and it wouldn't even have included the rest of the plumbing either. The only downside was that I owed a daemon a life debt as payment.
I knew a good few other trans women who would kill to be in my position, so it was a fair trade.
Actually getting undressed was more difficult, though. Part of it was feeling mildly unsettled by the idea that I might be flashing a bunch of dead people, more because they were dead than the whole exposing myself part. I'd let strangers see me buck naked before, even without the monetary incentive, but there was a difference between my audience being alive and… aimlessly wandering, potentially voyeuristic ghosts.
The other part was my reluctance to take the bra off. I could hear my heart pulsing through the open hole in my chest, and the idea of seeing it again sent a wave of unease washing over me. I didn't even have to look down the little window in the fabric: the image of the daemonic eye from a few hours ago was pretty solidly burnt into my mind. Just thinking about it made my vision fuzz, briefly giving me a look at the inside of my bra.
There was still one option I could try, at least.
"Alright, how do I hide this thing?"
A lick of curiosity brushed up against my consciousness, "why? It's not causing any problems."
"Hearing my own heart pumping when I'm trying to sleep is going to drive me nuts," I explained, "and I don't think it'll make for a good first impression if I happen to meet anyone."
"Hm. Very well. It's part of your body now, so you can simply will it to close and it shall."
I rolled my shoulders with a sigh, feeling a couple of the discs in my neck pop at the movement. At least I wasn't going to need anything like biomancy to appear like a normal person.
I let my eyes close and envisioned my chest, clear and unblemished. I immediately regretted it, since the sound of meat and bone shifting against each other and the feeling of my flesh gradually stitching together sent a shiver down my spine that nearly made me retch. Teeth caught on my skin for a moment before sinking beneath it, cartilage bridging the gap between my sternum and the ribs that had been pushed aside. I swallowed back some bile that crept up my throat and waited for my organs to finish rearranging, clenching my jaw to suppress the urge to gag.
When the squelching finally stopped, I chanced a brief look down.
The only sign that the mass of blackened muscle and fangs had ever been there was an angry red scar as wide as my finger. It followed the contour of my left breast, from my sternum up to my collarbone in stark contrast to my fairly pale complexion. I could've easily mistaken it for a vicious injury that had since healed over, but it was a damn sight better than the gaping mouth had been.
With the body horror over and done with, I stripped out of my underwear and took some time to appreciate my new figure. Nakhash had been true to its word when it said it had used my own subconscious as the model: I had actual, visible muscles now. They weren't the kind of rock hard dehydrated bricks you'd see on gym advertisements; they were more like the swimmer's physique I used to have, soft but obviously there musculature, especially if I bothered to tense a little bit. No washboard abs, either, since I still had a little padding on my stomach, but I could feel them underneath it.
A few quick pokes and touches at the rest of my body confirmed my suspicions. It wasn't like I hadn't been curvy before my untimely death—HRT had certainly done wonders for me there, way more than I'd ever hoped for—but I still very much appreciated the improvements. A bigger bust, hips that could stop traffic… I actually had the body I wanted, right down to the pair of lower lips between my legs. It did a lot to buoy my mood after the bullshit I'd been through today.
"Hey, Nakhash?" I asked, picking up one of the pieces of spare clothing I'd taken off the rack and starting to dry myself off.
"It's your design, not mine," it answered, a little too quickly.
I snorted, "yeah, sure. Thanks for sticking to the building plans."
To pass the time while I waited for the bedding to dry out, I wandered over to the round table by the bookshelf and picked a volume at random. I'd emptied my trouser pockets earlier when taking them off, leaving the surprisingly intact fruit, given all my falls and bumps today, on the table. One found its way into my hand, and shortly afterwards between my teeth as I used the little ignition trick to get an oil lamp running so I could read by its light. The scarce sunlight streaming in through the windows had dulled a bit since I'd managed to get in this basement, so I could only presume it was getting closer to the evening.
To my chagrin, though, I couldn't read.
"Do you recognise any of this?" I wondered aloud, carefully teasing each page over: the book's pages were yellowed, and it looked like it could fall apart at any moment.
"…No. There's some similarities to other scripts I've come across in my many aeons of existence, but not enough to discern meaning."
The script flowed from one character to the next with an almost liquid elegance. It was beautiful to look at, but whatever meaning it had was lost on me.
"It would be a simple enough matter to gain the understanding, however."
"Some intricate ritual involving writing some chaos runes on the page with my blood while I chant over the skeletal remains of one of the people who lived here?"
"Creative, but no. A willing possession would—"
"No."
"The exorcism is straightforward—"
"No."
"You're no fun at all."
"Remember the fear thing, Nakhash? The spooky scary fucking ghost army? I'm not letting those things near me again. I'll find someone to teach me once I'm out of here."
In lieu of some entertainment, I busied myself with making mental notes about the characters and sequences that came up most frequently. If nothing else, they'd give me a starting point for learning the script at a later date once I knew how to map some basic words to the writing. I'd likely have to learn the spoken language at a later date, too… though, it was a little strange, on reflection: the book was practically incomprehensible to me, and yet the ghosts themselves had spoken an oddly accented English.
In all likelihood, it was probably just some Warp bullshit that was running translation for me, but I filed that thought away for later. My eyelids were heavy and I'd spent at least fifteen minutes just staring blankly at the pages, not really absorbing anything anymore, and the bed was looking more and more inviting as time passed as the room grew dark.
Eventually, my will folded, and I dragged myself out of the chair to retrieve the sheets. I left the fire crackling as I stretched off and laid down on the mattress, keeping my back to it and my eyes on the windows. The rain was still falling outside, coming down so thick it was practically a sheet unto itself, both of water and white noise.
I had to shuffle around to find a position that didn't put too much pressure on my many bruises, but after a little while, I ended up on my back, the covers pulled up to my chin and my legs carefully tucked under the blanket. It wasn't the most comfortable bed I'd ever used, but that didn't matter. The covers were scratchy in some places and the mattress a bit lumpy, but right now, it felt heavenly to get the chance to rest.
Sleep took me slowly. I kept dozing off only to catch what looked like the faded edges of a spectre peering at me from across the room, or in through the windows, and then I'd jolt awake, only to see nothing. By the time it finally dragged me under, the street outside was black as pitch, not even a shred of moonlight to illuminate the cobbles.
I dreamt of ghosts and daemons that night. Haunted faces and two-headed snakes with too many eyes, a psychedelic aura swirling and dancing at the edges.
A/N: Good fucking lord. My word processor tells me this is 9.4k in total and I did 7.2 of that in the last 3 days. My brain is slightly fried. I think I'll take a day or two's break before I get started on the next chapter.
