Beginning

"I'm home!" Wrath's voice boomed through the cavern as he strode into his lair, the sound echoing off the jagged walls. The space was dimly lit, its only illumination provided by the occasional flicker of firelight from molten pools scattered throughout. Wrath walked toward his worn, makeshift table—little more than a slab of stone propped on uneven rocks—and plopped himself down cross-legged on the ground.

"Ben! You there?" Wrath called out again, his tone somewhere between impatience and amusement.

A figure emerged from the shadows, lean but hardened, his form defined by countless hours of relentless training. Ben, ever vigilant, stepped into view, his expression cool and indifferent.

"You're back, demon of Wrath," Ben said flatly, his voice clipped. He didn't even attempt to mask his disdain.

Wrath let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning back with his arms propped behind him. "Hey, what's with the cold greeting? I thought we were getting closer!" he teased, his grin wide and unapologetic.

Ben scoffed, turning away to resume his training. "Closer? Hardly," he muttered as he moved toward the makeshift training ground carved out of the cave.

Wrath, undeterred, pushed himself to his feet and followed. "Alright, let's see how far you've come," he said, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity as he observed the rudimentary setup.

Ben moved to stand near a wall, taking a practiced stance. With a sharp exhale, he drove his fist into the stone, leaving a noticeable dent. Wrath whistled low, nodding in approval.

"Not bad, but you're wasting power," Wrath said, stepping closer. "You've got to move with your core. That's where all your strength comes from."

Ben turned to him, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Do you not have anything better to do? Must you invaders even intrude on my privacy?" His tone was exasperated, the tension between them palpable.

Wrath laughed, throwing his head back. "Look, kid, if you're serious about taking revenge on us—and I know you are—you're going to need to get stronger. And that starts with mastering the basics." He clapped Ben on the back, ignoring the younger man's irritated glare. "If you can't even punch properly, you can kiss your dreams of revenge goodbye."

Ben grumbled under his breath but grudgingly adjusted his stance as Wrath demonstrated. Feet wider. Shoulders straight. A slight bend in the knees. Wrath's movements were smooth, precise, and effortless, a stark contrast to Ben's stiff attempts to mimic him.

"Better," Wrath said as Ben threw another punch, this time with noticeably more power. "See? Told you. Power's in the core."

Ben paused, glancing over at Wrath. "You went away for a while. What was that about?"

Wrath smirked, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall. "Got summoned to the Overworld," he said casually, as if it were a routine errand. "And guess what? I met another one of our own."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "Another demon lord?"

"Nope." Wrath's grin widened. "A human."

That caught Ben off guard. He stopped mid-punch, his curiosity begrudgingly piqued. "A human? What's so interesting about that?"

"Everything," Wrath said, his tone turning more reflective. "Humans—our kind—have a way of stirring up trouble wherever we go. You've seen it yourself, haven't you? Look around the Underworld. In just a few thousand years, humans have transformed it into something almost unrecognizable. And this kid? He's got something about him—something different. Trouble follows him like a shadow, but whether it's bad luck or good luck... well, that depends on how you look at it."

Ben frowned, his skepticism clear. "What's so special about him? What makes him worth mentioning?"

Wrath's expression darkened slightly, his grin fading into something more serious. "I'm not entirely sure," he admitted. "But a lot of beings are watching him—powerful beings. He's attracting attention, and that kind of attention? It always ripples out. It's not just going to affect the Overworld. This kid's choices will echo all the way down here. Mark my words."

Ben clenched his fists, his gaze hardening. "And what does that mean for us?"

"It means," Wrath said, his tone sharpening, "that if you want to survive—and if you want to protect what's yours—you'd better get stronger. Faster. You don't have the luxury of wasting time."

The weight of Wrath's words hung in the air, and for the first time, Ben felt a flicker of unease. Wrath's usual flippant demeanor had given way to something far more serious, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

"Now," Wrath said, clapping his hands together and shattering the tension. "Back to training. Show me that punch again, and this time? Put your back into it!"

Ben rolled his eyes but obeyed, his focus sharpening. As much as he hated to admit it, the demon of Wrath had a point. If trouble was brewing, he had no choice but to be ready.

"Good! Again… good. Again—no, that's wrong. You lost your power there. Again!" Wrath's voice rang out sharply, echoing in the cavern as he barked instructions. He stood tall and unyielding, his sharp eyes fixed on Ben's every movement. Ben, the blind demon, ground his teeth as he adjusted his stance yet again, sweat dripping from his brow.

Wrath had spent several grueling hours teaching Ben how to punch properly, each correction more frustrating than the last. The training was relentless, and Ben's hands bore the proof—bloody and raw from striking the stone wall. The surface itself, once smooth, now bore faint cracks, a testament to Ben's effort, if not his mastery.

Finally, Wrath relented. "Enough." He waved a hand dismissively. "Rest. You're no good to me—or yourself—if you're too broken to move."

Ben staggered back, collapsing onto a nearby slab of rock that served as a crude bench. His hands throbbed painfully, and his chest heaved with each breath. He cast his sightless gaze toward Wrath, his voice heavy with exhaustion and bitterness. "Why help me? I'm going to kill you eventually."

Wrath smirked, leaning lazily against the jagged cave wall. "Secret," he said simply, the word laced with teasing. Then, as if to shift the mood, he added, "On the topic of secrets… I have to say, I'm surprised you can even see, considering Lust took your eyes and all. There—I gave you a hint as to why I'm helping. Aren't I generous?" Wrath's tone was jovial, a stark contrast to Ben's grim demeanor.

Ben remained silent, though his clenched fists betrayed his irritation.

Wrath continued, unbothered by the lack of response. "You know, your kind—I don't mean demons in general, but your particular demon family—was once renowned for their strength. That was, what, a thousand years ago? Back then, they were some of the most capable warriors anyone had ever seen. Do you know what they specialized in?" Wrath's grin widened as he answered his own question. "Hand-to-hand combat. That's why I'm training you. Well, that's one reason. The rest? Still a secret." He ended with a dramatic sigh, casting a glance at Ben.

Though Ben's face was unreadable—lacking eyes to truly express his emotions—Wrath imagined him brimming with barely-contained annoyance.

"So," Ben said after a moment, his tone laced with sarcasm, "you're helping me because you knew my bloodline long ago? Hah! To think a demon like you would have emotions so complex!" His words were angry, but there was a hint of something else beneath—doubt, perhaps, or reluctant curiosity.

Wrath laughed, his voice rich and unrestrained. "Complex emotions? Me? Don't flatter yourself, kid." He crouched down so they were eye-level, though Ben's blindness rendered the gesture moot. "But I'll give you this—your bloodline wasn't just about brute strength. They had pride, skill, and purpose. You've got some big shoes to fill if you want to live up to that."

Ben's jaw tightened, his mind churning with Wrath's words. He hated the demon's smugness, hated his cryptic hints and playful tone—but more than that, he hated the seed of truth Wrath had planted.

As Wrath stood and stretched, he added casually, "And hey, if you really are planning to kill me someday, you'd better get better at this." He gestured to the cracked wall. "That punch? Still too weak."

Ben growled under his breath, his fists tightening once more. Wrath, ever the instigator, laughed again as he strolled off, leaving Ben to sit in silence, his thoughts as raw as his hands.

__________________

"Ms. Eldez... haah… can we maybe rest a little?" Varin gasped between heavy breaths as she trudged behind the unyielding mage. The dirt path they'd been following for hours seemed endless, the mountain they'd crossed earlier now a distant memory—one Varin's aching legs wouldn't soon forget. "I know we're close, but we've been walking for hours! Haah…"

Ms. Eldez, as poised as ever, didn't even glance back. Her stride was steady, her composure unshaken. She looked more like she was taking a casual stroll through a meadow than trekking through grueling terrain.

Varin groaned, throwing up her hands. "How are you not tired? Are you using magic?" Her tone turned accusatory, fueled by exhaustion. "That's cheating!"

Ms. Eldez finally slowed, her gaze shifting to the horizon. "I see it... chaos..." she murmured cryptically, her voice barely above a whisper. Her silver eyes seemed distant, lost in thought. "They're here, after all."

Varin stared at her like she'd just sprouted a second head. "What? What does that even mean? Are all mages crazy? Is that, like, a requirement to become one?" Her words were punctuated by a tired huff as she bent over, hands on her knees.

Ms. Eldez offered no response, too absorbed in her thoughts.

(It's here... Dear sisters... I'll find you. We'll finally be reunited.)

Ms. Eldez's mind was a whirlwind of determination as she pressed forward, her steps brisk and purposeful. She barely noticed Varin's increasingly labored breathing behind her. That is, until she felt a sudden weight on her side.

Ms. Eldez blinked, startled out of her reverie. She glanced down to find Varin leaning heavily against her, clutching at her robes like a drowning sailor clinging to driftwood.

"Ms. Eldez," Varin panted, her face flushed and her legs trembling, "you're a monster... How... how are you still fine after all this? We just crossed a mountain, and you still look like you stepped out of a spa! Are you human?"

Ms. Eldez tilted her head, her expression softening as if she'd only just realized how far they'd come. "Varin... you seem tired. Are you okay? Perhaps we should rest," she said calmly, as though the idea had only just occurred to her.

Varin didn't bother with a witty reply. With a long, dramatic groan, she dropped to the ground, sprawling out like a starfish. "Finally..." she breathed, glaring up at the sky. "You should've suggested that hours ago. You're a sadist, Ms. Eldez. That's the only explanation. You're some kind of magical sadist."

Ms. Eldez knelt down beside her, unfazed by the jab. "Rest, Varin. If you're tired, you can sleep. I'll take care of things from here."

Varin squinted up at her, too exhausted to ask what "take care of things" meant. Instead, she muttered, "If I wake up, and you've gone off to fight something insane, I'm never forgiving you."

Her eyes fluttered shut before she could hear Ms. Eldez's reply, the cool ground beneath her offering a surprising amount of comfort.

Ms. Eldez stood, gazing out into the distance. The faint hum of magic in the air was stronger now, tugging at her like a guiding hand. She cast a glance back at Varin, who was already softly snoring, her limbs sprawled in every direction.

With a rare, almost imperceptible smile, Ms. Eldez murmured, "Rest well, Varin. I'll make sure you don't miss anything important."

She turned her gaze back toward the source of the disturbance, her hand glowing faintly with the beginnings of a spell. Whatever lay ahead, it wasn't going to wait for them.

Ms. Eldez extended her hand, murmuring an incantation as a pitch-black orb formed before her. It shimmered with an unnatural energy, distorting the air around it as if reality itself was bending to its will. Without hesitation, she hoisted the unconscious Varin onto her shoulder and stepped into the void.

On the other side, they emerged near the gates of a modest inn in the heart of the Has Republic. Ms. Eldez walked straight to the front desk, her expression sharp and unreadable. "Room for two, three weeks. Keep the change," she said curtly, sliding a pouch of coins across the counter.

Key in hand, she ascended the stairs and entered a small, quiet room. Gently, she laid Varin on the bed, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face before pulling the blanket over her. For a brief moment, Ms. Eldez stood there, watching her companion's steady breathing.

Then, wordlessly, she sat down on the opposite bed, her body finally succumbing to the exhaustion she had ignored for days. As her eyes closed, one thought pulsed relentlessly through her mind:

(Chaos... it's coming. Chaos is coming.)

_____________

"Fucking insects! Why this goddamn forest, Ligh?" Adam yelled, smacking away yet another giant, buzzing monstrosity. His once-clean clothes were now a patchwork of mud, sweat, and crushed bug guts. He swatted wildly at a mosquito the size of a small bird, his face contorted in rage.

"Leave me alone, you six-legged bastards!" he bellowed, his voice cracking as a swarm of beetles descended on him. "What is this, bug hell?! Is this where bugs go to get revenge on people?"

Adam sprinted forward, arms flailing like a deranged windmill. He was done with subtlety—there wasn't a shred of dignity left to preserve. "I swear, I'm going to burn this entire forest down! I'll scorch every tree! Every leaf! Every single one of you winged freaks—ahhh!"

He tripped over a root and rolled downhill, crashing into a stream with a tremendous splash. For a moment, the water was blissfully silent. Adam resurfaced, panting, his hair plastered to his face. The bugs hovered just out of reach, as if mocking him.

"Oh, you think you've won, huh?" he muttered, shaking a fist at the insects. "I'm coming back for you. You'll all pay. Starting with you, mosquito-zilla!"

He grabbed a nearby stick like a sword, slipped in the water, and fell flat on his back again. Floating downstream, Adam groaned.

"Ligh... next time, just drop me in the middle of a volcano. It'd be less painful."

Adam floated downstream for a moment, the cool water calming his frazzled nerves. Then, as his feet found the riverbed, he stood up, dripping wet and looking around. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning.

"Wait a minute…" he muttered, his eyes narrowing. The forest here was sparse—no dense trees, no underbrush, nothing flammable except the swarm of tormenting bugs.

A manic grin spread across his face. "Oh... oh, you're done now," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerously gleeful whisper. He held out his hand, and a flickering fireball formed, glowing with a menacing orange hue.

"Let's see how you like this, you little freaks!" he cackled, hurling the fireball into the swarm. The explosion sent a satisfying wave of charred bug bits into the air. The grin widened. "Bulls-eye!"

Adam unleashed another fiery projectile, his laughter echoing through the forest. "Who's buzzing now? Huh? Not so tough when you're extra crispy!" He spun dramatically, sending flames into a cloud of beetles, their wings incinerating mid-flight.

He was in full-blown pyromaniac mode now, the gleam in his eye almost as bright as the fireballs. "This is for biting me! This is for my ruined shirt! And this is for traumatizing me forever!"

As the last few insects buzzed off in retreat, Adam dusted his hands off, victorious. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he said, smirking. "Run home to your little bug families and tell them not to mess with Adam the Exterminator."

He stood there, soaked, grinning like a lunatic, surrounded by the smoldering remains of his buggy enemies. Then he sighed contentedly.

"Ah, sweet, sweet revenge," he muttered, wringing out his sleeve. "Now… where was I? Oh yeah—getting the hell out of this forest."

Adam trudged out of the stream, soaked but victorious, the forest's usual cacophony of buzzing insects mercifully silent. As he made his way deeper into the wilderness, the trees began to thin, and soon he stumbled into a clearing.

"Huh, this place is... weirdly empty," he muttered, glancing around the barren expanse. "Creepy forest, creepy vibes—classic setup for something terrible."

His musings were interrupted when his foot hit something. A faint click sounded, and before he could react, a rope coiled tightly around his ankle and yanked him upward.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Adam shouted, now dangling several feet off the ground. His arms flailed uselessly as the world spun upside down. "Who puts traps in the middle of nowhere? Is this some kind of sick joke?!"

Then he heard it—a soft rustling in the trees. Something—or someone—was moving. Fast. Too fast for Adam to get a good look. A shadow darted from branch to branch until, finally, a figure perched above him on the very tree he was dangling from.

It was a person, or at least Adam hoped so. The silhouette carried a bow, and in the dim light, the glint of an arrowhead made his stomach lurch. The figure raised the weapon, pointing it directly at him.

"Wait… who are you?" a young voice called out. "You're not the guy!"

"The guy? What guy?!" Adam sputtered, twisting helplessly in the air.

The person ignored him, sighing dramatically. "Great. Just great. Now I have to re-arm the traps. This is such a pain."

"Uh, hello?! Maybe let me down before you start with the DIY death traps again!" Adam snapped, his temper rising as the blood rushed to his head.

Without a word, the figure sliced through the rope with a knife, and Adam crashed to the ground in a heap.

"Ow! Are you insane?!" Adam groaned, clutching his shoulder as he scrambled to his feet.

The stranger, now fully visible, crouched on a low branch. They were young, wiry, and clad in a mix of leather and patchwork armor, with a messy mop of hair that suggested they didn't care much for grooming.

"Hey, you," the person said, peering at Adam with an appraising look. "Your name isn't Hemlok, is it? You don't have a scar on your left cheek? And you're not 45?"

"What? No! The hell does any of that have to do with this?" Adam barked, still brushing dirt off his clothes.

The stranger groaned, slapping their forehead. "Ugh, wrong guy. Again." They sat back on the branch, kicking their legs in frustration. "Man, I was so sure you were him this time. Now I have to start all over. What a waste."

Adam stared at them, his concern mounting by the second. "Wait… hold up. What do you mean, wrong guy? What the hell is going on here?!"

The stranger perked up, as if remembering something important. "Oh! Right. I'm supposed to introduce myself. My bad!" They leaped down from the tree and extended a hand, grinning. "Hi, I'm Kair. I'm a headhunter!"

Adam recoiled, staring at the hand like it was a live grenade. "A what?!"

"A headhunter!" Kair repeated cheerfully. "You know, someone who hunts people for money. Don't worry, though—you're not on the list. Yet."

Adam blinked, utterly flabbergasted. "What the—are you serious right now? Who the hell just casually says that?! And yet?! What do you mean, yet?!"

Kair shrugged, turning back toward the tree to retrieve a few scattered supplies. "Relax, dude. You're safe. For now. Unless, of course, someone does put a bounty on your head. Then, well…" They trailed off with a mischievous grin, shouldering their bow.

Adam threw his hands up. "I swear, I've met some weirdos in my life, but you? You take the goddamn cake."

"Thanks! I'll take that as a compliment!" Kair called over their shoulder, already disappearing into the shadows of the forest.

Adam stood there, dumbfounded, before muttering, "This is why I hate nature."

Adam watched Kair disappear into the shadows, but something tugged at him. Maybe it was desperation, or maybe it was the fact that this bizarre headhunter seemed to know his way around the forest. Against his better judgment, Adam jogged after him.

"Hey! Hey, guy!" Adam shouted, catching up.

Kair turned slowly, looking mildly annoyed. "The name's Kair. Kair, not 'guy.'"

"Right, sorry, Kair. Do you know where the Has Republic is? I've been wandering around this godforsaken forest for ages, and I really need to get there."

Kair tilted his head, squinting at Adam like he was trying to figure out if this was a trick question. "Yeah, sure. It's that way," he said, pointing in a vaguely northward direction. "You'll hit a town nearby soon. Just grab a carriage from there. Easy."

Adam noticed something strange about the way Kair spoke—each word was carefully measured, as if he were choosing them with extreme caution. His sentences dragged slightly, like someone speaking in a second language they weren't fully comfortable with.

"Uh, thanks," Adam said, though he couldn't help but ask, "Are you… okay? You sound like you're rehearsing your lines or something."

Kair sighed dramatically, his shoulders sagging. "Look, man, Common isn't my first language, alright? Give me a break. My native tongue doesn't even have vowels."

Adam blinked. "...What?"

"Yeah, it's all clicks and hisses. Very efficient, but not exactly compatible with, you know, your ears," Kair explained, waving a hand dismissively. "Anyway, good luck with the Republic thing. Watch out for bandits. Or don't. I don't care."

With that, Kair turned to walk away again, muttering under his breath. "Weirdos, man. They're everywhere."

Adam stared after him, hands on his hips. "I'm the weirdo? Dude, you're the one out here hunting people like it's a sport and speaking in slow-motion like you're narrating a nature documentary!"

Kair didn't even turn around. "Pot, meet kettle!" he called back cheerfully, disappearing into the trees.

Adam threw up his hands in exasperation. "Unbelievable. This forest is like a magnet for lunatics!"

He sighed, adjusted his bag, and started walking in the direction Kair had pointed. "If I run into one more maniac, I'm setting the whole place on fire," he grumbled to himself, though a small part of him couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

____________________________

"Things are happening," Wrath muttered, his voice drifting lazily as he sprawled out on the ground, staring up at the ceiling. Ben, who had been sharpening a knife, glanced over at him.

"And? Is that not normal?" Ben replied, his tone flat and unimpressed.

Wrath gave a heavy sigh, his eyes flicking over to Ben with a wry grin. "Ah, sorry, I thought I was just thinking it. I meant to say... things are happening too fast. It's all coming together—too fast. It's planned, and it's very likely to get much worse... A lot's going to happen in Has soon. You know where that is? Doesn't matter. I kind of feel bad for sending the kid there. But then again, who cares? He's human. He'll manage... Probably." Wrath yawned, stretching lazily.

Ben just stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You have a weird way of caring," he muttered, not sure if he was even meant to be listening to this conversation.

Wrath shrugged. "Eh, that's what makes me so damn lovable." He gave a carefree chuckle and turned over, clearly uninterested in continuing.

Back in another part of the world, Sara, the Demon of Lust, lounged casually in her lavish chamber, an eerie calm surrounding her. The air was thick with the scent of decadence and power.

"Mistress Sara," a deep voice rumbled, cutting through the silence. A massive figure stepped forward—Ventrok, her most trusted trainer and fighter, a demon whose head was adorned with jagged horns in place of eyes, his hulking muscles rippling as he moved. "I've brought you a gift."

Sara perked up, her lips curling into a smirk. "Oh? A gift, you say?" Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Show me."

Ventrok stepped aside, revealing a young demon standing behind him. The demon, named Danmel, looked no older than twenty in human years. His black hair was neatly styled, and his clothes—simple, yet strikingly reminiscent of ancient Earth fashion—caught Sara's attention. She leaned forward, clearly intrigued.

"Good," she purred, her voice dripping with amusement. "Hey, Danmel... I already have a task for you. But first, I need to test you. Go fetch me a drink."

Danmel stood there for a moment, confused, but before he could ask any questions, Ventrok gave him a silent nod. With a resigned sigh, Danmel turned to leave.

"Where can I get it?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Sara didn't look at him as she casually waved her hand toward the door. "Ask one of my servants. They'll tell you. But don't take too long," she added, her voice suddenly cold.

Danmel hesitated but exited, leaving the room without another word.

Ventrok, watching the whole exchange, turned to Sara. "My lady, was that necessary? I can vouch for his skills. Or perhaps you simply wish to see him bleed?"

Sara's grin only widened, her eyes glinting with malicious delight. "Ven, you know I like my wine mixed with blood. And what better blood than that of a great warrior? If he survives, then... I'll personally have you give him your old eyes. That should make for a reward worthy of his effort."

Ventrok's face remained stoic, but there was a flicker of uncertainty behind his ancient eyes. "Of course, my lady. Whatever you desire."

Sara leaned back into her plush chair, her fingers playing with a string of pearls, a dark amusement in her gaze. "If he can't bring me the drink... well, I suppose he's not worth my time. But if he can, he'll prove himself useful. And perhaps he'll even become something more..."

The room grew heavy with the unspoken promise of danger. It was clear that Danmel was being tested in ways he could never anticipate—and the consequences of failure would be far worse than just a lost opportunity. Sara's amusement was evident, but behind it was a cruel hunger, an insatiable thirst for power and pleasure—one that would devour anyone who failed to meet her expectations.