Plethegon

{Two weeks later}

Eli Varon POV

Steam billowed through the air as I stepped out of the shower, my skin flushed and tingling from the scalding water. I couldn't fathom how anyone could prefer cold showers.

With a lazy swipe of my hand, I cleared the fog from the mirror, revealing my reflection. Short purple hair clung to my scalp, and vibrant red eyes stared back at me, hungry and wild. But something was missing. The blood. All that beautiful, delicious blood had swirled down the drain, leaving me feeling oddly bereft.

My mind drifted back to my most recent hunt in the Rock Field. The drake had been a formidable opponent, it had been able to wield the rock element which gave me a little trouble. But in the end, it had fallen to my axe, just like everything else that dared to cross my path.

I could still feel the exhilaration of the kill, the way the drake's hot blood had sprayed across my face as I delivered the final blow.

As I studied my reflection, a frown creased my brow. My skin was pale, too pale. It was a far cry from the rich, dark tones of my ancestors. The lack of sunlight in Plethegon had bleached the populace over the centuries, leaving only a handful with the old coloring. I hated it, this physical reminder of how the world had changed.

Eight thousand years ago, the sky had darkened. Clouds rolled in, thick and unyielding, plunging the world into a perpetual twilight. Some said it was the work of a beast, perhaps even one of Cataclysm rank, powerful enough to reshape the very skies. Whatever the cause, the world had never been the same.

Plethegon had fared better than most. I'd heard tales of Asgard, where rain fell without cease, day and night. The people there were said to be pale as ghosts, their skin nearly translucent. "Palefreaks," we called them in Plethegon, though never to their faces. For all their ghostly pallor, the Asgardians were not to be trifled with.

Asgard was the most advanced city in the known world, and home to the strongest Primordial Devourer in existence: Odin the Origin. My lips curled into a smirk as I remembered the secret my father had uncovered. Odin's real name was Imara Zorn – a name far too feminine for the fearsome reputation he had cultivated.

Despite the incongruity of his name, Odin remained one of my idols. To be the strongest Devourer – that was a goal worth pursuing. I had achieved full consumption on my first devouring, taking down one of the strongest behemoth classes of the feral rank. It was a good start, but I knew I had a long way to go.

I had chosen to focus on strength-based consumption for a simple reason: behemoths were the most numerous types of beasts. More beasts meant more options, more power to choose from.

Sure, the weakest of the seraphs might be stronger than the weakest behemoths, but at the highest levels, the difference was negligible. As my father always said when hosting dinners for our customers, "When the quality is the same, why not go after quantity? The more, the merrier."

"Elizabeth," I said to my reflection, tasting the bitterness of the name on my tongue. "What a dumb name."

My late mother had chosen it, naming me after the princess in her favorite novel. But I hated it. The princess was weak, dumb, a damsel in distress through and through. That's why I had everyone call me Eli, to distance myself from the name as much as I could.

I understood that by normal standards, women were often physically weaker, but why did the princess have to be so dumb? Why couldn't she think her actions through? My mother had read me that stupid novel every night until I was six, and each time I had to tell her how great it was.

I couldn't bear to sadden her, knowing that if she died, I would carry that guilt with me always. So I lied.

A skill that had soon become useful for me in the family business

What did we sell? Siphoning cables. The most profitable item on the continent, coveted by every city. Sure, they tried to plagiarize them, but they never came close to my father's models. He was in a league of his own when it came to science and business. I knew that firsthand. He wasn't strong for a Devourer, but his mind was more than enough to make up for it.

He had revolutionized siphoning cables, creating models capable of containing monsters of Apex and Colossus rank with 100% efficiency – a significant improvement over the average 60% of previous designs.

The only reason we didn't know how well they could contain a Cataclysm beast was that I had never seen one. I knew there was one at the center of the city, but I had no clue if they used our cables.

Maybe they did, maybe they didn't, but today was the day I was going to find out. Our newest guest was someone very important: the deterrent of Plethegon, the Warrior of Elements, the Primordial Devourer herself – Haly Reach. Another of my idols, though I tried not to let my excitement show.

I stepped out of the bath naked – after all, it was my bathroom. Why would I need clothes here? I quickly opened my closet, remembering my father's advice: when meeting a guest, you couldn't indulge your own taste. You had to mimic theirs, to make them think you were of the same mind.

So I did just that. I knew Haly was stuck-up, a quality I didn't particularly like, but I pushed my personal feelings aside. "Never meet your heroes," the old saying went, and I was beginning to understand why.

I selected a purple dress and began putting it on, my enhanced dexterity allowing me to fasten the laces from behind without assistance. I styled my hair in a bun, recalling that Haly didn't like women with more hair than her. Finally, I slipped on a pair of white gloves – Haly was known to dislike skin contact.

As I started to leave, my eyes fell on my giant axe hanging on one of the racks. It was clean now, too clean.

"No blood," I muttered, a hint of regret in my voice.

I made my way through the mansion, many of the rooms quiet and dark. Even as one of the richest families on the continent, we couldn't waste energy – the most important and scarce resource we had, even with the power of beasts at our disposal.

Slowly, I descended the stairs, spotting my father already waiting at the bottom. He wore his best suit, white gloves matching my own. A smile spread across his face as he saw me – his pride and joy, his princess. That's what he called me, though I made sure he was the only one who did.

"Hello, princess," he said, taking my hand and 'helping' me down the last few steps.

"Hello, father," I replied, slipping into the role I needed to play.

"Already in character, I see. That's good."

"I have to be. I'm still not able to change as quickly as you, father."

He chuckled, his vibrant purple hair – so like my own – catching the artificial light. "Well, I guess that's why they call me an adaptive Devourer. Ha!"

I couldn't help but smile at his corny joke. When we were alone, he was always joyful, always happy, always joking. It was a side of him I treasured, a side that made him seem more human.

The moment was broken by the sound of the doorbell. My father cocked his head forward, signaling our head butler, Alfred, to answer.

Alfred bowed deeply as he opened the door, announcing in a clear, respectful voice, "Haly Reach, Primordial of Plethegon!"

I watched as she entered, my breath catching in my throat. Silver hair with streaks of green fell to her back, framing piercing grey eyes. She wore a silver gown that complemented her ethereal beauty perfectly.

As she approached, I bowed deeply, acutely aware of the vast difference in our positions. My father, ever the businessman, bowed just slightly – enough to show respect, but not so much as to appear weak.

"Welcome, my Lady, to our home," my father said smoothly. "This is my daughter, Eli Varon."

I bowed even deeper, summoning my most sultry voice. "Hello, my Lady."

Her reply came swiftly, each word as sharp and cold as a blade of ice.

"I don't like your eyes."