"So, you banished your first demon. Good work, Warlock." Ashmedai said and adjusted the cuffs of his dress-shirt. His silver cufflinks, shaped like the heads of bulls, winked at Oak. "I heard through the grapevine that Belphegor is not too pleased with one of his spawn. Little pest burned a pact, lost a seal, and got almost nothing in return."

The Scourge of Thrones took a drag from his pipe and breathed out an ever changing, rotting skull. A smoky replica of the Seal of Rot and Decay Oak's infernal engine had seized from the spawn of Belphegor, when he destroyed the Demon's shell in Creation. "A triumph, which will pay dividends in the battles to come."

The two of them sat in the familiar leather armchairs Ashmedai favored, on top of a white pillar of stone in the middle of a gigantic and cavernous hall. A majestic locale for a mere routine communion. You could've fit a mountain range inside and had space leftover. Vaults, armories, artifacts, and the mutilated corpses of an untold number of fallen adversaries frozen in different states of ruin covered every inch of space Oak laid his eyes on.

The scale of it all made his head spin.

"Thank you, Patron." Oak leaned back in his sinfully soft leather armchair and squirmed. Why does everyone feel the need to compliment me? Yes, I did good. Can't we just move on? He glanced up again, for the third time in as many minutes.

High in the air above them, a black sun burned in the midpoint of the massive cavern, casting its sweltering rays over this hoard seized by wrath and lance. Caressing all the treasure and might locked in this place with its infernal radiance. It felt like a warning, and a promise, though Oak could only guess at its full breadth and meaning.

"It's a multipurpose weapon of inter-plane warfare. I crafted it out of a Hashmallim's burning heart."

Oak startled, and when he registered his Patron's words, a shiver of religious bliss passed through him. What a sacrilege. What a statement of creed and purpose. A rigid defender of hierarchy and the status quo transformed into an engine of change. Ashmedai and his legions had beaten back the full might of a Choir, and now Oak's patron wielded the corpse of an angel against the Heavens.

"Magnificent. It is magnificent," he whispered, not even trying to hide his awe.

"Almost as magnificent as your recent success." Ashmedai locked eyes with Oak and grinned. "You have collected a respectable amount of souls since we last spoke."

Is he doing this on purpose? He has to know I'm about as good at receiving compliments as I am at conflict resolution through non-violent means. "Yeah." Oak scratched the back of his head and looked away. His gaze landed on a hill-sized statue of an impaled muscular demon with goat's horns on his head, sporting wicked claws and fangs to match.

The statue's chest had been ravaged open, ribs pointing outwards like the petals of a flower.

"You are a benefactor of that one's demise. It is the corpse of my old confidant, Amaymon, whose Boon you carry." Ashmedai's eyes blazed with hellfire, and his grin turned feral. "Old sport reached for the stars, but he caught me, instead."

"What is this place, really?" Oak shook his head in wonder.

"The Hall of Trophies. The Butchery. I have won many victories and grasped countless powers. Some, I received through guile and trade. Others I took with wrath and martial might." Ashmedai spread his arms and gestured at the surrounding treasure with his pipe. Racks full of enchanted weapons. Pieces of armor and artifacts so peculiar Oak could not fathom their purpose. A giant red spinning top, endlessly spinning. Gauntlets made of purple lightning. A roaring river looped into a circle and frozen in the air. "Here, I keep the mementos I snatched away with my own bloody hands."

Oak swallowed. "A respectable collection."

"Hmm. Maybe. Plenty of room left for heads on spikes."

A troupe of infernal spirits flew past on wings of burning rage, carrying a black ledger the size of a farmhouse under them with ropes of blood. Ribbons of offal trailed from the ledger, spinning into fractal shapes that defied description, leaving afterimages dancing in Oak's vision. The terrifyingly beautiful men and women did a somersault in the air, and dove behind a hill made of snake demon corpses, taking the impossible grimoire with them.

"Have you given any thought to your next set of Boons?"

Oak blinked and rubbed his eyes to clear the light show from his sight. "Yes, I have. One from the branch of Flauros and the other from the branch of Amaymon. My flames could use an upgrade, and since acquiring armor looks like a pipe dream at the moment, I thought I should invest in more infernal means of protection."

The urge to get something that would make him immune to disease had been strong, but in the end, Oak couldn't justify it to himself. It was highly unlikely that any disease, even the fucking runs, could kill him, since he had the Boon of Demonic Constitution. His regeneration had an excellent track record of keeping death at arm's length.

"May I ask why you chose this way? I'm always interested to hear your reasons."

"Sure." Oak shrugged. "Burning things to death is a hoot, and I'm getting tired of every sorry creature with claws scratching the shit out of me."

"Ah. Understandable. When it comes to your flames, I assume you wish to upgrade your Pyrokinetic Telekinesis?"

"Yes. Blasting things to smoldering chunks never gets old."

"I had the feeling you might think so. In that case, let's focus on the branch of Amaymon. I suggest the Scales of the Southern King." Ashmedai snapped his fingers and an image of the branch in question popped into view in front of them. An effigy of Oak's body, glowing with unclaimed boons. "It infuses the recipient's skin with a portion of the hardiness of Amaymon's scales. The durability will equal an inch of hardened leather."

"Can I upgrade it further down the line, just like my Pyrokinetic Telekinesis?" Oak leaned closer to the image, trying and failing to keep his excitement in check. He might finally get something better than a jacket between himself and his many enemies.

"Of course."

Oak rubbed his hands together in glee. "I want it."

"And you shall receive it. Is there anything else you wish to discuss before I knock you out and start operating on your soul?"

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

A thousand and one things, none of them important enough to trouble a Demon with. Oak tapped the white stone under his feet with the toe of his right boot and leaned back in his armchair, letting out a tired sigh. It had been a rough few days, and the caravan had harsh miles ahead of it.

Harsh miles and bleak thoughts. Everyone in the caravan desperately needed a break from the road. When they had stopped for lunch, even the oxen had looked depressed. Oak had seen more cheerful funeral processions than the caravan's long line of wagons crawling northwest.

Talking to someone about his feelings would be smart. And yet, complaining to his Patron about tiredness, annoyance or chafed thighs seemed like an utterly childish course of action. Oak had no intention of playing a little boy in front of the Demon of Wrath. He wanted his Patron's respect, not his pity.

"No, nothing worth mentioning comes to mind."

"Well, in that case, it is time to say goodbye. Until we next meet, Oak of the Northlands." Ashmedai snapped his fingers, and the world fell away into shadow.

***

In the dead of night, Oak marched away from the caravan's encampment, looking for a suitable target for his upgraded Pyrokinetic Telekinesis. He wanted to test his new toy without having to worry about prying eyes. On their approach to the campsite, they had passed a pond with dead trees sticking out of it, which seemed like a safe option.

At least the risk of starting a forest fire would be low.

After a short walk down the muddy road churned up by countless hoofs and wagon wheels, the surrounding jungle parted and Oak arrived on the bank of the small pond. Drowned trees stuck out from the pond like the spikes on a hedgehog.

A veritable feast of targets for Oak's flames to dine on.

The light of the stars above reflected on the surface of the drowsy pond, casting an illusion of the night sky on the still water. He walked to the water's edge and glanced at his own reflection. Gaunt, scarred face, and a prominent jaw. The eyes of a mad dog and a crooked nose. Dirty hair and even dirtier beard, so blonde they might as well be white.

Yeah. That is me alright. Looking fine, like a thin ogre suffering from rabies.

Oak stepped back and shook his head, smiling at himself. He had made peace with his looks a long time ago. Nowadays, his frightening visage felt more like a gift than a curse. My outsides match my insides. It feels right. Honest. A pretty boy with Oak's sunny disposition and hunger for violence would have been a strange sight indeed.

Status

Infernal engine

Current status:

Souls: 176 Fuel: 0

Branches

Boons

Branch of Flauros

Pyromancy: grants an intuitive understanding of fire and the basic ability to summon it.

Pyrokinetic Telekinesis II: grants the ability to shape fire to your liking and project telekinetic force through flames.

Branch of Amdusias

Ears of Amdusias: grants sharp hearing and the basic ability to see one's environment through sound.

Branch of Buer

Demonic Constitution II: grants faster healing from injury, markedly lessens fatigue, and increases the rate of recovery from physical activity.

Branch of Ipos

Darkvision: grants the ability to see even in complete darkness.

Branch of Kimaris

Devilish Sensorium: grants a slight increase in speed and enhanced reflexes.

Branch of Amaymon

Corse of Bloodshed: grants a slight increase in strength and hardiness. The effects grow in proportion to the wrath coursing through the recipient veins.

The Scales of the Southern King: infuses the recipient's skin with infernal might, granting a pale imitation of the hardiness of Amaymon's scales. The added durability equals an inch of hardened leather.

Seals

Name

Description

The Seal of Rot and Decay

All things end and wither. While active, all injuries inflicted by you will rot and fester. Whether left by fist, flame or blade, the wounds you leave behind are likely to kill and do not easily heal.

Theurgy

Current status:

Ghosts: 35

Wards

Ghosts attached: 21

Wraiths

The Librarian

Trauma weapons

Kaarina's Horror

Thought-plagues

Kushim's Bewilderment

Scouts

Raven

Miscellaneous ghosts

Sparrow

Cat

It was nice to have another second-level boon to accompany Demonic Constitution. Time to do a little test. Oak lifted his right hand and aimed at the closest drowned baobab tree sticking out of the pond. The flame roaring in his soul answered his call eagerly, like a warhorse champing at the bit to get at the enemy. He shaped the blast with unfamiliar ease, launching a spinning spiral of orange fire and kinetic force at the midsection of the tree.

The telekinetic spike hiding inside the spiral of fire punched right through the trunk, leaving a hand-sized hole in its wake. With a drawn-out groan, the tree snapped and fell into the pond, splashing water in the air and breaking the illusion of the night sky resting on the pond's surface.

Birds fled the trees surrounding the pond in droves, screeching their annoyance for all to hear while they sought a more suitable resting place. The loud boom and the flash of searing light had interrupted their beauty sleep. Waves lapped at the water's edge in front of Oak as he stared at the smoldering stump, mouth open in amazement.

An errant thought bubbled up from his unconscious mind, shattering his joy.

"Shit!" Oak cursed to himself. The fever had made him a liar. Despite promises and best intentions, he never got around to burning Al-Badra to the ground and salting the ashes . By the time he had recovered enough to manage the deed, the caravan had already left that den of filth behind.

That heap of feces, corpses, and rotten wood should have faced an end in a cleansing flame. Now the jungle might swallow it, if it dares. He huffed in annoyance. What can a man do, but soldier on? I will get you next time, Al-Badra.

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