Black fire erupted from within Jasper, a flash of cold heat that incinerated the desert air. When the flames vanished, a whirlwind of obsidian sand spiraled around him and King Umbay, settling slowly onto the scorched ground of a new territory.
Jasper surveyed the horizon. The sky held the same agonizing promise as his own lands—the sun forever trapped beneath the horizon, casting a bruised violet light over the dunes. But the air here tasted different. It was thick, cloying, and metallic. He narrowed his eyes, inhaling deeply; the demon who ruled this place clearly did not feed on lust.
"Lord Varkas's domain," Umbay spat, brushing soot from his regal robes. The distinct orange of his attire acted as a beacon against the obsidian granules surrounding them. He didn't look at Jasper; he simply marched forward toward the 'Citadel of the Unequal,' a jagged spire of obsidian that rose from the sand like a broken tooth.
As they approached the main hub, Jasper's eyes scanned the "livestock" scattered across the dunes. The hierarchy was a jagged line of cruelty. He watched a group of human prisoners dressed in fine silks, lounging on cushions and sipping chilled water. Ten feet away, a group of beastmen were shackled in heavy iron, forced to dig shallow trenches with their fingernails while their "superior" human counterparts laughed, tossing scraps of spoiled meat at them.
The beastmen didn't look at their masters; they stared at the humans in silk with a simmering, murderous heat.
Jasper understood instantly. Resentment. It was a feast. Varkas didn't just enslave; he curated inequality. He fed the few to starve the many, ensuring the air was always heavy with the metallic rot of envy. This was how Varkas sated his hunger, and the stench of it was everywhere.
The doors to the Citadel ground open with a heavy, stone-on-stone rasp. Varkas emerged in his true form, a towering nightmare. Black, rigid horns erupted from his skull, curving sharply back before hooking forward into wicked points. His eyes were pits of absolute ink, and as he smiled, his jagged teeth caught the dim light of the seven moons. His elongated fingernails, like obsidian claws, scraped restlessly against his thighs.
"King Umbay," Varkas bowed, though the gesture was shallow. His gaze shifted to Jasper, and his posture immediately stiffened. He didn't bow to Jasper; he stood still, his muscles coiled. Jasper was the only Royal who made Varkas's skin crawl—the only one who made his predatory instincts scream run.
"You came too," Varkas murmured, his voice like grinding stones. "How unexpected."
Jasper smirked, keeping his mouth shut. He vaguely remembered killing a good portion of prisoners in Varkas's territories some years ago. The act had been so inconsequential at the time that Jasper had simply forgotten it.
"I did not leave my castle for small matters. If you wish to speak at length with my nephew, I could always leave him in your care," King Umbay threatened.
No demon throughout the realm wanted alone time with Jasper. Umbay would never admit it, but more than once, he had used his nephew's name as a deterrent for the various Lords who thought it wise to upset the natural order.
Varkas shot Jasper a menacing look before leading the pair to the central pit, the epicenter of his territory. A crowd of slaves surrounded the area, forming a chaotic tapestry of emotion: a wendigo prisoner was weeping openly, its long limbs trembling, while a human girl nearby wore a disturbing, blank grin, her eyes fixed on the center of the circle.
"Move," Varkas ordered. The gawking forms scattered at his few words, stumbling backward in a mixture of fear and obedience.
There, sprawled on the black sand, lay the demon.
He was in his true form—a warrior by the look of his thick, armored hide and massive horns. But the body was greyed, like ash held together by habit. In the history of their realm, demons did not die. They were eternal.
Umbay stepped to the edge, his face a mask of arrogant disbelief. To a King, the discovery of mortality was an insult. "A trick," Umbay whispered, though his hand trembled. "Demons do not cease. We are the constant."
He couldn't fathom what this would mean for their supremacy. In all worlds, demons ruled because they possessed what no other species had: true immortality. He did not know what it would do to his kind to learn they could be killed.
Jasper didn't speak. He crouched, his knees sinking into the black granules. He reached out, his nails grazing the dead demon's chest. A wisp of heavy black smoke coalesced around Jasper's eyes as he stared down; the whites of his eyes vanished, his vision swallowed by the black of his soul-sight.
He was looking for the soul—the lingering resonance that stays even after a body stops moving. But as Jasper turned the body over, he felt a coldness that went deeper than death.
The body was hollow. It was as if someone had removed the demon's very existence from his frame, even the trace amounts.
Every spark of essence had been vacuumed out. Jasper's mind flashed to Daniela. He thought of her power and the town it had destroyed. This body reminded him of her—of what she could do. It was in moments like this that he knew he had made the best gamble of his life. If this was her work, then he had reached the top of the food chain. He couldn't help it; his lips curved into a smile.
"I thought you may have some insight, my King. Is this an experiment gone wrong?" Varkas asked, his eyes drifting suspiciously to the smiling Jasper. "Or a dog that has strayed too far from his leash?"
If there was anyone Varkas believed could overcome the natural laws of their kind, it was Jasper. There was something about the man that felt like true death, and this couldn't be a coincidence.
"This one seemed weak. One of your lower demons?" Umbay asked, gauging his nephew's every move. He, too, suspected Jasper. Jasper was the only real anomaly in the realm of late. "His constitution must have been poor," the King continued, his lips curling in disgust as he looked down. The very sight of the corpse was a disrespect.
Everything in the realms had to eat. Umbay fed on lust; Varkas fed on resentment; but Daniela... her power fed on the very foundation of life energy. Jasper felt a surge of pride for his soon-to-be wife.
"What am I to do with this?" Varkas asked, his eyes shifting to his prisoners and the lower demons watching the spectacle. Word could not be allowed to spread that a demon had died on his territory. If the others thought he was losing control, the wolves would swarm and rip his home to shreds. "Is this a trick? Some high-grade illusionary magic?"
"You haven't touched him. Assuring he's not an illusion?" Jasper said in a mocking tone.
Umbay was quick to act, kicking the corpse with the tip of his boot. "It's no illusion," he grunted in irritation.
"What do we do with it?" Varkas repeated.
Jasper ignored him. He stood and looked at the silk-clad prisoners lounging nearby. "You," Jasper said, his voice a low, melodic threat. "Come here. Dig."
The pampered humans looked insulted, their eyes darting to Varkas. The territory lord gave a sharp, jagged nod. They dropped to their knees, their fine silks staining black as they clawed at the sand. The wendigos watched with victorious, jagged smiles. The resentment in the air was so thick Varkas practically leaned into it, inhaling the metallic feast.
Once the hole was deep enough, Jasper stepped forward and, with a cold, unceremonious shove of his boot, kicked the demon's body into the dark earth.
"Cover it," he commanded.
As the sand touched the hollow demon, the realm itself convulsed. The sands of the demon world were enchanted—they gave life, recycled it, and birthed it anew. But this hollow thing was a foreign object, a void that the earth rejected.
A violent quake shook the dunes. "What is this?" Umbay demanded, stumbling back.
The obsidian sand began to liquefy and swirl, racing toward the grave like a black whirlpool.
The slaves screamed and fled for safety, sensing the earth's mounting rage. Varkas and Umbay retreated, their faces tight with fear. Only Jasper remained still, the black granules rushing past his feet like a river of glass.
The ground gave one final, violent heave, as if the earth were retching. Instead of a body, the sand pushed a single object to the surface: a jagged shard of obsidian stone the size of a man's head, pulsing with a rhythmic, violet light. It hummed with a resonance that spoke of stolen life.
Umbay's greed eclipsed his fear. "It's powerful," he whispered, reaching out.
As Umbay's fingers touched the stone, he let out a choked cry. His hand withered instantly—the skin turning grey, wrinkling and shrinking against the bone. He pulled back, staring in horror at his aged flesh.
Jasper stepped forward. He felt the stone's vacuum; it was a starving predator. But Jasper's will was a fortress. He tightened the grip on his own essence, locking it behind the iron bars of his mind, and then he closed his hand around the obsidian.
"That thing belongs to the crown!" King Umbay barked, reasserting his authority. He could not allow his nephew to possess another source of power.
The stone shrieked at a frequency only demons could hear. It fought to drain Jasper, but his power remained firmly under his control. He held it until the stone's pulse synchronized with his own heartbeat.
"Here," Jasper offered, stepping closer to his uncle. The obsidian stone hummed dangerously in his palm.
Umbay took several unconscious steps back, cradling his shriveled hand and wearing a look of pure, venomous irritation.
Jasper's eyes remained black, his voice cold and final. "The law of this realm is ancient, Uncle. If you can take it, it is yours." He mused, still holding out the stone. When the King did not move, Jasper pulled it back. "I'll keep this then. Thank you, Uncle."
He tucked the humming stone under his arm, the first "corpse" of their kind now resting as a trophy in his palm.
Author's note:
I feel like death. Food poisoning sucks!