A Demon Chooses, A Servant Obeys

[Observing Future]

---

Ever since that Pact was formed with Mahatma, I've found myself writing more. Being more watchful, analyzing things, thinking things over. I can only assume it is a side-effect of melding ones spiritual essence together. I'll write myself one of those silly little 'journals', I see some mortals carry around. I've collected a few in my scavenging runs every so often. The things one can find in ruined buildings or tucked in hidden alcoves in the wild is entertaining on its own! I think it shall detail my thoughts on my past, my present, my future. Strange to ponder about all three, rather than merely living in the moment.

Anyway, I digress. Many of my kin howl to the moon with their ambitions, with desires of a grand hunt. But I have always been the abomination amongst my own. Indulgent was I, in my earlier evolution. I became benign, strong enough for my own servants to play with, strong enough that meals would be bestowed upon me. My encounter with a young Mahatma showed me that I was never strong enough, and yet I indulged in the splendors of wealth, scavenging, grasping and squeezing what entertainment I could from my abysmally dull existence.

When I heard of the expedition, I saw an opportunity. To appease someone of a higher position, to obtain even more. More splendors, more wealth, a place of prestige and recognition. Someplace where I could do even less work, with less effort. Treasures from some backwater land with barely a note of anything but some silly 'Tower'.

Than I witnessed my Lord.

There is something to be said about someone so awe-inspiring. In strength, in speech, in raw capability. It was everything I should aspire to be. And yet, I do not. His gaze can be fierce enough to silence my laughter. His movements carried with poise and posture. He could cut me down without so much as unsheathing his blade, and I had known that the moment I had seen him. This is why the hunt does not matter to one such as myself. In that minuscule moment, I came to realize what my purpose was. It was to serve. Serve the Lord Sages, the Demon King, and those they deem appropriate to follow. I do not need recognition for my actions. I do not need to be protected. I do not need the 'Pack', I only need the Will of my Lord. For his Will, and those he deems as appropriate for me to obey, are the desires I have. I have no value of this 'kinship', I only seek to see what is most beneficial to my Lord.

Such was the nature of the Trials of Claw and Fang. The strongest was already dictated long before, when Ignolf first bested me. But what followed was a judgement of each of their failings, each of their capabilities. Who stood out the most, and who floundered in the face of battle, how they hunted, how they perceived the Trials. What they would say on the eve of battle. There were many that were passionate, many that were strong. But only a few made me ponder most hard. Yet every little detail was noted, every little detail taken down and presented.

It tickles my fancy so. To see the fruits of my labors being reaped by my Lord.

But these things set me aside from this so-called Pack of Hunters. It is what makes me 'special' and yet expendable and useless all the same. Should I die, nothing will change, nor will anything matter. Should I live, I simply continue my eternal servitude, with a nice slice of my particular brand of eccentric madness and self indulgence! After all, the Struggle always awaits, and yearns for more. To watch mortals step away from their precious morality, and become something so much more tangible and delightful.

This was most amusing to simply write my ramblings within. Perhaps I'll do it again sometime.

[Observing Future]

---

Self-Actualization: An understanding that I could be better. Strange how I did not ponder this until Meranthe, as I had glutted upon my delights. Wealth and splendors to hoard within my abode. Things I bought with me on this trip, least most of I had. For I enjoy with such giddiness staring at the many little trophies I'd scavenged over the years. And yet something is missing, I cannot fathom what it is. It is an itch, there are many that serve my Lord, yet all serve with their own interests in mind. Be it this hunt they oh so love to dwell upon, or the potential powers his blessings may bestow upon them. It is only I, who can achieve the most truest of devotion, to enact his will to the truest of my capabilities. I shall be the sharpest of blades, the cleverest of quills, the cruelest of tyrants or the most noxious of venom. For I need no boons, I need no power, I need nothing.

Nothing more than the satisfaction of making his Will into Reality. For he is My Lord, and his Will, is my Desire.

Fear: I used to care little for such a concept. I found it interesting, yet little more than another facet of mortality that I could not fathom. Could not fathom. Yet it is a strange thing to not want to die, to feel the hairs upon one's hide stand up straight. It gives an abrupt weight to the struggle, the sound of blood pumping through the veins. It's exciting, and yet I detest it so. Fear, leads to hesitance. To think more than to act. Yet I have seen it guide, like little Desnus, cowering and trembling. Like the Knight, that made me fall into a fading memory. I ponder, if the fear is why I live. A burning, wretched desire. I could not simply die, not without solidifying myself before My Lord as something- no, someone of worth. It makes my body crawl and writhe, it leaves me breathless, and oh so delightfully enraged! I cannot let it get the best of me, I cannot let it control me. 

There are no uses of a coward to My Lord, and his Will, is my Desire.

Pride: How many times have I told a mortal 'good job, proud of you', in the most sarcastic and uncaring of fashions. An attempt at such positive reinforcement that means little in the grand scheme of things. Yet I recollect my mortal and his plans, how much little insipid detail he's put into such a passion project. I ponder the potions my other has created and her dedication to my Lord which matches even mine- coupled with her seeking to become more than her frail mortal body is. I stare upon the malicious grin of the fish and its eager little plans as it preps boldly in preparation, how the other little woman endures time and time again to snake her fingers and methods into things and places she's no right to be! From the little bird that fought oh so delectably hard to save me, when I expected no such amusing antics, to the newest I've plucked to do my bidding and his rather calm, collected demeanor. I feel a semblance of... Giddiness, excitement. Pride in their little accomplishments, some from my own nudging, others of their own accord, and one from my spiritual presence. It is a sensation that I am uncertain of how to digest, something that worms its way into my being. I want them to succeed, and a piece of me detests that there's a genuineness to such an emotion.

I am uncertain of how I can turn this to my advantage, or how it can serve him. If it has no use than mayhap I shall seek to suppress it. For if it has no use to him, well, then it has no use to I. For he is My Lord, and his Will, is my Desire.

---

My study into the pacts have thusly gotten me nowhere. Then again, my studies are limited to my own experience, and what little I have discussed with Apollyon and Echidna. For what, pray tell, does the Demon obtain from this intermingling of the spirit? I have seen myself becoming more analytic from the mind of my First. I have seen myself viewing the whole rather than the singular from my Second. Yet such are not things I had ever needed, nor things I had ever desired. It is only recently that I have grown to... Appreciate the intricacies that form their... Being. Yet still.

I recall my Lord's words well, upon our arrival. To convene and introduce ourselves amongst one another. For the demon and coven pacts will be necessary for our future works. To not be reluctant. If he had not stated as such? I would not have a single pact. I'd not have sullied my spiritual essence with the unnecessary intrusions of the mortal touch. A part of me ponders if these newfound sensations come from the pacts themselves. Did the Witch that I nearly obeyed utilize her knowledge of such to make me act in weakness? Is it my Second's influence that had me leap for self-preservation rather than the struggle in a fleeting moment of weakness? Are these new sensations that itch among my skull exacerbated by them, or merely a side effect of my harrowing near death experience.

I am most curious of the implications of these pacts. They gain access to further understanding of their tome, access to a ring that draws them closer to me, and I gain the ability to gather essence. For them. I do not bestow it always upon my First, but I do so to those that have curried my favor. Perhaps an inkling for the little bird that tried her best, to show my... Appreciation.

Appreciation... Appreciation. Appreciation...
Why does that word bother me so.

I do not know. I do not understand. 

But it is by My Lord's Will that we are to pact with the mortals, which in turn makes it My Desire.

[Observing Future]

"At least, that is what a human would do."

"Humans are innately selfish, conflicted, guilt ridden."

---

I have grown accustomed to most of the emotions within me. To fear, merely brings a satisfaction in its conquering. That giddy jubilation when I watch a particularly interesting mortal accomplish its task, or when my pactee's choose to thrive over simply existing, is a pleasantly weighted sensation. Yet even with this knowledge, it irks me so. It irks me that I sometimes take on traits of my Second, and gather ingredients for others- or present them with such should they need it. As if their lives have an ounce of weight in comparison to that of my Lords. It irks me, that I find myself acting as my First, pondering, trying to look through veils and analyze an individual thoroughly, when I know I lack the wit and guile to do so.

It annoys me. That at times, I feel this scratching at the back of my head. An idle itch, to be more than what I am.

I am not guilt ridden. I have never once regretted a single thing I have done. I am selfish, and love to enjoy the decadence of my splendors. I am not conflicted, I know what I hate. I know what I enjoy. I know what I want. And what I want most recently, has begun to irritate me to no end. I do not know the proper words to draw it out, to investigate and dig deeper. As I watch My Lord, I see that he does. Even if our reasons for doing so are different.

I want to understand these mortals. I want to understand the ones that deny themselves so. There are plenty that hide behind guises of caring, a guise of religious fervor, a guise of servitude or devotion, but deep down they know the true reason why they participate in this game instead of actually truly staying out of trouble. There are very few like that of Arlyss, or even to a lesser degree, Sanfey.

I hate them.

And yet I am glad she lived, I will find a way to coarse the real Sanfey writhing within her heart.

Perhaps it is akin to my Second's obsession... Living rent free within my mind, because they are not something I can have. A goal that I view as near- if not fully- impossible to accomplish. How does one go about rending the shackles that bind them, to reveal who and what they really are... The way Arlyss fought, it was forcing her to choose. Desperation to keep the blade away from My Lord. Desperation to have her apprentice returned to her.

Is that it, than? Do I need to focus less upon what is inside of them, and more upon what is out. Their relationships, their friendships. If we had treated Sanfey like little more than disposable. Would her will have broken beneath the weight of torment and pain?

I prefer it when they choose it.

It satisfies me so much more.

But maybe some cannot make a choice.

I already know that My Lord was not fighting at his strongest. He was fighting with a blade, not his fangs nor his claws. A part of me ponders why. Is it much alike I and my struggle? To face something while handicapped, to claw ones way to the top or to be felled and forced to try again and again until one is so thoroughly entertained. Or... Is it his Pride of the Blade... It all makes me think and wonder more. Why do we adorn the skin of mortals, when we are perfect beasts? Why when I reached such ascensions, the appeal of mortal meals suddenly held flavor and texture beyond my comprehension. Every answer leads me to another question, every thought leads me to another branch of consideration. And it leaves me with.

Why. Why. Why. Why.

I refuse the blissful satisfaction of ignorance.

Because now that I have known.

It will never satisfy me again.

So I shall play your mortal games.

And we shall see what becomes of it.

But, what I do hope most.

Is that I will remain satisfied.

[Observing Future]

To Smile. I should. As I see the sun rise one last time.

I can only ponder, if it is beautiful on the other side, stranger.

I hope it is.

---

I find myself pondering over those last words. Of a mortal I never knew nor got to experience knowing. There was one last thing I had wished to convey in that moment, and yet the words hadn't quite struck until now. I wanted to add onto such thought, 'Garret Richter', Hope's Knight as one would call him. I wanted to say...

That there is no need to hope. You already know the answer.

And so I find myself once more pondering more on the nature of humanity. On the nature of Demons. An endless cycle that is refusing to yield me an answer.

Not being able to understand why life is more than the brief pursuit of pleasure?

Remain satisfied in your ignorance.

Just like you are dissatisfied with your lack of purpose.

I cannot be satisfied in my ignorance.

Bothersome. Meddlesome. Creatures. Obnoxiously persistent, be you one of the witches or warlocks of the coven. Be you one of the holier than thou knights. Be you but a thorn in my side.

So try and understand.

Feel the suffocating weight of such restrictions,

before you can even hope to glimpse the strength that comes with it.

It all leads back to one train of thought. One single inquiry; 

Why?

Xaevor was obsessed with the hunt, Stalker with its prey, Ba'kade with its meal, Lykon with its pride, Ingolf with its position. And I, with my vanity and amusement. We are not designed to coexist nor comprehend what humankind is nor how they perceive the world. The emotions within me are invasive, I have managed to suppress them, but no matter how oft I aim to convince myself otherwise, I do not understand them. I do not understand that mirth in watching a mortal make its decisions because of my words, because of my influence. I do not understand why my hand shakes, or trembles, whenever I am forced to bleed- with a sensation that is starkly different to excitement. I cannot fathom the itch that tells me I could be more. That there is not only an art to perfection, but a path I can pave towards it.

Why..?

We are the apex predators of the world. It matters not if we live or die, as even predators can be slain by stronger creatures if they are not cautious. Yet we can speak the human tongue, we can judge a human by its actions. We can, if we choose to do so, pretend to appeal to the mortal's sense of morality that they so heavily cling onto. Perhaps my approach has been wrong, brute force and candid words. For I take pride in what I am, for how many mortals I had culled for a meal or my amusement. For how many I twisted precariously between my fingers and drew their innermost desires from. Pride in my work, for what artist wouldn't appreciate the beauty they can lay to waste upon a canvas. Life is but a game, one that many seek to win, but I only desire to enjoy it. Savor every insignificant second of it, even to the day where a blade may cleave my head from its neck. As it already has once.

Why!?

If something works not for the first two decades, than why continue repeating it. My failures at picking apart humanity through my brute strength and candid words. My approach of candid pride in what I do, does not appeal to the human mind. They are selfish creatures, that wish to appear selfless. They are conflicted creatures, that wish to appear certain. They are guilt-ridden creatures, that seek to feel justified. Perhaps, therein lays my answer. I do not act selfless, for I am selfish. I do not act conflicted, for I am certain. I do not act guilty, for I am unrepentant. But what if that is why I fail to pick them apart. Because I am acting on a semblance of my pride to be as openly, beautifully demonic, as I should be.

Why...

I suppose I need to become a liar. This 'ascension' gives us the shape of the mortal man, and in such a way I should put it to use. How hard could it be to pretend to be human, oh yet I find such disastrously dull. I'll need to watch their mannerisms more closely, I'll need to learn how and when to cease my speaking and merely listen to them. Easing into the role sounds near impossible, and yet I know it is not. But I am not a Spider, nor a Serpent. Words have never been my specialty, brute force and scavenging have been. It has been long enough that I should look into learning new tricks, though, I cannot help but wonder...

My Lord, am I merely treading a path you've already taken?
Is my curiosity going to be rewarded, My Lord?

Or am I merely setting myself up for..

Disappointment.

I suppose only time will hold that answer.

[Observing Future]

The nature of demons has always been simple.

Perhaps that is why I have no interest in it.

---

Kin. Pack. Honor. Pride.

A concept I understand, and yet many others do not understand it themselves. It is a word, a mortal social construct. Even my loyalty is little more than a farce, the more that I delve deeper into it. It is one born to maintain a semblance of order, to those that are overwhelmingly more powerful than I. It is why most demons, cannot help but flex their might, their ascensions, their physical prowess.

Because it gives those below, others to follow. Order, must be maintained, to a degree. How else would the three clans survive. How else would this expedition have even taken place? The best way to slay a demon, is by pretending you are nobody, nothing. To not speak a single word, least they use it against you. Those beautiful, wondrous words.

"What a very human thing to say, in the end."

Words that can cause a modicum of hesitance, consideration, to make a blade miss its mark in one fel swing...

"I want to understand, and to take the possibility of that away from those that I'd learn from would be wrong."

It can convince others that there is a path to mutual understanding, a coexistence beyond servitude. I've only come to realize just how delightful the human tongue is. All of its dialects and variations hold within them weight. Weight that can collide with more ferocity than my mace, or dig deeper and with more precision than any blade.

"The Blade Wolf has been exiled by Ingolf."

Exile, Traitor, Honor. It was hard not to laugh upon hearing of Callitidas's exile. It was even more challenging not to cackle at the surprise of Ingolf's fall to the Night Creature's blade. The word exile, meant nothing. The word traitor, meant nothing. Ingolf sought to feed a wolf that was 'loyal' to him, to ensure further growth, to surround himself with those that were willing to follow his will. Of course, he likely knew that they too would have pounced at the chance to consume him. Even I would have.

These mortal words hold no meaning between demonkind. And yet some of us shall pretend that they do. Maybe it is a subconscious desire to try and perfect the wordplay of mortals. Maybe a misguided belief that in the heat of the moment, they would not simply do as our innate desires will us to do. Who knows, I certainly do not. Nor do I care.

"Thanks Sahl, I'm proud of you too."

These words only hold weight, and meaning, to humankind. Perhaps that is why I feel a sense of fulfillment upon hearing those words from my first. Perhaps that is why I enjoy listening to each mortal speak their thoughts. Even in their most deceptive of nature, they still mean something with every word spoken. Whereas to us Demons, these words are meaningless yet beautiful things. That may very well keep them from slaying us.

... Though sometimes I wonder, what does it mean, then, if the words my mortals speak towards I, and I to them, begin to hold some semblance of meaning...

How bothersome. I should begin thinking of new recipes involving mystical beasts. I wonder how Kunnup would taste, lightly fried perhaps? Maybe a hot-honey rub whilst using sugarcaps as the honey. Oh there are so many wondrous recipes I need to look into.

[Observing Future]

Develop what magic will make you special,

Not what has made others.

---

Perhaps my kindred are starting to become just as talented with mortal words as I am. Maybe even moreso. The nature of demons has, and always will remain simple in what we are at our core. We're animals, we will eat one another. We will use a different version of lying and cheating to get what we want. We respect power, because even chaos needs some semblance of order to thrive. Yet that doesn't stop the most profane statements coming from those whom are stronger than I.

You are so concerned with the claws of others.

You have failed to leave your own mark.

A statement that stumped me. Baffled me. Befuddled me in that very moment. For some reason, it was the last thing I'd ever expected to hear from him. From any demon for that matter. What makes me unique, what makes me, me. Than again, I've always viewed magic as little more than a tool. A potent one, a powerful one- one I still view as superior to that of a sharpened blade. Perhaps that is simply how it is to be... Me, never finding a true understanding on how or why Sanfey, Ilysander and Arlyss take such pride in something so simple and crude in nature.

Crystals can be used to enhance food. It can give me a high equatable to that of fantasia when I feel a need to simply enjoy myself. The earth can be molded to mine ores better, to crack a cave apart, to shape and mold artistic beautiful sculptures to my own whim. The winds can catch a tune, and draw my laughter even further. And brutality, is merely satisfaction. To feel bones crunch beneath weight, that satisfying snapping sound! Or even just a muscular, toned physique.

I quite like being muscular within the ascended form.

But the Blade has never bought me any form of satisfaction. I have sparred more than I have actually truly bled with it. I've won just as much if not moreso. The strikes are precise, there's grace to it. Like a sort of dance. Scarlet showed me such, and yet even then... I only enjoyed fighting another swordsman. What does that say about me, I wonder. Some magi fall beneath the swings of my hammer with ease, and yet I felt nothing when I bested my Etriath... I felt nothing, whenever I managed to win against the Kingmaker. It was only fighting Scarlet, only fighting Adelina. Only fighting those who wield the same swordsmanship as I wielded my mace, that bought me an inkling of satisfaction.

It's tempo!

There is a thrill to it...

Is that why my Lord faced Arlyss with such fervor? Is that why he was infuriated when that long-lasting dual was denied in the end. I think, I understand such. It is an art form, and yet no matter how many times I tell myself that I am an artist. I am a brute. There is no satisfaction to victories with the blade, against magi who refused to take hold of it. And even when I face a master of the blade, what exactly can the blade do for me outside of combat? I cannot sculpt with it, I cannot cause a high, I cannot carve something into stone or create works of beauty with it...

I find myself hunting less. Am I changing? Or is fighting just not as fun?

Are you alright? You seem distant as of late.

My first drawing of blood since taking up these strikes. And yet I was not satisfied. Even the giddiness of slicing open his pockets and letting the coins fall into my fur, barely elicited a chuckle. I was not laughing. Not once. I was so focused, so unlike myself. Why, I almost felt like an alien within my own skin...

What kind of witch would I be if I abandoned my pact-mate?

An accurate witch, silly woman.

Or maybe it is other frustrations of the mind. Who knows. But I know one thing, without the excitement of battle, I find that the world starts to lose its luster. If the world loses its luster, if there is no entertainment, than what exactly, is the point? I live to have fun. To be amused! By mortal tomfoolery, or by the orders that My Lord deigns to give me. To do something, be something. Take pride in that something...

We need to keep an air of dignity about us.

An air of dignity, is exactly all it needs to be, and nothing more.

Sometimes, I wish I had only maintained my pact with my Etriath. Sometimes, I wish I had perished at the blade of Sanfey in that stellar moment! Truly theatrical, a fitting end. Sometimes, I wish the world would burn down around me. Just because I think it'd be funny to see how all those I know, would react as it comes tumbling down upon them! Sometimes, I miss my my blissful ignorance.

I think it is time to focus, on what I would enjoy. And cease these idolization. They're embarrassing aren't they?