“Daskar It'Yixil,” Daimen repeated with a frown. “Is that your actual name or a fake?”

  “It is the name bequeathed to me by my sire.”

  Daimen grunted. That would do. But he wasn't done yet. “And these?” He nodded at the dead demons.

  “Demons.”

  “Don't play coy with me, creature.”

  The demon's lips twitched. “I detest that word.”

  Daimen growled. “I don't care. Answer the question.”

  “Not until an apology is made.”

  Daimen leaned in threateningly, about to speak when he locked eyes with the creature—demon, only to be met with a blank stare. Staring into those eyes, he got the feeling that the infernal being wasn't going to budge one bit. He understood that the only thing keeping them from devolving into another crazed battle was the fact that he hadn't attacked yet, an act he was unwilling to commit to unless given an undeniable reason.

  This demon was powerful, no doubt, evidence of the two white robed Spirit Kings that lay dead a few feet away. More so, the memory of how the armored demon had reacted when it'd heard his voice had been unmistakable. That had been abject terror.

  From a Spirit King to a Lord… Daimen would be a fool to discard such blatant warnings.

  “Fine…” he growled, “I apologize.”

  “Thank you. Now, if you please?...” Daskar eyed the raised weapon, which Daimen brought down finally with another growl.

  “Answer my question.”

  “Minions these were, thrawls beneath my sire.”

  “And who's your… sire?”

  “Itlgad It'Yixil, of course,” it said like Daimen should know who that was.

  When Daimen failed to respond, his expression blank as he continued to watch the demon, Daskar paused and then frowned, an expression that felt sacrilegious on a face like that.

  “You do not know whom I speak of?”

  “No, I do not.”

  His frown went deeper. “Say… where do you hail from?”

  “None of your business.”

  “You do not hail from here, do you? You're no escaped cattle.”

  “Cattle?”

  “Mortals captured and bred to serve as hosts to my kin,” Daskar explained. “The fact that you do not know that says much about your origin. Did you fall into a hellhole?”

  If by hell hole, it meant the giant swirling portal that Daimen had walked into, then yes. “You could say that.”

  Daskar’s eyes narrowed, but he didn't push. He opened his mouth to speak but paused as his eyes shifted away from Daimen.

  “You have company.”

  Daimen frowned.

  Out of the corner of his eyes, he spied the silhouettes of multiple figures appearing within the mists. These weren't the shapes of monsters, but of humanoid forms.

  His lips tightened as they came into view, emerging into the clearing. The mist, still reeling from the battle that had just occurred, had yet to fall back in, so Daimen was able to easily catch the various mortal races that stepped out into his view.

  “Now I see why your residence was taken deep within this forest,” Daskar commented, but Daimen had no attention to spare him.

  He regarded the Hunters that stood arrayed against him, each bearing different kinds of weapons.

  Despite his revitalized mind, he couldn't afford a physical battle here. For one, his soul well was dreadfully empty, only a trickle having been recovered since the battle’s conclusion. His body ached, bones and muscles strained to the extreme from the effort he'd pushed them to.

  Fortunately, though, Daimen never fought physically against Demons—armored brute excluded.

  He prepared his mind for an eventual clash, but paused when somebody laid a hand on his shoulder.

  Daskar walked up to his side and stared at the emerging demons, who numbered close to twenty. “These are from the tribe Er’Yixil, of confidence lost. What business have you with them?”

  Daimen grimaced, reluctant, but pushed through it. “They want me to become a host for some lord of theirs.”

  “Mm, that would not do. An oath was made.”

  At that moment, one of the demons stepped forward, an insect-like creature with two legs and multiple arms that ended in sharp long blades. It had more than a dozen eyes, half of which swiveled to focus on Daskar.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Incubus from tribe unknown,” it began, voice heavy with clicks and whispers, “cease and desist, I warn. Human lost from beyond, of tribe Er’Yixil belong.”

  “What claim have you over him?”

  “Of territory appeared, of tribe belong.”

  Huh… So by unfortunate circumstances that he appeared on their land, Daimen now belonged to them. He snorted out loud, uncaring of the attention it brought. The audacity.

  “Your kind never learns. Only death will make you understand,” he said as he stepped forward. Cracking his knuckles, he mentally grabbed the door handle to his mind, preparing to open it, but again, Daskar stopped him.

  “Time we do not have. They do not come alone.”

  Daimen frowned and closed his eyes, focusing his senses. He stretched it out wide, this time disregarding the risk of it being traced back to him. After all, they already knew where he was.

  Truly, more distant than his perception could reach and fast approaching, he sensed them, dozens of them, each with a sharpened aura that preceded them, prepared for battle. This number was more than he could deal with, more especially given how weakened his body was. There was no certainty that all would take the invitation into his mind.

  He nodded. “We have to do something about these ones. ‘can’t have them following behind, or stalling us for the rest to catch up, which they seem to be doing.”

  Now caught, the demons arrayed before them immediately moved, each blurring forward with weapons raised. Daimen was able to visually follow them, but unfortunately, he was too weakened to match them.

  Fortunately, he didn't have to.

  Daskar gestured, a single word slipping from his lips. “Sleep.”

  The command swept out in a wave, spreading out into an area of effect. It slammed into his mind, enough to make him grimace, but he rejected it eventually.

  The other demons, on the other hand, weren't so mind sturdy. They all came to a halt a few feet from the two fugitives, eyes rolling towards the back of their head as they collapsed onto the ground with loud audible thuds.

  “We should leave now,” Daskar said with a visible grimace. “My command can only hold them for a short while.”

  “How long?”

  The Demon regarded him with something close to a glare. “Half the hour. Why?”

  Daimen looked down at the hole in his chest and the shattered remains of the weapons he'd used. Something whispered to him that armor breaking and weapon shattering were going to be the norm, so he got to work.

  “I only need twenty seconds.”

  ***

  Ten minutes later, he and Daskar were already well on their way into the forest, a good headstart from the other approaching demons, whom Daskar had claimed he'd stalled for a while with his command.

  His spatial ring was now filled with more weapons and armors, a replacement for the ones he'd lost battling the Spirit King.

  They disappeared into the mists, speeding past the now miles wide expanded clearing in the forest.

  Daskar, against Daimen’s expectations, was able to keep up, running just as fast as him.

  A few miles away, they heard a roar and then multiple more monstrous sounds, all coming from behind them.

  He looked at Daskar. “What did you do?”

  The demon shrugged as he leapt over a collapsed tree, leaving a trail of red behind him.

  That was odd. He filed it away for later.

  “I released a few of my thralls.”

  Well, that was one way to kill two birds with one stone. They ran for a few more hours, Daimen taking a route that didn't lead exactly to his hideout. While he was sufficiently certain that they weren't being followed, he wasn't completely sure.

  He led the way until they emerged along the shore of a lake—the same lake he'd appeared in earlier.

  They rested there, Daimen taking the chance to wash off the dirt and blood accrued in the battle. Daskar did the same, and after that, they both changed into new attires, courtesy of the now dead bodies he'd pillaged.

  He was fortunate to find another armless robe—his love for it was slowly growing—while Daskar, for some reason, elected to pick up an ankle-length purple robe, one worn by some elven female.

  “That doesn't look like it would provide sufficient protection, nor help should the need to change location quickly arise,” he pointed out.

  “You make a good point,” Daskar nodded, “but as you can see, my affinity does not afford me the boon of immense strength like you.”

  “Your armored guard didn't seem to have an issue with theirs.”

  “Body worn, not of his. Immense strength, it granted. I am different.”

  “Because you're an… incubus?” Daimen frowned. “I have surface knowledge of the clans, not minute details. I need clarification on what an incubus is.”

  Daskar eyed him. “Sires we were created to be, to birth that which devours the mind.”

  So, he was some kind of surrogate father? Mother? Whatever. It seemed the incubus had been created to simply birth the common Mind demons Daimen was familiar with.

  But that couldn't be it, could it? Daskar had fought two Mind demons, Spirit King Mind demons, and came out on top. Not to talk of the one he'd terrified into submission. That didn't sound like someone whose sole purpose was to breed more tentacled demons.

  “That's not all of it. You're more than that, I can tell." He came to a decision within a second. "But just like you, I also have my secrets. I'd rather we not pry into each other's business. Deal?”

  The demon nodded. “Agreement made.”

  Daimen picked up a leather armor, a long-arm body-hugging black top that had little plates of metal attached to the chest, lower arm, and shoulders.

  He picked up a thick cargo pants made from the leathery skin of some monster and pressed both against Daskar's chest.

  “These should do. Both top and pant will provide sufficient protection, much more than the robe, and should cause you no problems regarding mobility,” he followed the demon's raised eyebrow to the metallic adjournments, and then added, “regardless of whatever attachments they carry.”

  Daskar nodded and put them on, while Daimen moved on to sift through his now increased cache of weapons for a suitable companion.

  There were multiple Warhammers, spears, daggers, knives, bows and arrows, as well as a huge great sword pillaged from the corpse of a now dead Spirit King.

  Daimen glanced at the sword. Not now. He was sure he'd find a use for it eventually. With a sigh, he picked up a spear, weighing it in his grip to test its weight.

  His eyes slowly slid towards the great sword, and his mind flashed back to the other piece of Spirit King equipment he'd left behind.

  He'd wanted to take the armor along, even though he wasn't going to wear it. Who knew when something like that would come in handy? But whatever corrosive substance that was spat onto it had eaten through much of the most important parts of the whole.

  He could have also salvaged the remaining parts that were undamaged, but what good was an armor that only protected your lower body?

  After they were done, he cleaned up all signs of their presence as best as he could, and then they departed, with Daskar scouting forward with the remaining of his subjugated monsters, while Daimen brought up the rear, logging over his shoulder another bundle of metallic fishes.

  A part of him whispered that he was making a mistake bringing the demon to his hideout, to where his little pet beast was, but Daimen consoled himself with the knowledge that the demon had sworn under the name of Karma, on his own accord, no less. The Celestial was no partial judge, and would enforce any breach of contract with terrible repercussion.

  Unless Daskar was suicidal, then the demon would stay far away from any thought of betraying him.

  Andrew Rowe's latest Edge of the Woods book and sort of got too deep into the elven indirect speech.