Between Demons and Deities

Prologue

Death was waiting around the corner, ready to welcome another soul with a cool embrace.

Raiden stalked his target from the dark winter shadows, quietly blending into the side of the wooden and stone walls. Deep regret rose to the surface, as it did every time he knew death would stain his hands and haunt his memories. However, he was bound to his contract and his loyalty. Death would not be stopped.

He watched as the flighty subject headed toward the teahouse and wondered how the nervous man managed to earn a death order from the prince. Like with all the other targets, he guessed. Perhaps his target disrupted the prince's jubilant mood, or maybe he questioned the glory of one of the empire's military campaigns. Regardless, Raiden never asked for a reason.

The scrawny man constantly looked back and forth before he entered, as if the cold winter darkness made him hypervigilant of his surroundings. Perhaps he knew the prince had sent him—the Assassin of the Night. The Hand of Death.

Raiden hated those titles, hated how infamous he was. Not many who knew his true identity still lived, and those who did were skilled at keeping secrets. He wished he could take the mask off and not worry about the looming puppet master pulling his strings. Until that day came, if it ever did, he would continue chipping away at his soul to protect his lovesick fool of a friend.

Crossing the slushy road, Raiden retreated into the shadows and waited for his target to re-emerge. When the scrawny man scuttled out of the door and into the night, the dimly lit lanterns around him flickered and died out. Death was commonplace here, more so than in the smaller neighboring towns. Raiden wondered if this death would be a mercy.

As his target moved toward him, he silently took out his dagger and stepped into the empty path.

"The prince sends his greetings," Raiden apologized, watching the man's eyes look up at him in fearful recognition. Not of who he was but what.

As quick as viper, he struck. The other man did not stand a chance against a trained assassin's strength or speed, and so he went down with a surprised gurgle as the snow on the ground turned a darker color.

In anyone else's eyes, Raiden was the ultimate killing weapon, with the physical training he had endured and the ability to poison people with just the touch of his hand. But he wasn't the perfect killer. No perfect killer would tremble this much after taking a life for the hundredth time. No perfect killer would feel the deep despair of guilt and anger for acting as the afterlife's emissary. No stone-hearted killer who had the power to poison with a touch would ever wear gloves to cover his skin. Although he was still awake, dreadful nightmares started their whispering torments in his head.

The prince would want verification of the murder, so before he moved the body to the alley to await daylight, he searched the corpse for a personal item, settling on a small amulet. Then he left, trying to keep his internal sickness at bay until he got home. At least he wouldn't have to face the prince tonight, lest he wanted to incur his rage for disturbing his sleep—or worse, one of his celebrations.

Raiden weaved through the streets and retreated into the forest outside the outer walls of the city toward his house. The familiar sounds of bats fluttering and stray gusts of wind rustling dead branches suddenly stopped, making the forest eerily quiet. Too quiet. He stilled, skin prickling in anticipation, and he immediately reached for his dagger. Something was wrong.

"Don't bother with the weapon," a smooth voice spoke from behind him. He pivoted around, eyes widening at the sight of the creature that had spoken.

From far away, the figure would have looked like a normal person with simple robes and tied-up hair, but the creature's glowing, inhuman eyes would give away its otherworldliness. Most telling of all was the oppressive, sticky power that radiated from the creature—one that reminded him of the Dreadful, lost spirits turned mindless demons yearning for the taste of humanity.

Raiden gripped his dagger harder, looking for potential weaknesses. "I might surprise you."

The creature laughed, revealing sharp fangs. "If you insist, but I do not come as an enemy. For now."

"What do you want?" Raiden asked, keeping his balance in control, ready to react.

"Why, that was the question I was going to ask you. I could feel your yearning and self-hatred from so far away," it said, its words hanging in the air between them. "Let's make a deal."

His heart raced. A deal? The last time he made a deal, he became a killer for the prince of the Wei empire. Making a deal with an unknown creature was bound to give him an even worse fate, and unlike last time, his hands weren't forced.

"No," he said.

"Even in exchange for your freedom? For your one and only friend to finally leave the prince's company? For you to stop killing to keep them safe?" the creature asked, its voice echoing deeply.

Raiden stiffened. How did this creature know who he was under the mask and what he wanted? What was it? Its presence felt more like a demon than a deity, but its appearance didn't seem like strictly one or the other—not that he had ever met a deity.

"What are you?" he asked.

"I am an Evolved, the closest to a deity you will most likely encounter," it said, smiling with its teeth bared. "What you mortals call a demon."

Chills ran down his spine.

A demon. From what he knew, most demons were contained in the spirit realm to feed on the most corrupt and tainted spirits, but those that escaped were so hungry they devoured anyone unfortunate enough to be in their vicinity. Others were formed through the deterioration of lost spirits that escaped into the mortal realm. Not once had he heard of an Evolved, or one that was willing to make bargains. When did starving predators ever ask their prey for permission?

Raiden narrowed his eyes, asking, "You're not going to... eat my soul, are you?" An inkling of horror spawned at the back of his mind. Was he considering a deal? How far was he willing to go for his freedom? His friend's?

"Fortunate for you, no. As I said, I'm not here today as an enemy but as an intermediary. I have but one request to ask of you. Lend your power for the rest of the night," the Evolved crooned.

He cocked his head and shifted uncomfortably. The only thing his ability was good for was killing. "How many are you planning to use it on? Why do you need my power?" he asked, still uncertain if he wanted to follow through. What kinds of abilities did this Evolved have for it to be able to borrow others' powers?

"One life taken secretly for each life saved secretly. And what are two more in the grand scheme of the world?"

Two more. Two more victims in exchange for his and his friend's freedom. As awful as it sounded, his misery could stop. His hands were already stained. There weren't enough opportunities in the world to ever make up for what he had done. Half of him rejected the offer, but the other half was too tempted for comfort.

"How do I know you won't backstab us as soon we're free?" Raiden asked. Before he agreed to anything, he needed to impose some conditions. Knowing the nature of bargains and knowing the risk of dealing with unknown supernatural creatures, he needed to be particularly careful about how he worded his requests.

"That is simply a risk you will have to stomach," it said.

His stomach churned. This was a bad idea, but perhaps he could make it less bad by negotiating specific terms.

With its teeth bared into a twisted smile, the demon asked, "Now, Raiden, are you ready to discuss?"