Ruin.

Decisions.

Chapter 23: Decisions::

Trystan hardly noticed as his knees connected once again with the rocky, jagged floor of the central pavilion. The place, once the very image of home, appeared depressing and vile to him. The red stains brought back repressed memories of torture, his own and that of others. The smell of rot and sulfur hung heavy above his head, surrounding and clogging in his throat. He could almost hear the screams that had echoed through the room, from the vaulted ceilings to the sloping floor. The screams he had witnessed being torn from innocent demons. The scream he himself had caused.

He shook off the horrible memories, the disgusting smell, and remembered what he had come back to do. Standing, he practically sprinted toward his room, his sanctuary in this disgusting place. He’d barely set a toe inside the door when a hand dropping heavily on his shoulder stopped him cold.

“Report, Typhateion, and do so quickly.” The nasal voice grated in his ears, urging him toward violence. “I have no patience for your annoying mannerisms today.”

Quickly composing himself, he turned to face Wormholt, Abadan’s beady eyed henchman. Letting a genuine sneer rearrange his features, he flicked the man’s dirty hand off of his shoulder. “I don’t report to the likes of you, imp. How dare you address me at all, let alone speak to me like a common servant. Last I checked, you were the slave, not I.” The word, to Wormholt, was like flipping a switch. By acknowledging his low demonic status as a slave, an Imp, he was forced to defer to Trystan’s own status on the third tier as an Aratamis, an Aratagh assassin.

Watching the imp cower, Trystan thought about the power of status in the demon world. Status was, quite literally, everything to a demon.

The most basic demonic pyramid has seven tiers.

The first tier belonged to one being, the Devil. He was the most powerful being in the demonic realm, father to all of the Daedimes, as well as the heads of each species. He had few children besides these powerful beings, but Trystan was unlucky enough to be one of them.

The second tier was the Daedimes, daemonic gods created by his father. There were many Daedimes, including Marait, daemon of Knowledge, Jesebel, daemoness of Death, and Dauphine, daemoness of Fortunes. These were the three Daedimes that Trystan feared most, having either feared or loved them most of his life.

The third tier was reserved for the Aratamis, the most elite of the Aratagh. They were the assassins of the demonic world.

The lower Aratagh were close behind, their power and ruthless nature earning them the fourth tier.

The fifth level belonged to the Demerch, the merchants of the realm. In this level resided the witches and warlocks, the peddlers of black magic goods.

The sixth tier was made up of many species of demons, all lumped together under the name Grendus. In this category were all of the paid servants. These included the orcs, goblins, dark elves, and pixies. These were creatures too powerful to fully control but too weak to be their own masters.

The last, seventh tier was the largest. It was the slave tier. This level was made up of the lowest, slowest and weakest of demonkind. It included the imps, rat men, ogres, trolls, and many more. These creatures had no magic worth considering and pledged their immortal souls to heartless, cruel masters in exchange for the tiniest taste of true power.

Coming back to the creature cowering below him, he thought about the decision he had to make. Snapping his fingers and motioning for the perversion at his feet to lead him to his brother, he quickly organized his report.

Reaching the ornately carved wooden doors that led to Abadan’s meeting chamber, he shoved them open and strode imperiously inside.

“You send this filthy imp and expect me to report to it? I should have it slain for merely looking at me. As for touching me, that is out of the question brother. Why do you insult me this way?” He menaced his brother, knowing that he had the superior position in this matter.

“Forgive me, brother. I was not thinking.”

“Forgiven, but not forgotten,” he spit, leveling a glare at Wormholt, who cringed in abject fear before fleeing.

“Report, Typhateion.” His brother sat, spinning in the blood red leather chair to face him.

“They know, brother.” He let his face register disgust. “The human, Karlok, informed them.” Abadan’s dark eyes flared as he took in the news.

“That traitor. He will most certainly pay.”

“It’s over, brother. I won’t be able to get close again.” He silently prayed to Dauphine, daemoness of Fortunes, for luck, wishing that his stubborn brother would just drop it.

“Kill her, then.” His stomach flipped at the words and he had an overwhelming urge to murder his only family, slowly and painfully.

“I won’t. It’s over, Abadan.” With that, he spun and left.

Pacing the halls outside of the library, he searched his inner most feelings, the feelings he had tried so hard to obliterate. He was looking for the reason he’d changed so much. He knew already. Of course he did, it was too obvious to miss.

Until that moment, though, he’d shoved the knowledge under water, effectively drowning it in the lake of his mind.

Aeri. She was the reason he’d become so caring, so soft. His heart, held long dormant by his demonic nature, burst free and flourished with extraordinary speed.

He had finally, finally learned to love the way he thought was impossible for him. He’d envied it in others, but squashed it when he felt it himself. He’d finally realized it, and it was too late.

His shoulders slumped for a fraction of a second before straightening up again.

“No.” He whispered the word fervently to himself. “No, I won’t give up. I love her.”

His feet led him to the door and he carefully, quietly opened it, coming eye to eye with Marait, daemon of Knowledge. The deep brown orb blinked and a voice echoed in his mind.