Page 62 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

I walked along the black nothingness, struggling to see through this void and view the countless lower demons kept below. Their rotted, festering bodies eternally bound underneath the surface of this dimension. Possibly one of the worst places to dwell in this Hell realm, burning and suffocating as their broken essence fueled the core of this dimension to add to the many lustrous wonders and harsh horrors created. Each step carried a reminder of a hierarchy I despised. Everything here carried a murky glint, making it challenging to wade through the countless shadows. Had centuries away from Hell obscured my memories of this horrid place? Or had my senses dulled from too much time in the mortal realm. Hell possessed infinite differences from the earth, the skies, the stars, the endless void of space. Here in my home world, Hell could be as grand as the Diabolic desired or as bland as a weak mind could conjure.

“Your reign ends here, Beelzebub.” The screeching echo of her voice sent a shiver down my spine. Six layered tones, each more venomous than the next.

I examined my hands, paranoid the toxins in her voice had scorched my flesh as they’d done during a thousand court dinners.

Aamon brushed by me, leaving my body undisturbed by her presence since I was merely a spectator in this memory. She stood tall, digging her eight-needlelike legs into the shadows which crunched beneath her swift spiderlike steps. Her elongated torso, similar to a centipede, coated in gems, cast light in the darkness, reminding me how luminescent Hell could be if one so desired. The gems of every color, from faint pinks to vibrant greens to dark blues and pale yellows, followed my sluggish movements.

I swallowed hard. How impossible it used to be to escape Marquis Aamon’s gaze. A part of me wished to remain still, silent, scared as I’d done for far too long in Hell. Another part of me wished to savor the rebellion of ten thousand demon nobles who’d banded together in desperation to strike down the ruler. I smiled fondly, recalling my own fear of death and demise at the time.

This was not a nightmare about my weakness or vulnerability but a reminder of my strength and perseverance. I’d indulge this faded memory for as long as I slept, hopeful to watch the deaths of many treacherous demons, delighted at my own success and the glory of locking them all away for eternity.

Shadows faded, and flames burned white. Each flickering flare held more light than the sun of the world I now dwelled. It burned my vision. I squinted, attempting to make out the blur of demon monarchs who’d come to vanquish the tyrant who reigned as a god-king in this Hell realm. All devils ruled as gods to the peasant demons they’d manifested through sheer will and force and cosmic superiority, but…

“No longer will you terrorize this realm, Beelzebub!” Eligos shouted.

A Great Duke who I still carried fond memories of. One of the few Diabolics I knew who took the time to study the mortal realm, curious of their nature, unraveling their secrets, and predicting futures of wars, which the demons who’d gathered hoped would tip the scales in their favor.

He held a glowing golden lance made of bone and blood and metal of fallen foes. Pieces of their essence he’d snapped off to add to his collection. Flames shimmered against his silver armor. A knightly appearance he was fond of from the fables of mortals. His insides rattled in the suit of armor. Wings and too many limbs contorted within the simple mortal frame he favored. Eligos would’ve loved the world I’d fled to. Had he survived, I believed I would’ve enjoyed his company, exploring through his eyes.

“Foolish and feeble, all of you. You come to kill your god as if such weak waste could dare lay siege on me in my home. This entire realm is mine.”

I nearly knelt at the sound of such a dreadful voice. One that cast nightmares with a single word. One that reached into a Diabolic’s very essence and carved away everything until it took on an image suitable for his entertainment.

“I will destroy you all. Devour your essence. Crush your willpower. Spit you back onto the coals of my world and remold each of you into more obedient subjects.”

“Not this day, Beelzebub. Not ever again. Your dishonor ends now and forever.” Eligos led a charge, carrying a flock of hundreds of demons to storm the gates of the castle where I lived most of my pathetic eternity.

His final words weren’t exactly wrong. I averted my eyes, not wishing to see his demise. The memory swiveled, tilting the entire landscape of the battle, refusing to offer this momentary peace and forcing me to watch the only kind demon I’d ever known meet his end. Mora was a friend through and through, but she was still Morax: a deadly, dangerous, and deceitful demon. Eligos held no cruelty or malice in his Diabolic essence. He rose in strength and rank through honor and kindness, something I didn’t believe any demon could do.

In a single blast of black and white fire, Eligos and those foolish demons he led into battle burned to ashes. Barely a trace of their essence remained. Enough for a proper and empowered devil to restore, but this realm no longer had a devil, so I suppose this haunting memory carried a reminder to one of the few nobles in this Hell who ever had a nice word for me. Not that it did Eligos any good.

“This is why you abandoned your realm,” Walter said, his voice carrying over the blood-curdling screams and vengeful roars of demons all lunging toward an opponent they could never fathom to match in battle.

“What are you doing here?” I quaked as I asked.

“I don’t know. I was, I mean, I am dreaming. Right?” Walter took hesitant steps, frightened by the sight of slaughter. Demons dropped in single blows. Many rushed between us, raging to bring some semblance of peace to a Hell realm that had never known such things.

How’d Walter crawl into my mind? Was he a figment? A remnant of guilt derived from the vulnerability I held back during our conversation? Perhaps I should’ve told him the truth then, but his plan centered on a lie I’d spun for too long to remember this life that came before.

“Is this real, or am I just overworking my brain?” Walter asked, staring at his glowing fingers. “I’ve never had a lucid dream before, but those usually give the person control—from what I’ve read—and this seems very guided and scripted, yet I’m aware. At least, I think I’m aware. Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m some dream figment cursed with my living selves overthinking, and once he wakes up, I’ll forget ever being.”

He shuddered at the thought or the many thoughts consuming him and his paranoid brain. I gripped his shoulder, steadying him. The sensation exhausted me, pulling me away from my past and into Walter.

“Motherfucker,” I said under my breath. “That makes sense.”

“What?”

“It’s your saturation,” I explained.

He’d practiced it to link to the grimoire, probably worried he’d fail at it. The thoughts likely ate away at him as he slept and with his body latched to mine, he was pouring his mana inside me while we spooned. This offered him an inside view of my past, something he still shouldn’t be able to do.

“Did you permit me into your mind? I’ve heard of mages sharing memories and moments of fondness, but I n-never expected to do something like that.”

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. I’d never invited someone into my mind. Not willingly, anyway. In the brief time I’d known Walter, I’d offered my essence to him, twice, craved his happiness above my own, shared my past, and now, I’d invited him into the worst parts of it. This was too much for me. Too much for him. Once he knew how pathetic and weak I was, he’d…he’d… I didn’t even know how he’d react.

“This is why you left your realm, because of the betrayal. Betrayed just like you were in our world.” Walter half-smiled, empathy shining amidst a battle of death and destruction. “I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t betrayed here. I was a worthless no one in Beelzebub’s Hell realm.” My body stiffened as the words escaped my lips.

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