A Real Human Being: Chapter 16

***

"...from here on out, it's up to you."

Teuflisch could only watch the back of the mage who stood up with great difficulty, facing a rampaging beast.

It was a sight he would never forget.

Albert was a tall man; his posture, as long as Teuflisch could remember, could only be described as aristocratic. Strict. His back was never hunched unless he meant it to be, his shoulders always spread wide, his movements purposeful and deliberate; those were the signs of people who learned how to carry themselves. This was how Albert always was.

Right now, that deliberance was missing. The back of the man, obscured partially by his long blonde hair, was tottering in place, as he straggled to remain upright, his body convulsing periodically in a manner that was anything but controlled.

It was a weakness Teuflisch never expected to see, not from that man who proved himself again and again to be a figure whose knowledge on the broadest variety of topics was as fascinating as it was disturbing.

Then, his flickering mana exploded in Necromancer's senses.

Albert's mana was always impressive, a step above Teuflisch's own, but the sheer inferno of magical energy that ignited around him, flickering chaotically, from weak to absurdly powerful over and over, shocked the younger mage.

He could only watch as the energy was poured into a spell, as the monster finally focused on Albert and attempted to crush him. The beast, despite the missing eye, was as horrific as ever; its prismatic scales were oddly beautiful even when tainted by the dark blood streaming across its head, and its bulk was giant enough to topple a building.

The spell formula burned in Teuflisch's mind like scripture written in fire. The Goddess Magic demanded absolute precision in its mana structure, every thread of power woven in perfect recreation of patterns passed down through millennia. His mana shaped the final arc of the divine formula even as Albert's voice rang out across the cavern.

"Druckwelle."

The word carried weight beyond mere sound.

Teuflisch watched, unable to move, unable to breathe without disrupting his casting, as raw force erupted from Albert's outstretched hand. The air itself seemed to compress, creating visible ripples that spread outward in a cone of pure kinetic energy. The limestone floor exploded beneath the pressure wave, stone fragments shooting upward like reversed rain. The shockwave hit the charging basilisk head-on, and for an impossible moment, the massive serpent hung suspended in the air, its forward momentum completely arrested.

Then it flew.

The beast's prismatic scales caught the magical light as it tumbled backward through the air, its body twisting and writhing, unable to find purchase on nothing. Dark blood trailed from its ruined eye socket in spiraling patterns. The creature crashed into the far wall with enough force to shake dust from the ceiling, its bulk carving a crater in the ancient stone.

Albert collapsed.

"Albert!" Teuflisch screamed, barely catching himself in time to not ruin the spell he was preparing.

The mage fell forward like a puppet with severed strings, his body hitting the ground with a dull, final sound that echoed through Teuflisch's bones. The petrified arm struck the limestone with a crack that made the necromancer's teeth clench, but he couldn't stop, couldn't rush to Albert's side, not when the spell was moments from completion.

Hold. Hold. He thought to himself. It's just the final verse.

The Goddess Magic flowed through him like molten gold, his mana perfectly formed into the divine structure. Unlike the modular spells he knew so well, this divine formula was a single, indivisible whole. One couldn't halt it, modify it, or even truly understand it. It simply was, perfect and alien and absolute.

How did Albert himself put it, after a short demonstration he requested from Teuflisch? It was magic that made his skin crawl.

The final stream of mana was woven in place in the colossal structure.

Light exploded from his position, a soft one, warm, gold and green. It spread across the cavern in a perfect sphere, passing through stone and flesh alike. Where it touched the petrified undead, marble began to crack. The sound filled the chamber, hundreds of fractures spreading like spider webs across frozen forms.

Stone fell away in sheets, revealing preserved bone, flesh, and metal beneath. Warriors in ancient armor stood revealed, some with their empty sockets dark but intact, some were mummified, and some looked like they had passed an hour ago at most. Constructs of impossible complexity ceased to be merely statues. Teuflisch was familiar with each one from the notes left by his predecessors. And yet, seeing them for himself would've made an impression were the situation any different.

Some wielded weapons that still gleamed despite the centuries, others bore shields, and some even staffs or other conduits for magic. A few were archers, some had no visible weapons.

The Vigil stood free.

But they didn't move. Without a necromancer's will to guide them, they were merely elaborately modified corpses, monuments to generations of his craft's greatest masters. They stood in their battle formations, weapons raised, shields locked, exactly as they'd been when the basilisk's gaze caught them decades ago.

Teuflisch's eyes found Albert's crumpled form, which was left untouched by the spell he just unleashed. He started forward, then stopped, his gaze catching on the marble that was Albert's left shoulder and arm. The broken fang still jutted from the wound, transformed to stone along with the flesh around it.

The venom.

Even from here, he could see the discoloration spreading from the stone, dark veins creeping across what remained of Albert's living flesh. If he removed the petrification now, if he freed that shoulder and let the fang resume pumping poison directly into Albert's bloodstream...

Teuflisch's hands clenched.

The basilisk stirred across the cavern, a low hiss building in its throat. It was wounded, half-blind, dazed, but very much alive. And between it and them stood an army of the greatest undead constructs Teuflisch knew of. But they weren't yet his. Some were the remains of his previous expedition here, but most were brimming with his master's mana.

Teuflisch looked down at Albert's still form, at the slow rise and fall of his chest that proved life still clung to that broken body. The mage who'd saved him, who'd thrown himself between death and a fool necromancer who should have known better than to ask for this.

His jaw set. His fingers began to weave through the air in an ultimately meaningless gesture that he was fond of as an apprentice, threads of necromantic spells reaching out toward the waiting Vigil.

Not to power them, but to act as the key to command them, the key that was the greatest secret of his line.

"Arise," He commanded softly, and across the cavern, empty sockets ignited with pale green light.

'It's up to you,' the words echoed in his mind, even as the undead, directed so effortlessly by his commands, rushed into action, and formed formation around him.

The beast roared and unleashed the beam, but among the dead, two went forth and raised their hands, with short staffs and decorated rods, meeting the assault head-on.

Spells woven into the structure of the undead, a procedure so complex that Teuflisch could never even begin to attempt it on his own creations, ignited, so easily powered by Teuflisch's mana. Spells that Teuflisch himself would've been unable to cast took shape.

Pale flames arose and shaped into barriers, intercepting the attack. The petrification beam, now half as powerful, failed even to disrupt them; whatever flame was turned to marble melted instantly.

The waves of fire fell. And the undead warriors were already rushing forth with inhuman speed towards the recoiling beast, and just for a moment, Teuflisch was sure his eyes met the monster's. He saw fear.

But the necromancer didn't care, setting in motion the automatic behavior commands in the undead, knowing precisely why and how they functioned, even if he never had an opportunity to activate them before, he left them to do their grim work.

He knew that with the beast wounded and weakened, this would be enough.

His eyes fell on the figure by his side - an undead of his own creation, an old, frail man, who looked like he could fall over at any time, and so deathly pale it appeared as if he had passed an hour ago.

A kind man, peaceful man, who looked as if he couldn't hurt a fly.

Versagen looked like Teuflisch remembered him, his master, whom he had to work into his finest creation, following Versagen's own dying will, was the only one he directed to stand Vigil over him now.

It was for his petrified body that he felt he needed to descend here - the body he'd already transformed into his masterwork before that first, failed attempt against the basilisk. The truth he couldn't bring himself to tell Albert - that retrieving his master's remains was as important to him as reaching Irem itself. Not because his master's body was a fine tool, though it was, but because of what it meant to him.

He was embarrassed to admit that he wanted to face the basilisk because even above the Vigil, he was afraid that his master's petrified body could accidentally be destroyed during the monster's extermination. It was his failure that led to his master resting here as stone for over a year, and it felt so important to correct that mistake personally...

The idea felt so foolish now. His master, the man who was his father in every way that mattered, was gone; Teuflisch knew better than everyone that the dead do not come back to life.

And a body is always just a body. He should've known better, there does not exist a carcass that is worth someone's life.

Which is why he can't allow Albert to die because of his foolish obsession. It will be too much. He can't die. Not like this, not because of Teuflisch's own obsession and mistakes.

He kneeled before Albert, ignoring the fight and the wails of the beast being slaughtered, as once again, he pictured magic so beautiful, so whole, and so completely and utterly alien.

And for once in his life, he prayed, as he cast the divine magic. He prayed and hoped with all he had that what he did so far wasn't a mistake beyond correcting, he prayed that for once, what he had, what he was, would be enough.


***

Albert,

I came into awareness in an instant, a process that long since felt natural and familiar.

Unlike how it normally went, however, that awareness wasn't perfect. My mind felt disturbed; the feedback from my body was not right. My thoughts were sluggish, like a fog in my mind, and the pain...

It was due to that sense of wrongness that my first move was to try and rise.

"Please don't..."

I've seen Teuflisch gently pressing down on my chest, and I tensed for a brief moment.

The memory of what transpired rushed back into my head, even as I finally noticed his hands shining dimly with the familiar light of Goddess's Magic.

I relaxed again, taking a moment to compose myself, as I glanced around briefly.

Around us, the undead stood. Due to my still missing horns, my sensitivity was still terrible, yet I could still sense powerful mana in them.

At a glance, I could tell that this Vigil truly was a force beyond my own ability to handle. Which wasn't too surprising; it was an accumulated effort of centuries of studies and work from a line of necromancers.

This force, assembled and powered in advance, would obviously be beyond the current me.

"The basilisk?" I asked him, my voice even despite my weakness.

My mana was depleted. I don't think I've ever had quite so little mana before. The poison - I recalled immediately, somehow, was responsible for devouring mana. It devoured the energy itself outright, but my flesh was denser, harder to break down, which is how, I assume, I am still alive. Like all things, it followed the path of least resistance, and focused on devouring my mana over my flesh.

"Handled," Teuflisch replies quietly, still healing me, I assume.

I was glad. Never before have I had the opportunity to test Goddess's Magic on myself, especially the healing. Knowing that it did work was surprising; after all, there is nothing in common between human anatomy and the structure of monsters.

Which could mean one of two things: either the mythical Goddess designed her magic specifically to work on both humans and monsters, or that her spells enforced healing, bypassing the physical limitations, and instead bringing forth the idea of healing the body, no matter its actual composition and shape.

"Good," I breathed out, relaxing under him. Now that I had a moment, I could feel what he was doing. The poison was still present in my body, especially on the left side. The petrification was gone, the physical wound healed, and the fang removed, but what little energy my core produced was almost immediately devoured by the poison.

Though I could swear that I could feel the process growing slower.

"I am glad you weren't wrong about the Vigil," I voiced my thoughts, feeling as if my head was swaying from place to place. It wasn't, but it felt as if it did. It was nauseating.

Like being drunk, back when I was a human, but without the enjoyable buzz. Simply a lack of awareness about what your body does, and a heavily distracted mind.

"Basilisk was wounded, disoriented, and weak by the time they engaged it," Teuflisch replied quietly. I could feel his fingers that were pressed to my chest twitch. "I barely even had to oversee the extermination."

It was terrifying, now that I thought about it. Necromancy, the poor man's Golemancy... after spending so much time with Teuflisch, I knew that this was completely wrong.

Raising a small army of undead was indeed easier than constructing a small army of golems. And, indeed, creating a single masterwork golem is much easier than constructing a similarly advanced undead.

But neither of the two is impossible, and mages are a prideful bunch. A necromancer that had a line of predecessors... it was inevitable that they, too, would pursue quality. An entire army of masterpieces of different masters, who focused on mastering distinct aspects of their craft within the same field, and improved over countless generations... what a terrifying prospect for an enemy.

"Albert..." I opened my eyes, only to see Teuflisch apparently done with healing me, sitting on his knees near me, as he looked at the ground beneath us, "If it wasn't for me... You would've easily won against the basilisk, right?"

I turned my head slightly to get a better look at the young man.

But my vision was still swimming slightly, and I couldn't make out his facial expression or body language very well.

"Yes," I answered, seeing no need to deny it. I knew he saw my mana and likely my physical capabilities.

I wasn't alarmed by this, at least not overly. If I am still alive, he has yet to figure out my nature. From his perspective, it would've made more sense to assume a warrior background in me.

"Then why did you agree to my request to go with you?" He asked, looking at my face, I think.

To me, he was a blurry figure, with at least three sets of eyes.

I considered the question for a moment, the ingrained habit that an answer must be truthful made me hesitant. Yet, it wasn't an easy thing to answer, even as a Demon, I wasn't a creature of logic alone. Some decisions are made because of the emotions, circumstances, and interconnected associations so deeply engraved in my brain, I couldn't consciously explain why I do or do not do certain things.

"You were prepared to die to do so," I finally said, fishing out what I thought was the main motivation at that moment, "I warned you as many times as I believed I could, but ultimately I have no right to rob you of choice."

Normally, I would have stopped at that. But at the moment, my thoughts were foggy, unclear, and I voiced them even as I was making sense of them for myself.

"It's permitted to limit the choices that a child could make, because we believe children to be immature and incapable of deciding for themselves. Some would attribute love and care to this, as the cause for why taking the choice from children is normal, but that's not it. A parent does not cease to love a child once the child grows up. Love is irrelevant." I reasoned, world pulling away a bit, as I was chasing the elusive thought, "The reasoning, thus, is that a child is yet incapable of making informed choices; the love forces a parent to stop a child from making a mistake that would have serious consequences. It is different once a child becomes an adult, when the desire for freedom, for having an opportunity to make choices, becomes as important or even more important for the offspring than their own safety or long-term prosperity." I paused, realising I was ranting, but also having a clear impression that unless I finish the thought, I would lose it. It felt essential to get that answer for myself. "You are an adult and my equal," I concluded, trying to focus my eyes on his face, but feeling them slide a little, "Thus, even if I don't want you to die, I have to respect the choices you make, because I have to believe that you are capable of assessing risk and deciding for yourself how much your life is worth. I didn't know why it was so important for you to come, but I couldn't take that choice away."

Teuflisch made a sound I couldn't directly identify. It was odd. I instinctively categorized it as a sound of distress and amusement, not a laugh, not a rasp, something almost wet.

"Then why would you throw your life away to save me?" He asked, his tone, once again, indecipherable.

I felt a strong anger towards my own failing vision and wobbly mind. I wished to understand, to see him, but I didn't. Couldn't.

Not knowing what sort of answer he was expecting was strange, weird, and uncomfortable. And the fact that it was uncomfortable annoyed me further.

I didn't need to understand what he wanted to hear; I needed to be truthful.

"I didn't have much time to think," I admitted, trying to recall what I thought about in that moment, when I threw the shield above, "I suppose it's because letting you die would've been wrong."

And there was that. It's not that my fear of death wasn't present back there. It was just that I was doing one thing at a time. Shield him from the falling stones, else he would die. Shield him from the petrifying beam, else he would die. Try to redirect the serpent away, else he would die.

The risk to my own life was always there, but the choice before me was simple: if I stepped away or didn't try to preserve his life, it would be morally wrong. I didn't think of it at the time, but the mind is a creature of habit.

Letting him die would be wrong, that's all I knew, and the rest of my actions simply revolved around that knowledge.

For a moment, there was silence. Complete and total one, if not for the ringing in my ears.

"I did what I could about the poison," Teuflisch said quietly, "But some of it is still in you; it will burn itself out before the day is over."

That was concerning. But I could tell I wouldn't die, my core wasn't damaged, not from what I could sense, and my mana was created faster than it was sapped away. Even if the speed of my recovery was pathetic, and it would take me more than a day to come back to any sort of 'normal'.

"Then we should get moving," I said, trying to get up and feeling my hands give up on me.

The limestone beneath my palms was slick. My arms trembled, refusing to support even partial weight. The poison was interfering with the signals between my core and my physical form, I think.

"You can't be serious." Teuflisch's voice was flat, his shoulders sagging slightly.

"We need to return." I managed to push myself to a sitting position. The cavern tilted. "Other monsters will be drawn to the blood and the sound of battle. They will investigate."

We made a beeline towards the basilisk, the dungeon boss, and cleared out whatever monsters resettled on the way here. But the necropolis itself was much larger than the direct path to the basilisk. Teuflisch claimed his master cleared out the entire thing on his original expedition, so there was no reason for us to stumble across empty treasure rooms and minor dead ends, but those are the places where, I was sure, many monsters made themselves at home.

He was quiet for a moment, studying me. Then his hands were under my right arm, lifting with more strength than I'd expected from someone of his build. Perhaps I was just so weak that even that much strength felt impressive.

Standing was worse than sitting. My legs felt disconnected from conscious control. Without Teuflisch's support, I would have collapsed immediately.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, but he was already shifting my right arm over his shoulders, his own arm wrapping around my waist.

"The poison will burn out regardless of activity level," I replied to placate him.

I had no evidence for this claim.

He made a sound in his throat but said nothing else.

We started forward, my feet dragging more than stepping. The Vigil parted before us without command, though some went ahead. The basilisk's corpse was already gone.

The first ascending passage proved my confidence misplaced. Each step required conscious effort, my legs responding seconds after I commanded them. Teuflisch bore more of my weight with each meter, until he was essentially dragging me upward. His jaw was tight with effort; this close, even I could see.

"You could have your constructs carry me," I suggested after nearly pulling us both down.

"No." He immediately shot down, sharply, giving me a brief glare.

We paused at the first landing. Teuflisch was breathing hard, sweat visible on his forehead. He lowered me carefully against a wall, then leaned against the opposite one himself.

"Three minutes," I said, trying to do a little mental math, "If we take that much between each ascent, we should make it in time before your constructs will start running out of energy," Or at least, that's what he claimed about the longevity of his 'army'.

I wasn't sure if the Vigil were more or less energy efficient.

He nodded, closing his eyes briefly.

The cold stone felt good against my overheated skin. When had I started running a fever? The poison was forcing adaptations my demon physiology shouldn't require.

The fact that the body of a demon could even emulate a fever was a discovery I would have to investigate later.

"How do you feel?" His eyes were still closed.

"Like my insides are dissolving slowly."

He winced, opened his eyes to look at me.

"The healing should have..." He sounded concerned, a bit panicked even.

"It prevented immediate death. That's already more than I could have expected." I told him truthfully.

Silence. Just the scrape of the Vigil shifting in formation around us.

"Thank you," he said quietly, looking at the ground.

"No need," I assured, shaking my head slightly.

"I will have to disagree with you on this." His hands clenched and unclenched.

"Your death would have been inconvenient," I said, trying and failing to come up with a reason that would keep him from feeling indebted, and instead settling on the first thing that came to mind.

I couldn't tell why it was so important for me to avoid him being in debt. For a short instant, it was all that occupied my mind.

He looked up at that, expression unreadable. "Inconvenient."

"Who else would I discuss magical theory with?" I said, lying by omission. An instant later, I realized what I had done.

I mentally noted to repent later; I've felt no shame, but knew this was a serious violation for a trivial cause. Even if I wasn't in the right state of mind.

He shook his head slightly, pushed off from the wall. "Ready?"

"No."

Getting back to my feet required him to essentially lift me. Once vertical, the vertigo returned with vengeance. I focused on his shoulder under my arm while the world spun.

The passages blurred together. Stone corridors, carved reliefs I couldn't focus on, chambers that seemed endless. Teuflisch stopped talking, all his concentration on supporting me and navigating. I tried to help where I could, pushing off walls when we turned corners.

"Left here," I managed when he hesitated at an intersection.

The army went left without questioning it, and we were in the middle of the formation.

Time became elastic. The poison made everything feel both immediate yet distant. Each moment grew dull, as did the pain in my insides. My fever climbed steadily.

"Final push," Teuflisch said, breaking me out of the monotony of forcing myself to make one step after another, his voice hoarse.

The last set of passages nearly defeated us both. My legs gave out completely twice. Teuflisch somehow managed to support the deadweight, muscles trembling with exhaustion. Though just once, one of the constructs, which looked almost alive and was decisively female, held me up when I nearly fell backwards on it.

The necromancer's breathing was ragged, but he didn't stop. Just kept pulling me upward, step by step.

Then there was the grey daylight.

We emerged into an overcast afternoon. Teuflisch lowered me onto a fallen log near the entrance to the cave, then sat heavily beside me. His legs were shaking visibly.

Behind us, the rest of the Vigil and Teuflisch remaining skeletons emerged in perfect formation. In daylight, they looked comically out of place.

"We made it," Teuflisch said, staring at nothing.

"Evidently."

He laughed once, short and broken.

We sat in silence as the afternoon wore on, neither of us ready to attempt the journey back to our homes. The poison continued its slow burn through me, weakening but persistent.

"Albert, I was meaning to ask..." I turned towards the necromancer who sat by my side on the same log, studying my face, "When were you planning to tell me that you are a demon?"

I froze.

Dozens of scenarios raced across my head, and my body briefly tensed up, as much as it was capable at least, as my fear spiked.

Yet, just as quickly, the tension in me was gone. After all, there was not a hint of tension or aggression in Teuflisch's body.

Instead, my mind went to ponder another burning question...

"How did you know?" I voiced.

Teuflisch chuckled briefly, his face an expression of honest, harmless amusement.

"I work with bodies and flesh almost my whole life, Albert. How could I have missed it after having to work on you today?"

When he said it, it was obvious, indeed, how could he? I wanted to blame it on the fever and the poison that I didn't immediately suspect him of knowing, but no, it wasn't just that. It was how he carried himself that confused me greatly.

"You are from the Northern Lands, you've traveled all the way to the Empire, you must know what demons are like." I didn't ask, simply stating the obvious, as I looked into his eyes, "Why am I still not dead?"

Teuflisch's amusement didn't completely disappear, but he met my own gaze calmly.

"It's because I am familiar with demons that I know you are abnormal," He said simply, "No normal demon supplies his research to Äußerst. No normal demon would pass on so many opportunities to kill someone like me. No demon understands humans quite so well," He smiled, honestly and brightly, "And I don't think any will risk their life to save a friend."

For a long moment, far longer than I cared to admit, I was at a loss for words. Trying to come up with at least something to refute any of his insinuations and failing.


***

We sat on the terrace.

Teuflisch took it upon himself to have his constructs drag me atop the log on which we initially rested, which I appreciated greatly. I still didn't understand why the necromancer insisted on dragging me from the dungeon itself personally when he had perfectly functional undead to do the job, but that question didn’t occupy my mind for long.

I was weakened and still not entirely recovered from the effects of the poison, but my mind grew sharper by the time we were back at the Behemoth. Even if the constant pain, an old companion, didn’t help my flaying nerves.

Inevitably, after a meal, a pregnant silence reigned.

Teuflisch was nursing a cup of tea - courtesy of the folk spell I taught him - staring into the table, and saying nothing. I simply sat in my seat, waiting for the poison to burn away from my system.

It was clear the silence couldn't last. Instead of waiting for the inevitable, after great deliberation, I choose to take the initiative. 

"I have no easy way to explain why I am different from other demons," I finally spoke up, making the man flinch and glance at me in surprise. "You are probably wondering how to start this conversation." I guessed, relatively certain I was right. 

The necromancer chuckled awkwardly, his shoulder slouching, as they always did when he was relaxed and at home, rather than in the field.

"I suppose I was..." He trailed off, scratching his cheek for a brief moment, "This isn't exactly a topic I know how to breach."

I tilted my head a bit.

"Don’t tell me you are concerned about tact, I assure you, I couldn’t care less about it," I took a breath, not because that action helped with the irritation or my terrific state, but because it bought me time to get my thoughts in order. "The truth, however, will sound ridiculous. It's a story that won't make much sense."

It was an honest warning. By this point, I knew that Teuflisch would likely leave me be even if I told him nothing. 

But there wasn't a good reason to keep quiet. He knew the secret I cared about keeping, that is, my demonhood. As for my origins, my previous life, my odd position and goals… I never intended to keep such things secret. I never spread them around, but only because I knew that all of them are interconnected, and hard to believe.

Until today, speaking out about this would have been pointless. But with Teuflisch, I knew he would listen, and maybe even believe some of it.

"Frankly, Albert, you don't make much sense as is," He said, chuckling quietly, but his eyes grew softer. "If you are willing to share, I will hear you out."

Gratitude was annoying. I knew this was likely what he felt, the sense of debt fueled by gratitude. It was one of the emotions, motivations that the current me lacked.

It made it harder to try and look at things from his perspective. I still could as an intellectual exercise, but it was more difficult.

This annoyed me further. I hated this about humans because it always left me more vulnerable; it made me confront my own deficiencies each and every time.

"There is one thing I want you to keep in mind throughout the whole story. A simple concept you should never forget when you interact with me," I warned him simply, as our eyes met. My expression was empty, not curated; I simply didn't allow myself to emote. "Despite my origins and what I am about to tell you, I am still a demon. I can't see the world the way you do. I can't feel things as you do. My mind functions in a fundamentally different manner." I made a pause, making sure he heard and could comprehend my every word, "Teuflisch, I understand humans, and you would learn why, even if you will end up not believing me. But that does not mean a human can understand me. Leave your empathy aside, I neither need it nor am I capable of appreciating it."

The necromancer didn't answer, merely nodded slowly, his expression both concerned and thoughtful.

Good. I wasn’t sure if it would hold, but for now, good.

"The truth is, I remember my previous life. In that life, I was a human..."

And so, I shared with him a little about Earth. About who I was, about what kind of life I've lived, about what my world was like, brief as I was in my explanations.

Then, I explained to him how I died. The mundanity of it. I told him how I remembered the surprising, confusing agony of it, when your consciousness is already gone, but you are still in pain as your brain deadens. Like the worst kind of nightmare, when only the most primal part of you still functions and slowly dies, but the agony… oh, the agony is there. 

And then, I told him how I lived again, as a demon. I explained the struggle that was the first decade of my new existence, of how I learned languages and grew to understand magic.

I told him of my obsession and my passion.

I told him of the Demon named Albert.


***


It was deep into the night when I ran out of things to say.

There were more things to mention, I was sure, more details to share, but nothing else immediately came to mind when I thought of it as ‘how am I not like the other demons’. 

Teuflisch didn't look certain that he was allowed to ask questions or discuss anything he heard with me, not at first. But those floodgates, too, inevitably opened.

"...The oddity of your previous life aside, I don't understand," He finally admitted, after a long pause, during which I explained to him the nonsensical political landscape of modern Germany, answering his previous question, "I've been meaning to ask, but why exactly did you choose to live like this?" He asked, gesturing at the surrounding terrace.

I was confused for a moment, having about ten separate ideas about what he was referring to.

Confusion flared into murderous anger that was ignored with a practiced expression of will.

"Elaborate," I requested.

"On the move, I mean. Alone." He met my eyes, "I am aware that it wouldn't have been easy for you to integrate into any kingdom or nation, but... it could have been possible, surely? At least over the lifespan you have."

It was the sympathy that I could see on his face that annoyed me. The empathy.

Once again, it took me a moment longer than it should’ve to play this intellectual game of trying to imagine what he must be thinking and feeling.

Hate. it.

"My solitude does not bother me," I told him completely honestly.

I tapped my head softly with a single finger.

"I am incapable of feeling depressed from loneliness; the fact that I don't know many people, the fact that I am not close with anyone, none of it bothers me. None of it can bother me. I don't grow anxious for the amenities you likely enjoy in towns; I truly, genuinely am incapable of caring for them." I explained as simply as I am capable, "There is another thing you aren't considering. I am a danger to people around me."

I could see that Teuflisch wanted to interrupt, so I asked him to keep quiet with a curt gesture.

I appreciated that he didn’t try to put a word in; if he did, it would’ve been harder to hold back the murderous rage. 

"This isn't a self-deprecation or a dramatic plea for support; it is a fact. Imagine a scenario; I am distracted, and a person taps me on the shoulder from my back. I will likely hold back from tearing that person apart. But that's the keyword; likely," I told him simply, making sure he understood, "The violence is a reflexive reaction, as natural as for a human to jump or freeze when startled. If my mood that day was just a little too poor, if I was a little too exhausted, if my nerves were a little too frayed... I may be unable to stop myself in time. This isn't a topic I am offering for a discussion; it's a fact I know to be true." I studied his face carefully, as I continued, “Even right now, I am plagued with murderous impulses. With flares of anger that would be illogical, psychotic for a human. You show me empathy, I understand the concept, but it requires effort for me to imagine what you must be thinking. Having to waste this effort annoys me; the anger builds up.” I could see him flinching, so I explained, “Things like that plague me constantly. My patience grows thin through no fault of people surrounding me, it’s irrational to a human, it’s a behavior of a completely different animal with a different core set of emotions, stimulated into being by the most unexpected causes, at least if looking from a human perspective.” 

I leaned back in place, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to suppress the simmering anger.

“I am a rational being, so I can hold myself back for a time. But I am sure I have a breaking point, even for casual annoyances, after which I will murder someone. I am just not willing to find out where it lies.” I opened my eyes, tilting my head a bit.

I am sure he understood the concept. Even a human, sitting in public transport, can only tolerate being poked in the back so many times. Especially if he can’t warn of the offending party, especially when there is no downtime. Anger builds up, and eventually, if there is no outlet, it will find a way to release itself. 

"But allow me to indulge you further. Let’s take aside the cultural and political implications of me proving that 'good demons can exist', and how many people may die from it, take aside the danger I present to others daily… There is also a practical reason for my current lifestyle. The effort and time it would take to integrate are better spent on my studies and research, which I still need to conduct here, in the wilds."

Teuflisch didn't answer immediately; my words seemed to provide him a lot of food for thought. Though he did look concerned, a bit ill, and possibly sorry for me.

This is fine. I expected nothing less from a decent human.

"I suppose I understand better now," he said finally, setting down his empty cup with careful precision. "Why you were so interested in the monsters' cores and... why you wish to erase the mystery surrounding them."

I nodded sharply.

"Though I have to ask," he continued, his fingers drumming once against the table before stilling, "how certain are you that success is even possible? Changing a demon into a human seems..."

"Impossible?" I supplied when he trailed off.

"I was going to say unprecedented." He shifted in his chair, leaning forward slightly. "But yes, that too."

I could feel my annoyance and anger dim, allowing me to be able to think of an answer more easily.

"It likely is unprecedented. That doesn't mean the possibility doesn't exist, merely that said possibility remains unexplored." I considered my words carefully. "There is no reason why it practically can't happen. Mana can reshape matter, and cores can be modified. The real question isn't if it's possible, but rather how to do it."

He was quiet for a moment, studying his hands where they rested on the table.

"And if you succeed?" His voice was neutral, curious. "What then?"

I found myself without an immediate answer. I'd thought extensively about the how, but rarely about the after.

"I haven't decided," I admitted. "Whatever comes next will be up to a human named Albert to decide. Not for a demon."

He looked at me with a strange expression.

"I am not sure it's healthy to separate such things, Albert. You are you."

I shook my head briefly, and the anger flared up again, but it was a weak impulse this time.

"There is only so much that one can do while working against their own baser nature," I said simply, staring in front of me. "I do not wish to dwell on what I, as a human, would want to do. I simply know that whatever plans I will come up with now, will likely change completely once I am able to view the world from a different perspective."

He made a small sound in his throat, not quite disbelief, not quite understanding. It annoys me that I couldn’t tell what it was. His fingers traced the rim of his cup absently.

"Irem," Teuflisch said suddenly, straightening in his seat. "You still intend to go?"

"Yes. The knowledge there could be invaluable." I told him simply, our eyes meeting once more. 

"For your research."

"Among other things." I studied him, tilting my head. "Does it matter?"

"I suppose not." He stood slowly, his movements careful. The exhaustion from dragging me out of the dungeon was still visible in the slight tremor of his legs. "I should let you rest. The poison..."

"Will burn out by tomorrow, as you said."

He nodded, taking a step toward the exit from the terrace, before pausing. His hand rested on the wooden fence.

"Albert," he said without turning around. "What you did today, saving my life. You said it was because letting me die would be wrong."

"I did." I was mildly curious where he was going with this.

"But you also said demons don't experience morality the way humans do." He turned then, meeting my eyes. "So what does 'wrong' mean to you?"

I considered the question. It wasn’t odd that he asked, but I expected a question like that later, once he had time to process everything else I’ve said.

"It means violation of a pattern I've chosen to follow," I said slowly. "A framework I've constructed based on observation and memory. It's mostly centered around the ten commandments I've shown you." I paused, considering my answer, "This logic of mine lacks the emotional weight you'd associate with morality, but the behavioral output is similar. To me, it is morality."

"A perfect imitation of conscience without the actual experience of it." He said, his voice growing distant, as was his stare.

"Essentially," I confirmed with a sharp nod. “I know the end result of what morals should be like, working backwards from morals to emulate having a conscience isn’t impossible.” Though the imitation is a fragile one.

He studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

"That might be the loneliest thing I've ever heard," he said quietly.

"Only if you insist on viewing it through human experience." I kept my tone even. "I told you not to even try empathizing."

"Right." He turned away again. "I'll see you tomorrow. We should discuss the travel plan once you're recovered."

"Agreed."

He left without another word, his footsteps fading into the night. I remained on the terrace, watching the stars emerge between shifting clouds.

The poison continued its slow recession from my system. By my estimation, I'd be functional by morning, though not at full strength for days yet.

It can wait, as could I. I have nothing but time.

For now, I simply sat there, waiting for my body to assemble itself back together.

The owl called again, closer this time. Hunting, probably. Or marking territory. Simple creature motivations that I could understand perfectly.

Perhaps that was the real irony. I could empathize with an owl's behavior better than I could with why Teuflisch had insisted on carrying me himself. Why he looked so distressed at my pain. Why he called my existence lonely when I felt no loneliness at all.

Logically, I understood what and why Teuflisch felt. Most of it at least. But I couldn't share this with him. Couldn't imagine myself in his shoes properly; to me, it was easier to imagine myself as this owl.

Deep jealousy twisting into anger, and back into itself. A familiar shimmering rage when it came to interacting with humans, or even watching them interact from afar. That anger -my anger- wasn’t a rational thing, I knew that much after years of experience; it was rooted in a sense of dissonance, in confusion, in helpless jealousy.

It was an ugly, broken, and ultimately pointless response born from my abnormal psyche, one that was too lacking to belong to a human, one too twisted to belong to a demon.

I closed my eyes and focused on the mechanical process of healing inside my body, on mana slowly overtaking venom, on damaged tissue knitting back together. These things made sense. These things followed rules and patterns.

They calmed me.

The wind picked up, carrying the first drops of rain. I didn't move. The water didn't bother me, and the terrace's spell would keep the temperature comfortable regardless.

Besides, there was always something almost meditative about rain.

I wish I had the mana to cast Resonant Soul and forget myself for a brief moment.

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Author's Note: I feel like I've shown precisely what I wanted in this chapter, but I am not sure if you guys had fun reading it. It was rounding up of this whole thing, and a set up for the real adventure of the arc.