"There are six things the Lord hates, seven that are detestable to him: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood…"— Proverbs 6:16–17 (NIV)
Traz'gaxaun was nothing short of amazed by the information that he was getting. He had never been to the surface before, so he assumed things were advanced but not to the level that this human described. Man's obsession with machines had finally paid off. Seraphites had really outdone themselves with the application of their abilities. The entranced man spoke of devices that could instantly transport people at the cost of unimaginable amounts of ichor.
He spoke of guilds and organisations tasked with eliminating and containing beasts and corrupted anomalies. They could even foresee a calamity before it happened with up to a 90% chance of accuracy and success. This was probably why I was summoned in the first place. Traz smirked to himself. Unfortunately for them, the 10 percent chance of failure came through. He was still unsure why, out of all demons, he was summoned, but he wasn't complaining. Their failure was the price for his freedom.
The human also spoke of entire organisations and guilds filled with not only Seraphites but also Netherite warriors that varied in strength. If there was something the humans had over demons, it was strength in numbers. For every demon that was spawned, at least a thousand humans were born. Although unlikely, if they managed to unite against him, he wasn't sure what the outcome would be. This was yet another reminder for him that he needed to grow strong, strong enough to rival the world's powers and anyone who stood in the way of his freedom. Nothing would ever take him back there. A familiar face surfaced in his mind, its smile smug and sadistic. Whip-bearer, torturer, and slave-master.Perhaps, I may return just for you, B! Traz'gaxaun clenched his fist in anger, but banished the memory.
When the demon was sure that he had obtained all the necessary info from the human, he began to cook up a plan. If he wanted to stay on this wretched plane, he had to try not to draw any attention to himself. It wasn't exactly a bright idea to waltz into a human settlement naked and covered in blood and guts, especially if he was a demon with dark red skin and horns. Fortunately for him, he had stumbled across an ability earlier. Elise Everhart, even without your knowledge, you continue to serve me, Traz smirked to himself. He had previously claimed the researcher's ability for himself: she could change the structure of an item down to its last atom. The demon amplified and applied the ability to himself, changing his entire body to match that of a human, down to the last detail.
The compelled human could only watch in horror as the demon took on a human visage. The process was slow but painless: his entire being contorted and morphed as his skin slowly lost its dark red hue. The horns followed suit, retreating into his skull and completely merging with it. Threads of dark red began to emerge from his scalp until his entire head was covered with a mass of long hair. After his metamorphosis, the only feature that remained was his scarlet irises, still shining with a hint of peculiarity. Traz'gaxaun made his way to one of the vehicles, using its window as a mirror. The sight before him made him smirk with pride: staring back at him was a tall, toned, human male with slightly pale skin and red eyes. His skin was void of the torture wounds he sustained from his time below. The demon had managed to master the technique he copied with one attempt. Pride swelled in his chest; the first phase of his plan was complete. Traz's gaze fell on the two subdued humans. A sly smile crept across his face; these humans had yet to exhaust their usefulness.
A scream cut through the forest. Gerald blinked, pulse spiking. The policeman, still puzzled about the ache in his neck, raised his firearm. "Help!" The sight before him was one he struggled to remember: two void-beast carcasses lay ahead, bodies torn open by gunfire. A dishevelled young man covered in blood was sprawled out on the ground, not too far from the commotion. On instinct, Gerald pointed his firearm at the man. "Police! Don't move!"
The young man recoiled in fear, still yelling. "Please don't shoot! I'm not a beast!" he cried out.
Gerald glanced at his partner, Ken, who gave him a nod. "Breach at the gate. We dropped them before they got to him," Ken said, holstering his weapon.
Gerald gave his partner a nod and walked up to the man, his guard still up.
"What in Jeova's name are you doing here? And where the fuck are your clothes?" he asked gruffly.
The man slowly got to his feet, wiping some blood off himself. "I was playing a game with my friends. I was...." The man hesitated.
"You were what? Come on: get the rest out!" Ken urged him.
"I was dared to streak here. The second I had taken off everything and began making my way to the forest, my friends took my clothes and drove off. Shortly after, I wandered into this part of the woods and was ambushed by these monsters."
Gerald itched his stubble in thought. Something wasn't adding up. Who the fuck goes streaking close to monster-infested forests? There were warning signs all along this stretch of road. How early did they even get here, considering it's evening and we have been here since midday?
The middle-aged man looked at the fence that separated them from the void zone. The gate was busted—but the damage was from the inside. Which brought him another question: how did he even manage to unlock the gate? And get past us...
"Gerald. We need to call this in. Take this man in for questioning and perhaps some first aid and some fucking pants," Ken concluded.
Gerald was still untrusting of the situation, but his partner's reassurance and confidence made him brush his feelings aside. He would leave the investigation to the officers starting the new shift. Right now, his priority was getting more information from this mysterious man and maybe insight into his "friends."
"Alright, young fella. For now, you're coming with us. For the sake of your condition, we won't be putting you in handcuffs, but you're gonna be in the rear compartment. For our own safety, of course," Gerald concluded, gesturing to the patrol car.
The man made his way to the backseat but was suddenly stopped by the other officer.
"One more thing, son. What's your name?" Ken asked.
A smile slowly crept up the young man's face, revealing a set of pearly white teeth. "The name's Tristan: Tristan Ashborne," he said, stretching out his bloody hand for a shake.
That smile... Ken thought. Something about it scraped at the back of Ken's mind. The man could swear that he had seen this fellow before, but as suddenly as the familiarity came, it slipped away.
"You're crazy if you think I am gonna shake your hand looking like that," Ken scoffed.
The young man redrew his hand, his smile fading along with it. "My apologies. I was just trying to be nice, officer."
Gerald opened the entrance to the backseat. "Get in, son. That's the nicest thing you could do for us now," he demanded.
And with that, the men drove off, oblivious to the horror they had invited into their vehicle.