“They found WHO?!”

The Demon Lord’s startled question was accompanied by the soft rustling of papers falling from her hands and alighting on the floor of her throne room. Captivated by this sight, Raskivia took a moment to respond.

“The Hero,” the small blue kobold answered after collecting herself. “Nyze encountered her in an alleyway being threatened by some street punks.”

Psytalla raised an eyebrow. “‘Her?’”

“Indeed. Apparently she is going by Diane now and presenting as a woman.”

Psytalla sank into her throne, bewildered. “I’m not even sure what to make of this news.”

“Nor am I,” Raskivia said sympathetically. “If I may ask, my liege, why did you allow her to live in the first place?”

“I’m not sure,” Psytalla responded. “In her eyes, I saw a spark of... well, regardless, it may have been a foolish choice. Does this jeopardize our covert operation?”

“That’s still up in the air,” Raskivia said grimly. “Diane now professes a change of heart and affinity for the demonic cause, and both Nyze and Metokai seem to believe her. Personally, I believe a professional Whisper interrogator may be able to discern her true—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Psytalla said, rising to her feet. “I’ll go see her myself.”

“W-With all due respect, my liege, we’ve barely established our forward operating base in Arcryid. The city isn’t secure enough for you to—”

“You’re sending regular troops in, are you not?” Psytalla interjected.

“Yes, the 311th squadron is slated t—”

“Then I’ll muster my personal guard to join them,” Psytalla proclaimed.

Raskivia’s eye twitched. “My liege?”

“Hmm?”

“Please let me finish my sentences before responding. Interrupting is extremely rude.”

A chastised Psytalla shrank back. “Oh. Sorry.”

Raskivia waved it off. “Your apology is appreciated, my liege. Please give me 48 hours to fully secure our FOB and properly muster your Guard, at which point your expedition can proceed in full compliance with standard Army operating procedure.”

“You’re quite a stickler for the rules, eh?” Psytalla said, begrudgingly accepting the compromise.

“Of course. Armies live and die by our rules. Without them, we are no better than common bandits,” Raskivia replied matter-of-factly, folding her arms and puffing out her chest.

“I’m beginning to understand why Metokai likes you so much,” Psytalla remarked dryly. “Very well, Vice General. Make it happen.”

“By your command, my Demon Lord.”

******

“ALRIGHT!” Yerpe shouted, calling her troops to attention. “We’re about to set foot in the Human Realm kingdom of Saimonica, the capital city of the enemy’s territory. Our mission is to ensure the integrity of the Whispers’ security preparations and station ourselves at regular intervals along the Demon Lord’s planned travel route. All of you passed the Whisperer covert ops course with flying colors, so I have every confidence in your abilities. That said, I would like to remind you of a few salient points. Everyone listen carefully.”

The hundred-odd troops of Psytalla’s personal guard, now assembled in one of the castle’s many teleportation rooms, focused their attention on their centaur leader.

“First of all, remember that humans are fragile. Use great care in physical interactions; even something like a handshake can result in grievous injury if you don’t properly control your strength. Humans also have a less cavalier attitude towards personal injury than us demons, so if you accidentally harm one you WILL blow our cover. Be careful.”

“Ma’am!” moaned a zombie girl with red hair. “If we accidentally kill a human, what’s the big deal? Can’t we just resurrect them?”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Yerpe shot back harshly. “Humans don’t have access to resurrection magic, or any other form of spellcasting that requires two colors of mana. If you cavalierly raise the dead, you will be discovered by the human authorities. Additionally, casting a resurrection spell or any other form of soul magic on a human will cause demonic transformation, as we observed with Valex. For that reason, we won’t do so without explicit consent from the subject in question.”

“How can we get consent if they’re dead?” asked a jiggly green slime.

“You can’t. Leave them to Skellish,” Yerpe stated flatly. “No resurrecting humans under any circumstances without the express permission of either the High General, the Vice General or the Demon Lord. Understood?”

“Understood!” the troops echoed back begrudgingly.

“Secondly, for those species who use glamours to disguise themselves, always keep your spell’s time limit in mind. Ensure you’re back at our forward operating base at least an hour prior to its expiration. Our slime, mimic and doppelgänger soldiers who can indefinitely disguise themselves via physical transformation have been organized into barrier squadrons; if you find yourself in a pinch, message them for help.”

“Ugh, walking around on my feet all day is so tiring,” moaned a green-haired fairy as they flitted about. “Are you sure there aren’t any human subspecies with wings?”

“I checked the archives five times, Fvalken,” Yerpe responded, her annoyance growing. “For the last time, there are no winged humans. Suck it up and quit whining, soldier.”

“Yes ma’am,” Fvalken grumbled back.

Yerpe rolled her eyes, then schooled her face in a decidedly serious expression. “Thirdly, and most important of all… remember who our true enemy is. While it may be tempting to see human civilians as a threat, especially due to their indoctrination by the Church, they are victims of oppression, same as any refugee who flees to our borders. Treat them with respect, even if they don’t respond in kind. We’re here to help them, not hurt them. I needn’t remind you, the penalty for any war crimes committed against civilian populations is permanent execution. Behave yourselves, or I will cut you down without mercy.”

“What if a human calls the town guard? Or threatens us with a knife?” asked a particularly pedantic hellhound.

“What are we, kindergarteners?” Yerpe shot back. “Knock them out with a sleep spell, obviously. Be nonlethal whenever possible. Any more stupid questions?”

There were none.

“Alright, kiddoes. Into the grid, by sixes. Sound off as you go.”

The soldiers formed up and began to march into the teleportation grid, disappearing in flashes of lightning and peals of thunder.

The demonic invasion of Saimonica was finally underway.

******

The black lightning and double-thunderclap that typically accompanied teleportation magic was, in fact, nothing more than an audiovisual side effect of the spell itself. As the nascent spatial singularity began to form, it drew entropic mana upwards from the spell circle in the form of lightning; this in turn generated the first clap of thunder due to the rapid heating and expansion of air. The second thunderclap happened about a second later and was caused by the spell displacing additional air from the point where the teleportation subject would materialize, creating an extremely short-lived vacuum that was clear of obstruction so molecular integration could proceed apace.

At least, this was how Metokai’s brain parsed it. She fully realized most people didn’t care much about the detailed interactions between magic and physics, and indeed merely regarded teleportation’s phantasmagoria as a beautiful light show with bass accompaniment. Even so, knowing exactly why it happened gave her comfort, not to mention something to distract her ever-racing mind.

Did she ever need that distraction, for the person materializing in the teleportation circle now was someone she hadn’t seen in a very long time; to say Metokai was nervous would be a gross understatement. As she watched the imposing six-foot figure emerge from the fading mana-wisps of the spell, she cleared her throat and began to speak.

“Greetings, my Demon Lord, and welcome to Arcryid. I hope you find our preparations, meager as they are, suitable to your…”

Metokai trailed off as Psytalla strode forwards, stopping only a foot before the baphomet, and squatted down on her haunches. Before Metokai could even react, she found herself the recipient of a particularly evil headpat.

“You did good, Metokai,” Psytalla said with a huge smile. “Thank you for all your hard work these past few weeks.”

Metokai, whose face was now illuminated a completely unprofessional shade of red, stuttered her response. “M-Much appreciated, my liege. B-But in front of the troops…”

Psytalla’s smile took on a mischievous air. “What, afraid they’ll get jealous? I’m merely giving my High General a reward for her good work. What’s wrong with that?”

“I… er…”

Deciding she’d teased enough, Psytalla withdrew her hand. “Well, there will be time for more headpats later. For now, let’s get down to business. Where’s the rest of your party?”

Metokai swallowed and regained her composure, clasping her hands behind her back. “Uh, right. Valex is currently visiting her family in the Central District, accompanied by Rixu and Nyze. They expect to return this evening. Would you prefer to wait for them before visiting the Hero?”

Psytalla shook her head firmly. “No. I’m sure Nyze has been through enough already. Besides, it’s my responsibility as Demon Lord to handle the Hero. I’m the one who let her live, so I’ll take responsibility for her now.”

“As you wish. Yerpe has already secured your route of travel, so if you’d care to don your glamour…”

“Ah, right.” Psytalla snapped her fingers and began to intone the spell, violet mana swirling around her as she did so. The spell flared to a crescendo, weaving the Demon Lord’s human disguise, and Metokai found her jaw hanging on the floor.

Before her stood a statuesque woman with glowing brown skin, which seemed to flow effortlessly over her ample musculature. Her black hair, styled in a bob cut, had frosted purple tips which matched her glowing violet eyes perfectly. Her clothing was unknown to Metokai: a tight black leather jacket made of an unknown hide, washed-out blue pants woven of rough, sturdy cotton, and thick spiked bracelets around each wrist. Durable black work boots, also made of leather, complemented the look.

“How do I look?” Psytalla asked, grinning and placing one hand on her hip.

“I… am unfamiliar with that kind of clothing, my liege,” Metokai desperately deflected as she worked to slow the runaway beating of her heart. “Is the style Arkaelian?”

“Oh, no. Just a little something I dreamed up,” Psytalla replied nonchalantly. Then, under her breath, “…how I’ve missed dressing like this…”

“How’s that?” Metokai asked, tilting her head curiously.

“Nothing. Let’s get moving.”

******

Unlike the Outer District’s meager boundary fences, the borders of the perfectly circular Central District of Arcryid were protected by a looming earthen wall, thirty feet high and crowned by thirteen towers at regular intervals along its circumference. Each of these towers, miniature versions of the mile-high White Monolith that occupied the city center, represented the thirteen colors of magic and were painted appropriately.

At the base of the Red Monolith, which channeled Warrior Magic and was dedicated to the God Atrem, sat an access gate permitting foot and road traffic between the Inner and Outer districts. Stationed at that gate was a bored-looking guard with a clipboard, whose job it was to ask annoying questions like:

“Full legal name, please?”

Nyze thumped her chest. “Scallibart Entrillgadon.”

The guard’s eyes skittered off Nyze’s glamour, an unassuming brown-haired farm girl, before returning to his clipboard. “Right. That’s a nice name… very traditionally feminine, in a country sort of way. Are you from around Rulukanth?”

“Around there, yeah. My village is near the border of Rulu Province. It’s VERY remote,” Nyze explained. She had to don many a cover story during her years as an Adventurer, so this was second nature to her. Who better than an ex-human to strip apart human defenses?

And speaking of ex-humans…

“So what’s wrong with her?” the guard asked, peering over his clipboard at Valex. The trembling foxgirl, glamoured up to look like Nyze’s sister, was very obviously distraught.

“Ah, this is my sister Snillgadon,” Nyze explained, her eye twitching. “She’s actually the reason we’re travelling into the Central District today. She’s heading for a family reunion that… might be emotionally difficult for her, as you can see.”

The guard nodded. “Ah, that makes sense. Those stuffy nobles are always treating their children like crap… er, no offense. Who’s the third?”

Rixu waved lethargically. “I’m their hired guard, Joe.”

The guard quirked his eyebrow at the odd name Rixu had given but didn’t question it. “Alrighty then, I’ll put down ‘family visitation’ as purpose of visit. Do you have any goods to declare?”

“Nope,” Nyze replied, a bit frustrated. She would have thought their lack of a cart made it apparent this wasn’t a trading trip, but maybe they were worried about hammerspace smuggling.

“No fruits, vegetables, rust algae, flesh tubers, sentient roots or sky ferns?”

“Obviously not.”

“No magitechnological batteries rated at four lines or higher?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“No prohibited texts, subversive materials or demonic artifacts?”

Nyze grimaced. “Oy, just how many items are on that customs checklist anyway?”

“‘Bout a hundred,” the guard replied nonchalantly. “This will go faster if you don’t interrupt me, ma’am.”

Nyze sighed and gave up. “Fine. Do your worst.”

I can’t believe I’m missing Psytalla’s visit for this, she grumbled internally, before turning a softer gaze to the trembling Valex. Still, we must make sure this poor girl’s family reunion goes well at ALL costs. The honor of the Demon Realm depends on it!

“Alright,” the guard said, resuming his checklist. “Any pornographic materials, sex toys or lubricants meant for use on the human body?”

“What?! No!” Nyze screeched.

“Are you transporting any live animals classified as ‘Endangered’ or ‘Highly Endangered’ by the Monster Ecosystem Protection Writ? Examples include such species as invisible sharks or laser yaks.”

“Where on Goezia would I keep a live animal?!” Nyze seethed. “In my shirt pocket? I don’t even have a bag on me!”

The guard, entirely indifferent to Nyze’s rage, droned on. “Any alcoholic beverages in excess of three gallons, or of greater value than fifteen hundred gold?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

******

Diane, by contrast, was having what should have seemed a fairly relaxed morning. A casual observer might think she was quietly watering the flowers in her garden, yet closer examination would reveal she was actually flooding a single pot with gallons upon gallons of magically-produced water while absentmindedly staring into the middle distance. She was disassociating, you see, as a very stressful event was on the horizon.

The Demon Lord was coming to visit.

This was the very same Demon Lord who, when last they met, had cuckolded, injured and utterly humiliated her. Diane had changed, of course, and been assured many times by both Nyze and Metokai that she had nothing to fear. Yet fear she did, to the point where the others were worried about her.

“Everything alright?” came a voice from afar.

Diane brought her gaze back to earth and saw, standing at the entrance to her garden, a tall and handsome woman dressed in strange clothes. How had she gotten in?

No matter. Tess had taught her how to handle this sort of thing. “I’m sorry, Miss, but the brothel is closed for the day,” she said, plastering on her best customer service smile. “Please return after 10 PM if you wish to use our services.”

From behind the woman came a tittering laugh. Diane’s eyes widened as Tess poked her head out. “Diane. May I introduce the disguised Demon Lord, Psytalla Sid… Sides… Sidles…”

“Psytalla Sidealestes,” volunteered Psytalla, her expression carefully neutral.

Diane’s smile faded.

“Yeah! Psytalla Side-Lentils!” Tess declared, stepping out from behind her. “Don’t worry. I’m keeping an eye on her. If she makes you cry, I’ll kick her ass!”

Psytalla thrust her hands out, palms up and fingers splayed. “I come under truce. As you can see, I bear no weapons.”

“The heck with that! You are a weapon!” Diane screeched, scooting backwards.

Tess marched forwards, grabbing Diane by the scruff of her neck, and dragged her to within a few feet of the Demon Lord. “Quit being a baby, Diane. Now, do it like we practiced.”

“R-Right.” Diane balled her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms and bowed so deeply her spine was parallel to the ground. “I’m sorry for invading your Realm and trying to kill you!”

There was a moment of silence, then Psytalla groaned and walked forwards. A terrified Diane stared up at her, unable to move while caught in her violet gaze.

“Oy, Hero, this is a bit tiresome, wouldn’t you say?” she sneered.

Diane’s lips moved but no words came out.

“It’s all too stiff, too practiced. With all due respect to Tessaria’s efforts, of course,” Psytalla continued. “Still, you and I are mortal enemies. There should be no barriers between us, be they in battle or in conversation. That said…” she shuffled around in hammerspace for a moment, then pulled out a bottle, “shall we continue over a drink?”

Before the terrified Diane could even respond, Tess snatched the bottle from the Demon Lord’s grip. “Oh hells yeah!” she exclaimed. “We get to drink with the Demon Lord? We’re in!”

“Glad to hear it,” Psytalla said. “Got anywhere dark and dingy with heavy metal music?”

As Psytalla and Tess planned out the details, Diane stared at them silently.

******

“Looks like the Demon Lord’s made contact,” Yerpe said, the pink flare of a scrying spell illuminating her eyes. “Per the mission plan, she’s offered the alcohol as a gift and a third party has accepted on behalf of the Hero.”

Metokai trotted over to the edge of the rooftop, looking down on the bustling street below. “Y’know…” she said, somewhat wistfully, “you don’t need to spy on her constantly. Psytalla is more than capable of handling herself.”

Yerpe allowed the scrying spell to fade and her eyes returned to their normal, non-glowing baby blue. “I am the head of the Demon Lord’s personal guard. It would be negligent of me to leave her unattended while she’s in enemy territory and confronting the Hero.”

Metokai laughed humorlessly. “A Hero she’s already beat handily, no? Diane’s blessing is sealed, for Skel’s sake. She’s not a threat. Let them have their heart-to-heart in peace.”

“As you command,” Yerpe obliged begrudgingly.

“Show a little faith in your Demon Lord,” Metokai lectured. “Psytalla will find a way to turn this situation to our advantage, I assure you. We may even count the Hero among our number before long.”

Yerpe recoiled. “The Hero allying with demonkind? Surely you jest. She and her predecessors have been our mortal enemies since before the first Demon Lord arose… before the Ruin struck, even.”

“Aren’t you leaving something out?” Metokai harrumphed. “Things are not always so black-and-white. According to our oldest fables, the first Hero and the first Demon Lord joined forces to expel the Ruin together; the tale of them fighting side-by-side in the flame-choked wreckage of the Screaming Forest is legendary, is it not? It was only afterwards that the rift began, when the Thirteen issued their ultimatum.”

“Yes, well, that’s how the insectkin tell it,” Yerpe conceded.

“You doubt their veracity?”

“As you said, the truth is always more complicated,”

Metokai sighed. “Skepticism is good, Corporal, so long as it does not become obstinance. Let’s give Psytalla a chance before we write off her efforts entirely.”

Yerpe placed her closed fist over her left breast in salute. “Understood, High General,” she responded in a firm tone. Then, more quietly, under her breath, “…you’ve really changed…”

Metokai’s ears burned. “Why is everyone mumbling under their breath today? If you have something to say, say it loudly or keep it to yourself.”

Yerpe straightened her spine, maintaining her salute. “My apologies, High General. I have nothing further to add.”

Metokai looked at her askance for a moment before responding with a nod. “Sheesh, fine. We’ll drop it.”

“Thank you, High General.”

Metokai rolled her eyes. “Anyway, please fire up that scrying spell again. I’d like to check on Nyze.”

******

“I can’t believe we had to give a URINE SAMPLE!” Nyze raged as she stormed out of the customs checkpoint. “Of all the pedantic, bureaucratic nonsense…”

“Can you even tell if someone is human or not by their urine?” Rixu mused.

“It’s mainly for drug testing,” Valex explained. “Some bureaucrat invented the process in Arkaelia and it spread quickly from there; you know how uptight the Church gets over mind-altering substances. I’ve had to fake many drug tests in my course of work.”

Nyze looked at Valex suspiciously. “Is that why you keep an assortment of urine bottles stored away in hammerspace? For faking pee tests?”

“Yup!” Valex responded happily. She was glad to be helpful, and even more glad for any distraction from her all-consuming stress. “I’ve got dozens of pee bottles stored away for any occasion!”

“And I didn’t need to know that,” Nyze grumbled bitterly as she strode full-bore into the Central district. “C’mon, let’s get going… and never speak of this again. Cool?”

“Cool,” Rixu responded without hesitation.

“Y-Yeah…” Valex muttered, following along.

******

The pink glow in Yerpe’s eyes faded and she stared at Metokai, speechless.

The tiny baphomet cleared her throat. “You heard Nyze. Let’s never speak of this again.”

“Agreed.”

Metokai clapped her paws together. “Well, everyone seems to be doing just fine; our services aren’t needed. Shall we grab a snack and some tea before the next scheduled check-in?”

Yerpe sighed. “Sure.”

******

“Oy,” Diane grumbled, staring at the flagon of demonic bloodwine before her, “do I really have to? I’m not sure about drinking anything that has ‘blood’ in the name…”

“Don’t be a baby,” Tessaria said, sniffing the beverage; it was a deep shade of crimson and seemed to glow slightly from orange cracks in the liquid’s surface. “Plenty of foods have blood in them. Blood pie, blood pudding…”

“Bloodwine is manufactured by the vampires,” Psytalla explained. “It’s designed to appeal to a broad range of species, be they hematophage or otherwise. In this case, they mixed vintage grapes from the vines of Flesh-Razor Valley with varietals from the Cursed Jungle of Formless Horrors, and spiced it up with harpy blood…”

“Hang on,” Diane said, narrowing her eyes. “The harpies are sentient, right? You use their blood to make WINE?!”

“They donate it, obviously,” Psytalla responded coolly. “We run official government blood banks where citizens can freely volunteer their plasma to keep our vampire population nourished. Inevitably, some of that blood winds up in vampiric cuisine.”

Diane looked at her glass again and stuck out her tongue. “Bleh. Nasty.”

Tess was more adventurous and took a small sip. “Whoa, delicious! It tastes like vanilla mixed with cinnamon!”

“Wait, seriously?” Diane tentatively poked her tongue out and dipped the tip into the wine; immediately she was awash with a rich bevy of autumnal flavors. “It actually is good…”

Psytalla laughed. “Surely you would never think me so uncouth as to bring unpalatable wine to a parley with my mortal enemy, right? Hospitality demands I do at least this much.”

Diane sat back in her chair, flagon in hand, and took a small sip. Despite the cool temperature of the wine, it felt warm going down her throat. It was smooth, tasty and drinkable… the most dangerous kind of alcohol, in other words. She resolved to be careful with her intake.

“So!” the Demon Lord said, slamming down her empty flagon of wine, “let’s get to the main point. Diane, what happened?”

“Er… since I left the Demon Realm, you mean?”

Psytalla shrugged. “You can start wherever you want… working backwards from the present, or forwards from your childhood. What I want to know is WHY.”

“Why I became a girl?”

Psytalla shook her head. “No, I don’t particularly care about that. Changing one’s gender or species to better suit your identity is no more extraordinary to demons than changing clothes for a party. What I want to know is why you chose to abandon the Church and treat with demonkind instead.”

“I didn’t abandon the Church. They abandoned me,” Diane stated firmly, taking a large swallow of her wine. “Think what you will of my behavior as the Hero, but I did at least sacrifice my whole life to become the Church’s symbol. So long as I played that role they pampered me, but when you sealed my divine blessing they threw me onto the street like refuse. A lot of truths became evident to me in that moment.”

“I’d imagine so,” Psytalla said, steepling her fingers.

“Fuck the Church!” Tessaria added. Her slurred words and flushed face indicated she was already majorly sloshed.

“I’ll drink to that,” Psytalla said, pouring herself another round and raising her flagon. Diane and Tess clinked their flagons against hers.

“Agreed.”

“GRAWR!”

Psytalla relished the wine as it slid down her throat, smacking her lips. “So, let’s talk motivation. Diane, please tell me your life story.”

Diane, who fortuitously for the muses was taking a sip of wine at that very moment, sprayed it out. “P-P-Pardon?”

“I want to know exactly what kind of life the Church grants to its Heroes,” Psytalla said, her eyes burning with resolve. “Tell me about your upbringing, Diane.”

Diane grabbed her flagon and drained it, caution be damned. “Alright, fine. Let’s start at the beginning.”

Psytalla rocked her chair back, reclining. “Please do.”

“You got this, girl!” Tess cheered, accidentally spilling half her flagon.

Diane slapped her cheeks twice and cleared her throat. “Okay, so. Back when I was a wee child, I met this gardener named Chops…”

******

“There it is…” Valex said in a tiny voice. “My family home…”

Nyze looked at the mansion surrounded by lavish hedges and secretly lamented the sheer excess of the nobles who inhabited the Central District. Still, this was neither the time nor the place to voice those thoughts.

“We’re with you every step of the way, Valex,” Rixu said gently, patting her on the shoulder.

“That’s right,” Nyze added, beaming her warmest smile. “Your family reunion may be difficult, but we’ll support you unconditionally.”

Valex smiled at them both, although the undercurrent of pain was still apparent. “Thank you; I’ll be counting on you both. Well, let’s get this over with.”

Slowly, deliberately, she walked up to the front door and knocked.

******

“I see,” Psytalla said, polishing off her twelfth flagon of wine. “So you were every bit as much a victim of the Church as Nyze.”

Diane nodded. “Yes, but I’m not trying to use that to justify my past bad behavior. I just wish I’d been raised in an environment that allowed me to flourish sooner. If it wasn’t for this damn Hero’s blessing…”

Psytalla groaned and lolled her head back, staring at the ceiling. “Well, this all seems immensely complicated. Diane, I’m not exactly sure what to do with you.”

“What do you mean by ‘what to do with her?’” Tess groused, glaring at the Demon Lord. “She’s not your property, Psytalla. She has a right to decide her own destiny.”

“Sadly, she does not,” Psytalla said softly, genuine regret edging into her tone. “The moment the Gods branded her with the Hero’s blessing, her life ceased to be her own. The Hero has always been a threat to demonkind, and it’s my sacred role as Demon Lord to ensure that threat never menaces our lands again.”

“Even if that means killing me?” Diane asked, staring at her flagon.

“Yes.”

Diane’s gaze rose and she, for the first time in her life, locked eyes with the Demon Lord. “Then why didn’t you kill me a month ago?”

Psytalla sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I’ve asked myself the same question. Partially, I think I did it for Nyze; killing her ex would have been a bad start to a new relationship. Also, I saw something in your eyes… a flash of your true self, I think. I sensed potential in you and relented.”

“How nice,” Diane said dejectedly. “I’ve still got this divine brand on me, however. That means you can never rest easy so long as I’m alive.”

“That’s right,” Psytalla replied softly.

“If that’s the case, why not simply remove the Divine Blessing from her?” Tess asked. To her surprise, it was Diane who spoke next.

“That’s a nice sentiment, Tess, but sadly impossible. The Blessing is a seven-line spell, far beyond mortal ken. No human or demon caster could hope to comprehend it, let alone dispel it. Frankly, I’m shocked Psytalla was even able to seal that much raw creation magic away in the first place.”

“It’s exactly as she says,” Psytalla conceded. “Only a God can remove the Blessing.”

“What about that demonic Goddess of yours, Skellish?” Tess pressed, unwilling to give up. “Couldn’t she remove it?”

“She can’t interfere directly so long as the Thirteen retain jurisdiction,” Psytalla explained. “The reasons are political, but she can’t openly oppose the ruling Gods of this world.”

Tess raised an eyebrow. “Gods have politics?”

“Oh yes, and they’re every bit as tiresome as mortal politics.”

That earned a snort from Tess. “Okay, so Skellish is a no-go. I don’t suppose you have access to time travel? If you could go back in time and prevent the Blessing from being applied in the first place…”

Psytalla shook her head. “I can use time magic, yes, but travelling backwards in time is strictly prohibited by the Divine Mainframe.”

““The what?”” Diane and Tess asked in unison.

“Who, not what. And this is a topic for another time,” Psytalla said, dismissing that line of inquiry without leaving any room for objection. “More to the point, I do think I have a method that might nullify Diane’s blessing permanently, although it’s very risky.”

Diane’s eyes widened and she leaned forwards eagerly. “Seriously?! I’ll do anything to be rid of this curse! Tell me, please!”

Psytalla saw the fiery resolve in Diane’s eyes and knew she finally had her answer. She stood from her chair, rising to her feet and dispelling her glamour. As her full demonic glory unfurled, Diane and Tess could do little but stare.

“If you are truly willing to abandon the Gods, then I will aid you,” Psytalla stated, extending her hand. “I will pry the Thirteen’s curse from your soul, although the cost will be high.”

Diane gulped and took her hand. “How high?”

“Your very humanity.”

Diane’s eyes widened as she realized exactly what Psytalla was proposing. “You mean…?!”

Psytalla’s face split into a wide grin and her red eyes glowed with sinister purpose. “Yes, exactly that. Tell me, Hero… will you allow me to transform you into a demon?”