There was one more loose end, and it had to do with—

Whopp. An arm of flesh and bone crashed against an arm of wood.

Ethel and Darling were...sparring! Clumsily. It was less like an impressive kung-fu exchange and more like arm-throws met by effortless arm-counters. The one impressive part was the way Darling kept up her defense while walking backward. The two of them were traveling on foot, and Athalie was beside them. She insisted on carrying the team’s truly massive backpack of rations, did so without struggle and without complaint.

And while they were used to wandering through forests, this time there was no good shade in sight. This was cactus country: the bushes were short and scrubby, the tumbleweeds were frequent, and instead of grass there were stones. Wind carried a bit of chill to them now and then, which was the extent of the “autumn weather” here. The sun blared.

“Rate my skills,” said Ethel, still smacking her arms against the wooden champion’s.

Darling replied, “Paltry!”

“Good, that’s what I like to hear. Something objective.”

“I can be objective,” said Nyx without looking at them. Their eyes, their senses, were trained on the road. Another burden they took on by request, without complaint.

“It’s too much pressure,” said Ethel. “Presumably Darling has nothing to do but talk without apparent emotion or bias.”

“Would you like for me to raise my power level?” Darling asked.

“Um...sure—ow! Ow. No. Let’s stop for now.”

Six arms retracted into Darling’s cloak. “As you wish,” she said.

Athalie asked, “Why don’t you put on some, y’know...gauntlets, bucklers...”

All of Ethel’s armor was leather. Tough, thick-layered leather, but still. “It’s too hot here,” she said. “Plate armor is also too heavy.”

“Not for Athalie.”

Ethel’s mouth squinched in brief confusion. “You mean not for...Nyx...”

They knew how different the conditions would get in the dungeon—not as hot, for starters, and not nearly as dry.

The three of them became a walking line again, retreated into silence. What had Nyx been thinking about again? Well, first off there was the road. A chalk-white path, barely visible unless you concentrated, stretched from here to Farander. It wasn’t the most popular path from here to there, but they’d picked it because eventually it hit the port to the Tellurom-Barkneys, and they had an alibi to maintain. They’d pretend that Ethel was found mysteriously in those extreme southwestern islands, abducted by a demon and then dropped like a hot potato before meeting a local, Athalie.

Fortunately for their travels, they weren’t going to walk this road for long. Just a few days, and they’d pretend to have done a lot of slacking and meandering. In case other important people are taking the same route—so that no dungeon diver could say, “I took the same route at the same time, but I never saw those people.”

A cackling howl sounded from the northwest. The cry of a jackal.

What was the other thing? Oh yeah: consuming souls.

To get one thing out of the way, no, Nyx had not taken a single pill of Wobegone after the auction. The highest high had plunged into a devastating low, and whether that was more to do with stress or physical fatigue than the pills, Nyx could no longer divorce the two in their mind. Those went next to the pixie’s cage in the shitty excuse for a “medical bay” near the castle’s grandfather clock. The pain in her arms that had been so acute was now a dull throb.

Now and then Nyx got a sense of millions of pins along and throughout their arms...not pressing through, but simply existing, floating suspended. Within minutes the feeling would pass. Nyx was, now and forever, an experiment. The journey from Earth, the journey to the hells, even this present identity—it was all a jumble of experiments, just a big ocean of unease and unease that rolled into each other.

Consuming souls was a must. That was the one demon trait that Nyx refused to compromise on. Once and for all, they had to get concretely and consistently stronger. Otherwise their confidence would keep flagging and their skills would always fall short.

If they kept themself discreet, they could really bend Farander Dungeon to their advantage. For the strong and the seeking, every dungeon was a land of Cockaigne—monsters like an ever-present food, ripe for the taking.

But for now...

(A jackal cried out.)

...some smaller fry would do perfectly as a stepping stone.

Nyx froze. On cue, Ethel and Darling stopped with them.

They held a hand out...then two. Eight fingers.