For years, the realm of Zelmesca had been ravaged by ongoing civil war. Tensions that had built up over decades had finally boiled over with the destruction of the city of South Gate. It had been the primary hub between the inner and outer portions of the realm. The massive walled gate, from which the city had taken its name, constructed through a narrow pass in the mountains that surrounded the inner realm, had also been a significant line of defense against invasion from the south. It had all come down when a gigantic fiend appeared one night, destroying everything in its path and killing thousands before it vanished. The ritual master of the Abyssals, a man named Belias, took credit for the legendary summoning.

Myanna had her doubts, despite being a member of the faction. There was no doubt in her mind that the faction wielded impressive power and held a fearsome reputation throughout the realm. But after meeting the man himself, she had come away from the experience, skeptical of his abilities. This was partly due to Myanna being a fiend herself, albeit of a much smaller degree of power and nature than the one said to have been summoned that night. Cuirizu, like Myanna, were a specific breed of fiend often referred to as plant demons. It was a misnomer, considering that they weren’t from the same place as demons, but the label had stuck.

Cuirizu shared many traits with other fiends and were humanoid in appearance but had a physiology that had a lot in common with plants. It had served Myanna well when self-styled demon slayers had come to put an end to her, only to be woefully unprepared for the differences between her and other fiends. The fact she gained strength from the sun was just one thing on a long list of differences that had been a matter of life or death for such foolish mortals.

Myanna reflected on it only briefly as she basked in the morning sun that shone through the narrow window of her room. It was only a little wider than a standard embrasure, but facing east guaranteed she got a good amount of crisp morning light if the weather was fair. The cuirizu had arranged her bed specifically to provide her with the most prolonged exposure to sunrise possible. She’d spent very little of her time in her room lately, so she savored it whenever she was given a brief reprieve.

With a brief sigh, Myanna opened her crimson eyes as she mentally chastised herself for not being out of bed yet. She lay naked for several more minutes, letting the sun warm her dark, coppery skin as she stared blankly at the ceiling. With the passing of the last head alchemist in a horrific lab accident, the alchemy labs had been moved to an outbuilding with her in charge. She was the first hortichemist to hold the position with the Abyssals and one of only a few to be appointed to such a rank in the realm for decades. But there were details about the accident that didn’t sit right with her. Her mind had gone in circles trying to figure it out, only to come up with nothing. She hadn’t particularly liked the last head alchemist, but that wasn’t an unusual thing to say about anyone in the faction.

Every member of the Abyssals was essentially out for themself, even if they swore fealty to the goddess that sat on the throne of Willowridge. It was through a series of politics, backstabbing, conniving, and undermining that anyone was able to get closer to the goddess, Olcaru. Allies one day could become bitter rivals the next in an effort to win Olcaru’s favor. Myanna’s situation was slightly different but it didn’t exempt her from such petty politics. The goddess had personally brought Myanna into the fold, having delivered her from the jaws of death at a young age and teaching her the basics of what she was. But once she officially joined, getting anywhere had been an uphill battle.

As she sat up, running a hand through her short, emerald green hair, she told herself she should have been proud. She should have been overjoyed with the promotion. It brought her one step closer to joining Olcaru’s inner circle and taking her rightful place at her side. Once there, she could move on to the next phase of her grand aspirations. But she felt none of these things, only trepidation. Without knowing the motive behind the possible sabotage of the previous head alchemist, she had no way of knowing if she might be targeted next.

Myanna got to her feet, walking around the small bed to stand nude in front of the window to let the sun warm the ample swell of her breasts and the ring piercings through her nipples. Were she the type to feel shame or modesty about her nudity, which she wasn’t, her room in the tower was high enough above the bailey that only those with exceptional sight would be able to make her out through such a narrow opening. Few of the other Abyssals were up and about at this hour. Most kept nocturnal schedules for whatever profane rites and dark rituals they were working on and were, thus, already retired in their quarters at this time of day. A few, like Myanna, were active during the day, but only enough to keep things running.

As a cuirizu, Myanna required little sleep, especially in the summer. She could get by with just a few hours of dreamless dozing and return to work fully refreshed. Lately, though, with the uncertain prospect of being the new head alchemist, she had been inclined to take more time to herself and have a less predictable schedule than before. She propped herself in front of the window on her elbows, placed on each side of the opening, as she looked out at the bailey below. As good as the sun felt on her skin and the light morning breeze felt through her hair, it was time to get to work in the lab.

Myanna quickly dressed in the leather thigh-high boots and elbow gloves she typically wore. Taking a moment to fix her hair in the mirror, the numerous steel studs in her face caught the remnants of the morning light. There were four over her left eyebrow, one in her left nostril and cheek, and a final one just below her dark red lips. She put her ruby teardrop earrings in before pulling on her leather corset and tightening the straps. The impressive swell of her breasts, which she eyed a little vainly in the mirror, were made all the more glorious by the tight black leather.

Finally, she pulled on a leather thong that showcased her ass wonderfully and secured a black leather choker around her neck. Turning in the mirror, she noted the black corset piercings she recently obtained that ran in two rows down her back were still fixed in place, a long black silk ribbon running between the rows to lace them together. She would have to compliment Fenan on her work again the next time she saw her. Of course, it might not be the only thing she did to her the next time she saw her. Myanna hadn’t gotten laid in a while and was beginning to notice its effect on her mood. Glancing around her small room with its meager furnishings, she wasn’t inclined to bring anyone back here for a night of hot, sweaty sex. It was almost embarrassing how much she had given up to be here and how little she had attained for herself in that time. It would have to change.

Descending the tower’s stairs quickly and stepping out into the open, Myanna crossed the bailey to the outbuilding set aside as the alchemy laboratory. The few individuals she passed along the way made no attempt to keep their gawking at her a secret, which helped to elevate her mood. Myanna did like to be fawned over and enjoyed being the focus of people’s lust, so long as it was on her terms. Grabbing the handle of one of the heavy double doors, Myanna threw it open and stepped into the laboratory.

The potent smell of simmering reagents washed over her, carried by the warm humidity typically produced by the processes taking place in the lab. Though they had several windows for ventilation, it did little when they had every station in production.

“There you are,” a goblin complained from atop an elevated chair behind a podium at the far side of the room. “I was just about to send someone to roll you out of bed.”

“Hardly necessary, Teatun,” Myanna replied as she approached. “You exaggerate.”

“If it were someone else, yes,” Teatun admitted, her cracked lips pressed into a thin line. “But you’re a stickler for punctuality.”

“I was preoccupied,” Myanna said dismissively. “Were there any issues while I was away?”

“None,” Teatun said as she turned her black eyes back down to the book on the podium to scrawl something in it. “Everything is coming along as planned. The liquid ice is just about finished and ready for bottling, and the poultices are all packed and ready to go to the quartermaster for dispensing.”

“How about the batch of flare?” Myanna inquired as she stepped around the small goblin to look over the writing in the book.

“Two more hours, at least,” Teatun reported, glancing over her shoulder at the cuirizu. The size difference between them was considerable, with Teatun standing at only three and a half feet and Myanna nearly three feet higher. “We’re also out of belladonna.”

“I’ll requisition some more when I have the---.”

“Nope,” Teatun interrupted. Most would be too intimidated to do such a thing with Myanna, but Teatun had only a handful of people she spoke respectfully to. “They already told me to go fuck myself. Low priority, they said.”

Myanna stared at the goblin silently in disbelief for a moment, forcing a measure of calm into her voice before speaking. “Do they realize it’s the primary analgesic in our poultices right now?”

Teatun shrugged dramatically. “Hell if I know, but that cunt is a necromancer. Do you think he gives a shit about healing poultices? The more people drop, the more material he has to work with.”

“Of course,” Myanna sighed, clenching her fists.

“Maybe we can grow our own in the greenhouse,” Teatun suggested half-heartedly. “You’re a phyllomage, after all.”

“I doubt the soil could handle it,” the cuirizu replied as she strode back to the door. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Uh oh,” the goblin called after her as she stormed out. Teatun hadn’t known the cuirizu for very long, but she knew what to expect from her in situations like this one.

Within minutes, Myanna arrived at the requisition office. It was less of an office and more of a stall extending out from the gatehouse’s side. By the way Myanna approached, those waiting outside knew she was furious. The necromancer who typically ran the desk at this hour wasn’t out front, meaning he was at the table somewhere inside. Myanna pushed past the others with little effort to step inside. Salak, the man she was looking for, was hunched over with a pair of soldiers reviewing a map. When she entered, he turned to welcome her.

“Ah, Myanna!” he chirped. “What an unexpected plea---!”

With one swift motion, Myanna grabbed him by the back of his skull and slammed it into the table he’d been looking at. It bounced almost like a ball off the wooden surface as he fell to his knees, his arms spread across the table, desperately trying to keep him upright. His look of shock gave way to pain as he tried to wrap his mind around the ferocity of the sudden attack.

“Good morning Salak,” Myanna said coldly. The soldiers across the table froze as if any sudden movement might provoke the cuirizu.

“OGHN! Fuck!” Salak groaned, a bit of his thin, greasy, black hair falling into his face. “The hell got up your ass?”

“I’ve been informed that you told my assistant that our request for belladonna was denied,” Myanna circled behind him as he struggled to get to his feet. A thin trickle of blood began to run down to his chin from his nose.

“I’ll tell you what I told her,” he snapped. “I got more important shit to do than send men out to pick flowers for you.”

Again Myanna slammed his head down into the table, taking him completely by surprise with how quick and easy it was for her. This time, his nose was properly broken, smearing the entire bottom half of his face in a sticky mix of his blood and saliva. The necromancer had difficulty seeing anything through the renewed pain.

“Picking flowers,” Myanna repeated as she loomed over him. “You feel that pain reverberating through that empty skull of yours, Salak?”

The necromancer replied with a wet gurgling grunt as he fumbled for a knife hanging from his belt. Myanna beat him to it easily, pulling the blade from its sheath before he could. “I’d wager you’re in need of a poultice for it, correct? It looks as though you may have a broken nose. That must be very painful. Pain can be disorienting, and it’s best not to handle blades when in such a state.”

As the necromancer propped himself up with one hand on the table, Myanna took hold of his wrist to hold it in place. “That’s how accidents happen, Salak.”

The soldiers across the table nearly jumped out of their armor as Myanna drove the knife down into the necromancer’s hand, pinning it to the table. A scream of agony filled the room, but no one moved to help the man as he writhed around in pain, unable to move from his spot as the stronger cuirizu held him in place.

“One of the most important components of our poultices is the analgesic we use. Do you know what analgesic is for?” Myanna asked calmly. But the only reply she got from the necromancer was more screaming and blubbering. The cuirizu turned her crimson eyes on the pair of silent soldiers. “Do you know what analgesic is for?”

The two exchanged glances briefly, silently debating the question before one was finally brave enough to put forth a guess. “P-pain?”

“Pain,” Myanna repeated evenly as if speaking to a child. She turned her gaze back upon the necromancer, trying to pry her hand free from his wrist. “What do you think we use as our analgesic in our poultices, Salak? Can you take a guess?”

As the necromancer glared up at her, Myanna placed her other hand on the knife slowly in a silent threat to twist it. Deciding it was clearly not a bluff, Salak mustered the effort to answer. “Belladonna?”

“Belladonna,” Myanna repeated serenely. “Now, perhaps you would like to reconsider the level of priority you’ve assigned to my assistant’s request?”

“Y-yes,” Salak stammered; most of the color had drained from his face.

“Good,” Myanna cooed, taking her hand off the knife and patting his cheek gently. “I’m glad we had this talk.”

The cuirizu glanced at the two soldiers, knowing word of the exchange would spread like wildfire by the end of the day. She left the necromancer pinned to the table without another word, returning to the alchemy lab a few minutes later.

“That was awfully quick,” Teatun remarked as the door slammed shut behind Myanna. The goblin didn’t look up from the measurements she was performing with a crushed reagent. “Did you get the belladonna?”

“I did,” Myanna replied simply, walking through the central lab to the room set aside as her office and personal lab. She had a desk with an oversized comfortable chair on one side of the room, stacked with the menial paperwork she often avoided. Next to it was a bookshelf crammed full of reference materials and rare alchemy manuals. On the other side of the room was her personal alchemy table, where she had been slowly picking away at a couple of projects since she’d been first promoted. Chief among the projects was the whip coiled up on the table’s surface.

The cuirizu took a moment to open the shudders of the office before looking the whip over. She had made it from tightly wound plant matter covered in thorns so that it could work in tandem with her phyllomagic. She had treated it with a host of reagents to preserve and alter it, preparing it for magical enhancement so that the material would always be alive and flexible while being more devastating and vicious than any whip she’d ever handled. So far, the process seemed to be coming along nicely.

“Is it done?” Teatun asked as she shuffled in with a stack of scrolls to place on her desk.

“Almost,” Myanna replied without taking her eyes off it, tilting her head to examine it more closely. “If I’d been able to get some darkleaf, the process would have been much easier. It’s a much higher quality material.”

“Darkleaf?” Teatun asked curiously, her large ragged green ears twitching slightly. “I don’t think I know it.”

“It’s rather durable,” Myanna explained. “It can be used much the same as leather and takes to alchemical treating and magical enhancement rather easily.”

“Well, we can barely get the belladonna we need,” Teatun scoffed incredulously as the sound of the front door drew her attention. The goblin shuffled out to see who it was and what they wanted. After a moment of conversation from the other room, a dark elf woman appeared at her door.

Myanna had only spoken to Onesa in passing while working in the alchemy labs. Still, the two had quickly developed a solid working relationship that the cuirizu had come to appreciate. The elf’s striking amber eyes, which starkly contrasted her charcoal skin, glanced around the room briefly before settling back upon the cuirizu. “Is it ready?”

“Finished last night,” Myanna replied, indirectly chiding the dark elf for being late. She pulled a greenish-yellow vial of fluid from a drawer next to the table and held it out to her. “Exactly to your specifications.”

“Excellent,” Onesa responded with the standard brevity their conversations typically had. Onesa had quickly identified Myanna as someone who could produce poisons according to the specifications she provided with little difficulty. Since then, she refused to work with any other alchemists if it could be helped.

As Myanna returned to her work, she was surprised that Onesa had not yet left. “My apologies,” the dark elf continued as she placed the vial in a pouch on her belt. “The job I was on kept me much longer than I anticipated. The intel provided was.... Inaccurate.”

Myanna redirected her attention to Onesa once more, realizing that she only wore her shadowy, oiled leather in the lab when she was about to head out on a mission or when first returning. As effective as the leather was in concealing her in the dark and keeping her silent, the form-fitting material was less than comfortable when worn nearly head to toe. “Inaccurate?”

Onesa nodded, brushing the long white braid back over her shoulder. “It’s becoming a problem; the numbers provided were much lower. It was manageable this time but might not be next time.”

“I see,” Myanna acknowledged as she pursed her lips. The dark elf favored her left leg a little from what the cuirizu could see. She pulled a poultice from another of the drawers and handed it to her. “Put that on your leg and rest. Come back later, and the new batch of flare will be ready.”

Onesa turned the poultice over in her hand before nodding, “Very well. Provided, of course, that I’m not immediately given another job once I report in.”

“Of course,” Myanna agreed before bidding the dark elf farewell. It was strange, but Myanna realized it was likely one of the longest conversations she’d had with the woman. Onesa, like many dark elves, was known for her cold exterior and calm demeanor. It was a way of life for them, with dark elf politics being every bit as dangerous as what they experienced in the ranks of the Abyssals. The carefully crafted mask they wore was to betray as little as possible about one’s emotional state to potential rivals and enemies.

Myanna leaned out of her office to watch the elf’s backside as she walked away. As she pulled open the door to leave, another woman walked in, exchanging nods with one another. The tiefling had ashen skin tinted with the faintest hint of lavender. Most of her head was shaved clean, with her short black hair parted to one side, and was as covered in scars as the rest of her exposed flesh. She noticed Myanna immediately and approached her with a sensual sway of her hips that sensually juxtaposed the multitude of gold chains and piercings across her body, many of which were concealed by the black leathers she wore, not unlike Myanna’s.

“Is it true?” the tiefling asked, her strikingly ice-blue eyes fixed intently on the cuirizu. “What they’re saying you did to Salak?”

Myanna squared her shoulders as she raised her chin, regarding the overseer of Willowridge’s dungeon impassively. “It is.”

“May I have a word with you?” the overseer asked, gesturing to the door behind the cuirizu. “In private?”