I drove up to the school in my motorcycle. I have ten other of mine, but I just cannot help but covet each and every one of them. I grumbled internally flicker back to the events of today following dropping off my dearest as I rev the engine, finding comfort in the purr of the motor. I will never show it on my face, but the Academy of Essence’s most recent exam brought me no end of irritation. Those pompous, Magic creatures rubbing their Perfection Essence in my face.

My hands clench possessively around the motorcycle. That A+ is mine.

Someone drives right in front of me as I duck and weave through the leaving cars. Dealing with human parents driving their children home is such a hassle. Though I swear it is far worse than normal...

Has everyone forgotten basic human etiquette?

I swear.

I finally learn not that it’s not ok to randomly crush someone’s car because it looks really nice and I deeply want it... and humans just throw back all of the rules back into my face.

I internally shake my head amusedly. Well, truth be told, I learned that is not allowed immediately during this venture into the human world. The first thing I did was acquaint myself with human law, however poorly crafted it is. I just could not bring myself to care. That man’s shiny, red car that I really, really, really wanted...

Well, it needed to go. I do not make the rules. I studiously ignore the fact that the aforementioned rules do not actually include the righteous destruction of stuff you cannot have.

I nearly crash into another woman’s drab car, noting an oddly panicked expression on her face through the glass.

It was not even directed at me. My attention is swiftly drawn from such trifling matters though, and instead focuses on her delectable soul. I cannot be blamed. It looks so delicious that I could not help but be distracted.

I still manage to avoid the collision though. With a swift lean to the side, I skid upward and over in defiance to all the laws of physics and the basics of how riding a motorcycle should work.

I smash into the parking lot behind the careless driver, the keratinous plates, attached to the hubs of my motorbike, flapping like the pigeons I scared away upon impact.

“Fffffffff...”

Fuck.

Another tire gone. Oh well. I stick my hand down my cleavage and pull out an entire tire from my pocket space, which I had opened the gate between my boobs. A person’s eyes, the windows to their soul, flare with Lust at the titillating sight.

Congratulations! You possess another level to add to Your Space.

I may be devoted to the Sin of Gluttony, but my Demonic Essence can still grow slightly on the Lust of these humans. And more Essence is always better.

I still wince at having to give up another tire. It’s mine. I hate seeing the number of tires in my pocket space go down.

*sigh*

But I love doing more and more stunts. Accruing more talent with the vehicle and seeing my Mesh of Motorbiking become bigger is just wonderful.

“Hah...” I breath out. I remember that delightful song Theater showed me. How did it go? Ah yes.

“🎵...Because bigger is better. And biggest is best...🎶” I hum to myself. I skirt to the side and spin around in a needless affectation to my formal walking style.

I look up sharply from my leisurely footsteps to the school. Something's wrong. I cannot believe it has taken me sp embarrassingly long to realize that.

My elf-like ears wiggle as they burn from contact with fully fleshed-out Miasma embedded with an appropriate idea and trauma. My neck flushes with green as the hunger all Gluttony imps have agitates me. Anathema are a delicacy.

But that is quickly overwhelmed by my heightened concern. Borne of panic, the ink within my eyes flares out as I race through the blockade the pitiful Warriors who police the area set up. The teeth in my throat writhe in worry.

“So help me... if that biii... oh my, nearly swearing. Only you make me so uncouth, dearest," I mutter to myself. If my strange, little human got stuck in yet another Rift...

The Warriors, upon seeing an imp sprinting toward them at top speed, immediately go on the offense. Not that it matters. All of their swords and Magic Essence shatter on my parchment-yellow skin, destabilized by my Demonic Essence.

“Demon, this is outside of your jurisdiction. Leave!” uselessly shouted the captain in charge, right before I knock every single one out with a burst of Gluttony. They all collapse, clutching their stomachs as an insatiable craving for something to fill their stomach gnaws at their mind.

While they roll around like tin cans, I come to a stop in the courtyard, the facade of the school warping just. As. I. Feared.

In real time, a tall structure of Miasma is being built, block by block, purple stone being laid in place. All of this encircling around the school to turn it into a fortress for the Torment at the center. Crenelations and watch towers slowly reveal themselves as the seemingly random placements construct a prison for all students inside it.

My dearest... could die.

“You... you... you BITCH! If you hate it when I leave you, stop leaving me yourself!” I shout helplessly at the towering gates in front of me, clenching my clawed hands. Stay where I can help you, you... I am not going to swear. I need to be proper.

Just take a deep breath.

In.

And out.

My ears twitch far more rapidly once more, rotating rapidly as they sense more incoming Miasma, of thousands of different flavors.

Within a mental map of my creation, hundreds of rifts open. Even without a System, I was far beyond many in the workings of Essence. The training I had received before I was cut off all too soon was the best possible. The paper-mâché constructs within my mind are beset by hundreds of miniature storms. And worse, they are far less content to stay still like the one my dearest is stuck in.

There are Anathema pouring out like swarms of ants, corrupting the surroundings with abandon and slaughtering thousands.

Theater will not be getting help any time soon, will they? Upon that realization, I completely lose my cool.

The ink billows out of my eyes in a gaseous vapor, a haze of black swirling in the courtyard. My strength is not nearly enough to break into a Tormented zone.

I am helpless once more to save what is...

“MIIIIIIIIIIIINE!!!”

I roar into the skies in fury, my feathered writing quill crackles into being from an orb of light summoned into my hands. A pitch-black carefully maintained plume as long as my legs are, my weapon's sharp, pointed nib shines in the gloom. My horns crack and snap as they lengthen into a crown of horns. Wings wriggle out my back, pumping up with blood like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis.

I will help Theater of course. Just need some help from my old business partners and I am sure I will be able to extricate her. The stress they cause me continuously will not abate the help he will receive. I’m sure they are alive. He would not die from that.

There is no way.

I refuse to believe that is likely.

She has told me far too many other harrowing situations that she has gone through, raising my blood pressure far beyond what I, as her girlfriend, deserve.

Ah. Right.

My business partners will never help me if they see me so upset. It is not befitting of a noble. So. Some stress relief is in order.

I turn toward the cowering playthings.

With my writing implement of mass destruction, I prepare to wipe the surrounding block from existence. Let us see if we can’t get this done before the real powers of the neighborhood mobilize to stop me from blowing off some steam. They will not begrudge me a fit of rage after potentially losing the prize of my collection, the eye of my hoard, to this Torment.

…

A minute later, I walk up to the hospital, stretching out my back, hearing a couple of pops from my spine. That was nice. I feel slightly better have some carnage.

I flick off a tiny bit of rubble off my suit, my nose wrinkling in distaste.

I hate hospitals. They are all so... gross. I would never go into these for my brothers and sisters. How Theater is willing to do this for her brother, I will never understand.

I cock my head to the side, still staring with trepidation at the glass doors. I suppose that's not true. I do understand, given I am doing this for them.

Time to let his brother know.

I sign in the paperwork, delighting in reading the fascinating legalese and red tape put for imps visiting patients in the hospital. My hand moves across the page with quick, practiced flourishes, filling out the information with intense eagerness. If it were not so inappropriate for a noble to giggle in such a public place, I would have done so.

There were reams of paper, all trying to trip me up. How could I not enjoy it?

Perhaps a Wrath imp would have set the place ablaze at the mere sight of so much paper, I note to myself. I need to make sure I understand others’ perspectives, otherwise I’ll let intended injustice go... Theater firmly believes in letting no injustice go unpunished, unless it happens to her, the sill fool.

But this is just too much fun.

The nurse trembles behind her desk, nervous eyes following every movement that I make, despite it being so simple as writing hundreds of words every second.

Perhaps it is culture shock, but I still have yet to get used to the prejudice they all show. Continual rage to everything or inherent superiority to everything, that makes sense to me. Wrath and Pride, similar to the prejudice in these humans, make sense. But such directed hate, fear, and disgust towards imps specifically is always confusing. Predators need to eat, do they not? And besides, they are the ones giving up their souls. It is their fault for being such desperate mortals.

All too soon, it is done. The paperwork is all filled out. Internally, I snarl in distaste. The ink in my eyes dull in their shine, devoid of the earlier passion within them. I give the paper to the nurse roughly, wrinkling the pages.

“I am done,” I snap out, annoyed by the loopholes near the end. They are easily spotted and the clear efforts of some insurance company worker who is too tired to put the effort to do it properly. That last half part is trash. It is offensive. That’s how it ends? How disappointing.

I turn abruptly the wall of my foot, walking briskly toward room 331, my hoof-wear clicking against the floor rapidly. With greater Speed than the Warriors I crushed earlier, the doctors scamper around me. I can appreciate that they are so invested in their work that they just cannot pay attention to me.

I rap on the door.

“May I come in?” I call out smoothly, my deep, even voice reaching through the door. A runic stone hanging on the door flashes green. Lucky me. He’s awake. I had been, quite honestly, hoping he had been asleep.

I push the door open firmly. My black orbs look at the alert man before me, shriveled up like an old man from all the nutrients leeched out of his body to sustain cancerous pustules erupting from him. His stark blue eyes stare at me fiercely, despite his soul flickering and on the verge of guttering out.

So gross... I cannot help but internally moan in disgust. I can see that his cancer has already gained a soul of its own, and has even activated its own system. I will not go into further detail. The disease is just too disgusting to focus on any further.

Theater’s lectures on how cancer typically evolves due to the System affecting it are more than a little hard to understand, but I understand the gist of it. Sooner or later, even with all the nasty alchemical reagents getting pumped into him, it will overtake him. It will even obtain sentience, turning Dennis' body into a Cancer Slime or some other nasty, icky thing that will need to be put down.

Ewwww... it is sooo gross!

“Hello. I have a brief update on your sibling, Theo,” I say, devoid of any emotion. My girlfriend is very careful not to say the name that truly fits her, like every proper imp avoids doing. I applaud their forethought. Rarely do humans avoid sharing their name as a matter of course. Regardless, because of that, I just use the one that their parents call them, instead of the one that gets closer to how he feels when we’re together.

Dennis’s irises move up and to his right; his cheek twitching. If I remember correctly from Theater, this means he wants me to continue and is impatient.

Shut up, withered raisin. You try saying to your dearest’s beloved brother that she could die at any moment. It is not easy.

“Theo... is in one of many Tormented Zones that have opened, all of which have formed synchronously far faster than they should have,” I say, quickly growing quieter with each word.

His eyes stare at me with utter horror. It almost feels like he is accusing me for losing her.

I raise my hands defensively, my tail lashing out behind me. “I did not do anything! This is just as awful to me as it is to you.”

Apparently, that is not what he meant, because he just slowly looks listlessly to the side. Tears start to pour out of his eyes. He just looks crushed. I blanch, the green tint leaving my cheeks.

“I’m sorry!” I bow and zip out of the hospital, panting heavily and keeling over.

I unfurl to my full height, wiping away my expression, sneering at myself. I should have handled Dennis' and my emotions better. Granted, I thought bitterly, if dad had taught me better before he died, I would likely have been better in social interactions like nobles should be. He should have given me attention. It should have been mine.

I crush the bitterness welling within me and then crush my special teleportation item. I barely feel anything at losing it though, despite the clamoring of Gluttony within my Essence.

The desire to have Theater back in my collection far overrides the desire to hold onto the expensive item. The dust falls through my trembling grasp, millions of dollars turned to powder as I am immediately transported to the Gluttony ring in the Demonic dimension, right where my business partners reside.

“Hello, gentleimps. I have a proposition for you,” I say, monotonal, in the dialect of the region.

They all eagerly await my words with grasping hands outstretched for gold and the raised knives characteristic of their profession.

“It is always nice to see the noble girl back, managing her ventures in person,” MB the 3rd says, looking up from the highly volatile military-grade. I cannot help but wrinkle my nose at that. I do not want my suit ruined by her bombs. She should keep her eyes where they belong: on the dangerous device she is building. And she knows that, judging by the teasing smirk on her face.

“Got a COE’s home to ruin, k-k-k-k-k-kid?” mutters the least stable of my siblings, Coin-Grabber, the ink in his eyes rotating in an unusual whirlpool, while his two arms fight themselves in a remarkable feat of Dexterity.

We know none of the others’ true names. Only a fool would reveal that to the other. To risk such control is utter foolishness. Granted, some do not even have names. They may just be indecisive. Even after centuries, some do not have a true name and will be forever weakened by their idiocy.

I take out yet another teleportation bauble, this time coded for all of us.

“Damn, kid. This is personal, ain’t it? Surprised another one of your close ones managed to get in a life-or death situation,” chortles Pound-of-Flesh.

I roughly grab my brother’s shoulder, my face splitting into a grimace of a smile as I get up in his face. Wordlessly, I pull up the Demonic system and look at him with false amusement as I decrease his salary.

“Whoa, whoa. Yeesh. I’m sorry... WHOA! NO! KID-I MEAN BOSS! NOT A DEMOTION! PLEASE!”

I let go of him, before tightening up my necktie in a routine motion.

“Glad we understand each other. Let’s head out,” I drone out drolly, before crushing millions of dollars worth of teleportation equipment in my grasp once more, the Essence swirling around us.

The team quickly channels a stone gate into being. Their operation is just as smooth as when I first found their venture. I nod approvingly, though my left foot taps against the ground anxiously. They all eye my foot nervously, none of my siblings wanting me to lower their salaries.

MB the 3rd throws a metric ton of custom-made Demonic explosives into the chambers attached to the gate. Veiny tendrils of organically grown Demonic spells, crawling up all over the specially harvested substrate, channel the undirected energy into a breaching spear the size of my ancestor’s gullet.

“FIRE!” I command.

Before I can even understand what just happened, the gate is removed with absolutely no trace of anything happening. I blink in surprise. I lean over the gaping hole in the ground, only a well of darkness of indeterminate depth left. My eyebrow raises.

The mercenaries raise up their weapons in preparation for combat, getting ready to flee at a moment’s notice. As I thought, this individual or monster is far out of our league. If it had not been, then the mercenaries would not be so terrified.

I whip my head around. What is that flicker in the corner of my vision? The rest of the mercenaries are equally confused, despite having access to the System, unlike me.

Then, blatantly visible to all of us, is a tall teenager with a feverish glint in her eyes reclining against the castle walls. She is quite possibly in one of the most vulnerable postures one can be in. Her physical appearance is, quite frankly, gorgeous and enhanced with quite a bit of Charisma. Long, blond hair cascades down her back and her folded arms show off her well-built physique.

“Soooorryyyy,” she calls out, her valley-girl voice carrying unnaturally over the distance to us. “I can’t just let you ruin what the Goddess wants. I would much rather kill myself before that happens.” At this, she giggles and titters, in all respects, sounding and looking like an airheaded bimbo, if it is not for one fact.

Her Vitality far exceeds the damage output of my entire group’s attacks combined.

“Get out of our way,” I demand. Perhaps... no, it is certainly foolish to demand that from such a powerful being, but I just want Theater back.

“Hmmm... hmmmm... nahhhh!” she falsely ponders.

The oddly radical glint in her eyes only grows in contrast to her easy-going slouch. Then, she leaps up and is gone. Just gone. A rush of wind overtakes us, and the scenery changes jarringly. I glance into my mental map.

“We are all the way at the other end of the neighborhood!” I shout in fury to my teammates.

In contrast to my utter wrath, when my eyes adjust to the abrupt changes, they widen in terror.

Coiled around us is an enormous Torment, a long, groveling worm exulting in its worship of its Goddess. It is a mere shell though, completely devoid of anything inside of it. Its structure is akin to a crumbling ruin. Metal bricks, tinted with white and gold, surround empty space. Gaping holes in its infrastructure make it appear in seeming disrepair, enough so that a Builder would have a fit if they saw that.

We are shrouded by the spiraling Torment. With just a bit of movement, it could crush us with its sheer bulk, even if it is hollow.

“I am the Fanatic; the Zealot of the Divine Torment,” whispers the cursed being in our ears, its voice similar to the whistling of wind through a hollow building.

I tremble uncontrollably at its earnest voice, its tuneless, ugly breathiness jittering in pitch as it tries to get our attention.

“The Goddess Diarrhea will spread us like the plague, but first she must winnow her creations until she has the right strains in place. The carriers will hide, until this world’s Essence is infected. It is her right to spread. It is only natural,” raved the Fanatic, its mandibles splaying and closing in a desperate attempt to capture some lost glory that only existed in its imagination.

Then it disappeared with a flicker, leaving us with hundreds of Anathema in its wake.