Devourer

I walked calmly down the street next to the Crowfather. We were both disguised as demons, and as far as I could tell, no one knew what we actually were. This was an interesting place a city, but not the same kind as the one I saw in Wrath.

Wrath was all towering spires and dark, dank alleys. It reminded me of the city in my old life: cold, miserable, with countless unfortunates dying by the side of the road. Wrath was not much different, with a seething and rotting underbelly. The city rose in jagged, chaotic formations, its tall spires piercing the perpetually ash-choked sky. The buildings were towering monoliths of blackened metal and cracked, obsidian-coloured stone. They stretched into the sulphuric clouds like grotesque fingers, their sharp edges slicing through the toxic air.

The streets were narrow, shadowed, and filled with squalor at the base of these spires. Crumbling alleyways snaked through the city, barely wide enough for two people to pass. Filth coated the ground, thick layers of soot, grime, and the debris of a hundred thousand years of neglect and suffering.

High above, bridges of twisted metal connected the towering buildings, suspended like webs between the spires. These bridges were well maintained, almost as though another city was suspended above. A clear distinction separated those who lived above and those who rotted below.

This place had its own unique brand of chaos. Buildings were scattered far apart, like pieces of a puzzle not quite meant to fit together. The town sprawled outward in all directions, leaving wide-open spaces between each structure, as if the builders had an endless amount of land at their disposal. The density of buildings was sparse, with low, single- and two-storey structures dotting the landscape. It felt less like a tightly packed city and more like a collection of small, independent hubs loosely connected by winding, dusty streets.

From the air, the city appeared piecemeal, built with no semblance of planning. It was like a hundred small towns haphazardly smashed together with as much care as a toddler gives lumps of playdough. It was a chaotic sprawl where no two buildings looked alike, and the streets twisted and turned like a maze with no exit. Structures rose and fell without rhyme or reason, a patchwork of mismatched materials and designs. Some buildings were squat, blocky things made of crumbling stone, while others were towering metal frameworks, half-finished and leaning at dangerous angles, their rusted beams exposed to the elements.

The streets themselves were uneven, more like jagged fractures in the earth than pathways, cutting through the city in sharp, unpredictable turns. Alleyways twisted into dead ends or looped back on themselves, filled with debris, broken glass, and piles of discarded refuse. It felt as though the city had grown on its own, like a living thing, expanding wherever there was space, no matter how unsuitable.

In one part of town, wooden shacks huddled together, their walls sagging inward, while just a few steps away, towering structures of black iron rose up, their spires piercing the smoky sky. Wires and rusted pipes snaked between buildings like tangled veins, some carrying strange, flickering energy, others spewing steam or foul-smelling smoke. The air was thick with the sounds of creaking metal and distant crashes, as if the city was constantly rearranging itself in fits of chaotic construction and collapse. Further down, there was a small walled area filled with palaces and villas, and beyond that, a literal junkyard. The open space was cluttered with discarded wreckage: half-finished machines, carts overturned and forgotten, and strange, abstract sculptures made from scavenged parts.

The city’s chaotic growth had left it a labyrinthine nightmare, where every street led to more confusion, every building was a hazard, and every turn felt like stepping deeper into the heart of madness. It was a fitting look for a battleground between seven worlds. This is what happens when you throw seven groups of demons together in one place. The Rings represented sin, Limbo represented non-existence, but Treachery was chaos made manifest.

“So, where is this temple I’ve heard so much about?” I asked as we turned yet another damned corner and faced a short walk leading to another one. This place was truly a maze. Without an aerial unit scanning the city at all times, I might actually have gotten lost. The Crowfather, however, seemed to have no issues navigating the place.

“Just look over there,” the Crowfather said as he pointed, and in the distance, I saw towering statues.

Ah, so those must be the statues of Magne Morningstar. I saw them from the air, but they are truly enormous when you’re human-sized. What are they? Five metres tall?

The statues were carved from obsidian-black stone, the same material that made Mahaila’s weird sword and axe. I still have almost no information on that material, and from the scraps I’ve gathered, that oddly metallic black stone belongs firmly in the "lost technologies" category.

The statue’s head was slightly tilted as she gazed downward with a cruel smile, as if mocking the wretches at her feet. She had sharp, flawless features, and elegantly curved horns formed a twisted crown atop her head.

Interestingly, she was draped in a meticulously detailed suit. The statue stood with one hand in her pocket, the other lazily extended, as if dismissing the unworthy. Her cruel smile, frozen in stone, conveyed eternal mockery and contempt, making it clear that she, the Prime Evil of the Seven Rings, stood above all, eternally judging and dismissing those beneath her dark rule.

That suit reminded me of the business suits that fancy folk wore in my old world. In fact, it was similar in style to the one that Alastor wore. I guess I might have just found the source of that fashion sense.

“It seems like Morningstar likes to gloat,” I said wryly, and the Crowfather just gave a begrudging grunt.

“If you think Serchax and Rosa are cruel, you’ve never met Magne Morningstar. I guarantee you’ll never find anyone more cruel,” the Crowfather said as we ducked into an alley. A demon was waiting for us, an emaciated, wretched-looking thing. I could see the rusty blade in his hand, and his eyes widened as he saw us. The Crowfather just nodded off to the side, and the demon took his cue to run and live another day. ṝÂ₦ＯᛒÊš

“I can think of someone else. The head of my Hive’s terror unit, Malegaros, is far more cruel. He doesn’t see any of you as people or individuals. You’re all just parts for him to use and take apart,” I replied.

“At least he doesn’t derive pleasure from the pain of others,” the Crowfather said, and at those words, I gave him a conceding shrug.

“You got me there,” I said with a light chuckle, and the Crowfather chuckled as well.

When we reached the temple, I noticed the surrounding demons giving me a wide berth. I glanced over at Janus, who was silently following behind us. The other demons were terrified of Janus, and for good reason. I had him spar with Rosa, and he beat her, even with all my upgrades. It was a tough fight, but Janus managed to pull ahead. However, the different power levels between species were an almost insurmountable wall, it seems. Serchax and the Crowfather beat him with barely any effort.

The Crowfather’s fight with him was particularly impressive. He just cast a spell and locked him in place. These weird runes appeared above and below him, locking his limbs and freezing him like a statue. The Sigil Magic of the Ravenborn was some scary stuff, it seems. I analysed the spell, and I must admit it was a rather ingenious branch of magic. It relied on geometric patterns of runes, but there were a lot of curved lines, which made formulation difficult.

“Warmaster, I trust your previous contract was successful?” a random grovelling demon approached Janus with a leering smile.

“Out of my way,” Janus growled as he stormed past him.

“Lead the way, Warmaster,” I said, and Janus just gritted his teeth before storming into the temple. The plan was simple: we would grab a contract for the Infernis mines and have a look. Apparently, there were plenty of contracts out for sabotaging of mines owned by the other Rings.

The reason we’re doing this is quite simple. My hive can access the mines from below, but I need a mine to do that. The only problem is that a few thousand skittering hive creatures would draw some attention. So, I need one of the mines to… have an accident. A rather dramatic cave-in would block any surface dwellers, but it would be perfect for my hive.

I was originally planning to look for untapped Infernis mines, but it turns out that when you fight over a resource for a few hundred thousand years, you tend to eventually find everything. What’s more, the fact that Infernis Ore pops up around ether ley lines also narrows the search significantly.

I’ve found some small pockets of it, but the richest deposits were all under the control of one faction or another. However, there were plenty of contracts for mercenaries to both attack and defend the mines. From what I hear, the Blood War is back on, and even now, the armies of the Rings clash.

When we entered the temple, everyone gave us a wide berth, and Janus headed straight to the front desk.

“Ah, Warmaster, that was fast. Your target was easy, I assume?” the clerk said.

“Yes, it was,” Janus replied through gritted teeth.

“Calm down, Warmaster, just making small talk. This job can be terribly dull,” the clerk said with a chuckle as he reached below the counter and retrieved a sheet of parchment. “Although, what isn’t so dull is this,” the clerk added with a wicked grin, sliding the parchment across the table.

“A co-signed contract by Beelzebub and Satan, targeting an Infernis mine owned by Leviathan,” Janus grunted as he handed me the contract.

Sure enough, as I scanned the parchment, it laid out a commission for an attack on a mine. The goal was not to capture the mine but to kill as many of the workers as possible. Huh, this could work. Fighting in a mine filled with explosive minerals was the perfect environment for a rather ‘explosive’ accident.

As I flipped the parchment, I noticed it had a map. The lines etched across the page revealed a network of winding tunnels and shafts, some plunging deep into the ground, while others snaked off in random directions. The heart of the mine was marked by thick, jagged lines, likely the rich veins of ore they had been chasing for years. Narrow pathways branched out from a central shaft, leading to hollowed-out stopes where the rock had been gouged away. Tiny notations in the margins indicated hidden dangers cave-ins, flooding, or worse.

Ventilation shafts traced upwards, offering slim hope for air in the choking depths below. Interesting... many of these tunnels leading from the main shaft seem to follow along a certain line. That must be the ley line...

The tunnels crisscrossed like veins, but I could see where the mine's weaknesses lay. Near the main shaft, there was a natural chokepoint where several smaller tunnels converged into one narrow passage. The rock formations here pinched the tunnel into a bottleneck, barely wide enough for a single cart to pass. It was the only path leading deeper into the richest veins.

If I brought it down no one would be able to reach the lower levels. A well-placed charge could collapse the entire section. It was small, out of sight, but devastatingly effective. This was the spot.

“Looks good to me,” I said with a grin after just a glance at the parchment.

“That was fast. Are you sure you even read it?” the clerk said as I placed it back on the table.

“I’m a fast reader. Agreed, let’s go with this,” I said, and the clerk raised a brow.

“Individual or co-sign?” the clerk asked.

“Co-sign. I’ll sign for the three of us,” I said with a smile, and the clerk tilted his head in confusion.

“You keep strange company, Warmaster,” the clerk added with a shrug as he reached for a pen. “You do understand that by co-signing, you share the rewards but bear all the responsibility, right? If you fail, you’ll be saddled with three times the debt,” the clerk said as he held out the pen.

“Naturally,” I said as I took the pen and signed my name.

“Tim, huh? Weird name, seems old,” the clerk muttered as he took the contract back.

I felt the contract bind, but the moment the magical tendrils tried to wrap around my soul, instead of taking hold, they just remained inert. This kind of contract couldn’t bind me, in fact there was no contract that could.

I could feel the entire hive mind glaring at the tendrils, offended by the sheer gall of them attempting to snare my soul. I had to send an active command for them to ignore it. I’ll rip it off when it’s convenient.

“Okay, that looks good. Congratulations, you’re now owned by the Lord of Wrath and Lady of Gluttony. May you bring anger to the Lord of Envy,” the clerk said.

“Sounds good to me,” I replied with a grin of my own. I could tell the clerk was somewhat unsettled by me. I find that a common reaction when I’m using this body. Maybe it’s the illusion. Am I not getting the face right? Cecilia says it’s fine, and Legiana ran an analysis, saying I’m definitely within tolerance levels for the average humanoid...

Maybe it’s my personality that’s the problem...

Naaaah...

That can’t be it.

Anyway…

Let’s go blow up a mine filled with not-so-innocent workers...

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