Belial left the inn before dawn, the heavy wooden door creaking shut behind him. The city streets still clung to night. The air smelled of damp stone and wood smoke. He pulled his cloak tighter. Sleep clung to his body, but his mind refused to rest. He was in a new realm. Every alley whispered unknown rules, unknown dangers.
The cobblestones were slick from a light mist. Streetlamps burned low, their flames thin and weak. No birds yet sang. Belial's boots echoed against the walls of shuttered houses as he moved deeper into the city's market quarter.
He stopped at a breakfast cart where a vendor was setting up trays of spiced bread and steaming broth. Belial waited until the man glanced up.
"Excuse me," Belial said. "I am looking for information about angels. Do they pass through this city often?"
The vendor's eyes flicked over him. He gave a short laugh, rough and wet. "Angels? Here? You would have better luck winning a fortune at a 100 faced dice in shit." He shook his head. "They do not come down here. Not unless to smite someone. Go back to your dreams, traveler."
The man's tone carried the kind of sharpness meant to wound. Belial stared at him. "If you treat your customers like that, you will never get rich," he said. His voice stayed even, but his fingers moved. He flicked a gold coin from his pouch. The coin cut the air and struck the wooden side of the cart with a sharp crack. It stuck there, embedded like a thrown dart.
"And if money is what defines you, youre no better than the shit itself."
The vendor flinched, stepping back. His face tightened. "Damned Emergent," he muttered, but he did not look Belial in the eyes again.
Belial turned from him without another word. He hated wasting time on small men with small words. He moved on, scanning the street for anyone else awake.
He approached an old woman sweeping the stoop of a narrow shop. "Library," he said. "Where is the nearest library?"
She hesitated, then pointed with her broom toward a long avenue lined with iron trees. "Follow that to the end. Large building. Red banners. But they do not let in strangers without papers."
Belial thanked her and walked on. He had hoped for something simple, like an NPC in one of the old games he remembered, a conversation with a single answer. Reality pressed heavier. Every door had locks. Every clerk had rules.
By the time he reached the library, the sun's first thin light cut the edge of the city wall. The building stood tall, its windows arched like watchful eyes. Inside, a single clerk sat behind a desk streaked with pale carvings.
"Identification," the clerk said without looking up.
Belial frowned. "I need only to see the archives. It will be quick."
"Identification," the clerk repeated.
Belial's gaze slid across the desk. A faint line of runes pulsed across the wood, barely visible to the naked eye. Protective runes. If he tried anything foolish, the library would defend itself, and he doubted the punishment would be light, especially for a demon.
He stepped back. The city did not want to share its secrets. He would have to find another way.
He wandered again through the streets, frustration building. As he passed a tall structure of glass and pale brick, raised voices caught his ear. He stopped. A sign above the doors read Luminary Guild. The building glittered even in the dim morning. He had heard of them. hunters, merchants, and informants all tied together under one banner.
The doors were cracked open. Inside, only a few lights burned. He heard a young voice shouting.
"You said you would cover my expenses. Why are you denying me now?"
A deeper voice answered, clipped and stern. "Your account shows debt to another unknown organization. Under guild law, you cannot withdraw personal funds until the debt is resolved."
Belial stepped closer, peering through the gap. Inside stood a person of perhaps the same age, dressed in simple tunic a hat and sunglasses, his hands shaking with anger. Across the counter a tall man with a silver badge stood like a statue.
"The acting guild master said I could after three months of joining the guild!" the voice said, his voice seething with heavy emotion.
"Without a signed contract, I cannot authorize it," the man said. "I am sorry. Rules are rules."
The boy slammed his palm against the counter. "I need that money. You do not understand. If I do not pay the courier by noon, my supplies will be seized."
"Then bring proof. Without it, nothing leaves this hall."
Belial leaned against the doorframe. The hall was empty except for morning staff. Rows of polished tables stretched to the far wall. He could smell ink, parchment, and cold tea.
He watched the green haired person lower his...her? head, breathing hard. The man behind the counter did not move.
Belial's hand drifted to his pouch. Gold pressed against his fingers. Money problems. He had seen this a thousand times across a thousand cities in the demon realm. Debt and rules. Contracts and signatures.
Ether contracts were the credibility in any realm if a person wants to do bussiness a contract is set beforehand. This fool of a person mustve been scammed...
Poor guy...girl...damn it what the hell! Luckily I have that covered,
He stepped inside, his boots striking the polished floor. The young figure looked at him, eyes wide with desperation. The clerk turned as well, frowning.
Belial's eyes widened, and for a brief, disorienting moment, he forgot the city around him. The person standing across from him was impossibly beautiful. Too beautiful to be a man, too handsome to be a woman. Green eyes shimmered with a clarity that could cut through stone. Two horns, brown and curved like they had been carved from some enchanted tree, arched gracefully from their head. They glinted faintly in the dim morning light, as if infused with magic. Belial's heart skipped, and he found himself momentarily paralyzed by the sheer presence of them.
He had seen attractive people before. Soldiers, rogues, nobles. None of them had this effect. None had the kind of allure that could turn the tide of a war, that could stop three factions from spilling blood for a single glance. And yet here they were, standing calm and poised, as if aware of the chaos the world could not contain.
Before Belial could gather his thoughts, the beautiful stranger's eyes widened sharply. In an instant, they moved faster than any human should be able to, launching themselves at him. His sword slipped from his hand as they tackled him to the ground. A loud boom followed, a violent mix of splintering wood and shattering glass echoing through the empty guild hall.
Belial scrambled to his feet, heart pounding. He scanned the room. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.
A cyborg crouched near the shattered doors. Metal limbs glinted with a cold precision, and weaponized appendages jutted from its body. Missiles, cannons, technology far beyond what should exist here. Only the Elfen Realm had produced machines like this, and those were tightly controlled. This was illegal, dangerous, and deadly.
Belial barely had time to react. Darkness erupted from the cyborg's weapons, filling the dawn-tinted room. The shadows twisted around him, a dome that swallowed the first shards of morning light. His chest tightened as the darkness enveloped him. He felt the edges of the room vanish into nothing, and for a brief second, fear took root.
The stranger moved beside him, calm, steady. They nodded once, eyes glinting with unspoken intent. "Thanks," the voice said, low and steady, carrying a weight that belied their appearance.
Belial followed their gaze. Below the cyborg, the guild clerk cowered, helpless. Mundane, defenseless, completely unprepared for the onslaught. A massive pillar, dislodged by the first explosion, teetered above the man. Its shadow stretched across the floor like a death sentence.
Before Belial could move, a deafening boom sounded from the stranger's side. Time fractured in his perception as the pillar disintegrated in a cloud of splintered wood and dust. When the debris settled, the clerk was gone, safe. Behind the cyborg, a loud crash signaled that the stranger had struck again, pushing the machine back with uncanny precision.
Emerging from the rubble, the stranger rose, their stance fierce, eyes burning with intensity. Every movement carried purpose. Belial's mind raced. He had considered leaving the mess for them. He could have, and the stranger would have handled it. But they had saved him, and that alone demanded a return of favor. Besides, the stranger had struck first, tackling him. That alone made it a debt owed in full.
He gripped the hilt of his sword. Darkness, absorbed over years of battles, hummed along the blade, alive and restless. The weapon leapt toward him, almost as if it sensed the imminent confrontation.
Belial braced himself. The cyborg readied another missile, the machine whirring with mechanical precision. Then the stranger struck. Sound exploded from their presence, reverberating like a thunderclap against the walls. The cyborg staggered, metal screeching under the invisible force. Belial's sword responded, slicing through the shadows as if cutting a path through reality itself.
The stranger's eyes flicked to him briefly. "You fight?" they asked, their tone sharp, almost amused.
Belial nodded once, tight-lipped. "And i tend to hold grudges..."
Another boom shook the hall as the cyborg launched another barrage. Belial spun, the darkness around his blade coiling into a whip of night. He struck outward, meeting the missile midair. The explosion was contained within the shadows, absorbed, redirected. Sparks flew, but neither of them faltered.
The stranger moved with an elegance Belial could barely follow. Every strike, every movement seemed amplified by something beyond physical skill. He realized the truth with a jolt. They were an emergent. Sound manipulation. They could bend the vibrations of the world itself into weaponized form.
Belial's mind raced. Allies were rare, emergents rarer still. If this stranger fought as they did, if they joined the fray, the tide could shift. The thought ignited a strange sense of possibility in him.
The cyborg advanced again, whirring gears and mechanical limbs flashing in the dim light. Belial and the stranger met its assault together. Sound, darkness, steel, and raw instinct collided in the hall.
Belial's blade lashed, propelled by the darkness, striking at the machine's joints. The stranger's voice rang out, commanding the room. The cyborg faltered, but the battle was far from over.
Belial felt adrenaline, clarity, and the gravity of the moment pressing into him. He could not leave this fight to chance. He would return the favor. He had to.
The stranger's gaze locked on him, and a faint smile touched their lips, fierce and confident. "Let us end this,"
The cyborg shuddered under the combined assault of Belial's darkness and the stranger's sound manipulation. Sparks flew from its joints, hydraulic limbs straining against invisible forces. The machine attempted one last desperate barrage, missiles flaring and guns whirring, but the stranger's voice sliced through the air in a pulse of vibration that disarmed the weapons mid-flight. Belial struck again, the darkness along his blade coiling outward like living shadows, cutting into circuits and tearing metal.
A final explosion shook the hall, filling the space with smoke, fire, and splintered debris. Belial reacted instinctively. Darkness poured from the sword, forming a dome around himself, the stranger, and the guild clerk. The shield absorbed the worst of the blast, flames licking its surface but never breaking through. Within, the three of them coughed, faces smudged with ash, hearts hammering.
The clerk blinked rapidly, trying to comprehend the devastation. "I… I thought…" His voice faltered as he looked at the fallen cyborg, now little more than a smoking heap of twisted metal.
Belial straightened, sword still humming with residual energy. "Do not move yet," he said. "The threat may not be over."
The stranger brushed soot from their shoulders, green eyes scanning the ruined hall. Horns caught the first rays of the rising sun, glowing faintly. "It is done," they said, voice calm but edged with steel. "For now."
Outside, dawn spread over the city, soft light spilling through broken windows, illuminating the chaos. Belial lowered his dome, letting darkness fall back into his blade. He glanced at the clerk.
"Are you hurt?", the stranger asked.
The clerk shook his head, still pale, still shaken. "N-no. I… I do not know what to say. You saved me. Both of you."
Belial's gaze slid to the stranger, who offered nothing more than a faint nod. There was no arrogance, no boast, only a quiet confidence that made Belial's respect solidify. He would remember this fight. He would remember the debt owed.
Before either could speak again, another voice cut across the courtyard outside. "I quit."
Belial turned sharply. Xin walking to the edge of the hall, His shirt slipping from his shoulders, expression hard. He stepped forward, gaze unwavering. "I am done with the guild. I will not be bound by their rules, by contracts that do nothing but tie people up when they are needed most. I am leaving."
The clerk stared, mouth open. "Xin… you cannot—"
"I can," Xin interrupted, voice quiet but absolute.
"I have made my choice. There are things more important than membership, more important than titles. If the guild cannot see that, then I do not belong there."