Jay gritted his teeth as he watched Jake gnawing on a stalk of grass like a bored farmer, though the grimace on Jake's face betrayed the tension he couldn't hide. They stood before the altar once again, its fractured stones pulsing faintly with that unnatural glow.
And the problem was simple.
It wasn't supposed to be here.
This spot should have been a greenskin camp. That was why they'd come, meat, bones, cubes. Instead, the altar had appeared where it shouldn't, far too close to their camp at the gate. Barely a five-minute walk. The greenskin camp was supposed to lie to the west. This altar… was south.
Now the directions tangled in their minds like knotted rope. South felt like west. Distances stretched and collapsed. The forest was toying with them, playing a game neither wanted to admit aloud.
"It's a freaking red planet!" Jay spat, voice low but laced with fury. The metallic implant at his throat distorted the words slightly, but the frustration was clear. He slammed his fist into a nearby tree, bark splintering beneath the blow.
Jake didn't flinch. He simply opened his inventory, pulled a battered cigarette pack, and lit one with a snap of flame. The first drag filled his lungs, and his body eased ever so slightly.
Jay turned, already opening his mouth to argue, but Jake held up a hand.
"I need this. Please."
His eyes were hard, daring Jay to push further. He exhaled a stream of smoke. Although he did not like smoking cigarettes, he needed something to calm his mind to properly process what was happening.
Jay muttered something under his breath and turned back to the altar. The silence of the forest pressed close, unnatural. Slowly, the red glow deepened, and black smoke thickened into a form. Two pits of scarlet light opened like eyes, settling on them with unmistakable malice.
Jake squinted, blowing out another stream of smoke. "Seems like you forgot a few things to mention," he said irritably.
The silhouette stirred. Its grin was audible even if no lips could be seen. "Well, that's obvious. My age is catching up with me, I suppose." The voice was hoarse, mocking.
Jay's fists clenched, metal gauntlet trembling faintly. The figure's casual tone only stoked his fury.
"You really want us to use the first plan, huh," Jake muttered, stepping forward.
The instant his foot crossed the threshold of the altar's radius, the world changed. The air he breathed thickened, heavier, tinged with iron. The ground beneath him felt alien, the soil grainy and strange, as though he had crossed into another reality entirely.
Jay hesitated, but only for a breath, then followed.
"We'll go with your plan, smokeface," Jake said flatly.
The smoke-woven entity stiffened at the insult, its grin twitching into something sharper, but it did not lash out. That reaction alone told Jake what he needed, he had caught the pulse of its intent. If Smokeface wanted anything at all, it would play along with their demand.
Jay opened his mouth to protest, but Jake's subtle hand gesture silenced him. Demons were not creatures to be trusted. Scheming ran through their marrow; deception was their native tongue.
Even this one, sealed, weakened, young, was dangerous. Jay could feel it in the air, the way its presence warped the forest. Potential hung about it like a storm waiting to break.
They stepped back, withdrawing under the entity's baleful gaze.
"Why did you agree to that?" Jay hissed once they were far enough that words might not carry. His voice was barely more than breath, but his eyes burned with unease.
Jake didn't look at him. His fingers were already weaving sigils, thin strands of mana coiling and knotting around his hands like threads of light. "I have some mastery over binding and sealing. That's my domain."
The runes tightened, then dissolved into nothing, as if the forest itself had swallowed them. Jay watched, unsettled.
When Jake played in this body, he had glimpsed truths hidden in the weave of magic. Spellcasting itself was nothing more than the act of binding and sealing: draw in mana, confine it, compress it into the Matrix, lock it in place, and then give it shape.
Every spell was a prison. Every flame, every shard of ice, every whisper of lightning, nothing but a bound fragment of energy, chained and released on command.
That was the true root of Arcane, not some side-branch as he once believed. His [Mage] class had been guiding him there all along. Binding. Sealing. Containment.
And yet… compared to his siblings, one who wielded brute strength that could shatter armies, another who carried a lethality sharp enough to slice fate itself, each one a heavy hitter in their respective branches.
Jake felt a bit underwhelmed...
Because he was having difficulty in grasping the concept of Arcane so that he could breakthrough. Anyways, leaving that, he shifted his mind to more prominent issues.
"When I probed the altar," Jake continued, his tone even, "the seal was still intact. Damaged, yes, but thorough. That thing isn't getting out." The glow around his hands faded as he let the last of the spell die away.
Jay nodded, though the motion was hesitant. His scanners were useful, but crude compared to Jake's evolving mastery. If Jake said the seal held, then… he would trust it. For now.
Jake smiled faintly at Jay's reluctant agreement, but inside he was solemn. He had left out one crucial truth.
The seal could hold forever.
Or the demon could break it, if it was willing to pay the cost.
The question was whether Smokeface thought freedom worth the price.
And until that moment came, it was a contest. A battle of patience and cunning.
The demon was cooking something. Jake knew it.
But so was he.
It was only a matter of who proved to be the master chef.