My gaze fixed on him, a subtle tremor, almost imperceptible, having run through him when my hand had grazed his arm moments before. The air he exhaled now held a faint, earthy scent, unlike the usual acrid tang of other demons. "Your breath," I murmured, my voice low, "it's different."
His shoulders slumped just a fraction as he released a long, slow breath, a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of years. "You're observant," he murmured, his voice softer than before. "My father was a demon. He found my mother – a daughter of the Kigatsu Clan – and they… loved each other. I was born. But their worlds weren't meant to merge. We were restricted. So I stayed with my mother. For a time, it was quiet. Peaceful, even. Then the whispers started. The true whispers. They found out about the blood, the demon within me. I left. Not just for myself, but for her. I knew she'd have another child, a proper one. One without this… complication. I came here, to the army. And here I've stayed."
The silence stretched between us, thick with the implications of his words. I tilted my head, studying him, a new question forming. "So," I ventured, "a demon father… and you never sought him out?"
Henri's gaze drifted past me, to some distant point on the wall. A faint shrug lifted one shoulder. "Guess I haven't." He clapped his hands together, the sound sharp, dismissing the conversation. "Right. All of you can go out and explore now. Just be back before dark."
A sense of restless energy coiled in my gut. I needed to move, to *do* something. Something I could prove myself against. My room offered a brief respite. I splashed cold water on my face, the chill sharp against my skin, then pulled on a black and white shirt, grey jeans, and worn black boots. From the top of my wardrobe, I retrieved a black mask, its surface smooth and cool. I adjusted it over my face, the world narrowing to two small pinpricks of vision through the eyeholes.
In the communal living room, a single book lay on the rough-hewn table. Its cover, stark and black, bore a title scrawled in thick, angry red ink, the block letters practically screaming: "ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT THE DEMON ARMY."
My fingers flipped through the heavy pages, skimming past history and hierarchy, until a bold heading caught my eye: "CHALLENGES." A list followed, thirteen in total. Ten of them, clearly marked for lower ranks, beckoned:
The Challenge of Will
The Challenge of Strength
The Challenge of Acceptance
The Challenge of Serenity
The Challenge of Patience
The Challenge of Forgiveness
The Challenge of Knowledge
The Challenge of Diligence
The Challenge of Perseverance
The final three were shaded out, accompanied by a small, engraved symbol indicating they were "Administered by the Demon Queen." My gaze lingered on "Acceptance," its proximity on the page aligning with a sudden pull, a subtle intuition. I closed the book, the choice solidified, and pushed through the barracks doors.
The registration stand was deserted, a dusty counter with no one behind it, a solitary, flickering lantern casting long shadows. It felt as though no one had been there for hours. I rapped my knuckles sharply on the wood.
A moment later, a figure stumbled out from a curtained alcove behind the desk, rubbing sleep from their eyes. "Huh? What do you need?"
"I wish to undertake a challenge," I stated.
The attendant's gaze sharpened, moving slowly over my masked face, a silent assessment. "First time?" they asked, a hint of skepticism in their voice.
I gave a single nod.
"Name?"
"Zero."
"Right. Go on in. An illusion awaits you."
I stepped into the dimly lit chamber. The air grew heavy, thick with unseen energy. The waiting was brief. Suddenly, the world around me fractured. I wasn't just seeing my past; I was *in* it. Fleeting images flashed before my eyes, not on a screen, but as if I was reliving them. The warmth of a gentle hand, a quiet laugh echoing in a sun-dappled glade – a phantom smile touched my lips, a soft ache in my chest. Then, the shadows deepened. Faces twisted in cruelty, the sharp tang of betrayal, the metallic scent of injustice – my breath hitched. My hands clenched into fists, nails digging into my palms. A familiar, cold fire ignited deep in my gut, spreading through my veins, sharpening every edge of my being. The urge for retribution, always simmering, now boiled to a raging inferno.
Just as the heat threatened to consume me, the images dissolved into inky blackness. I blinked, finding myself back in the chamber, the heavy air gone, replaced by the mundane chill of the room.
A figure stepped into the fading gloom. "Congratulations," a voice echoed, clear and firm. "You've completed the Challenge of Acceptance. Your past, for better or worse, remains exactly as it was meant to be, doesn't it?"
A circular badge, polished silver, with a stylized bird mid-flight etched into its surface, was pressed into my palm. The moment my skin touched the metal, a surge of heat shot up my arm, blooming into a sharp, searing pain across my upper back. The badge vanished, leaving only a fading warmth and the lingering sensation of something being etched onto my flesh.
The path to the next venue was short, a mere corridor away. The attendant for The Challenge of Will was different, but the routine familiar. A name given, a quiet nod. This time, instead of an initial entry, he merely updated a ledger, a line of existing script glowing faintly as he wrote. A network, I realized, stretching out, linking every endeavor, every success.
The next chamber held nothing but a daunting flight of stairs, stretching upwards into shadow, a single marker illuminated at the very top: "100." My task was clear. I began with a light jog, my legs feeling agile, effortless, eating up the initial steps. But at the seventy-fifth step, a subtle pressure began to build, as if the air itself had solidified around me. By the eighty-fifth, the jog became a weary trudge. Each footfall sent a jolt of raw agony through my joints, a burning fire spreading through my muscles. Still, I pushed on, my breath coming in ragged gasps. At the ninety-fourth step, my legs finally buckled. I dropped to my hands and knees, dragging myself forward, every inch an act of sheer will. The final six steps were a blur of grit and pain. Reaching the hundredth step, a silent command resonated: *Stand.* I pushed myself upright, every muscle screaming in protest. It felt as though a colossal boulder had been strapped to my back, crushing me into the floor, each breath a monumental effort.
A shrill, triumphant buzz sliced through the oppressive silence. My legs, relieved of their immense burden, immediately gave out. I collapsed, but instead of hitting the cold stone, I landed softly on a springy, padded surface that had materialized beneath me. I lay there, gasping, sucking in deep drafts of air, the burning in my muscles slowly fading.
A second later, a badge, intricately detailed with a coiling vine of thorns, appeared on the padded surface beside me. I snatched it. The familiar jolt followed – the badge dissolving, replaced by a brief, sharp sting at my left hip. Despite the lingering ache, a surge of adrenaline still hummed through me. One more. I could do one more.
The Strength Challenge venue was another short walk, the registration desk again yielding to the same routine. Inside, five rough-hewn stones of varying sizes lay before me, each waiting to be lifted. The first felt no heavier than a pebble in my palm. I tossed it aside with ease. The second and third offered solid resistance, satisfyingly heavy, but nothing I couldn't manage. The fourth required a grunt, the muscles in my arms and shoulders straining as I hoisted it, a true boulder. But the fifth… the fifth felt like the very earth had condensed into that single mass. My back screamed as I strained, every sinew protesting, a chilling fear snaking up my spine that it would simply *snap*. I gritted my teeth, veins bulging, sweat stinging my eyes. The world narrowed to the monumental effort of keeping that crushing weight off the ground.
Just as my vision began to blur, a figure stepped into my peripheral view. An examiner. He simply nodded, then placed a smooth, obsidian-dark badge into my trembling hand.
The moment my fingers closed around the obsidian badge, a sharp, cold pain pricked just beneath my right eye, making me flinch. I let go, the badge dissolving as the sting faded. A compelling urge to see what new mark had been etched onto me pulled me back towards the barracks.
Standing before the grimy mirror in my room, I stripped off my shirt. A sweeping pair of black, feathery wings had been etched into the skin across my back, the lines stark and clean. At my left hip, the thorny vine curled, now connecting seamlessly with a new, dark mark. And beneath my right eye, a single, perfect obsidian teardrop gleamed against my skin. Three challenges, three marks. I splashed cool water over my face and chest, rinsing away the day's sweat and grime, but the feeling of anticipation remained. What else was there? What else could these challenges unlock?