The heat from my torch and the stench of rot and sewage are already making my stomach churn.

  About a minute into the tunnels, I come to an intersection and freeze.

  Shoot.

  I completely forgot to ask the old man for directions before coming down here.

  I consider turning back… but that’d probably make me look incompetent. I mean, this place can’t be that big, right?

  I stop and think. Three paths. No clue where any of them lead.

  Then it hits me—Soul Sense!

  If I can cast it, I’ll be able to spot the Duskrats’ souls and take them out one by one. Doesn’t really matter where the exit is—once I’m done and circle back, the group can lead me in from there.

  Solid plan.

  I close my eyes and focus, concentrating on my vision and trying to sense nearby life. Nothing.

  I try again—still nothing.

  Frustration bubbles up.

  Then I remember—unlike my fast travel ability, Soul Sense wasn’t a Quick cast spell. It was a full casting spell, one that required a chant—silent or spoken—to activate. Maybe that’s what I was missing.

  I take a deep breath, narrow my focus, and concentrate on my vision as I mentally speak the words: “Soul Sense.”

  In an instant, a faint flash bursts across my vision—like someone just flipped on the lights.

  I blink.

  The spell activates. I can see in the dark now—just like I remember.

  But… wasn’t I also supposed to see the glowing orbs of nearby souls through walls?

  Kind of like magical X-ray vision?

  I wait… nothing.

  Huh. Maybe I botched the cast. Or maybe there's... nothing alive nearby.

  And that’s what worries me most.

  I snuff the torch with a quiet hiss—its light no longer needed.

  I choose the middle path—going straight feels like the easiest route to remember if I need to retrace my steps. The tunnel narrows the farther I go, the walls pressing in just enough to make it uncomfortable. Eventually, I see an opening ahead.

  I hope this is it.

  Still no sign of any Duskrats, though...

  Maybe the old man was just delusional, I joke to myself, though the uneasy feeling crawling up my spine says otherwise.

  I step toward the opening—rough stone tunneled through to leave a hole just large enough for someone to squeeze through. It leads straight into the sewers.

  Looks like I chose correctly.

  As I take my first step through, a new stench hits me. Not the foul, musty sewer air I’d gotten used to—this is something thicker… heavier. I can’t even describe it properly. I’ve never smelled anything like it before, but the closest word that comes to mind is death.

  I stick to the right wall and make my way down the long, straight sewer line, careful not to step too close to the edge. The last thing I want is to fall into whatever’s flowing beneath me.

  The further I go, the stronger that rotting stench becomes. And worse—my Soul Sense starts to flicker.

  Something down here is interfering with my magic.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Just ahead, a narrow set of stairs breaks off from the main sewer path. Faint torchlight flickers from the walls—fresh, still-burning. Someone’s been down here... not long ago.

  Against my instincts, something draws me down the stairs.

  As I reach the bottom, the stench hits its peak—thick, suffocating. Whatever’s causing that godawful smell… I’m about to come face to face with it.

  The staircase opens into a wide, circular chamber—almost like a catacomb, with a high, vaulted ceiling. I pause.

  There it is.

  The source of the smell.

  Duskrats—dead ones.

  Dozens of them.

  Some are dismembered. Others look like they were turned to ash. A few show signs of blunt-force trauma. It’s a mess—a battlefield. Whoever came through here didn’t hold back.

  Maybe someone already cleared them out for me? That’d be... convenient.

  I step in for a closer look. The walls are scorched—not by fire, but by lightning-based attacks. The ones that were cut apart? Their limbs were cleanly sliced, the wounds cauterized on impact.

  Whoever did this was skilled. Probably an adept lightning mage.

  The marks still glow faintly. Some of the embers are still smoldering.

  This happened recently.

  Probably the night before I was summoned here.

  Part of me wants to know who—or what—did this.

  The other part?

  Hopes they’re long gone.

  As I continue forward, I hear a voice—a woman’s voice, smooth and chilling.

  “Well, what do we have here... another plaything?”

  I spin toward the sound, my nerves instantly on edge. Soul Sense is still active, but the only “soul” I detect is like staring into an endless void—an abyss darker than anything I’ve ever seen.

  I dispel Soul Sense to focus my vision.

  She steps into the dim torchlight, and the moment I see her, my heart sinks to my feet. My chest tightens. This is no human.

  That’s a demon.

  Her skin is pale—desaturated, like a soft tan completely devoid of warmth. Her ears are subtly pointed, her features sharp but not monstrous. She could almost pass for human, if not for the glowing red pupils and the unmistakable horns—burning like embers in a sea of pure black sclera. Cold. Unreadable.

  Her hair is white, a little tousled, falling just past her jawline in loose, uneven strands. She wears a set of jagged, greyish-red armor—more decorative than protective, revealing in a way that feels deliberate, almost predatory.

  She’s beautiful. Terrifying. Unnatural.

  And she’s smiling.

  “It would seem another young, handsome soul has come to pledge their allegiance to me,” she says, her voice smooth and taunting.

  I’m a little flattered—not gonna lie—but I try to keep my focus. “What’s a demon doing in Viremont?”

  She chuckles, clearly amused. “Recruiting, obviously. You interested?” The smugness in her tone is almost unbearable.

  Recruiting? Why would a demon be recruiting? What could they possibly want humans for?

  I narrow my eyes. “Why would a demon be trying to recruit humans? What use could we possibly have to you—aside from being sacrificial pawns?”

  Her expression shifts. Annoyed now. “You ask too many questions,” she snaps. “Perhaps I’ll just kill you instead.”

  Woah.

  That escalated real fast.

  In the game, demons were a playable race. It didn’t really affect the main story much, but I do remember one thing clearly: they excelled at magic-based combat.

  Which means if she attacks…

  She’s coming at me with pure magic.

  I ready myself for a fight, mind racing through spell options and incantations that might give me an edge against magic-based attacks.

  Think, think...

  Then one spell comes to mind.

  Mana Abortion.

  Not exactly a protective spell, per se—but it absorbs all incoming mana-based attacks and adds the energy to your own mana pool. In theory, it turns your enemy’s offense into your fuel.

  But there’s a catch.

  The spell can be overloaded—either if the amount of mana absorbed is too much to handle, or if the attack’s sheer potency exceeds the absorption limit. Too much power, and it could knock me out—or worse.

  Still... if I time it right, this might be my best shot.

  Before I can cast it, a summoning circle ignites on the ground in front of me.

  From it, a man steps forward—young, maybe just a few years older than me. His wrists and neck are bound with glowing magical restraints. His expression is vacant. Hollow.

  The demon smirks.

  “I found this one just last evening,” she says casually, like she’s talking about a pet. “He was returning from some kind of camp within the city. Fought hard. Killed nearly all my Duskrats.” She licks her lips. “So I rewarded him… by making him my thrall.”

  Thrall?

  My mind scrambles, replaying her words.

  “Coming back from a camp…” “Fought through all my Duskrats…”

  Wait.

  No way...

  Could this be the missing escort?

  The timeline fits. It has to be him.

  Before I can even open my mouth, he charges—sword in hand, movements precise, mechanical. His eyes are glazed over, void of any control.

  I react on instinct, dodging upward to gain some distance—

  That’s when I see it.

  Something glowing—appearing in the air above me.

  It’s too late to dodge. I’m flying straight into it...

  There’s no way out of this.

  This might be the end...