The lifeless bodies of soldiers, damaged weapons, hallowed machines and a string of beastly limbs never seemed to end as we trekked through the ravaged fields.
The cat hummed when we passed one of the larger beast's corpses, lowering itself and down next to a pool of the thing's blood. I went to see what caught its attention.
The ground around the pool was decaying and a strong stench entered my nose, making it tough to breathe. The rot was slowly spreading.
'Shit! This could spread to the kingdom!' I began to search myself any flint or matches. I was brought out of my panic when the loud, thunderous crack of blue lightning bolts struck the blood and it ignited in blue flames.
The cat returned to float around my shoulders, "I know I'm your patron and all, but you should be smart enough to know when to start running." To make its point clear another bolt struck and more flames appeared, spreading quickly.
With that we headed south, while the fields burst into flames. It felt like almost like an eternity had passed when we finally found a suitable spot to set up camp.
The blue flames didn't seem to spread beyond the battleground but was still slightly visible from where we set up the Pocket Home, which was, thankfully, undamaged, and an electric shield, courtesy of DrakTech.
I got started with my attempt at making a fish stew with the remaining MREs while the cat explored the home's layout. It got me thinking:
In Drakkethian folktales and in our laws, anyone desperate enough to contract themselves to a demon had four options:
The first and second depended on the type of contract: If it had a quest involved, you just complete it. If it didn't you could try to wriggle your way out of your contact by out bargaining your patron. Either way you had to leave the kingdom or die trying.
The third was to go to the highest-ranking priest or priestess of the temples, demand an exorcism and pray that it wouldn't take your life.
The fourth was to die, either your own hands, enemies or execution.
Considering the situation we were facing; it didn't seem ideal to give up such powers in a war against overpowered monsters…
"Oi, Lassie! Lassie!" I snapped out of my thoughts to see the stew boiling over. I hurriedly switched the stove off and moved the pot over to the counter, burning my hands in the process.
I blew my burning hands and sighed in relieve once they cooled down. I grabbed clean utensils and a bowl and proceeded to pour the stew into the bowl.
I stopped to look at the cat who was now on the counter besides the stew. I pushed my bowel towards it in offering, "Would you like some?"
The cat eyed me with disapproval, "As much as I'd love to join you for your meal… I am unfortunately incapable of consuming any material substance. So, no."
I took the bowel away from the cat and proceeded to stir and slowly slurp up the stew, one spoonful at a time, while it watched, "Why? I thought demons could eat normal food."
The cat huffed, stretching out its wings in the process, "Technically yes, most demons can eat 'normal' food without any consequences." It almost sounded annoyed, "Given my current state, the only substance I can actually consume are souls."
"You don't sound happy about that."
The cat sighed and spoke with mild irritation and sarcasm, "Obviously Ambrose. Why would I be happy? Souls are like chewing gum; the flavour and taste don't last long and it provides little sustenance. Even when I had my physical form, I never had much of a taste for them. They were always a last resort."
"Don't demons usually enjoy souls? And what do you mean when you had a "physical form"? Aren't you physically here now?"
The cat looked down at its shadowy paws as it explained, its voice now twinged with sorrow and frustration, "Lassie, I cannea feel anything. I cannea smell anything. I cannea eat or drink anything…the list goes on. At this point I'm more akin to a ghost than a demon."
I tried but I just I couldn't imagine what the cat was feeling. Just thinking about being a in that state seemed depressing. To see the world but to never interact with it…
After a minute or so of silence, I went to the kitchen to clean the bowel and spoon, the cat floating beside me, watching me scrub the utensils and dish.
It seemed calmer, so I asked it, "How'd you become whatever it is you are now? Are you cursed? Hexed? Jinxed?"
The cat blinked slowly as it gave me a blank stare then attempted it rolled its eyes, "Those are all the same things. But…to be honest, I'm not entirely sure how I ended up in this state. I just know one day I was happily minding my own business, sleeping under a tree, next thing I know I woke up in a cave in this form."
"So, you really have no idea how this happened? Not even a theory? You just went to bed and woke up like this?"
"I believe your theory of someone cursing me is correct to an extent. And I assure you, whoever did this to me, made a grave mistake and will pay dearly." The malignant promise sent shivers up my spine.
The cat softly purred in content, happily floating beside me as I make my way to my back to the bathroom basin. (Apparently just the thought of revenge is enough for it) "Who on earth could do this to a demon?"
The cat watched as the light green toothpaste covered my toothbrush and made a face of disgust, "There are quite a few creatures out there who would do this. Hags, deities, demon lords, dragons…. skilled witches and wizards would also be effective."
"That seems like a lot." I said, before scrubbing my teeth with the strong mint foam. "Is making enemies a hobby of yours?"
"It comes with the territory, unfortunately. But you needn't fret, most of them are either too lazy or hopefully respect me enough to not get involved with my affairs. In the case of mortal suspects; most likely an exorcist, a cleric or, hells forbid, a necromancer..."
I couldn't tell if the cat was annoyed or repulsed by the thought.
"Necromancer? Why would one of them do whatever this is, to you? Wouldn't they just harvest your soul or something?"
The cat shrugged, the weird edge to its voice still there, "Who knows. Necromancers like any wizard or witch, do love their experiments. Maybe I was just a test subject."
I spat out more of the foam, "Do you think the man who gave us the flask did it?"
The cat pinned its ears in thought, "It's a rather unlikely possibility. Why put in effort into capturing me and doing whatever this is, when all you're going to do next is free me and give something that could help me? It's exceedingly counterproductive. Bit sadistic too when you think of it...."
"How would giving you that soul flask be sadistic?" I mumble through the toothpaste foam.
"Think like a feline or a demon for a second would you." The cat walked on the air around me. "It's more fun to give your injured victim hope, then watch it fade from their eyes when they realise just how hopeless the situation really is. That's when you kill them or… let them kill themselves."
I was done rinsing my mouth when the cat finished speaking. Did it describe the sadistic tendencies of other felines? Serial killers? Itself? Whatever the case, it left a foul taste in my mouth, the toothpaste didn't help. "So, you think he's helping us for kicks?"
"Maybe." The cat decided over the mirror, stretching its shadowy body, "But at the moment it's safe to assume that, whatever that creature's motives, we, most likely me more than you, are his way of getting it."
"What do you think he wants?"
The cat seemed to be annoyed as I rinsed the brush, "How should I know? I'm many things, psychic is not one of them. But if I had to guess, probably power or a cure to looking less disgusting."
"There's no way it's a vanity project." I scoffed, "If he was that vane, why wouldn't he hide his face?"
"It was a joke, Ambrose." The cat drawled and followed me into the small bedroom and decided to sit by the small window, staring out into the distance while I got into bed, ready to feint from exhaustion. "Good night, Ambrose."
"Night..." I yawned as the world faded into black.