Armin sat in his small home, staring at the ceiling. The two animals slept on his 'bed'—just a pile of soft cloth on a wooden frame—while he lay on the floor.
The white tiger cub was girl and the black wolf pup was a boy.
'How did they find each other?'
Thoughts invaded his mind, swirling like restless spirits in the night, each nagging him with whispered doubts about his future.
Without a Veil Art, he was bound to die young,though young in the demon world was atleast 400 years but still...If he didn't succumb to his own weaknesses and frailties, he would be cast out of the village, left to fend for himself in the harsh wilds, a lone demon without a place. The life of an outcast was an unforgiving path, and every demon in the village echoed his fears with their disdainful glares. They were taunting reminders of how low he had sunk in their eyes. Either way, his chances here were slim.
The village was a web of gossip and scorn, with every corner hidden behind murky shadows and skeptical stares. Armin often felt as if he didn't have a place in the demon realm, each day blending into the next like the fading colors of twilight. The silence around him was often more imposing than words; it screamed of his insignificance.
Honestly, the best option was to leave. The human world, though dangerous, was the only place where he could blend in. He looked human enough, with a form that could pass by without drawing undue attention. Humans were still naive, not yet fully aware of the abilities and threats demons posed to their world. It had only been about twenty years since the turn of the century, a time when old hierarchies were crumbling, and humanity was just beginning to uncover the layers of its reality. He could slip in unnoticed, fade away like a wraith among the living.
He sighed heavily, the weight of reality closing in on him like a thick fog. Rolling onto his back, he turned his gaze toward the ceiling, letting his mind drift into dreams of what could be. Maybe mercenary work was an option. Even weak demons like him were physically stronger than humans, who were still untrained in combat. Most weren't even born with Veil Arts, so he wouldn't stand out much.
His thoughts ebbed and flowed like waves against a shore, blurring the lines between fantasy and reality. As his mind wandered through the possibilities, sleep took him, wrapping him in a shroud of darkness.
---
Armin woke up standing.
The world around him was endless marble. Massive, flawless pillars stretched into the sky, their tops lost in a void of white clouds. The floor beneath him gleamed, smooth and reflective, yet strangely cold, like ice; it sent shivers coursing down his spine. He could hear the faint whisper of voices, words he could not understand.
"Where am I?" he muttered, his voice echoing in the vast emptiness, swallowed by the insatiable void that surrounded him.
The whispers grew louder, overlapping, filling his ears with a thousand different tones. They were neither human nor demon—something else entirely, a melody of haunting resonance. His chest tightened, pressure building as though something heavy pressed against his heart, leaving him breathless.
Then the world shifted. The marble cracked apart with a rumble, and in its place, a throne room emerged, perched precariously above a lake of molten lava. The heat was unbearable, a blistering inferno that licked at his skin, yet he did not burn. The throne before him was impossibly large, forged from obsidian and brimstone, sleek in a way that struck fear into his very bones.
And then—
The voices screamed.
"STOP!" Armin clutched his head, the cacophony tearing through his skull like hot blades digging in. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"
The language was foreign, yet it resonated through his veins, like a dark symphony singing truths he had long forgotten. Images flashed through his mind—a crown, a blade dripping with black blood, a battlefield of corpses, a shattered world echoing with despair.
Pain. So much pain, a cacophonous reminder of existence beyond the borders of his mind.
He fell to his knees, clawing at the floor, breath ragged, each inhalation a struggle against the tempest raging in his psyche. The voices crescendoed into a deafening roar, an endless tide crashing against the shores of his consciousness.
"WHO ARE YOU?!" he screamed into the void, desperation clawing its way through his throat.
And then—
Silence.
Armin woke in a cold sweat, heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped animal. The white tiger cub and the wolf pup had curled against his chest, their small bodies rising and falling serenely in deep sleep. Relief washed over him, cool and soothing.
"Didn't like the bed, huh?" he whispered to them, chuckling softly. Their innocent slumber contrasted sharply with the storm inside him. The animals didn't stir, lost in the bliss of their dreams.
He sat up carefully, not wanting to disturb them, and placed them back onto the pile of cloth that served as their shared bedding. Standing, he felt a strange tremor in his hands, like the remnants of a dream still clinging to him, and opened a small chest at the foot of the room.
Inside lay a sword—a crude relic of his past.
It was made from the rough steel of the demon realm, its hilt wrapped in sturdy but cheap wood, the kind that would dent and wear over time. It had belonged to his father, a weapon granted by the demon army before his untimely death. He had nevee met his father. His mother didn't speak about him. Only time she did she said.
"You look so much and act like your father...why?...why?"
She would say that while crying.
Armin guessed that his father was a kind demon who had a situation similiar to him.
Kindness isn't exactly tolerated in the demon world...
Armin lifted the sword, grasping it tightly. Its familiar weight settled in his grip, grounding him in the present moment, yet stirring flashes of nostalgia that intertwined with lingering fears.
He had no money. No passage to the streets that were thrumming with life and opportunity. No one would give him work. His only means of survival was hunting in the barren plains, tracking creatures that haunted the fringes of the village.
Strapping the sword to his waist, he glanced outside. The village remained shrouded in sleep. He always left early to avoid their gazes—their hatred had become as familiar to him as the dirt beneath his feet.
The two animals stirred with a soft purr and a small yawn as he opened the door, stepping into the misty morning with a heavy heart.
The night's storm had left a thick fog across the landscape, obscuring everything beyond a few feet, but it would clear soon. The demon realm's weather was notoriously unpredictable, shifting with sudden ferocity and whim.
Armin walked through the village, passing the shuttered homes, the air cold against his skin, penetrating deep until he felt the chill sinking into his bones. The melancholy drape of solitude hugged him like a well-worn coat.
"Well, well, well," came a voice, dripping with arrogance and disdain.
Armin stopped mid-stride, turning his head slowly. A tall figure stood before him, raising a mountain of disdain like a banner. The demon was slightly taller than Armin, dressed in leather and steel armor that gleamed menacingly in the dim light. His dark blue hair contrasted sharply with his crimson-red eyes, etched with a intircate black mark that ran from his forehead, across his left eye, and down to his cheek.
"Armin... oh, Armin, the little bastard who dares to call himself a demon," Azaran sneered, each word punctuated with palpable contempt.
His gaze flicked to the two creatures—the tiger cub, shrank behind Armin's legs.
"Wuff! Wuff!"
while the wolf pup, let out small, defiant barks, showcasing a bravery far beyond his size.
"Azaran,mind your own business," Armin muttered, voice strained, feeling the oppressive weight of the confrontation begin to pin him down.
"And if I don't?" Azaran grinned, lifting his hand casually. Flames crackled to life in his palm, wild and unpredictable like the demon himself. "What's a demon without a Veil Art going to do? Are you planning to face me with an empty heart and a rusty sword?"
Armin's eyes darkened, veins coursing with annoyance and a realization of the unfairness of the situation. "I may not have a Veil Art, but I'll give you another scar and turn you blind for real this time if you keep talking," he shot back.
Azaran's smirk vanished, swiftly replaced with rage, as if his inner flames had been ignited by those very words. He clenched his fists, allowing his flames to roar higher, crackling ominously above his head, and filled the air with a menacing presence.
"I'LL BURN YOU TO ASH, YOU SON OF A BI—"
Armin was already gone, propelled by the instinct of survival, leaving Azaran's fury echoing behind him.
"BASTARD!" Azaran's furious scream cut through the morning air, leaving angry ripples in the stillness of the village.
In the barren red sands, Armin walked with the white tiger resting atop his head and the black wolf perched on his shoulder.
"Phew, I almost got burned bluffing back there," he muttered, chuckling nervously to himself.
The wolf gave him a long, judgmental stare, tilting his head in obvious disbelief.
"What? I didn't run. I just don't fight unless I have to."
The ground rumbled ominously beneath them, vibrating with a low, unsettling hum.
Armin's expression turned serious, the smile wiped clean from his face. "It's here."
A massive worm burst from the ground ahead, its cylindrical mouth lined with rotating, saw-like teeth. Its screech echoed like a terrible wail across the barren landscape, shaking the dirt beneath their feet.
The wolf pup eyed it, curiosity battling fear.
The tiger cub, meanwhile, looked horrified.
Even though they couldn't talk Armin could guess they said something along the lines of.
"What is that?!?"
Or,
"No,not eating that!"
Armin sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. "No, we're using it as bait." He shifted into a fighting stance, adrenaline racing through him.
He took off running toward the worm, the animals clinging to him for dear life. But the beast noticed them in an instant and retreated down into the sandy abyss, tunneling deeper into the earth.
"Shit!" Armin cursed, not hesitating as he dove straight into the hole after it, feeling his heart quicken with every passing moment.
He landed in a narrow cavern, darkness cloaking him like a fog. The smell of damp earth and decay filled his lungs as he chased the worm through its twisting tunnel. Pulling back his sword, he slashed—
A chunk of flesh severed from the worm's tail, warm and slick as it fell, oozing blood.
Grabbing the piece, he turned and sprinted with urgency as the worm let out an ear-splitting shriek that reverberated in the narrow passage, a warning bellowing through the earth.
Leaping from the hole, Armin skidded to a stop. The worm emerged a short distance away, thrashing in fury, a creature enraged at its intrusion.
Edwim teased it.
The worm went back into the earth and dug away
He grinned. "Come on, then. Let's hunt ."
End of Chapter-2