“Hey, Jhøn,” A resounding voice booms. You turn to the being that owns it, expecting it to continue. Luckily for your sanity, it does. “Let us make another wager, shall we?” Of course. What else could that useless oaf of a demon do if not make pointless wagers? Still, though, you have been bored for decades now - so in a moment of impulse, you humor its idea.
“You have piqued my interests, Hynri,” you answer, “I shall hear you out. Speak of this wager, and if it is worth the time it took to hear it, I shall not pull your wretched tongue out of your face.” Fearfully enough, you find yourself looking forward to a good wager, something to occupy yourself with.
“Ah, I am afraid you will not be able to harvest my tongue, for I have a most wonderful wager!” Hynri shouts in glee. For a being that is thousands of years old, it acts like a human child. “Let us take control of two peasants - just two mere nameless peasants - and within their lifetimes, let us see who can get our peasants higher status!” You have to admit that you are most impressed by its proposition. The humans have been going along too peacefully; a little demonic interference would serve them well.
“Very well,” you agree after a moment of consideration, “Two mere peasants in rural England, and nothing more.” With that, you both vanish into nothingness; both nowhere and everywhere in search of a viable host. In nearly no time, both of you find a suitable host, and the wager begins.
The last thing you notice before entering your host is Hynri’s warning. “No magic-” is all you hear it say before you black out.
/\\//\\//\\//\\//\\/
You wake up, this time in the body of the peasant you seized control of. In addition to the peasant’s body, you also have his memories - which is underwhelming, to say the least; he had even more of an uneventful life than you had! Still, though, that is due to change. You have until this body dies to do something big, but the question remains at what you should do - or even where to begin. You spend the next few months at your new house, getting used to your new body and surroundings. Unfortunately, however, this temporary peace ends with the galloping of horses down the dirt road, followed by the dragging of a large object - which is most likely a cart, although at this point it is impossible to tell if it is the cart of a noble, a merchant, or a patrol.
Alas, it turned out to be the latter-most. The horses slow to a halt outside your property's boundaries and two men clad in chain mail and the royal crest steps off and approaches you. Not sure how to react, you stand there and wait for them. Maybe they can give you some much-needed information, so it is in your interest to keep them alive. The biggest of the two, being quite bulky in his armor, breaks the tense silence in the form of an order.
“State your name, peasant.” He barks. What he fails to realize is that he would’ve been killed on the spot by you for his insolence, if it weren’t for the information he might have! However, you do not tell him that. You decide to be diplomatic…
“Do you have leprosy catch your ears, you field-ridden wretch? I told you to-” His cuts his sentence short upon getting spat on. In disbelief, he brings his gloved hand to his face, which catches some of the excess spit. “You son of a bitch, prepare to-”
“*Ätzender speichel,*” you interrupt, and his screams of anger quickly turns into screams of agony - which would make sense, considering you just turned your spit into a corrosive weapon. As he clutches his rapidly dwindling face, the other man snaps out of his shocked state. Instead of reaching for his sword, however, he reaches for some charm on his necklace. A talisman, perhaps?
“D-Demon!” He shouts as he pushes the charm in front of himself as if it were a shield. “Prepare to be removed from this Earth!” Ah, so the charm is a religious artifact of sorts. You can definitely feel its power, but it is not nearly enough to defeat you. Still, though, it would be troublesome to leave a follower of the old religion alive, so you prepare another spell…
Quickly, you stop yourself. You have already used magic, which was specifically against the nature of the wager. If this comes out, then you automatically lose the bid, and that would be quite troublesome for your status. So instead of melting this man, you start walking to the dissipating remains of the other man, opting to use his sword. It is melted in some places, but it will get the job done. So you turn around, preparing to swiftly finish this nonsense.
Of course, it doesn’t go the way you expected - it almost never does. The other man, knowing he had no chance of killing you, had used his charm as a beacon, sending an otherworldly presence high into the sky, a message to all exorcists, a cry for help. That damned coward… If Hynri sees this, then you will lose this wager! Deciding that a quick death by the sword is too merciful for this scum, you decide to melt him where he stands.
Well, kneels - the other guard, seemingly knowing his fate, kneels down to you. “P-Please, please s-spare my life,” He begs you, all traces of dignity lost. How pathetic. “I-I have my mother and s-seven kid brothers to provide for!” he tries to reason. All he is achieving is pissing you off more with each word he says.
“Do you not have a father to do that? I mean, if you and your brothers make 7, then surely they would appreciate having one less mouth to feed~!” You taunt. He will probably just give you some sad sob story of his death by plague or bandits, how original.
“My father…” he slowly says as he steals a glance at where the dead man once stood - now a tattered head of armor. He silently starts shaking, undoubtedly using what little remnants of his remaining pride to control his heaved breaths. How weak.
“Heh heh heh,” you chuckle. “Like father, like son. Ätzender speichel!” you chant, taking a moment to prepare another dosage of saliva. The man, seemingly having lost all situation awareness, starts uncontrollably shaking, locked in his vulnerable position. Oh well, that works for you. Maybe you will have enough time after dealing with that bastard to clean up the effects of the charm - the message is sticking out like a sore thumb, to put it into human terms.
“That is enough, demon,” you hear a voice from the cart declare. You see a man dressed in cheap clothes much like your own, with patches over other patches and a belt made out of scraps of old clothing. Is that how you look? The man, paying no heed to the chaos going on, walks towards you. Only one mere peasant - nay, only one mortal - would be stupid enough to approach an enraged demon. You can guess who it is, but you sincerely hope you are incorrect.
“Hynri?” You ask the approaching figure. Maybe you can convince him that this is a mix-up, that you did not use any magic, that the heap of armor is irrelevant to the situation! The peasant stops in front of you, scarcely giving you six inches of breathing room.
“Call me Henry,” he tells you. Same name, just with a less guttural pronunciation, but whatever, it’s his name. Hynri - no, Henry - looks at the pathetic man, still shivering, trying to silence his heaving breaths, as if the wet patch of dirt under where his face hangs doesn’t give him away. Utterly hopeless. Not wanting to blatantly use magic in front of Henry, you grab the corroded blade, preparing to end that man’s life in one fell swoop. However, unexpectedly, you feel a stinging pain in your chest. You look down, finding a dark lance protruding out of your torso. Touche. You turn around expecting Henry to explain that the penalty for cheating is the loss of your current body, but he looks… furious, beyond angry.
“I said, that’s enough, Jhøn.” He grates. “Not only have you cheated, but you have murdered the father of my master - before turning around and trying to slaughter him at his weakest,” his whole body is twitching in raw rage, it would seem. Whatever got him so mad, it sure as hell wasn’t cheating. Did he… did Hynri get attached to this temporary life? Damned fool. You always knew that nothing good could come out of this bid. “Ah, but see here. You can not say that I am acting out of emotion here, see. You have cheated - yes, I saw you melt master’s father with your spittle, and I heard you prepare that dreadful spit for master. So do forgive me when I say this, but you have lost this bid, and the penalty is your life - both this one and your real one.” What the hell is he going on about? Did he just say that he will kill you as not only a human but also a demon? This situation has taken a turn for the worse. However, demons simply cannot kill other demons, not with dark magic, anyway. Only the clerical magic of the old religion can achieve that, which a demon naturally cannot have…
He pulled out a holy book. Hynri has pulled out a holy book of the old religion. As a demon, this should not be possible. No spell could allow this. This is impossible! Will he seriously commit such a heinous act of murder over such a minor infraction? This is but a simple wager! Alas, he seems dedicated in his endeavors. He turns to face you. Will he follow through with this?
“Wait - just know this,” you attempt to talk reason into Henry. “If you commit such a foolish act, you would be effectively declaring war on all the demons!” you point out. Will he abandon his faction - a powerful, almighty status - just for this meager life as a servant to that weakling? “Think it over, these pathetic humans could not offer you any more power or status than the demonic faction can! Would you rather live a slave to that worthless pile of-” Your words abruptly end, a howl of pain taking its place. You fall to the ground - with the realization that your legs are still planted where they stand! That damned fool, he has really done it! He has abandoned everything he is in favor of these humans!
“I am sorry, Jhøn.” Hynri says, the gravity of his situation finally hitting him. Of course, that won’t fix anything - you are already losing your life force for good. This is your last life, both as a human and a demon. “You have pushed my limits, and I had to do what I thought was best. I am aware that I am to become an outlaw to the demonic faction, but that means nothing if I can protect master and his family. Hell, I have already failed,” he grimly speaks, stealing a glance at the armor. “I am not sure what happens when an immortal dies, but do believe me when I say that I bear no personal grudge against you. Until we meet again, Jhøn.” He ends his speech and turns away.
“Huh, so this is what dying is like,” you mutter to yourself. In your mind, the centuries of mayhem you and Hynri have partaken in together form a story of sorts. How crazy it all has been, just to end with this bid. Well, he has always been the kind to get attached to things. “Farewell, foolish little brother.” You quietly say to him, and the last of your life force drains away.
TO BE CONTINUED
