Daimen woke up with pain screaming all over his body. He grimaced, lips tightening as he waited for the agony to die down. Across his chest were three long, pink, ragged gashes, blackened at the edges, a painful memory of his encounter. It was a testament to the power of Spirit lord Calamity monsters, more especially those with corrosive affinities, that their injuries remained even days after death.

  It was a warning to Daimen that for all his power and growth, he was still vulnerable to the powers of other Spirit lords.

  A bladed smile slit across his face. At least he'd sent it to a painful demise.

  Daimen glanced at the little reptilian creature that lay beside him. She was still asleep, neck curled around her body like a sleeping ostrich.

  He sighed as he got up to his feet, pausing to weather the sudden bout of vertigo that assaulted him. Slowly, he unfolded his mind, extending it tenderly until he reached his limit, and then he focused, sifting through all the noise and riffraff for anything whatsoever capable of posing a threat to him. Finding none, he nodded and withdrew.

  Daimen lifted himself out of the hole he'd dug into the ground. It was still early, a sign he could tell by the thick mist—thicker than usual—that saturated everywhere, dimming his eyesight and tampering with his spiritual senses. As it was, he'd be left unaware if an enemy stood beyond a dozen feet from him, likewise the other way around. Only a slow and focused mental scan had a greater chance of catching any threat.

  After one last look at Pinkie, he made his way into the mist. Daimen didn't head back out. No, rather he moved deeper in, heading into the forest where no doubt more powerful monsters as well as beasts dwelled.

  He walked slowly, letting his ears and other senses serve as vanguard in this visually dampening area.

  After an hour and almost three miles of distance, he arrived at his destination.

  The lake shore he arrived at rested in the midst of a crown of large trees. It glistened despite the deep mist, with a texture that made it seem half fog, half liquid. It stretched into the distance, disappearing past his senses and into the deep mist.

  Daimen bent down, coming face to face with his own reflection. Looking at himself right now, there was no difference between him and a mentally scrambled person living on the streets. His hair was tattered, thick bonds fused with leaves, small branches, and black dirt. They extended out like he'd been struck by lightning.

  His face was no different, black with dirt and soot. He looked like someone who'd just walked out of a fire, or a month old trashcan. If he'd been approached by himself as he was now, Daimen was certain he'd have struck himself down.

  His clothes were basically scraps at this point, each torn and dirty part held together by fraying threads. He was an embodiment of madness.

  He grunted as he cupped his hands, dipping them into the water and bringing out a handful of liquid. Daimen washed his face, a task that proved fruitless considering the little amount of water he'd used and the levels of dirt on his face. If he was going to do this properly, he'd have to dive full body into the water, a risky task given the high possibility of monsters within the lake.

  So he waited… and watched, eyes scanning the water for any monster waiting for any unwary victim to enter.

  After a few minutes and no monster crossing his sight or senses, Daimen rose back to his feet. He stretched, cracking bones and popping knuckles. He pulled off his rags, and then he jumped in.

  Monster or not, he was going to have that bath.

  The water felt cool as his body sank into it, its metaphysical arms embracing him in ethereal peacefulness.

  He'd barely settled in when a monster jumped out at him.

  He caught it in his hand; a fish adjacent creature with sky blue metallic scales, fins no different from sharpened daggers, and rows of tiny sharp teeth that filled its mouth.

  All that would have been scary had the monster been powerful. As it was, he could sense that its realm was barely into Spirit lord—a semi-spirit lord monster, powerful to other monsters, but next to powerless against him.

  “Breakfast,” he said as he crushed its head in his fist.

  That done, he turned his attention back to his initial task.

  The water bubbled a few seconds later, and then fins popped up above its surface as more of the same monsters emerged.

  So that was how they hunted?

  He licked his lips.

  “Mm, many breakfasts.”

  ★ ★ ★

  An hour later, Daimen walked the same path back to his hideout, whistling a merry tune as he skipped over a fallen branch.

  Hanging behind his back, tied together with a piece of his former cloth, was a bundle of sky blue fishes, breakfast for the day.

  His hair was clean, wet, and black, courtesy of the water he'd just dived into. The color looked strange on him, given the gray look he'd been sporting for who knows how long, but he liked it, so he didn't complain.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  For the first time in a while Daimen felt clean. His body sparkled and glistened from the droplets of water still clinging to it, with nary a dirt marrying its surface. Well… ‘cept his barefoot, which was already conjoined with the leaves and sands he'd stepped on on his way back.

  He arrived to find Pinkie still asleep. His arrival must have woken the creature, because she raised her head, took one look at him and the bundle hanging over his shoulder, and then went back to sleep.

  Daimen shook his head. “One day, you'll go out and hunt for yourself. Maybe you'll learn some appreciation then.”

  He dumped the fish on the trunk of the nearest tree and then set about taking care of his appearance.

  The clothes he initially wore into this place were now a piece of tattered straps which he'd disposed of as soon as he was done bathing. Now he was left with nothing to wear… or well, that should have been what should have happened had he not been assaulted nonstop since he arrived in this hell.

  His fallen adversaries, dozens in number, had been picked up for their bodies to serve as nutrition for his little ravenous serpent. Their bodies remained in his spatial ring, the same with their armors.

  Daimen dumped them all onto the ground, bodies skipping out of thin air to thud loudly onto the ground.

  Looking at the bunch, Daimen sighed. Despite the bunch, he had very few options to choose from.

  He pushed aside the beastkin, their armors were mostly either made out of animal pelts that covered only private areas on their body, or they wore heavy armors, something which Daimen was reluctant to torture himself into doing.

  The elves were a bit more on his right side of choice, given their similar physiques. The issue now stemmed from their limbs, which were longer and slimmer than those of the average human. Daimen was no human, but that was a fact one would never be able to tell with a look.

  He put them on hold.

  He turned to the dwarves, paused and snorted, and then shifted them aside without a touch of perusal. The reasons were obvious.

  Coming to the humans, a section that should have been his first, simply to save himself all the stress. There were a couple of bodies here, each covered in every form of armor one could find.

  Daimen did not like heavy armor, so he pushed those aside. He glanced at the medium and then shook his head as he discarded those ones too. He wanted mobility above protection right now, and heavy metal dangling over his body was not the way to go about it.

  Still…he wasn't going to leave himself unprotected. He picked up two metallic black arm guards from one of the light armor wearers, his final choice, affixed them to his arms, and then he moved to the light part.

  Daimen selected a black armless leather robe, shriveled at the top with a look that said it wasn't going to fit him. But when he stretched it, the cloth easily followed his hands. He nodded.

  He picked up a short dagger and stabbed it into the cloth, nodding as the blade failed to penetrate the material.

  For his lower body, he selected another pair of leather pants, metal boots that rose to his knees, padded under the soles with thick leather, and then a piece of metallic plates that covered his thighs. He covered it all with the robe, and then lifted a thick line of rope, cinching it tightly around his waist.

  Done with all that, he selected a spear from the bunch in his new armory, packed up the rest, including the armors, back into his spatial ring, and then, picking back up the bundle of fish, he made his way back out of his hideout and into the mist.

  Pinkie, certainly aware of what came next, rose and followed. Daimen snorted.

  He found a space a few miles from the initial location and then set up shop.

  Unlike natural mists—at least the ones he was used to—this one had no effect whatsoever on the environment. Woods weren't made wet, and fires were not dampened.

  Unlike what most people thought, the corpses of Spirit lords did not remain as durable as they were when life ran through them. The second the body was deprived of its life and soul, its body became far less durable, susceptible to even low quality infused weapons. This wasn't to say Pinkie, a Foundation realm creature, could break into them easily. No, despite the degradation, they were still Spirit lord remains, and had traces of their powers still infused in their flesh and bones.

  Half an hour later, a record time given how long it took a normal Spirit lord meat to soften under natural fire, Daimen brought down half his staked fish.

  He eyed the reptilian creature, snorting at the patient but hungry look on her face, and then dropped a majority of the catch on the ground, snorting again as she pounced on it with wild abandon, ignoring the metallic scales to swallow them whole.

  He shook his head, picking up a dagger to shave off the fish scales. He took one bite of the meat and his eyes snapped wide open. Daimen felt a rush of invigorating energy flow through his body, filling him with static power.

  With new eyes, he looked at the fish in his hand. If this could affect him, who was almost a whole realm higher than the fishes, then what would it do to Pinkie, who was several realms below?

  Daimen turned towards the reptilian creature just as her eyes rolled back. He caught her right before she hit the ground.

  Sensing the chaotic flux of energy running through her body, Daimen instantly knew what was happening; Pinkie was evolving.

  He sighed, packed up all the utensils he used, and then cleaned off all traces of their presence, at least as best as he could.

  Daimen carried Pinkie back to the hideout and then laid her down inside their hole. He contemplated waiting for her to finish evolving, but beast evolution were unpredictable. She could take a few minutes to hours, or days. He had things to do.

  Making sure that she was well covered, Daimen picked up his spear, and then disappeared into the mist.

  This time, he didn't head deeper. Rather, Daimen made his way back out, following the path he'd used when they moved inward.

  He made sure to keep his movements as quiet as possible, unwilling to alert his quarries to his approach.

  Unfortunately, he was not entirely successful. He came across a few monsters, most of which were wise enough to avoid him. Daimen understood that some creatures were only at the top of the food chain not because of their brains, but because of the weapons they carried.

  The monsters that were foolish enough to challenge him, he dispatched, doing so as swiftly and quietly as possible.

  He traveled for several hours, moving outward through the trees, ears peeled and eyes sharpened to detect any humanoid movements.

  He found something a few hours before sunset.

  Four demons moved in a tight formation; an armored one in the front, while two white robed ones brought up the rear, eyes closed as they matched steps simultaneously.

  Another Demon moved in the middle; bronze skin that glistened smooth. Black coiling hair that shone like the reflective surface of a mirror, with tiny horns that protruded just a little above the top. It had eyes more beautiful than what Daimen had ever encountered before, or heard.

  This demon was more beautiful than anybody he knew. Keilan, the Saulae Scion, Huiron, and even the princess of the Duveyar noble house, Sareina. They all had nothing on this creature, a creature of dreams and fantasy tales.

  What confused Daimen the most was that it—a male—was unlike the other Mind demons in its entourage. Merely looking at it, he could already tell that this was its real body, not stolen like those the rest of its kin wore.

  At first Daimen assumed that this was some demon royalty; a lord or high lord. But the thick line of chains extending from the arms of the armored demon to wrap around it closed off that assumption.

  This was no noble lord or prince. The beautiful creature was a prisoner.

  Daimen contemplated following them, maybe they'd lead him to his quarries. He shook his head. He'd had enough problems as it was, he didn't want to add more to his table.

  He moved to leave, only to freeze when the demon—the prisoner—turned its head around, violet eyes catching him where he crouched half a mile away