Chapter 4: Ch. 3

Vassago stretched his body, re-acclimating to his new form. He’d lost a considerable amount of his magic in the process of activating the circle, and then even more during the crossing. Grated down through the holes of reality, leaving only scattered pieces of himself. Still, he was grateful to have survived at all.

He raised an arm, examining the newly formed limb. Small limbs, stubby fingers, unblemished skin and faint veins. Looking down, he shook a foot, frowning slightly at his diminished body. Shorter, softer, weaker. Vulnerable until he acclimated. That was his takeaway.

Naked too. He ought to address that first. Shaking his head, his hair drifted around his body, waving itself into soft, silken fabric and hanging loose and comfortable on his body. He was less concerned with what the cultural fashion norm of this world was and more with what he found comfortable. Yes, especially comfortable, now that he was free from the expectations that came with the dignity of holding the throne. Simple, at least compared to the intricacies of his former clothing: comfortable and practical boots, loose trousers, a long-sleeved undershirt with a knee-length kaftan over the top, a thick waist wrap, and a draped headscarf to be used as a hood.

It had been centuries since he last dressed in anything that wasn’t made by the royal tailors. Feeling his own magic power against his skin, he finally felt at peace.

It had taken the bulk of his surplus magic to craft the clothing, however, leaving his once overflowing hair now short and fluffy around his ears, looking like the down of a raven chick.

No longer naked, Vassago now had time to inspect this “new world”. So far, it almost reminded him of home. The dank stone and metal constructs around him, the barren sense of lifelessness, the stale air that left a bitter taste on his tongue. If not for the muffled sound of life beyond the towering brick and concrete structures, he’d almost believed he’d arrived back home.

Could it be another city of demons?

The other major difference between his world and this one was how dead the air was. Despite everything else about it, his homeland was electric with latent magical energy, constantly tingling like static electricity across his skin and leaving a buzz on his tongue. Each step would soak you in the ambient power of the land, each breath drown you in the aether rivers that carried the currents of magic of the world.

This world was dead. There was no magic in the air; not even the choking dust of dead magic.

How terrifying. He couldn’t even conceive of how civilisation could survive in such an empty world, let alone thrive to a point they reached such a level of structural engineering.

Vassago stepped out of the alley, scrunching his knows at the putrid stench overflowing from large green metal crates crammed against thin wire fences. Looking down, he was fascinated to see all sorts of paper products littering the ground. Bending down, he picked up a soggy sheaf of extraordinarily thin and delicate paper, making out blurred ink prints just before it disintegrated in his hand.

The tidiness of the print suggested some kind of mass replication, one he couldn’t even fathom how to achieve without magical engineering.

The mouth of the alley was bordered by a searing bright light. The sheer altitude of the buildings flanking the alley had effectively cut off all natural light from filtering down, but like a clear and intentional delineation, the world beyond was flooded by it. He blinked as he stepped out, adjusting as quickly as possible to the change in light.

As his vision cleared, he couldn’t help but stare at the world around him in fascination. The first thing that hit him was just how populated this world was. It was more than just compared to the vast yet empty wastes of his homeland, where his people lived in small and scattered colonies. There was a denseness to the throngs of people walking the streets he had never experienced before.

The streets themselves were strange, too. Despite how many people there were pressed against the sides, the centre strip was left entirely empty of pedestrians. Instead, automated metal carriages flashed by at speeds that would most definitely be lethal were they to collide with a person.

Interesting. He’d love to catch one and dissect it to understand the engineering behind it. He couldn’t smell even the faintest whiff of magic coming off them, but instead a sickly and foul odour he couldn’t recognise.

Vassago was also able to measure himself against the people around him, realising then by just how much his powers had been diminished. If the average of the people around him were 160cm, all fully grown human adults, he was the size of a halfling in comparison. Looking around, he was able to find a large pane of black glass in front of a building in order to properly examine himself. The result was shocking to say the least.

He’d known he’d lost several feet of height, but hadn’t also expected the extent of physical changes. His eyes were wide, turned dull black and lost their magical vigour in the dry, aetherless atmosphere of this world. His hair, once as smooth as liquid silk, was now frizzing and turning curly at the ends plaintively from being deprived of its power. His features had shrunk, losing all of the sharp and dignified qualities he had before and now looking considerably soft, round, and… immature.

Yes, there was no avoiding it. Patting his palms against his soft, elastic cheeks, he had to admit that which he didn’t want to: he looked like a child.

No, it was better to say he probably was a child. The damage from the spell was too intense and he had reverted to a polyp stage in his life cycle as a reaction to the physical stress. He tapped his thumbnail against his teeth in a thinking gesture. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. He would mature as he absorbed ambient magical energy in the air and reach maturation again eventually, a few years more or less depending on the saturation, but this world had no magic. It would take a long time for him to naturally age, perhaps another few hundred years.

He was too absorbed in thought. Someone knocked into him, sending his small body flying. There was a grunted “ouch!” from his assaulter, and a hand grabbing the scruff of his neck and hoisting him up.

“Hay ked, wutch et ir yio'll gat hort!”

His eyes spinning, Vassago gazed blankly at the man holding him. The stranger wore, as with everyone around him, simple and alien attire of dark blue trousers and a short dark blue jacket over a high-collared white undershirt, a thin cravat-like object around his neck in similar dark blue. In his hand was a rectangular case of impeccable craftsmanship, made of smooth leather.

“Whara ura yior purants unywuy.” 

The stranger was looking around now, seemingly confused. He stared Vassago down, then reached a hand over and ruffled the top of his hair.

“Ih, E gat et. Yio'ra ull drassad op fir thut cinvantein. Ded yio wundar iff und gat list? Et's dungarios ti wulk iff by yiorsalf. Yior purants ura pribubly wirread.” He made a gesture, one even Vassago was able to read as a “stay put” motion, telling him, “Wuet hara.”

The displaced Demon King frowned, but leaned against the glass pane with his arms crossed. There was one immediate advantage of his transdifferentiation back to his polyp stage, which was that people lacked any sense of wariness toward him and even seemed inclined to want to help him. He could tell this strange man didn’t have any ill will toward him, and even seemed inclined to want to help him.

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Language remained a problem however. Normally, a simple spell would be enough to adjust, but he had to conserve his power or else risk dissipating his form entirely. He was forced to have to learn the local dialect the hard way.

A few minutes later, the man came back accompanied by a second. Although the style was different, it was easy to differentiate the second man as being some sort of official by the formal nature of his attire: dark blue pants, light blue shirt, a formal hat with a coat of arms on it, some kind of cloth protective vest with text scrawled on it, and some sort of strange black box attached to his chest with a curling cord snaking down to his waist. 

The second man knelt down in order to meet Vassago’s eye level, giving his best attempt at a child-friendly smile.

“Halli, E'm iffecar Tadahashi. Whut's yior numa?”

Vassago looked at him, then back to the first man questioningly. He was aware he was being asked a question, but had no point of reference for what it could possibly be. So he settled for a quizzical expression.

“Ha meght ba shy.” The original man interjected, squatting down and gently patting Vassago on the head once again. “Liik ut hes clithas, ha pribubly git sapurutad frim hes purants ut thut fun cinvantein ut tha avants cantra.” He gestured down the street somewhat meaningfully, receiving a nod of agreement from the official.

“Ura yior purants ut tha cinvantein cantra?”

He couldn’t stay quiet forever. With the feeling of another question being asked, Vassago decided to take a gamble on giving a small and tentative head nod.

“E saa! Hiw ubiot E tuka yio buck thara und saa ef wa cun fend tham?”

He looked again between the two men. The nod seemed to have been the correct decision the first time, so he once again hesitantly inclined his head. The official beamed at him, standing and holding out a hand toward him. Vassago felt slightly horrified, but in an alien world such as this, knew it was better to follow local customs. So he slipped his small palm into the larger one, and was promptly dragged down the street.

At first, he stood out. Interestingly, everyone around him had features not completely removed from his own, with rare black hair and black eyes being almost the norm apart from a few outliers. It was instead his clothing which stood out, completely at odds with the local style that swung wildly between simple and conservative to shocking and colourfully alien. What was strange was the realisation that this city appeared to be monoracial, with only humans present at first. 

Yet as the two progressed, he started to see more and more people in attire that felt more familiar, if far cheaper and more costumey. He even began to see people with horns, people with animal ears, people with swords and bows, people wearing armour. They would pose together in ridiculous ways while bystanders would hold out a small black slab in front of them, pointed at the display.

The new style of people were all congregated around a massive hall building of some kind, guarded by figures in black shirts with strange paper amulets strung around their neck by colourful cloth ribbons. The official bringing Vassago strode up to them, clearly displaying his superior social status over them as the guards became immediately deferential toward him, and spoke while gesturing toward Vassago.

A woman separated from the group, kneeling down in front of the diminutive Demon King. It was funny. He would once say he was used to people constantly kneeling down in front of him, but that had always been in reverence toward him. Now it was in condescension.

“Whut's yior numa, lettla goy?” The woman asked in a gentle voice, careful not to spook him as though he were some wild animal. She tapped her chest, “Yio cun cull ma Emiko nee-san.”

He got the jist of it. She was asking for identification.

He opened his mouth, intending on giving an abbreviated version of his name, when his eye was caught by the presence of light beginning to snake out from beneath the security desk. It carried with it an unmistakable scent, one he would miss under any other circumstances: magic. An incursion of magic into this world could mean only one thing.

Vassago bolted, ignoring the startled shouts behind him. The smell of magic fizzled out, and he knew the spell had been cut off momentarily, but already felt the ground beneath him bubbling with power. It was targeting him!

He ducked and weaved through the crowd, knocking into everyone around him. Startled screams sounded, but he didn’t stop to check. Every body in front of him was an obstacle that he ploughed through or ducked under, each moment dragging down his speed. He collided with a girl, both of them ending up knocked down as paper books scattered out in front of him. He hissed as he climbed up, feeling a pang of pain in his ankle. Not good.

Light threaded through the ground beneath them, moving faster this time than before. It was taking less and less time for the circle to connect with this side, summoning itself with an aggressive rush. He was forced to ignore the pain in his ankle, leaping out of the circle just in time as it swallowed the girl behind him with a flash of light.

Magic power exploded out, causing whatever was powering the surrounding area to short out, causing the hall building to dark as the lights were blown out. The crowd screamed in confusion.

He ran, as well as he could, barely avoiding flashes of light around him. There were a few who were caught in the circles, being pulled into the other world in his stead, but each incursion just seemed to feed the circle and make it move faster.

Eventually he collided with another body, and arms hastily grabbed him to steady him. A young girl, probably in her mid-teens, wearing a puffy skirt and holding a staff, went to steady Vassago. Her candy pink hair fluffed around her face as she spoke in garbled speech he didn’t have time to parse, while the young boy next to her in a red cloak and black armour interjected.

He didn’t have time for their bickering! He struggled, trying to break free, but it wasn’t just his magical power that he’d lost. His body was physically weaker, tired from the exertion of running. He didn’t have the strength to break out of the hold on him, and in the time it took to even try, another magic circle had appeared beneath the three of them. It was larger this time, as if intentionally trying to keep him from being able to leap out of it again. It didn’t need to be so dramatic, since he no longer had the energy left in him to even try.

Ah, well. He gave it his best shot.

Vassago closed his eyes, accepting his fate as the magic consumed all three of them in a hungry vortex of light.

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