Black Magus

Lincoln.

***

"Next!"

I put on my best smile as I've done a hundred times before today and, for once, smiled wider upon seeing the cutest little halfling girl waltz inside. Her face was so round and yet so emaciated. Her hands were so small and yet so calloused. Her clothes were so fine and yet so tattered. Her drums were so adorably tiny.

Her spirit, it was so pure; and yet so broken, overcast by Grim, the Reaper's creation.

It was a shame I couldn't charm her.

"Hello, little lady. My name is Lincoln, and you are?"

Though she wore the Shadow of Death, her face lit up brighter than an overcharged streetlight once I leaned forward over my desk, hands clasped oh so professionally on the hardwood.

"Rickley Ravenbrook!" She beamed with a flourishing bow.

"Rickley Ravenbrook." I echoed, falling back into my seat. "What a fantastically charming name, that is! Fantastic for the applying bard with naught a school on her form."

"Ah! I'm-"

A raised palm removed such weakness from her tongue. "Fortune often favors the bold, Rickley. Not so much the apologetic. Now, tell me of your routine."

"I'm a comedian!"

I had to admit, the girl had a penchant for bouncing back. Sadly, however… "A comedian." I regretfully nodded, falling back into my seat. "Rickley, do you know what kind of organization the Pink Moon is?"

"It's a brothel." She said in such an adorably simplistic inflection. "Finest brothel in Nevstan, it is."

"Precisely." I nodded with the utmost professionalism. "Thus you can see our need, or lack thereof, for comedy."

And there it was, the bounce that never came. The ball of whatever slammed through the floor, turning a once-charming smirk into a spiteful scowl that could impress the worst fiends, including me.

"You may be wondering why I've admitted you to these auditions, then?" I winked. "Because I saw your performance during the festival some months ago. I know talent when I see it, Rickley. And you have it. All you need… is a new style."

"Ugh!" the groan held more distaste than a sulfuric ogre's roar. But the eye roll-to-exit transition was somehow more dramatic, giving me a snapshot that would serve as mental entertainment for a few lifetimes at least. But alas, I had a job to do.

"Let me introduce you to my boss!" I shouted at her back, halting her cute little feet mid-step. "He's very talented. I have no doubts he can teach you. Perhaps even hire you."

"Oh yeah?" She turned to face me, her adorable arms crossed over her chest. "This boss of yours got a name?"

"Huh." I gasped, feeling no bounce within. "You know…" I tapped at my still-gaping mouth. "I never thought to ask."

I had to pinch myself to keep from laughing at her tiny little finger rising from her fist before she stormed off. Pinch harder still, I had to, as I pressed on. "He's a half-drow with dark brown skin, though!"

That gave her pause. Unfortunately, however, I wasn't done speaking.

"And a devil!"

I saw the little finger one more time before she stormed out. And this time, I allowed myself to laugh. Even while shouting at her back. "And a God!"

Nothing. Not that I cared. My job was done. So now it was back to the arduously amusing task at hand.

"Next!"

---

After hours upon hours of interviewing and hardly charming desperate bards and passionate courtesans, I had the most elegant music to accompany the airs of my bawdy brothel, filled with my newest lassies and lads. Or rather, I would have the most elegant music once these young ones were more refined in their use of our lovely instruments. For now, they were in their little theater below ground, practicing and pounding to their heart's content.

Closing my eyes, I could practically feel them through the walls, thinly constructed as they were. I could smell them. So sweet like the greatest perfume. So… necrotic?

My eyes flew open, seeking the source. Only to find it right under my nose. A small but no doubt threatening owl, blacker than the Abyss with a field of stars for eyes.

"That's a hell of a disguise, Rogue God of Devils."

"Likewise." The little bird adopted a most humorous expression with its eyes. "I hear you call yourself Lincoln in this form, Lily."

"I prefer your other form." I sighed. "Birds are cute but not exactly fun."

"You love to eye-fuck the other form, so the Owl is what you see when we discuss business."

"Fine. Fine." I rolled my eyes. "I dunno what you want, though. Business is good." I shrugged.

"It could be better."

Devils below, this Owl was rude. But still as charming as usual.

"Thus I believe it is time for you to begin… franchising."

My wings and other things perked up at the thought. "Oh, do tell!"

"First, The World Weaver will give you the means to raise more brothels across the Peninsula and link them here. They will be the Pink Shards, common yet high-class brothels for the standard deviant. Satellites to this Pink Moon, wherein the most important patrons from the lands will be given the greatest treatment. Second, you must be made aware of your sister brothel, the Red Feather. No succubi or incubi runs it. If anything, they will be vampires. In all, they will be professional escorts and, depending on the circumstances, assassins and spies. All are self-made individuals who choose their clients, whether they be for the bed or the blade, and they alone determine the escalation of events throughout the evening. All at a premium price.

"This brings me to your third duty." The Owl waved, fastening some sort of bulbous scrying eye onto the ceiling in a flash of light. "This device will assess those coming here or elsewhere for hire. Those who fit the mold will be marked and directed to the Red Feather. All others will be marked for service in other locations across the Legions. The remaining wicked and fiendish applicants will remain with you. The Owl implores you to spawn more of your ilk from their souls and have them gather information. And try not to kill anyone by accident.

"The condition, however, is this." The Owl spread its wings to hobble forth to the edge of my desk, pushing me as far into my seat as possible. "All applicants are to be given the freedom of choice. No one is to be charmed, for the charmed are not free."

"Will you stop with the threats!" I rolled in my seat. "You and Him both. 'I'll void you.' Threatening leers. It's exhausting!"

"I know your kind to be… impulsive."

"Fair enough." I pouted. Triggering a bout of silence I just couldn't take. "So, tell me more about this Red Feather."

"For now, the headquarters is located in Shavew, Bakewia." The Owl flatly said. "On the outside, it is simply a tea lounge. On the inside, it is a place of refuge, granted by the Owl for the men and women of the night or those deemed as the freaks of society. In exchange for the freedom to choose their clients and protection through power, they will corrupt and offer wicked souls to the Owl. Meanwhile." He pulled his wing across my adoring office. "The Pink Moon is free to become the succubus-infested whorehouse you're creating, operating under Rogue Devil as dedicated spies and intelligence runners. You will be given imps and eventually, other devils to aid you in this task. For now, take these."

Another flair of the wing and out came several cases, boxes, and devices for me to spruce up the place with. Not to mention to make things a little more fun. I couldn't wait to dive into them and mess around, but priorities came first.

"A girl came by a few hours ago. Halfling. Tan skin. Long brown hair. I tried to tell her about you but she stormed off. And… I- you never told me your name."

"You never asked." The Owl huffed. "Amun is the other's name, and the Owl is already aware of Rickley Ravenbrook. Perhaps she would have lived and become Amun's bard through other means, had she used her newfound wealth to move from her carcinogenic hole and see a witch. She, however, fell prey to greed. Now, the Shadow of Death has moved from her feet to her crown.

"Thus the Owl goes to work."

——

[Rogue Devil, Soul Mastermind. Step 5: The Network. Task: Complete.]

[Reward: Active Skill - [Soul Relay.] Your claim over your souls has strengthened such that you can directly communicate with mortals you've cursed or made dealings with, regardless of distance.]

[Reward: Passive Skill - [Soul Surveillance.] Using your claim over a mortal soul, you can perceive reality through their soul as you would your own body.]

[Reward: Passive Skill - [Aura of the Wicked Tactician] Your prowess in the fields of battle has made you a master of tactics. Through this, your Cursed Mana highlights and projects favorable terrain, maneuvers, and tactics to aid you and your comrades in battle; and so too does it help facilitate identifying and integrating hidden variables into your plans.]

[Rogue Devil, Soul Mastermind. Step 6: The Brutes - To continue your journey to becoming Unbranded, you must corrupt good-aligned warriors into making deals to create an elite task force in your devil army.]

***

Etan Za'Darmondiel.

21st of Trescia, 1492.

Principality of Nevstan, Kurnak Land. The Cuttleship, 10 km altitude above the City of Chor.

12:57.

***

It may have been obvious, but the moment I shook Amun's hand, I felt as if Etan Za'Darmondiel had died and been reborn. And while that could not have been further from the truth, it still was.

At that moment, an organ formed within my spirit and fell into an orbit around my Arcane Well. It was cylindrical, like the spiritual organ, and noticeably smaller. But the power it contained was insurmountable. And the message it delivered was nigh unbelievable.

From a drow, enslaved with a task to teach the Champion of the Creator, to the Eternal Champion's Champion. A Demigod on the way to Godhood, born anew with unique domains to claim.

In an instant, I no longer needed food, sleep, or water. Not by virtue of Astral Ki, but by the psionic powers of my Astral Ki merging with the divine power Amun had given me and manifesting in his divine realm as a dying star; a supernova, creating a Domain of Nebulae. Something inconceivably vast. Incorporeal and spread wide enough to encompass a dozen stars.

No longer did I have to struggle to wrap my head around the otherworldly concepts found within VoidNet. Through the power of my Education Domain, it simply came to me in the form of visions, whispers, and imaginations that fit the pieces together in milliseconds with enough precision to leave the lesson standing firm for eons. There was much I learned in the time since. And yet it was only a fraction of what was necessary for my chosen role, and less than the beginning of what I found fascinating, much less what I could explore with my new abilities. That, however, would have to wait for another time, as we received an unexpected call from Amun, requesting us to meet in his domain.

With him being right across the way, in the left eye, I was there before the rest and thus feasted my eyes on the landscapes before they walked or winked into the prominent hills and lush valleys of the ground floor to wander around in search of our summoner. Only to be distracted in the same way as I, by facing about to see the maze of elaborate homes, boutiques, restaurants, social spaces, and other buildings scattered across the rear wall.

With little effort, I could focus dozens of meters to the ceiling and take in every detail, analyzing every nigh-invisible seam that broke apart the flat field while NoxNet conjured recordings of training implements, obstacles, and combat drones spawning from hidden chambers. Similarly, I could look to the rear wall to learn about the various chemical machines and alchemical equipment refining the oils of the earth atop their daises, hidden beneath a forested park of leafy trails. And to the left, machines much larger and oftentimes more dynamic processed materials into green boards for circuits or coiled hairline strands of copper and gold into gargantuan coils for various means.

We, however, met at the Cuttleship's eye, akin to a tower-sized window, capable of projecting information across whatever it looked over. In this case, it projected relief features across the surface of Chor and the surrounding cities beyond the border and detailed the names and natures of the buildings sprawled within, or in some cases gave unsettlingly close views on various individuals Amun believed suitable to join us.

"Alright, here's the deal." Amun began, focusing on a rather rundown portion of the city. "This is Chor, the City of Bards. Known for its eloquence and culture. Nearly every place like this, however, has a side they'd rather not see the light. This is a tame example." He nodded, enhancing the image to show many young surface-dwellers singing and dancing happily, despite their less-than-favorable conditions.

"Many of the young ones here are from the surrounding lands." He motioned to the massive window as the Cuttleship pivoted and rolled in the air, causing the snowy fields to drift and change to a fortified border overlooking a sprawling forest. The illusory window- augmented reality, Amun called it, highlighted the border in a thick dotted line and formed motes of light above two settlements hidden behind the forest.

"A council of barbarian tribes rules Mazi. The largest tribe has always been ruled by someone named Mazi. They inherit the name with the position when they kill the previous Mazi. The current Mazi loves to raid. What survives of his prey, mostly the orphans of travelers, often find refuge in Chor and the other border cities of Nevstan, where they fall into the norms and grow up practicing the arts. Regardless of where they're from, they're all desperate to find a ticket to the big leagues. Many of them wish to become bards out of necessity. But, given a choice, I'm sure they'd follow other pursuits. So, Blude, Sam, Redd, Iris, Geri, Freki. Go out and make some friends. Form your parties. Recruit your subordinates. Hire people as vassals. Start a family. Whatever you like, I will guide you. Only this time, though. Next time, you must take the initiative."

"Okay." Blude nodded before anyone else, followed by the celestial twins.

"Understood."

"Very well."

Iris, on the other hand, pointed an accusatory finger my way. "What about Etan?"

"Etan is picky." Amun snickered and snickered more in response to my glare. "He only wants the truly exceptional."

"Well." I had to concede. "That is true. However, I too would like to employ a bard. And perhaps some others as well."