The Price of Salvation

“Death is such a cunt.”

This was Kilian’s primary thought as his soul drifted across various planes, unable to find its way back into the Tear of Kalarac. Little did he know that while the Tear could anchor his existence and fuse his soul in the duplicate body, it couldn’t override the eye now engraved in his soul. So here he was, with his soul floating through the various realms of existence.

On that trip, Kilian crossed the Dream Plane, witnessing its Lotus Children in their endless torpor, the Nightmare Plane with its rampaging druden, the Sura Plane with its riveting, fluttering suras and so much more. But the glowing crimson eye didn’t stop, leading him across all those planes to land in that one realm all mortals dreaded.

In that new plane, the sky was a gleaming red; the air carried the scent of vervain, and magnificent crystal edifices and constructs stretched as far as the eyes could see. Kilian observed it all from above, thinking that if this was the afterlife, death couldn’t be that gruesome. Summoned by an otherworldly force, Kilian’s ethereal body turned into a crimson ray of light, shafting through the air to land in what looked like a royal court.

And what court it was. Never in his two lives had Kilian seen or heard of anything of the sort. Bare daemonic creatures of infernal beauty writhed in a dance of enrapturing appeal. Some had many pairs of horns, others striking wings, a multiple of eyes, tails, and so much more. Their skins’ hues varied, their shapes never the same, yet all gripped Kilian’s soul with their very presence—as if desire incarnate surrounded him from all sides.

Ahead, red crystal stairs led the way to a towering throne on which a female creature of empyrean splendor stood. As naked as the rest, her assets stood in full view. But if the cantaloupe-sized breasts, dark-purple skin, wide hips, and willow waist should have gripped attention, the creature’s eyes made all the rest irrelevant, preventing even the most depraved of lechers from drooling in her presence.

The woman beckoned, lifting Kilian with the same irresistible force that pulled him into this court. It didn’t take a genius to realize that he owed his presence in this place to this spellbinding creature. Driven by the telekinetic force, Kilian crossed the dancing court, bypassed the crystal stairs, and landed right before the fehl daemoness. For if not a fehl daemoness, what else could she be?

Her gaze ignored him, focusing on the third, crimson eye on his forehead, and her full lips curved into an enchanting smile.

“Interesting, very interesting. In the mortal plane’s history, I believe it is the first time a fehl-tainted human develops the Eye of Fehl. Boy, congratulations,” the fehl daemoness stated in the most mellifluous tone Kilian had ever come across.

With her smile unchanged, she stood up, letting her back-length, ink-like hair drape over her breasts and perky rear. But now that she left her throne, Kilian could witness the full measure of the woman’s height. Almost 2.1 meters tall, as he kneeled before her thighs, she dwarfed him entirely.

“To answer your first question, your impending death triggered the Eye’s activation, and in a bid of self-preservation, it created a spatial distortion to take your soul into the Fehl Plane. Because you landed in my domain, I immediately sensed your presence and took you here,” the daemoness began as she stretched her clawed hand toward Kilian’s chin. Surprisingly, even in his ethereal form, she could effortlessly lift his chin.

“As for the second question—what do I want from you—it’s actually quite simple. The Eye is the greatest treasure of the fehl race, the closest mutation to the Origin. Your death allowed you to unlock the Dimensional Rift ability, a part of the Eye’s first form.

In the future, it will give you so much more. I want you to unlock its full potential, then give your soul to me. Are you willing?” The fehl daemoness directly asked. Throughout all planes of existence, fehls and non-fehls alike, those willing to surrender their soul to her numbered in the billions.

Alas, Kilian wasn’t one to make a petty bargain for luscious breasts and a pretty face.

“Trading my soul isn’t out of the question. You just need to give me enough reasons,” Kilian candidly replied. A dead prisoner had no use for his soul. In a flash, he’d made a full assessment of his current predicament—a powerless soul within the yoke of an unfathomable existence. If she didn’t want him to leave, he couldn’t. And even if she did let him go, no road back awaited him.

His Dimensional Rift ability currently stood in an unstable state. With just a soul supporting the Eye, he couldn’t go anywhere. At best, he would become the meal of some gluttonous fehl creature. At worst, an eternity of slavery awaited him. This was reality.

But he couldn’t just vanish. He couldn’t aimlessly drift. The beast of vengeance still grumbled within his bowels, eager to feast on Klaus von Karsten’s skull. But beyond that, he now had a goal, a reason to thrive and grow: to take the reins and rebel against order!

Even without using her mind-reading powers, the fehl daemoness could see all that played in Kilian’s mind.

“What, you think you’re in any position to bargain with me?” She asked as the glint of interest flashed in her purple hues. Her face leaned down, approaching Kilian’s. But while others would have fallen into internal chaos because of her scent alone, he stood still, undisturbed.

“Reality is quite the damning bitch. Fehls may be beings of tremendous powers, but there is one thing you cannot do: strip—pun intended,” Kilian began while his cold-blue eyes still faced the daemoness’ purple hues.

“If you want something from me, something immaterial such as my soul, you must trade it in a contract. Torture will not work, compulsion magic harms the soul at a fundamental level. The greater the target’s rejection, the greater the damage, making it pointless in this particular case. To avoid ruining the Eye, you must bargain.

Since we’re both adults, let’s not beat around the bush. Make a fair offer, and by the time I’m done with the mortal plane, my soul is yours,” Kilian stated. This was nothing more than the age-old covenant. What would happen in the future was of little consequence if he couldn’t open a road into it.

This daemoness was the door, his only ticket back into the mortal plane. Her smile grew brighter still.

“Gutsy, just how I like them. Very well, I can give you four gifts.” As her words trailed, the fehl daemoness tapped Kilian’s temple, making a palm-sized bronze hammer emerge from it. The same hammer that first took his soul into reincarnation. “First, I will activate this. Having chanced upon a relic of Arkhan, we can agree that your luck is quite rotten. This little thing can help you accomplish wonders, but beware. Don’t let it ruin you before I get my due,” she pursued, clenching her fist around the hammer.

Red light surged from her fist, and when she opened it again, the bronze hammer had turned platinum.

“Second, an Innate Ability unique to fehls and another race: Fleshcrafting. Don’t underestimate it. Although some magi seem able to display a few minor tricks of this discipline, they can’t harness its true power. Through it, you can redefine life and death.

Third, a top-notch body, at least on human standards. Though gifted, your previous one would have allowed you to become a top-level Archon at best. Going beyond was unlikely. Now, the sky will be the limit. I will also add a unique gift for you to enjoy.

Fourth, my daughter. She will advise and assist you, but though outstanding, she’s rather willful, so I can’t promise she’ll solve all your problems. How much you can get from her depends on you. My name is Ashera; if you agree to those terms, we can seal the pact.”

Unclenching her fist, Ashera released the platinum hammer, making it float before Kilian. But he didn’t doubt that if she could activate it, she could also deactivate it. In silence, he stood up and gave an approving nod. Having devoured all the knowledge of house von Karsten, Kilian knew a lot more than the average high-ranking noble.

First, there was a limit to the boons his soul could endure. Contracts with fehls often ended with the contractor’s madness or destruction—not because of foul play—but due to them biting off more than they could chew.

Second, Fleshcrafting might be a joke discipline among human magi, but in those two other races’ hands, it became a sublimely dreadful tool. If he could harness its powers, the road to revenge would undoubtedly become smoother. The rest also carried remarkable appeal. As for the daughter, he still had to determine her worth; however, having a fehl daemoness as an assistant could only make the nights sweeter.

“I have no blood to seal the pact, though,” Kilian half-jested, making Ashera shake her head in disapproval. “Those are barbaric practices, what need do I have for your blood?” Ashera countered, and without warning, seized Kilian’s cheeks to pull him into an ardent kiss.

As her lips met his and her tongue snuck into his ethereal mouth, their minds melded, and the pact’s terms unfolded within Kilian’s mind. Though first startled, he soon recomposed himself, meeting back Ashera’s kiss and thereby agreeing to the terms. Thus, in that languorous embrace, they sealed the contract.

Their lips parted, the platinum hammer flew back into Kilian’s soul, and he vanished in swirling red winds.

“Kilian, I expect great things from you,” Ashera whispered, before sitting back on her throne. Her eyes fell back onto the hedonistic party that—throughout the exchange—had never stopped.