In the garden, Amazel and Druvak sat cross-legged on the cold stone, the dark-blue energy orb hovering between them. Hecate raised her hands, forming a shimmering dome of arcane symbols around them. The orb pulsed once, twice, and then began to unravel into countless threads of light.
The threads drifted down like ghostly silk, sinking into Druvak's and Amazel's skin. The moment the last filament entered, their bodies ignited in a blinding blue-white glow. Even Hecate flinched, shielding her eyes with one hand.
A heartbeat later, the screaming began.
Druvak's voice was a harsh, metallic rasp, while Amazel's was higher, almost animalistic.
The light around them churned like a storm as their bones snapped apart, melted into a viscous fluid, and fused with the foreign energy.
It was like watching them die and be reborn at once. Their skeletons were reconstructed stronger, denser, and better than before.
Muscles shredded and rewoven, skin burned away and regenerated. The air grew thick with the stench of scorched flesh and the sharp tang of magic.
When the light finally dimmed, two new beings stood where Druvak and Amazel had been.
Druvak, once a plain white skeleton, now gleamed with a black metallic sheen. His frame was broader, towering nearly eight feet tall. From his skull and chest roared dark-blue flames, and in the centre of his sternum, a perfectly cut sapphire-like gem pulsed with inner fire.
Amazel's transformation was subtler but no less striking. Her bat-like wings stretched wider, the membranes a deeper, sapphire shade. A barbed, harpoon-like spike had formed at the end of her tail. Her figure had grown leaner, more defined and glamorous.
But the shift had shredded her clothing completely. With a flick of her wrist, Hecate conjured a large towel and covered her.
"You'll need this," she said simply.
They were completely exhausted by the pain of their transformation, so they rested in the temple that night, letting their bodies adapt.
By the next morning, they stood in the training ground where Hecate had once sparred with Hades.
"I feel like I've gained new abilities," Druvak rumbled while flexing his clawed fingers.
"Show us," Hecate replied.
He drew his rusted sword. The gem in his chest flared, and a dark-blue flame coiled down his arm. The fire leapt to the blade, devouring the rust and reshaping it into a weapon of black metal veined with azure light. The air around it shimmered with heat.
But as soon as he let go, the flames faded, leaving behind the sword corroded once more.
"My weapon transforms when I wield it, but it's not just its appearance that changes—its power increases dramatically. And I can also sense the sins and virtues of others now."
Hecate nodded and turned to Amazel.
Her head was down, and she seemed remorseful.
She hesitated. "Compared to Druvak, I've only gained strength and endurance. No new abilities or anything."
Hecate stepped closer and patted her head. "It doesn't matter if you don't gain new abilities. You're still you and my little sister."
Amazel's lips twitched upward. "Still… why didn't I get anything new?"
"Perhaps because you've already evolved once and your race is closer to its limit."
She nodded, and then they both did some simple body exercises. By the end of half an hour, they had adapted to their new forms.
"Now, you are both adapted and ready to work. So let's get started."
With that, they departed from the temple and walked to the refugee settlement with two large carts.
It was a bleak place—huts of wood and stone barely holding together, demons so thin their bones were visible beneath their skin. Many were missing limbs or bore old wounds that had never healed. Most wore tattered scraps for clothing, and some had nothing at all.
As Hecate, Amazel, and Druvak entered, whispers rippled through the crowd. Hopeful eyes followed them, perhaps in the hope that these three could change their fate.
Hecate led them into an open clearing. With a wave of her hand, the ground rumbled, rising into a makeshift stage.
Hecate, Amazel, and Druvak stood on the stage. Then Hecate strengthened her voice with magic.
"I am Hecate, Queen of the Underworld. Today, I come to your place to give you free food and clothing."
Cheers erupted, desperate voices crying out in relief.
"Silence!"
Her aura pressed down on them like an invisible storm, and the crowd quieted instantly.
"From tomorrow onward, each of you will be assigned tasks. Complete them, and you will earn points. Points can be exchanged for food, clothing, and medicine. When the war ends, all who fight for our cause will receive an energy orb, one that will evolve you and grant power beyond your imagination. And if you are displeased with our terms, then you are free to leave."
Murmurs rose, demons glancing at each other in disbelief and discussing the policy they had just heard.
Hecate gestured to both lightly.
Amazel and Druvak moved through the crowd, handing out the first bundles of food and clothing. Hollow eyes softened. Some even wept.
---
Far to the north, a vast palace loomed. In its grand hall sat five figures.
Dracula lounged in his chair, pale face deformed, red eyes glinting beneath his hooded cloak.
Armaror, all bulging muscle and red-scaled skin, towered beside him, horns curling like a ram's. His long tail coiled restlessly against the floor.
Sicsil, a massive slime in the vague shape of a woman, shifted lazily, her translucent blue form rippling as she swallowed a chunk of meat.
And finally, Seb and Ath—the twin brothers who were, in a way, one being. Seb's upper body was human, his lower half serpentine. Ath was the opposite, with a snake's upper half and human legs.
Dracula's voice cut through the hall. "Today, the witch visited the refugees with the traitor dukes. She gave them food and clothing, promised them evolution if they joined her, and created some ridiculous task and points system for resources."
Ath tilted his head. "They're trying to gain an army. As—"
"Enough talk!" Armaror snarled, slamming a fist against the arm of his chair. "We should march now and crush them before they grow stronger!"
Ath's eyes narrowed, but Armaror ignored the look. To him, strength was all that mattered, and Ath, the weakest of the four dukes, held no value in his eyes.
Sicsil's voice slithered into the space between them. "Armaror… sit down. Listen to Ath. He thinks before he acts. Unlike you, who solves everything with a blade."
Armaror grumbled but obeyed her. Sicsil was the strongest of them all, and crossing her was suicide.
Ath continued. "We can't attack blindly. We lack information about their true strength."
Seb added, "The new king has already slain Noctandrath and Gharomund. The witch killed Rantor. And there's a disturbing rumour spreading among the people that… the king killed Miramor."
As Miramor's name came up, everyone paused for a second, and the room stilled.
Dracula broke the silence. "Likely false. Just propaganda to hype the king's background. This 'king' has never even shown his face."
"False or not," Ath said, "we can't underestimate him. And with Hecate at his side… she is as dangerous as Campe and Miramor. She is one of the few beings in this realm we dare not provoke."
Heads nodded.
"So what's our move?" Seb asked.
Ath leaned back. "We prepare our armies. And spread a false rumour among the demons that we provide free food every day without any conditions or policies."
Armaror smirked. "Then we give them one meal, and when they come back—"
"We chain them," Dracula finished coldly. "And put them where they belong. In the mines."
Ath stood. "Then this meeting is over."
One by one, they left the hall and returned to their respective places.