Day 1

The circle inscribed on the floor with complex figures and runic incantation glowed with a brilliant purple light as the man approached it, stopping just short of its perimeter, intruding the encircled air with his outstretched hand.
Though brightly shining, the circle could illuminate only the slender, toned physique of the shirtless man closest to it. So immense was the darkness, the shadows reigning in the chamber refused to retreat even in the face of such brilliance.
The mind of the man wandered inwards. He dedicated his focus to the words his teacher offered him every day for the past week. He had tried this before, and he would try again until he succeeded.

A warm sensation emerged in his groin and chest, travelling along his bronze skin towards his extended hand, leaving a tickling feeling in its wake. This was the magical energy coursing through his body. He knew that it had been with him his entire life, yet only now obeyed his commands.

His brow furrowed under the volumnious black hair, ruggedly tossed behind his neck, as his gaze narrowing to his outstretched fingers. Low cheekbones connected to a narrow jawline by a pointed chin. Though the features of a strong man, they did little to diminish the cuteness of his kind yet bold expression. Rather, they emphasized his reliability.

His eyes closed. He could feel the mana radiating from his outstretched hand join together with the magical energy suffusing the air in a firework display in invisible to the naked eye.
He conjured in his mind the image of his innermost being. This image he compelled the forces pervading the very fabric of cosmos to craft out of empty ether.
For this purpose, they would heed his whims.

His fingers mimicked the gestures he so relentlessly rehearsed. He attempted this performance over and over, until finally the practice flawlessly resembled his memories.

"Wodum i'll..." The words flowed from his mouth, void of comprehension beyond the purpose he imbued them with himself. His attention was split between recalling the incantation and channeling his focus into the image conjured in his mind.
Magic is the extension of ones will. When properly exercised, it bridges the chasm between intention and reality. But one has to mean it. The idea has to occupying the central portion of the caster's consciousness. The more clearly the image appears, and the more details pervade the image, the more vividly the spell will materialize. And the more control the caster can exert over the magic.
The level of accurate details required for the mental image in order to cast the simplest spell is normally beyond the capabilities of any human.
That was how the incantion came to be. The arcane words spoken by the caster, along with the gestures, work as a substitute for visualized data the spell is intended to materialize. Instead of exerting ones focus to any of the numerous variables of the intended effect, the magical energy within the caster reacts to the incantations just as it would the accurate information the spell normally relies on. Thus that requirement can be bypassed to some extent, yet if willpower is lacking to begin with then magic is beyond the caster.

The man knew the spoken words so far were accurate, yet he could not afford to congratulate himself, lest his focus becomes interrupted.
His eyes opened at the critical moment, to an expression of pure determination. He spoke the final part of the spell: "...K'ha dururn!"

On the final syllable, a pulse of mana surged through his hand. His clenched fist opened, and three bubbles manifsted above his palm.
One of which immediately popped.

Gentle but encouraging clapping could be heard from the darkness, which grew to envelop the man himself when the circle dimmed upon the conclusion of the spell.
"Well done, Thomas!"
A resounding snap was heard, and all candles in the room lit up at the same time. Before him stood a curvy woman with a pair of small horns protruding from the white hair she had tied to a long braid behind her back, her dark-purple nun-habit fashioned into an elegant Chinese dress, "Your progress is astonishing."
Thomas gently grabbed her shoulder and looked at her with giddy eyes,"Did you see it, Ofelia? This time I got three of them in one go! Now, how come I never learned magic long ago?"

"Most impressive, Thomas?" A golden haired man in a wheelchair rolls in, a smile growing on his young, handsome face, "Although I can not fancy what you'd do with a spell that shoots bubbles... Other than maybe tickling the fancy of little children."
"Magic is not so easy as what is useful and what is not, Sweetums." Ofelia said as she leaned in towards the blonde man and pecked his lips with hers, "It reflects what's inside more than anything. That goes double for the most basic spells, like Mana Shot."
"So what's inside Thomas is... Bubbles?" The man in the wheelchair chuckled as the nun grabbed hold of the handles of his wheelchair, "Yeah, that totally makes sense when you think about."
"Now, forgive an old sailor for going on a tirade, Simon," Thomas raised his index finger, "But just because you can't see the use of a spell doesn't mean it's not there! Why, remember how I used the **** collar in order to draw out hidden strength?"
In his youth, Thomas had acquired a dog collar meant to be worn by a dominatrix's sub that magically commands immediate obedience to the one holding the leash. Thomas had figured out that if he held the leash and wore the collar, he was both the '****' and the 'master.' Like that, he had more control over himself than he otherwise would have, and that included summoning strength normally only witnessed when a mother sees her child in danger, rendering her capable of lifting large boulders and wrestle wild animals.

"And you won't be doing that again any time soon," Ofelia declared, scooting towards Simon into the circle to face Thomas, "Don't take me wrong, Thomas, we're most grateful what you did for us. I... still can't believe the lengths you would go for strangers you hardly even know. But you pushed your own body far beyond its limits. If you have to twist yourself into such a sorry state every time you run into a fight, sooner or later there won't even be enough left of you to save."
Thomas scoffed, pulling his burgundy arming jacket from a hook in the wall and draping it over his shoulder, "Hmmph... Not like I'm planning to pick many fights any time soon."
"Actually, Thomas, yes. You are." Simon said, "You do, after all, have something to fight for now. Sooner or later, the fights will find you. When that happens you will have to be ready."
"Maybe so, Simon... But is it better to fight with your fists, or your mind?" Thomas fumbled with the strings as he stitched his aming garment close.
"Whichever option will end with you leaving unscathed," Ofelia laughed, "But I agree with you, Thomas. Because one man rises, that does not mean another must fall. Some people rise by raising others." Ofelia turned towards the exist, "Now come on. You have trained for a long time now, and must be farnished. Let's get something to eat."

On the way out of the Mage Tower, Thomas wrapped his crimson gambeson over him, pulling the mail standard over his head and letting it rest on his shoulders on the sleeveless garments.
As is standard for Bright-Green Demon Realms, in Famnaria the vegetation reigns supreme over the land, rendering any attampt to conquer the landscape and cleart the forest to make room for settlements a fool's errand. Unlike terrains beyond the Demon Realm, however, the greenery can if so compelled cooperate with its inhabitants, incorporating the overgrown thicket into the architecture or rendering the flora itself into a livingspace. As such the vernacular architecture extended into the trunks of the leviathan trees, hung from their branches or growing from their trunks like fungi. The city of Famnaria then was a perplexing display of ancient masonry joining with the densely grown vegetation surrounding it, wrapping itself around so as to enable the erection of monumental palaces, and buildings extending from the primordial trees themselves. Magic had shaped the woodlands not just to accomodate and provide the construction of the city, but infrastructure as well. The gnarled branches of the towering trees warped and joined with one another into walkways between the structures.

"Speaking of 'rising'..." Thomas said, looking down towards Simon, "Not for nothing, Simon, but shouldn't you be recovered from our adventure in the ruins by now? Now, forgive an old sailor his boasting, but I was in a pretty dire state myself back then. Almost died and everything."
Simon sighed, "Good for you, Thomas. But you were never a monster slayer. You never drew your strength directly from the Chief God's magical energy. The moment I stepped off the path, she revoked that power. What you see before you is the result."
"And you did all that for me~! Isn't that right, Sweetums." Ofelia said in her darling voice as she pushed the wheelchair across the branches which formed the streets, "But you do not need the Chief God's mana to be strong. You never did. It only ever supported you in your endeavours. You are still strong, even without it."
Simon keeps looking at his hand, opening and closing it, "I don't feel very strong."
Ofelia kisses him on the cheek, "There can be many types of strength. Enduring the trials that life offers you is one way. But when I said that you do not need her mana to be strong, I mean that liteally. Her energy never left you. It resides within you even right now, working against you rather than for you. She made you think that you needed her to be strong, but just look now; she is working to render you weak. Not that I mind taking care of my little hero like the mommy that I am~"
"...As nice as that would be..." Simon sighed, "There is nothing I would like more than to once again take up my sword and defend the weak. Just like I wished to do when I first became a slayer. I can't stand being confined like this. When is the Fallen Temple going to do something about it?"
"Patience, Sweetums." The white-haired succubus nun leaned in behind Simon and kissed his neck, "They will find you a test to prove your worth soon enough. Until then I'll be here for you. And so will Thomas. Right, Thomas?"

"Hm? Oh, right of course!"
A week had passed since Thomas arrived in the Demon Realm of Famnaria. For the first time in his life he suddenly found himself surrounded by alluringly beautiful women with monstrous features and predatory personalities, and yet all that surprized him was how little that bothered him. He spent his entire life as a humble sailor of the Order of the Chief God, the vessels on which he worked never straying far from the Order coasts and interacting only with humans who hated monsters, fearing them more than **** itself.
But then he faced certain ****, and defied it with all the conviction in his being. He stood his ground against a monster slayer, fighting her in mortal combat and bested her against all odds. But the price was costly, and he found himself at the precipice of ****.

When it turned out that he against all odds persevered, the monstruous creatures all of a sudden surrounding him didn't seem to move him the slightest. If anything he found himself allured by them, if a bit confused.
Perhaps the price
Some of the residents had snake tails instead of legs, and could move along and between the branches of the trees with ease.
Others had horns like a bull, wings like a bat or tails like a rat with a heartshaped arrow at the end. This was the case for Ofelia.
Others still flew across the air with ease, using the bird wings that replaced their arms to soar the landscape. Not to mention the various women who had animal paws, ears and tails, and who behaved just like the animals they resembled. But none of them matched the descriptions he had been fed of hideous, ferocious abominations who feasted on the flesh of men. In fact, regardless of the shape and size of the numerous monstrosities he ha encountered, the one thing they all had in common was that they possessed features of astonishingly beautiful young women.

Thomas opened the door to the cafe they were heading towards so the wheelchair could pass inside, and they could get themselves a well-earned snack.