I may not be a fan of the Royal Guards, but no one deserves such a horrible fate.

You infused your hunting knife with your willpower—its blade lit up with a ghostly glow—and you pivoted out of your hiding spot, slashing the air:

“Stupefacio!”

Your stunning spell cut through the air, grazing the cloak of the prone soldier, and hitting the two imps on her in their blackened skull. They tumbled in the dirt.

The third imp turned to you in surprise, still hovering, still jerking his cock furiously.

“Mage!” he shrilled. “Die, mage! Diiie!”

As he shuddered in murderous euphoria, you flung your hand forward:

“Ventus plaga!”

At your summon, wind rushed past you, whirling the acid spraying out of the imp's pulsating cock back at him.

“Aaaaarghh! Aaarghh!… Aaaaargghhh…”

The little creature's black skin melted, and his screams died in a strangle when his body burst into flames. His two compatriots had gotten to their feet, eyes glazed over, bodies relaxed into torpor. They watched their friend crumple to the ground in a burning heap.

The battered soldier lay unmoving, face in the dirt, breathing hard. You turned her over. Under heavy lids, pale blue eyes found yours. Her bruised mouth, covered with slobber and what you could only assume was precum, twitched, but no sound came out. You wiped her chin with the edge of your cloak. Then, you slid your arms under her shoulders and dragged her to a tree, propping her up against it in a seating position. Her eyes met yours.

“Don’t worry,” you said, “the effect of their stinger will wear off soon.”

Her mouth was slack, her breathing laboured. You turned to the two remaining fiends. Your knife, still glowing, reflected in their glossy, bewildered eyes. Saliva dripped down their open mouths.

“A-are you Him?” one of them slurred.

“How did you get here?” you demanded.

The closest dimensional Doorway was miles away and heavily guarded. There was very little chance three imps could have wandered through on their own.

“We were sent… to find Him… The lost Un-Underlord… **** son of the Archlord of Kalaphrak… and the Lady of Lilith… The boy th-they call… Magnus Wand—Aagh!”

The imp burst into flames as you plunged your blade into his heart. While his screams rose, you tried to calm yourself. Even though the soldier you saved couldn’t move or speak yet, she could hear alright: had she been able to make up your name? You stared at the burning imp to avoid looking at her. Hearing one of them use titles you’d never heard and claim to be searching for you had ignited an old fear in your heart.

Suddenly, a pressure fidgeted on the weaves of memory in your mind’s eye, like a rat scratching for an opening. You turned to the last standing imp. He stared at you, an immobile smile on his demonic face.

“Who sent you?” you asked, clutching your bloody knife.

The excited, hungry, foul presence scoured just outside your thoughts. It must be smelling your fear.

“M-master? Is it you?”

The fiend’s words chipped at your confidence.

Master? you thought. Could I be?

The imp’s smile widened in your mind, goading you into befriending him, into letting your guard down.

Come with us! Come with me! Come home! the imp implored.

You’d never had a home. Not really.

Where is home? you asked through the open channel in your minds.

The Mirrored Tower of Fyrmstead, of course. Underneath the Everflow. Come with me, my Lord! Your servitors await you. So much pleasure… for you, my Lord, you’ll see...