The climb up to the cave entrance was surprisingly treacherous. Not that Zoe felt like she was in danger—or at least not from the possibility of falling. Really, it was treacherous in a sort of damn, why even bother to build some shitty scaffolding? way. It felt like they made just as much use of natural hand-holds and ledges in the rock walls.


    The cultist was named Basil, apparently. Zoe didn’t ask. He also wasn’t a very good conversation partner, since he barely said anything. It didn’t help that Zoe felt like she probably shouldn’t speak until spoken to. Like seriously, what’s the etiquette about enslavement through magical compulsions? It was an interesting thought, but it was also annoying, because Zoe had a lot of questions for the guy.


    For instance, what was the deal with the storage ring? Did it have anything inside already? Zoe couldn’t actually check. According to her Demon companion, she needed to ‘equip it’—put it on—to actually use it. Which should have been easy, except the horrible no-good ugly claws made doing that frustratingly difficult. At least they were still dexterous enough for her to keep it safely clenched inside her fist.


    And that was another thing—the Demon. Zoe was pretty damn sure that’s what it was, and it was also obvious that no one else could see it. But she was a Demon too, right? Her status had listed her as one.


    [ZOE BLACKWELL]


    Level 4 | Rank F


    Demagogue, Bloody Devotee


    Higher Demon of Disdain (Lesser)


    Definitely a Demon. As if the literal horns and shit weren’t obvious enough. It was a little weird to be called both ‘higher’ and ‘lesser’ on the same line, but there was probably a whole logic to it that Zoe didn’t yet understand.


    Whatever. Zoe could probably just ask the other Demon—although, relying on it for all of my information might not be a good idea. In any case, there were still way too many questions. Like the fact that its ‘body’ seemed to be confined to Zoe’s own imagination—except for when it somehow pushed her to the ground earlier. There’s definitely something more complicated going on there.


    But Zoe didn’t know what it was, and she had higher priorities. Like surviving long enough to get away from this Basil guy. Zoe couldn’t say she was too keen on finding out where it was they were going—or meeting whoever it was he wanted her to meet.


    And then they reached the surface. All in all, it had been an almost entirely silent journey. While the cultist would stop at points—often observing Zoe’s progress as they navigated some of the trickier sections—he didn’t even show any signs of reaction, let alone make any comments. It was a bit unnerving.


    But we’re outside now! Zoe looked around. They were in the middle of a forest, which was one-hundred percent in line with the sort of thing she was expecting. In fact, the confirmation of her ‘intuition’ was rather comforting. What wasn’t comforting was the harsh chill nipping at every inch of her bare flesh, and Zoe grit her teeth against the bitter breeze washing over and through her. The forest was completely blanketed in deep snow. Not fun!


    Zoe wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her chest. She hadn’t done that earlier, because modesty was fairly low on the list of concerns. That hadn’t actually changed much, but the climate had. Zoe dearly wished that her crappy hospital gown had survived with her for both of those reasons.


    “Damn.” Zoe jumped a little bit. She hadn’t been paying attention to the cultist, and now he was speaking to her. Or… not. He wasn’t paying attention to her either—rather, he was gazing at a little crystal vial held up in his hand. “I somehow doubt that my master is going to be terribly thrilled that I had to use this.” He finally looked at Zoe. “Let alone that some random Native girl went and stole the core.”


    Zoe caught herself frowning too late to stop it. Native? What? That made absolutely no sense. The only coherent interpretation she could make of that was still just really confusing. Zoe was White as hell in the American style—practically the incarnation of the striking beach-blonde archetype. Not that she was too keen on beaches. She didn’t like sand. She also had the complexion of the inside of a raw potato—a result of only going outside on dark and stormy days.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Then again, this was not Earth. Who knew what the history of colonization and imperialism looked like here? Zoe certainly didn’t. She also wasn’t really interested in it. What was interesting was the little crystal vial that the cultist had. Zoe didn’t think it was regular glass because of the way it looked. It also had something twisting around inside of it. Deep navy with—was she imagining points of light?


    The cultist shook his head as he clutched it tighter. “I suppose you have left us little choice. You should pray that my master—your master now as well—is as reasonable as I am. He is, but that’s not the point.” The cultist—Basil—muttered that last part. Was I supposed to hear?


    Raising his fist, Basil prepared to—what, smash the vial against the ground?—but he stopped, eying Zoe again. “Wait, do you have a name?”


    Zoe’s Demon-self snorted from behind her. Zoe really needed to come up with a better name to differentiate them. “What a stupid way to phrase that question.”


    Zoe didn’t pay any attention to the Demonic snark going on behind her, because she was preoccupied with coming up with a name. She could just say ‘Zoe,’ but she didn’t want to. Best to give him a random fake one. The problem was that she couldn’t really consider it carefully, because that would be suspicious. “Yes, my name is Grace.”


    The fuck? Zoe didn’t even like that name. As in, she actively disliked it. Could she stomach the experience of cultists going around calling her Grace? It was a deeply uncomfortable thought. Maybe she could ask them to change it?


    “What a revoltingly pious name.” The cultist eyed her demonically mutated form with just a hint of a smirk. “But I think I enjoy the irony. Well, Grace, be thankful you seem surprisingly competent. The only thing stopping me from utterly breaking you—for stealing my rightful reward—is that I might at least walk away with a useful lieutenant.”


    Yes, we’ve been over that, Zoe grumbled within her own head. Could this Basil guy just go ahead and get whatever he was doing with the vial thing over with? Actually wait—Zoe should probably figure out what it was so she could prepare for it. She had a handy tool for that.


    Identify!


    [BOTTLED RIFT]


    Rank C


    An astral rift sealed within a glass vial. Once released, the rift forms a short-lived connection between two far-away places.


    Zoe read through it quickly but carefully. Wait, so it is glass, actually. More importantly, it was now much clearer what was going on here. This Basil guy was about to release the rift to presumably teleport them off to wherever his ‘master’ was.


    The paladin had also flown off into the sunset—well, not that it’s actually evening yet. Did that mean they were in a super remote area? Zoe wouldn’t be surprised.


    “Once I smash this vial, it’s going to create a rift to our destination.” The cultist was speaking to her—how helpful. “The rift will begin decaying immediately and fail completely within just several seconds. Prepare to follow me through immediately.”


    Oh… Zoe retracted her internal sarcasm, because that was actually very helpful. She had been worried that the rift would instantly envelope both of them or something. If they had to step into it and it only lasted a few seconds—could she just not follow him? It was also obviously a one-use thing, and he acted like it was super rare or expensive. That’s honestly so convenient. It was like the perfect way for her to just fuck off into the woods. Better than if they were going to walk!


    Zoe chewed her lip. Surely it can’t be that easy.


    Stepping up beside her, Basil met her eye, nodded once, and threw the bottle upon the ground. It shattered over the frost-covered stones, releasing a rising vortex of deep blue, almost black vapor. The swirling mass was strangely opaque in spite of its hazy, ephemeral appearance. In a way, it looked less like the night sky and more like the edge of the horizon when viewed from a high-altitude flight.


    The cultist didn’t wait to admire it. He stepped through, blending into the darkening beyond. Zoe peered after him. The rift was weird looking. It was also clear that the cultist hadn’t been lying. Already, the rift was fading, fraying at the edges as it unraveled apart. Counter to Zoe’s expectations, it was actually getting larger. She expected it to shrink back down and implode. I guess it’s evaporating or something.


    Zoe looked beyond it, into the snowy trees. She had to make her decision now. Keep pretending to be an enslaved Demon—or brave the winter wilderness with zero survival skills.


    Her indecision looked like it was going to make her decision for her—the rift was almost gone. But is that really the case? Zoe knew which choice she wanted to make. It didn’t matter if the magical deadline made it for her. As the rift closed and the last traces of wispy blue faded into the chill air, Zoe realized she was grinning.


    “Holy shit, it was really that easy.”