Is… Is this real?

  Stirred from some sort of stupor, Varzath fights against his grogginess as he attempts to grasp his current situation.

  He…

  He remembers fighting Abdiel, standing in front of the angel’s spell, and then…

  Did he die?

  He must’ve…

  But although he remembers his st moments, the rest of his memories are often blurred, or distorted, as though…

  Are these even memories?

  But, fighting Abdiel felt so real…

  Is he… Surrounded by something?

  Something warm…?

  After a few more moments of confusion, Varzath notices the muffled cries of a woman, and he realizes they are what woke him up in the first pce. And while his thoughts continue to cycle through possible scenarios, arriving nowhere, the woman screams again, now much louder than before, as Varzath suddenly feels his body being compressed, then pushed, as his previously dark vision is then filled with light, blindingly so.

  Blinking several times in an attempt at forcing his eyes to adjust, Varzath finds himself grabbed, then stared at by some sort of giant creature…

  W-what?!

  The giant creature smiles. “He is a healthy boy, Miss.”

  Varzath grimaces; He’ll not be taken down so easily. He’ll…

  Eh?

  Are those his hands?

  But they’re…

  “I… Wish to hold him… Please… Just for a moment…”

  The giant nods, then hands him to another of his kind, a female.

  Varzath blinks as the giant woman also smiles at him, though her eyes carry dark bags underneath them, and her skin is sickly pale…

  Varzath rexes. Well, if he still couldn’t grasp his situation at this point, his intelligence would be put into question.

  “He… He is beautiful…”

  “He takes after you, Miss. Have you already decided his name?”

  Hi, mom.

  Heh… In his long life as a demon, Varzath never thought he’d have a use for the word.

  “A name…” the woman ughs, tiredly, shifting her eyes away from him for a moment as she murmurs, “In truth, I was sure he’d be a girl… I never got around deciding on a boy’s name…”

  Hey.

  Is that some sort of joke?

  He better not have been left with only dresses to wear…

  Damn it, his mouth doesn’t move properly. Then again, if he recalls correctly, human babies aren’t supposed to speak immediately, are they?

  “Well, the Miss doesn’t need to strain yourself fur-”

  “No, if I don’t decide on a name, the orphanage will… At the very least, I wish for him to have a name given by his own mother…”

  The man who first grabbed Varzath sighs. “Very well. I’ll give you a couple of minutes together.”

  Varzath could’ve ughed. Of course, he knows what an orphanage is.

  Well, he was allowed to dream for a whole five seconds, isn’t that nice?

  “Shh…” Perhaps having noticed his distraught expression, the woman smiles at him again as she shifts her gaze in his direction once more, although her eyes gleam with unfallen tears. “It’s okay… Everything will be okay…”

  Varzath grimaces.

  If you’re so sad about it, then take responsibility, woman.

  Although he’d be hard-pressed to admit as much out loud, her embrace feels rather warm and comfortable. He’d hate to never experience it again…

  What is he even thinking?!

  This must be his undeveloped brain speaking…

  “I wonder, how would you like to be called?” the woman whispers softly, still smiling in spite of the silent tears now running down her cheeks, “I’ve always hated parents who give their children terrible names…”

  Honestly, even if many of his memories seem blurred and fuzzy, Varzath couldn’t imagine thinking of himself as anything other than Varzath.

  It was his name for the past two thousand years, after all. And besides, demon names aren’t a mere random agglomerate of letters. A demon is born already knowing their name, and no two demons possess the same… As such, knowing a demon’s name means holding power over them, to some extent. It allows for summoning rituals to be performed, and certain spells to be cast from much greater distances…

  Many demons use fake names, though Varzath could never bother to do the same.

  Arrogance, perhaps. Or foolish pride. But then again, those to use a demon’s name for nefarious reasons cannot do so without attracting their attention, and exposing themselves to retaliation in return.

  He often welcomed the challenge, as a way to fend off boredom.

  “Oh, are you saying you hate them too? I get it, I get it… The other children might bully you if you have a terrible name, and we can’t have that, now, can we?”

  Varzath snorts, producing something akin to a sneeze from his small body.

  Human children? Bully him? They can certainly try…

  Suddenly, the woman sobs, her smile cracking, and then disappearing, as though it never existed to begin with.

  “I’m sorry…! I…!”

  H-hey, there’s no reason to go that far…

  He might not look like it right now, but he’s a big boy…

  R-right, maybe a smile will lighten things up…?

  Varzath forces his frustratingly irresponsive face to form something he hopes at least resembles a smile somewhat.

  The woman, who Varzath now realizes is rather young-looking, blinks.

  “Are you… Are you smiling… At me…?”

  Who else?

  Now swallow your cry, young dy. He’s the one who is supposed to be feeling under the waters over here.

  She ughs, tired and breathlessly. “…Aren’t you a cute thing… Your father used to smile at me like this… He called it his ‘apology smile’, if you can believe it…”

  “Miss? I’m sorry, but the time… I’m afraid if we don’t hurry, the orphanage will close its doors for the day soon…”

  It seems the man from earlier has returned… And just as he was about to employ his irresistible charm.

  Mind your own damn business, bastard.

  “I… I understand. I’m sorry for the trouble…” the woman retorts, shifting her gaze away from Varzath once more.

  Damn it, irresponsive body!

  Varzath figures he might be able to manage a word or two, but he’s afraid doing so might freak her out, and he can’t risk his identity being exposed while he’s unable to defend himself, as his current body has no mana or physical abilities to speak of... What a pain in the ass. Why did he agree with this, again?

  “You’re no trouble, Miss. I was gd to be of help.”

  Well, in this case, he supposes he’ll have to go through the trouble of looking for her ter.

  …Wait, but why would he? This woman may be the biological mother of his body, but she’s just a stranger to him, otherwise.

  “I think I have… Decided on a name, anyway. Sincir.”

  Sincir?

  Not terrible. He could live with it…

  “It was his father’s name. It means prayer… Since he’ll grow up at the orphanage, I thought it’d fit.”

  Varzath grimaces; A religious orphanage, then. But of course.

  Well, give it a decade or two, and his enemies will certainly start praying at the mention of his new name.

  “Sincir, then? I’ll be sure to tell them, Miss. But… Are you sure you don’t want to also leave a name and location for future reference? Orphans often wonder-”

  “I know,” the woman interrupts softly, “But it is better if he never… I wish for him to walk with his head held high. To be able to look others in the eyes.”

  Tsk. Looked down on by a human.

  It is yet to be born the human king to have him bend the knee, let alone avert his gaze as a shy maiden, missy. Don’t underestimate the pride of a Demon Lord.

  “I understand. If those are your wishes, then I won’t pry beyond this point.”

  “Thank you…”

  The woman bends over and pces a soft kiss against his forehead, wetting his cheek with her tears in the process.

  “Sincir…” she whispers against his hair, sounding as though she is about to start crying again, “Most likely, this is the st time… We’ll ever see… But I’ll always, always remember… And l-love you… I’m s-sorry…!”

  As he is carried away, Varzath takes one st good look at the crying woman, making sure to commit her features to memory.

  Just in case.

  Not a second after he disappears from her view, the woman’s sobs increase in volume and intensity, following their way through some sort of corridor.

  “Hey there, buddy,” the man from before murmurs, taking a quick gnce in his direction as he continues to move away from the noise. Now that Varzath is paying more attention, he realizes this human is old, carrying gray hair and a beard, though they’re both well-groomed. “You don’t need to look so worried… She has a good head on her shoulders. She’ll do just fine on her own… And who knows? If fate has it, you might even meet again someday.”

  Only a fool, or a weakling, would leave matters to fate.

  “But, you sure are a quiet kid, huh? Well, I’m gd I don’t have to carry you bailing our eyes out the entire way, at least.”

  The man opens a door, and Varazath frowns as the te afternoon sun shines against his face.

  Damn it, he forgot how bright Mortal Pnes tend to be.

  Since the man took no supplies, Varzath assumes the orphanage must be nearby, at least.

  And so, here starts his new life as Sincir… He’ll have to get used to it…

  Damn it, is this what humans call hunger? And he’s so sleepy all of a sudden…

  …

  Eight years.

  If somebody told Varzath in his previous life he’d one day think of such a span of time as an eternity, he’d have ughed in their face.

  “Sincir…”

  As the old priest standing before him releases a sigh, Varzath grimaces... Well, he supposes he is Sincir, now, at least for the time being.

  Still... Foolish human, does he even understand what manner of creature he stands before?

  “Child, I understand your frustration, but you cannot solve everything through violence… The Creator teaches us to be kind, and understanding. Have my sermons not taught you as much?”

  Sincir clenches his teeth.

  It is not his fault he is surrounded by fools, who understand nothing but the most primitive ways of communication.

  “Does the Creator’s teachings forbid us from exerting self-defense, Father?” Sincir retorts, as evenly as he manages, considering his boiling rage regarding the ridiculous of his current circumstances.

  Sincir takes a small amount of comfort in the fact that the orphanage’s tiny chapel is currently empty, its only occupants being him, the head-lowered boy beside him, Sister Leona, standing behind the two of them, and Father Anders…

  In virtue of his answer, Father Anders frowns, his gaze shifting from Sincir to the boy standing next to him.

  “…Isaac? Is there something you wish to confess, Son? If so, now would be the time.”

  Isaac seems to shrink under the priest’s gaze. “I… I’m sorry, Father… Sincir was pying by himself, and I thought I’d invite him to py with us…”

  Sincir smiles coldly. “I was minding my own business, when Isaac over here thought it would be a good idea to aim a stone my way. In my opinion, I can hardly be bmed for what happened next.”

  “He’s lying! I meant to throw it next to him!”

  “Then your aim is as terrible as your brain.”

  Father Anders sighs as he looks past their heads, toward Sister Leona.

  “I’m sorry, Father. It was my turn to watch them, but I became distracted while reading the Holy Book, and by the time I noticed the commotion, it was already over.”

  Sincir snorts, though he does so mentally. If what she was reading was the “Holy Book”, then he is a saint.

  “Watching the children is an important duty, Sister,” Father Anders says, frowning at her as he does so, “I understand we must strive to approach the Creator at every opportunity, but what if one of them had been seriously hurt?”

  “I… I understand, Father. I’ll make sure to reflect over my actions…”

  As Father Anders averts his eyes from the woman, Sincir feels her gaze against the back of his neck, all but burning it.

  Oh, but of course she bmes him for what happened!

  “Isaac, son, look at me,” Father Anders prompts, causing the boy to hesitantly raise his gaze after a moment, “Why did you throw a stone near Sincir?”

  “He actually hit me,” Varzath corrects, only to have his eyelid twitch as neither of the two looks at him.

  “I… I wanted to attract his attention, Father. When we call out to him, he doesn’t even look our way… I swear, I didn’t mean to actually hit him…”

  “I believe you, Son. Still, even if you meant the stone to miss, what you did was still dangerous. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Father,” the boy murmurs, voice trembling.

  Lords. By all the theatrics, one would think he tortured Isaac, when all he did was a light armlock… Hardly the type of thing to lose your mind over. All he wanted was an apology, and the problem would’ve been solved…

  “Good. Sister, please escort Isaac to our kitchen. He shall help with dinner tonight, and tomorrow, in order to atone for his mistake.”

  “And what of Sincir, Father? He deserves at least some of the bme for what happened…”

  Careful, Sister, the vitriol in your voice might not have been obvious enough.

  “I’ll handle Sincir’s punishment myself, and I think he’d much rather had I sent him to work at the kitchen by the time we’re done.”

  Sincir grimaces.

  “Very well, Father. Please, forgive me for speaking out of pce. Come, Isaac, darling.”

  Sincir gnces over his shoulder as he watches them go, committing to memory Sister Leona’s small smile of satisfaction.

  Bitch.

  After a moment, Father Anders clears his throat, attracting Sincir’s attention once more. “Sincir.”

  “Father,” he retorts evenly.

  For a long moment, Father Anders stares at him, hands crossed at his back and gaze thoughtful. Meanwhile, Sincir remains perfectly still, facing the old man’s gaze unflinchingly.

  …If he’s waiting for some sort of apology, then they’ll both be here for a while.

  “…I believe this makes for the third time this month, Son.”

  “Does it?”

  Father Anders sighs. “Sometimes, there’s something called being too smart for one’s own good. Do you know what that means?”

  “It means I’m surrounded by stupidity...?”

  A small smile cracks through Father Anders’ cool facade, though he is quick to hide it. “Maybe. But it also means you’re alone, and alone, even the greatest of us shall falter. Tell me, why did you hurt Isaac? And don’t bother lying; You might fool the others, but I know you could’ve avoided his stone throw, had you wanted.”

  In truth, Varzath isn’t trying to fool anybody. Not really.

  Oh, he could have. He’s a good enough actor to pretend to be a stupid brat for a decade or two... To pretend to be Sincir. Just, he didn’t realize how terrible it’d feel to have such pathetic creatures constantly looking down at him. Simply put, he couldn’t bear the boredom and humiliation of being treated as a child; He sted about two years.

  Honestly, he is proud for having sted as long, even. But in the end, he decided to at least let them think of him as a genius, hoping it’d mean they’d start treating him with some respect… Unfortunately, as demonstrated by his current predicament, things did not go as pnned.

  “The reason I hit Isaac is the same as the reason I hit all the others, Father,” Sincir expins, voice dull, “They disrespected me, and I believe respect is a very important component for a healthy environment.”

  “There are other ways to win their respect,” Father Anders counters, without missing a beat; After all, it is not their first they’re having the conversation, or the second.

  “I could’ve sucked up to them,” Sincir concedes, “As to avoid the problem altogether. Unfortunately, I’d rather eat a thousand insects.”

  Anders chuckles. “Meaning, you’re so much better than them, they’re not worthy of being your friends?”

  “Yes.”

  Damn old man. As always, he is not listening.

  He doesn’t need the stupid brats as friends; He needs them to leave him the fuck alone.

  But Father Anders is concerned for his future, and without revealing his identity, Varzath simply can’t get through to the old man that he’ll do fine on his own... The problem here being that an actual genius child would probably say the same things he is saying, only to then ter regret having said them.

  But Varzath already understands all too well the need for trustworthy companions… The brats just don’t make the cut, not by a long shot. Even if he goes out of his way to turn them into his followers, they’d be cannon fodder, at best.

  And besides, he’s often too busy or tired to py with them…

  Anders sighs, kneeling in front of him as he brings their gazes to level and touches Sincir’s shoulder comfortingly. “Well, at this point, even a blind man would see that you do not fit well with the others. I might be old, and maybe that makes me pathetic in your eyes, but I’ve seen much of life, Son, and I can tell that you’re upset, even if you try your hardest to hide it.”

  “I’m not upset, Father,” Sincir lies.

  Anders smiles sadly. “I wish you’d trust me… But I understand I cannot force you to.”

  Sincir grimaces. What is he supposed to say to that?

  “Come, help me with the candles. And, since I’m letting you off the hook, can you at least promise me not to pick on the others from now on?”

  Sincir sighs. “I’ve never picked on anyone; As long as they leave me alone, I’ll do the same for them.”

  Father Anders chuckles. “To show restraint; I know you understand the concept. Now, let’s begin, or we’ll both be te for dinner.”

  Father Anders groans as he rises, and Sincir contains a small twinge of guilt from watching the old man struggle.

  Humans’ fragility is not his fault, damn it. If anything, they should bme their beloved Creator…

  The orphanage’s small chapel possesses a couple hundred candles, one for each of its children, and Father Anders makes sure to light them every afternoon, while saying a brief prayer for each.

  Foolishness, of course, considering the intended recipient could not care less for its creations, if Varzath’s experience over the past two thousand years is anything to go by.

  Even the angels, despite ciming otherwise, care little for their human servants, or are often too busy with the war to pay attention.

  Still, Varzath... Sincir, does murmurs his own prayers while lighting the damn things.

  Don’t ugh, but he’d feel bad, otherwise.

  By the time the candles are all lit, the sun hangs low on the horizon, and Sincir finally manages to escape, by ciming a full bbber.

  An entire afternoon, wasted, because one of the stupid brats decided to test him. Unbelievable…

  Sincir sighs. With dinner approaching, the orphanage is mercifully emptied of praying eyes as he slowly makes his way toward the dining hall.

  At least, he has to admit the pce does a fine job caring for its children. They receive breakfast, lunch and dinner every day, the terrain is surrounded by tall walls, and their only daily worry are doing chores, getting along, and Father Anders sermons; All in all, the pce makes for a good, safe start for his human life, if albeit a rather pitiful one.

  Mercifully, his mana training has been going well enough, as the easiest, and most straightforward way to train one’s mana is to spend it to exhaustion as often as possible, which Sincir has been doing since being first able to move his mana to cast spells, which happened at two.

  Well, six measly years of daily training in a human body put his current mana at around half a percent of what it was during his fight against Abdiel, but it’s a start. Additionally, currently, he’s only able to hold two active spells at the same time… Assuming his mana holds, that is.

  The real problem comes from his physical training. Unlike his mana, which he is often able to drain after casting a sneaky spell or two, exhausting his body takes time, and attracts too much attention, considering his age.

  Having started to train at six, for fear of hurting his fragile human body before then, he’s still far from accomplishing anything worth mentioning in terms of physical prowess.

  Of course, he won’t struggle against a fellow eight-year-old child; He’d be too embarrassed to ever show his face again if that was the case.

  Since training his mana is fast, and training his body is too difficult, Sincir spends most of his time making use of the orphanage’s library; Or, more specifically, acquiring information about the Mortal Pne he reincarnated into, Itera, and its inhabitants, who mostly consist of humans and elves.

  All in all, it seems a mostly civilized Pne, where humanity has achieved sovereignty through the use of magical prowess, cooperation, and their ability to reproduce endlessly.

  Considering some of the Pnes he has visited in the past as a demon, it could’ve certainly been worse.

  Some pces are ruled by elves, or worse, orcs, and sometimes humans are nothing but livestock, on those…

  He already led a rebellion over the course of his past life, and one was quite enough, thank you very much.

  Still, since the library is catered to children (other than their stupid, lies-filled Holy Book, of course), it is quite cking in certain areas of knowledge, such as geography, systems of government, and current political climate.

  At least, from the talks he was able to overhear over these past few years, Sincir could gather that he was born in a retively safe coastal city-state called Baystorm, a day or so by boat from the main continent controlled by humans, Adall.

  However, it seems this world is facing some sort of crisis, the likes of which he was unable to extract details about... Well, worst come to worst, he’ll just deal with it himself.

  It wouldn’t do to have his new home become a mess, after-

  Sincir stops, cocking his head as he listens in carefully.

  Are those muffled screams?

  JBDantas

  Additional Info: Since Varzath is now a human, he is unable to use shadow magic without contracting with a demon, so he’ll be relying on the other schools for a while.

  [colpse]