Page 1
Story: Demon Daddy's Twin Daughters
1
VAEL
The spires of Ti'lith cast long shadows over the alleyway as I stalk my mark through the winding corridors of Galmoleth's sole city. The scent of fear clings to the air—sharp, tangy, and as recognizable to me as my own reflection. The demon I'm pursuing isn't particularly clever, leaving a trail so obvious even a human could follow it.
Pausing at the corner of a twisted black structure, I catch sight of him—Nev'rozik, a minor thief who thought stealing from the royal treasury in Ikoth would somehow work out in his favor. His pathetic, hunched form scuttles between shadows like a rat sensing a predator. Which, I suppose, isn't far from the truth.
I roll my shoulders, feeling the comfortable weight of my weapons against my back. This job is almost insultingly easy. My mother would say it's beneath me.
"You should be focusing on more important matters," her voice rings in my head, unbidden and unwelcome. I can picture her perfectly—standing in her stark chambers, horn jewelry glinting in the red light of Ikoth, lips curled in disapproval. "The Vaelrix bloodline cannot continue itself."
I scoff, the sound echoing slightly in the empty alley. Nev'rozik freezes, his small horns quivering. Sloppy of me, but it hardly matters. There's nowhere for him to go that I can't follow.
"You're thirty-seven already, Vaelrix," I mimic her haughty tone under my breath as I slip from shadow to shadow. "Every respected demon has produced at least two heirs by your age. Your cousins have already established bloodlines."
My prey darts around another corner. I don't bother to rush—he's heading toward a dead end. I know this city better than the back of my hand.
"The business will die with you," I continue my mother's imagined lecture, drawing one of my smaller blades. The weight feels perfect in my palm, an extension of my arm. "Our reputation, our standing?—"
"Please! I didn't mean to!" Nev'rozik's voice interrupts my thoughts as I round the corner, finding him pressed against the wall, trembling.
I advance slowly, savoring the moment. His tiny horns—barely worth mentioning—mark him as low-born, insignificant. Nothing like the proud curl of my own that have earned respect in every corner of Aerasak.
"Didn't mean to steal from King Vag'thimon's personal vault?" I raise an eyebrow, twirling my blade between my fingers. "What, did you trip and accidentally pocket seven hundred nodals?"
"I was desperate!" His eyes dart around, seeking an escape route that doesn't exist.
"Aren't we all," I mutter, thinking again of my mother's endless pressure.
Find a suitable mate. Produce strong offspring. Continue the family legacy. As if I'm nothing more than a breeding stud with convenient assassination skills.
"You don't understand!" Nev'rozik drops to his knees, palms out. "I have children! Three sons!"
I falter for just a second, the blade stilling in my hand.
"How fortunate for you," I say, voice carefully neutral. "Your matron must be very pleased."
"She is," he snivels, misreading my pause as mercy. "They're everything to her!"
And there it is again—expectations, legacy, bloodlines. Even this pathetic excuse for a demon has managed to fulfill the one task I continuously avoid.
"Stand up," I snap, irritation flooding through me. "You're embarrassing yourself."
My mother's voice intrudes again. "The females I've selected for your consideration are all from excellent bloodlines. Strong, ruthless. Perfect for producing heirs worthy of the Vaelrix name."
Nev'rozik scrambles to his feet, hope flickering across his features.
"You're letting me go?"
I snort, refocusing on the present. "No. But you can die with some dignity."
His face crumples. "Please, my children?—"
"Should have been motivation to avoid crime," I finish, moving with practiced precision. "Or at least not get caught."
The blade slides between his ribs with surgical accuracy, finding his heart. I don't enjoy killing—it's simply what I do. What I'm good at. What generations of Vaelrix demons have excelled at.
His body slumps against me, and I ease it to the ground, avoiding the blood that would stain my clothes and make my journey back more conspicuous.
VAEL
The spires of Ti'lith cast long shadows over the alleyway as I stalk my mark through the winding corridors of Galmoleth's sole city. The scent of fear clings to the air—sharp, tangy, and as recognizable to me as my own reflection. The demon I'm pursuing isn't particularly clever, leaving a trail so obvious even a human could follow it.
Pausing at the corner of a twisted black structure, I catch sight of him—Nev'rozik, a minor thief who thought stealing from the royal treasury in Ikoth would somehow work out in his favor. His pathetic, hunched form scuttles between shadows like a rat sensing a predator. Which, I suppose, isn't far from the truth.
I roll my shoulders, feeling the comfortable weight of my weapons against my back. This job is almost insultingly easy. My mother would say it's beneath me.
"You should be focusing on more important matters," her voice rings in my head, unbidden and unwelcome. I can picture her perfectly—standing in her stark chambers, horn jewelry glinting in the red light of Ikoth, lips curled in disapproval. "The Vaelrix bloodline cannot continue itself."
I scoff, the sound echoing slightly in the empty alley. Nev'rozik freezes, his small horns quivering. Sloppy of me, but it hardly matters. There's nowhere for him to go that I can't follow.
"You're thirty-seven already, Vaelrix," I mimic her haughty tone under my breath as I slip from shadow to shadow. "Every respected demon has produced at least two heirs by your age. Your cousins have already established bloodlines."
My prey darts around another corner. I don't bother to rush—he's heading toward a dead end. I know this city better than the back of my hand.
"The business will die with you," I continue my mother's imagined lecture, drawing one of my smaller blades. The weight feels perfect in my palm, an extension of my arm. "Our reputation, our standing?—"
"Please! I didn't mean to!" Nev'rozik's voice interrupts my thoughts as I round the corner, finding him pressed against the wall, trembling.
I advance slowly, savoring the moment. His tiny horns—barely worth mentioning—mark him as low-born, insignificant. Nothing like the proud curl of my own that have earned respect in every corner of Aerasak.
"Didn't mean to steal from King Vag'thimon's personal vault?" I raise an eyebrow, twirling my blade between my fingers. "What, did you trip and accidentally pocket seven hundred nodals?"
"I was desperate!" His eyes dart around, seeking an escape route that doesn't exist.
"Aren't we all," I mutter, thinking again of my mother's endless pressure.
Find a suitable mate. Produce strong offspring. Continue the family legacy. As if I'm nothing more than a breeding stud with convenient assassination skills.
"You don't understand!" Nev'rozik drops to his knees, palms out. "I have children! Three sons!"
I falter for just a second, the blade stilling in my hand.
"How fortunate for you," I say, voice carefully neutral. "Your matron must be very pleased."
"She is," he snivels, misreading my pause as mercy. "They're everything to her!"
And there it is again—expectations, legacy, bloodlines. Even this pathetic excuse for a demon has managed to fulfill the one task I continuously avoid.
"Stand up," I snap, irritation flooding through me. "You're embarrassing yourself."
My mother's voice intrudes again. "The females I've selected for your consideration are all from excellent bloodlines. Strong, ruthless. Perfect for producing heirs worthy of the Vaelrix name."
Nev'rozik scrambles to his feet, hope flickering across his features.
"You're letting me go?"
I snort, refocusing on the present. "No. But you can die with some dignity."
His face crumples. "Please, my children?—"
"Should have been motivation to avoid crime," I finish, moving with practiced precision. "Or at least not get caught."
The blade slides between his ribs with surgical accuracy, finding his heart. I don't enjoy killing—it's simply what I do. What I'm good at. What generations of Vaelrix demons have excelled at.
His body slumps against me, and I ease it to the ground, avoiding the blood that would stain my clothes and make my journey back more conspicuous.
Table of Contents
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