Daimen rose from the corpse of the last scout. This one had run farther than the others, likely believing that getting out of Daimen’s perception sphere as a Spirit lord would give him a greater chance of escaping.

  What a joke.

  His lips curled as he stared at his hands, which were caked in fleshy innards, dripping blue blood. With a grimace he bent down and cleaned it on a clean patch of cloth the demon wore.

  This battle had gone well, he reflected. Extremely well. He guessed that was a result of the…—he chuckled—brains he was feasting on. His earlier battles—to his self disappointment—had’nt gone as easier as this one.

  He nodded to himself, improvement was good.

  Daimen stared out into the distance of the gray world. Aside from the tremble in the sky and the constant boom of thunder, the land stayed silent. He appreciated that.

  There was nothing more worrying than an unknown roommate in his own house. The presence of those creatures in his house had been very difficult to stomach, but he'd done it for the sake of growth.

  Making sure that nothing else needed his attention in this place; all that needed to be done was done, Damien closed his eyes and shifted his consciousness to another part of his being.

  He grimaced as he stepped onto the grey sea that was his soul space. Like his Mind space, his soul consisted of a gray stormy sky, a partially disturbed sea that was his destruction element, and a leviathanic figure that rose over the space like some domineering god: his astral image.

  In the time that followed his entrance into this realm, his astral image had seen small but notable changes, especially to its physique.

  His skin remained gray, bulging with tightly corded muscles that gave him a physical aesthetic made for speedsters. His previous gray orbs for eyes were gone, now replaced with burning golden ones, a stark contrast to the gray general look.

  A silver circlet, collar, bicep cuffs, cuff bracelet, and greave, wrapped around the image’s head, neck, arms, wrists, and legs respectively, all patterned with gold and Inlaid with emerald gems that surrounded their frames, all glinting like stars under the brooding atmosphere.

  Daimen sniffed; gold, a color he was still on the fence about. It was a royal color, true. The tears of the gods, it was said. But he liked to think of himself as above such human sentimentalities. The color didn't pick him, he picked the color.

  A gray misty cloak drifted over its back, fluttering gently under a non-existent breeze. The cloak was frayed and its edges were ragged, leaking a gray smokey substance that fell onto the gray waters like a water fall.

  Right behind the image rose a great wall of misty gray energy, seemingly impenetrable to sight and touch. It bordered the gray seas on all sides, which meant Daimen could have easily chosen any location to head to. Instead, he headed to the astral image.

  As he approached, he couldn't help but stop to admire his impressive image. The great frame, the domineering aura that wafted off it's—his aura, raised to truly absurd degrees.

  Daimen stared up at the mirror replica of himself and smiled. He approached until he was standing right beneath its legs, an inch away from the misty wall of seemingly impenetrable essence, and then he walked through it.

  The misty wall parted as easily as a curtain, and Daimen found himself standing in the midst of a foggy landscape. And despite his sole dominion over the entirety of his soul space, it still irked him that he couldn't discern the full width of this place. Space was unnatural here, oddly constraining itself to the rule of dark expanse beyond worlds. There was no sun to determine the Cardinal directions, so Daimen made his using his astral image as the north and the wall on the other side as south.

  He could walk or fly east and west for days, and he still wouldn't find the end of it, only north and south led him to actual destinations.

  He’d theorized many causes, amongst which was the speculation that he wasn't actually moving. Maybe some concept was manipulating his mind to make him think he was actually moving, when in actuality, he was simply stationary.

  He'd dispersed with that thought quickly. It whispered of truths he was reluctant to admit.

  It took him no more than ten minutes, counted in his mind, to reach the north end of the expanse, and Daimen emerged into a whole new soul space.

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  Unlike the ocean filled space he'd arrived on, this new place consisted mainly of earthen foundations, which spread out for miles around. A large island.

  In the middle rose a huge mountain, so tall its full height was already brushing past two-thirds of the entire length of this place. A flight of steps ran up the middle of the mountain, rising to meet a flattened mouth topped with a platform, on top of which sat a throne.

  It was made from bones and ash. What sort of creatures? Daimen didn't know, nor did he care. Skulls, all in different stages of agony framed its structure, which was sure to create an uncomfortable feeling to all those who witnessed it, especially with him sitting on it.

  Gaudy, grim, dreadful? Daimen didn't care. In fact, he liked it the more for its appearance.

  Fortunately or unfortunately, the throne wasn't the reason he was here.

  Behind it, on the other side of the mountain, four great chains, each larger than his body, pierced from the heavens and into the mountain. Having come from his mindscape, Daimen had no doubt that it was where the chains came from.

  It put to question a whole new speculation about where the mind rested in relation to the rest of the being.

  The others were taut and looked wholly untouched, with the exception of a single chain.

  Massive cracks ran along the surface of this piece of unknown metal, and a few of its links seemed to have largely disintegrated, requiring only a small disturbance to set it all crashing down. Though in Daimen's understanding, that little disturbance could be tantamount to an almost impossible task.

  He was getting there, though.

  He looked over the other chains carefully and found the beginning of fissures along the surface of one other chain. But this was too little to really take much note of.

  Finally done with checking upon his progress, Daimen walked down the mountain, once more making his way back to the other side of the densely filled place, and back into the sea of destruction.

  He closed his eyes as soon as he arrived, projecting his consciousness outwards, and immediately he found himself back in the real world…if this place was even considered part of the real world to begin with.

  Bright purplish light poured down from an otherwise empty sky and Daimen breathed in, feeling the warped version of the air flow down his nostrils.

  The animals that called this place home were already back, having returned after the passing of whatever had just happened.

  Despite his annoyance with their constant irritating noise, he still appreciated them. After all, where else would he find a natural alarm to help him against invaders?

  Their noise was all he needed to know about how clear the space was, which made it a little bit safe for him to sag against the nearest tree, wincing and hissing at the sharp pain that struck at his skull.

  Hosting that number of mind wielders in his mindscape had admittedly not been wise, a complaint which his brain was telling him now. Though that didn't mean he was going to stop. This wasn't his first rodeo and certainly was not going to be his last.

  Infact Daimen planned to increase that number as he searched for a way off this realm, a task that was certainly not going to be easy.

  He was in enemy territory, which meant he'd have to create his own opportunities.

  “You can come out now,” he said as he let himself slide to the ground.

  Bush rustled, and a long serpentine head poked itself out of a patch of leaf tangle.

  Pinkie, the name of which it had been given months ago, was no longer the little creature that had been found in a backyard alley. Rising over two feet in height, the creature was now the size of an average fully grown dog.

  Its neck, as expected, had elongated, growing to over two times its body height. Its previously soft fleshy body had hardened, turning somewhat rough. And its hind legs, which had done little more than assist the creature in angling its direction, were now powerful enough to lift its body weight, which gave the creature a vague resemblance to a chicken, or an ostrich.

  It was still indeterminable whether it was due to the purplish atmosphere or something else, but the creature had adopted a deep purplish hue to its skin color, adding to its pinkish color.

  But more importantly, it was its realm.

  Pinkie, who had registered as an unawakened creature months ago, was now a mid foundation realm creature.

  Pray tell, how? Daimen had simply fed it the corpse of the slain Demons.

  The creature cocked its head inquisitively at him as it emerged fully out of the bush. Daimen waved away the concern.

  “I'm fine.” He gestured towards the more than a dozen bodies lying around. “Go on, gather them. We don't have as much time as we think. I intend to be gone before more demons come crawling.”

  Despite its simplistic look, Daimen had since realized that this was no ordinary beast. At the foundation realm, the creature had developed intelligence on par with mid lord realm beasts. In other words, it understood what he was saying.

  It bared its mouth to reveal rows of fangs, each evidently strong enough to tear off flesh, and even bones. Though not Spirit lord ones.”

  With fangs capable of hooking onto Spirit lord flesh—though not tearing into them —the creature was able to pull and gather the corpses of the recently slain demons.

  It took more than an hour, and looked strenuous, but Daimen was content to let the creature struggle. How else was it going to strengthen its muscles?

  By the time Pinkie was done, he was already hale and ready to begin moving.

  Daimen pushed himself to his feet and began touching the bodies, each disappearing into a ring in his finger at a touch.

  Unable to use the spatial space he'd acquired from Gray, he'd opted for the next simple solution: stealing one from the demons.

  Daimen stood up when he was done. He stretched his muscles, sighing contentedly after every audible pop. After that he turned to the serpentine creature—who continued to look at him inquisitively as he did his business —and beckoned it? Her? Towards him.

  “Come on, Pinkie, let's go plan our next ambush.”

  She yawned, her lips peeling back to reveal sharp white teeth.

  “Yes, you're right. We have to eat first.”