"Rise, Azath, for you have been born."

The voice is smooth yet registers as violent as it echoes in my mind. It's tinged with a need for misery, a bark of disdain.

"Demon of sorrow, of heartbreak, open your eyes and feast upon me, your king."

I obey, my eyelids parting to view a large, darkly shaded individual with the face of a man, but the blackened horns of a monster.

He's tall, imposing, a bulky figure standing in front of a throne of rotted bones blanketed by burgundy velvet cushions.

His eyes are, to my surprise, not as obscure as I'd envisioned them when hearing his voice. They're subtle, a feathery gray rimmed with brown, gleaming with a reddish glow.

It's that glow that sets off the warning signals inside me.

I was born seconds ago, but even I recognize evil when it's before me.

"Azath," he says, raising a massive arm in my direction, his inky fingertips pointed at my head, charred nails inches from scraping my face. "Do you understand me? Do my words make sense to you?"

"I do, and they do," I reply at once, sensing a threat in his tone, urging me to heed his commands at once.

My king.

I'm stiff; my limbs are weak, so recently developed, my brain awash with tons of information, millennia of knowledge. It was all crammed in seconds after my body took form, my spirit filling inside of it.

I'm a demon.

A flurry of shadows twitches my fingertips.

I serve the king of hell.

That's him; the monstrous being in front of me.

He created me for a purpose.

"Do you know who I am?" His tone booms across the room, which I sense to be hollow but wide, as the sound bounces off the walls, continuing in the distance behind me.

I serve the king of hell, whose name is Bazroth.

"Majesty," I say, dipping to one knee, ignoring the creaks in my joints as my body acclimates to movement. "You are Bazroth, King of Hell, master of the world below."

I dare a peek up at him as he studies me, one eyebrow arching, then the other.

"Stand up," he says, gesturing his other ginormous arm at me. "Well met, Azath."

Azath. I'm a demon.

"Well met, Majesty."

"You're the demon," says the king, as if reading my thoughts. And in truth, I'm so new, so green to this world, that it's quite possible he has the power to immerse into heads, to dig through memories and ideas, and I didn't know it. "The newly anointed demon of heartbreak."

I pump a fist to my chest, which I discover to be hard, chiseled. Well-defined pectoral muscles concealing strong, healthy bones. "At your service, Majesty."

I can't tell for sure without a mirror, but I'm tall, too. Certainly not as intimidating as Bazroth, but with a sturdy set of thick legs, square shoulders, and firmness in my abdomen signifying mighty muscles clenching under my skin.

I'm draped in a black cloak that falls to my feet, which are fitted into ankle-high boots. Stable, comfortable.

Flexible, to better do my job.

I wiggle my fingers, bringing my hand up to observe its intricacies. It's a big hand, pale skinned, rugged but with a certain softness in my palms. My knuckles crack as I clench and unclench, testing my grip.

"You were created to be more powerful than any other demon," says Bazroth, stepping down from the platform atop which he stood. "Myself excluded, of course." He wears a cloak too, but his is more richly fabricated, thicker and warmer. It's royal, befitting a ruler.

I sense a chill in the air, breezing against my exposed chest; I'm not donning a shirt under this coat, but I'm not cold.

"Centuries I've spent shaping you, infusing you with power. I gifted you all manners of abilities, sharpened senses, heightened intelligence." He circles around me, each stride thunderous, rattling the ground beneath us. "I've weaved spells into you, hoping you could bypass the curses set upon those of our kind."

"The banishment," I say, recalling bits and pieces of the knowledge I woke up with. Tormenting visions of full-figured women wrapped in halos, shooting globs of energy on beings like me.

Them. Us. The battle.

"The banishment," Bazroth echoes with a slow nod. "When those blasted goddesses couldn't handle our worth, our energy, and they forced us underground to keep our wrath at bay."

I wasn't alive for any of this, yet I saw the images in my mind as if I'd been there. The full-figured women in my mind were the goddesses. They'd shoved us through a portal and sealed it shut, swearing to keep us locked up for all eternity.

My arms bulge as I grit my teeth, seething at their treatment of us. How dare they think they were above us, better than us?

"I also spent many moons crafting a portal that only you can use, to escape our dungeon," says Bazroth, bringing me back to the present.

This is a dungeon, indeed. Bars on fake windows, a ratty scent in my nostrils. The stench of a sooty, dampened floor, annoying drops drizzling from the caky ceiling.

In this place lingers an overall air of despair and dread.

While the room is vast, it still feels tight. Like there are thousands of others within, cramping around me. Or like the walls are closing in, creeping closer with every breath I take.

I'm taking breaths?

I'm breathing. There's a thing pumping inside me, trapped in my ribcage. I frown as I place my hand there, listening to the pulse in my ears.

"Yes," says Bazroth, squinting at me. "You have a heart."

"A heart," I echo, grimacing. "This word is unfamiliar to me."

"You'll get used to it. You'll learn. It's an essential tool to fool the portal into letting you out there. With a heart, you appear as human. And as a human, you are allowed to walk the soil of Exivaria without detection."

A sordid but smart plan. "I see."

"I've tried many times to bring you to life," he admits, returning to his throne. He drops onto it with a thud, shaking the room with his weight. He must be seven or eight feet tall, and I appreciate him sitting down, so that my neck no longer aches from looking up at him.

I'm not sure how tall I am, but I have a great view from where I stand. My height is great enough to notice the doorways in the distance beyond his throne, guarded by masked men. And the chairs off to the sides, piled up in waiting for the next court session.

Torches burn near the thresholds, along with a few more on either side of me.

"I have high hopes for you, Azath." Bazroth's voice is smaller now, as he settles comfortably into his throne and clasps his hands. "You must promise to attain our goals by any means possible, and report to me with any trouble."

I nod. "You have my word, Majesty."

He may have instilled centuries worth of wisdom into my brain, but he hasn't explained what exactly our goals are. But if I show impatience by asking him about them too soon, he'll punish me.

I've known him for five minutes, and I can already tell he's unforgiving and strict.

He won't accept defeat from me.

"There's havoc above ground." Bazroth unclasps his hands to set them on the armrests, drumming his blackened nails on the velvet. "Havoc, as in too much peace. Too much prosperity."

I acknowledge this. "And our world thrives on the opposite?"

"Precisely." His fingers drum faster. "The less negativity above ground, the more we, those banished below, suffer. Demons require a minimum of bloodshed and violence to survive."

"And I'm to spread that bloodshed and violence?" I gulp, realizing I'm getting ahead of myself.

Thankfully, Bazroth doesn't seem to hold my restlessness against me. "In a manner of speaking. There's a particular type of negativity that I believe will topple the goddesses and their flawed system. That is what you're responsible for."

I tense, waiting for his details. This is it—this is what I was created for. The answer looms in my head on repeat; it has been since I opened my eyes.

Heartbreak.

It's there, but...what does it mean?

"Exivaria's vocabulary is limited." Bazroth rolls his eyes. "Certain words were banished, like us. One such word is heartbreak." I wince, and he gestures at me. "It's the very thing I created you to do, and because of those damned goddesses, I have to explain it to you."

I wait, breaths hitched in my chest. All the information in my mind means nothing if I don't understand my purpose, the reason Bazroth birthed me.

"Heartbreak is a disease, Azath. It darkens the heart and renders it wretched, loading it with pain and rage. We want that pain and rage. We want heartbreak." He sits up straight, focused on me, eyes charging with fury though his voice remains level. "That thing in your chest," he motions at me, "it can be wounded if someone takes advantage."

"Takes advantage?" I shake my head. "Can they take advantage of me?"

I thought I was built for roughness, to withstand most abilities and to be physically dominating.

"Not you, specifically, but they can get to your heart. Luckily yours is already darkened beyond repair and can't be affected in the same way as humans." His plump, chapped lips quirk into a sly smile. "Playing tricks, lying, faking love, all that—you'll understand it all once you're above ground."

Above ground. I shudder. My eyes have adjusted to the obscurity of this realm, but I'm already thirsty for light. For brightness. For my sight to be overwhelmed with color.

There's no color here; only faded whites, dirty creams. Charcoal grays and many shades of black.

In my implanted memories, I see color, but I don't know what each hue is called. Excitement flickers under my skin at the notion of learning more.

"You'll know what to do once faced with the challenge," says Bazroth, gripping the edges of his throne's armrests. "Past the portal, you'll receive more information. You'll understand how to break hearts, or cause others to break hearts."

Heartbreaker. So this was my destiny—to ruin the world the goddesses took away from us, as revenge. To inject heartbreak into a place that has never heard of it, never known it was a threat to it.

"Is that the only way to corrupt Exivaria?" I don't mean to question my orders; I simply want to know if there are other demons like me, with goals to disrupt the peace.

Bazroth's eyes gleam as he narrows them. "It's the fastest way. The best way." He lifts to his feet, a whoosh of putrid air rushing across my face from the swishing of his cloak. "Heartbreak can be at the root of violence. It can cause commotion, sadness, fragility. It can cause war. And war means death, which means more souls to reap and drag to hell. More negativity, more fear."

I sense those emotions within me as he states them. "Negativity and fear weaken the barrier between our realms," I say, finally comprehending the plan in its entirety.

"And with the barrier weakening, I can work out a way for us to escape." He nods, a quick jolt of color splotching over his grayish face. "I've striven for this for so long, Azath. I need an emissary, because no matter how strong I am, I can't go up there. The goddesses have blocked all my abilities from attaining Exivaria's surface. And in any case, my methods would be more...chaotic."

"Chaotic?" I swallow, instantly detecting the anger boiling within him.

"It's part of why we were banished, after all. My temper," he snickers, "got me in trouble. But it's that temper that led me to create you. That temper will lead us to victory and freedom."

I bow to him. "And I will bring that temper with me, to keep me on track at all times.

He growls at me. "You will not unleash it, though." His fingers curl into fists. "You will hold it inside, use it to fuel you. Should you show too much, your ruse will be discovered, and I won't allow that."

I bow again, lower. "Apologies, Majesty."

"Don't apologize; investigate." He descends his dais, marching past me, his giant steps rattling the floor.

I don't startle or stutter, though he intimidates me. I stand my ground. If I reveal any weakness, he'll deem me unworthy.

I must be worthy.

His timbre trails over to me from across the chamber. "You'll spy, get to know the humans, their habits, learn how to use them, confuse them. You'll mingle, become one of them. Gain their trust." A few more tremulous strides, and he's nearing the exit.

He's leaving me to my work, leaving me to explore the upper world, at last.

"I want to know who's blocking heartbreak from existing. Are the goddesses on firm land, dropped from their floating temples in the skies? Or do they have their own messengers, doing their bidding for them? Find out." He pauses at the threshold. "And then you'll infuse the population with darkness, which will spread fast, reaching other continents. Do not let me down, Azath."

***

I'm permitted to change before heading to the portal.

The clothes set out for me are simple—leather trousers, a white shirt with a hefty vest to put atop it, a rugged coat that stops at my buttocks. I keep the same boots, because they are worn-down and dusty, lived in.

More convincing.

I ruffle up my mane of dark blond hair and smirk at myself in the mirror.

The man, the demon I see reflected is a handsome fellow; not that I know much about the standards of beauty for humans. But I was meant for this, created for it: heartbreak. I'm supposed to be irresistible, alluring enough to trap targets into my embrace and turn them into heartbreakers like me.

Humans are easy, or so Bazroth has me believe. In my mind, I visualize all he's taught me at my birth, all the ways to trick and lure a human into my traps.

They're cautious creatures, but inquisitive. Open to new experiences, but erring on the side of habit, to be safe.

Love, lust, and sex are important in Exivaria, all tied in together, though they can exist without each other.

I'm most curious about the last one—the joining of bodies that culminates in an explosion of pleasure.

My lower half tingles at the thought, and I hope to partake sooner rather than later. Surely spreading heartbreak will involve me disrobing and mounting a few willing women. Or rolling around in sheets with a few dashing gentlemen.

Bazroth built me to not care about gender. Anyone with an appendage that could be teased and aroused; they were my targets.

I rub my hands together, eager at the prospect. My stomach groans, starved for all these sweet emotions I was born to destroy.

Why not enjoy them first, before I set the world on fire?

Guards take me to the portal, located outside of Bazroth's palace, on the verge of a cliff overlooking a pit of darkness.

The portal is blinding, loud. Its swirling circle of lightning pulls me in before I can ask questions.

I'm sucked through a dizzying spiral, landing on my feet in the middle of a busy market. Alone, and surrounded by colors.

Reds, greens, blues; I know them all now, am familiar with their varieties, their different names.

As I stretch to my full height and adjust my coat, no one pays me much heed. They're scurrying about with their baskets of goods, jiggling bags of coins at merchants they want to purchase from.

The smells, the sights, the views all overwhelm me, make my legs quake, my belly do backflips.

But I'm smiling as I stand there, observing.

I can't wait to see what all the fuss is about.

Wordcount: 2,614
TOTAL: 5,248