Isla cursed Nirvana. The damn witch had dropped her in a city center.

Correction, the middle of a city of Demons. Their sinister gazes and glares flared her instincts. After all, they knew. Even with her hood, her skin exposed her unnatural deviation. She was pale. She had blue eyes. Both warned the Demons of her presence. Yeah, she was in danger.

Isla inched off the stone bench, her movements natural and composed. She glanced right at several cloaked figures weaving through the crowd. Dark and menacing, what a great indicator. Time to go.

She headed left, slipping through the crowd.

Her hands tugged her hood lower, tucking stray locks beneath the hold. She had no choice but to blend in. Yet, the difficulty increased with the cloaked figures hunting her tail.

Isla glanced backward, a steady stream of residents maintained the gap between them. This could work. In a heartbeat, she exuded aura from multiple points, creating a thin veil around herself. She held the aura, waiting to enact the spell. The energy buzzed, desperate for release. Patience, she had one chance.

She picked the next alley. With a sharp turn, she rounded the corner. Isla executed her spell, letting the aura overtake her. She checked her state, moving a hand before her face. A silverish hue covered her body, her cloak of invisibility, hiding her from all senses.

Her gaze combed the straight alley, latching onto a nook halfway. A perfect spot to sit and wait. She sprinted, reaching the cut-out and squeezed in, her back snug against the hot sandstone.

The cloaked figures reached the alleyway entrance, but their walk transformed into a sprint at the disappearance of their prey. They passed her position, growls rumbling from their throats.

A speckle of falling ash singed her hand and she flinched. The smell turned a head, the fat-nosed man sniffing the air. He stared at her location, but whirled around, chasing his missing comrades.

She breathed deep, settling her heart rate. With her hand, she waved the aura free, removing the magic. Again, she focused but fed a different spell. The aura enveloped her body and she imagined the visual changes. She dyed her unique hair to midnight, lensed her striking eyes to blood and tanned her skin.

The magic established a hold, the soothing chill a relief against the hot putrid fumes invading the air. Nothing stifled the nose-wrinkling sulfur smell. No wonder she avoided the Chaos Realm. Sweat already matted her back, drenching her cloak. How long had it been? Right, ten minutes.

Still, the meager spell should impair the senses of weaker Demons. The less aura, the better. Demons could not use aura. She exchanged a larger risk for a smaller one. But what were the chances a High Noble was parading around these parts? With her luck, she felt high.

A hilarious outcome considering how many centuries the question of race evaded her. Insanity had failed to manipulate her towards a suicide mission. No matter what life, dying still was painful and no one likes pain.

With the burden of identity now lessened, Isla moved back to the crowded streets. She eavesdropped, the street conversations cluttering the sound stream. The Human language rolled off their tongues, cut-glass and formal. Her stride synchronized with a pair, the distance short but acceptable.

"The Counsel is miffed, their anger grows. The restrictions have strengthened and the Lessers are restless, completely unmanageable," commented the left Noble, his long burgundy hair swaying.

The other leaned close, his cloak concealing his frame. "A sign that time nears. His Excellency must awaken from slumber. Without cooperation from the clans, the disorder will only advance. They choose to battle for dominance amongst themselves and submit to the Gods, the fools."

"A hardship we face each time his excellency sleeps. Nothing has changed over the millennia."

The cloaked Noble's head bobbed. "Will he not awaken from slumber soon?"

"Perchance, but it's a gamble. His awakening depends on the blood rites."

Blood rites—the magic Demons employed. Isla reversed and found a different conversation. Three women with mere straps holding their clothes together. Their slow pace forced the accompanying flow to join their stride or maneuver around.

The middle one laughed, her head thrown back. "Did you hear about Lord Asterick? He killed another woman in the heat of passion."

"What number is that? Twenty?" the left girl mocked. Her short black hair molded to curves and unmovable. A black rubbery tail flicked and curled, flowing from her spine. Her dark skin concealed the soft pigment of black bone beneath.

"Probably more. This is Lord Asterick we're talking about, the greatest tier player. But didn't you know he fathered a halfling? The child's lucky to have died early. Imagine if the Gods got a hold of him. He'd be their toy."

The same girl added, "Are you serious? He played with his food? His preferences are expansive."

"Next will be boys," the third girl added, her long straight maroon hair pulled back. She flicked a strand, her nails three inches long. Her comment incited giggles from her friends.

Lord Asterick? The name held familiarity with her. However, the reason eluded her. Based on the girl's gossip, he possessed the strength to bypass the barrier surrounding the Underworld. Unlike Lesser Demons, Nobles were restricted to the Underworld planes, one central section inside the Chaos Realm. Nothing explained the King's rationale, but the Gods derided the choice, designating them scared. Bogus lies, just what one would expect from the Gods.

Still, the halfling held her interest. She had once known a halfling—a child born between a Demon and Human. He possessed the Human physique but not their weakness of mind. A brief meeting, but one which transformed her attitude towards Demons.

Isla changed directions, sifting through the speculation and gossip clouding the streets. Even the irrelevant conversations contained hidden gems.

From her understanding, Nirvana transferred her to Adamantium the Underworld's capital city. Opposite the Mortal Realm, the Chaos Realm had no worlds, but floating flat rock constructs in space. By some law instituted by their creator, the planes moved at random.

The city housed the King's resting place and the high council overseeing the realm in his absence. The sandstone composed buildings created a monotone landscape. No plant life or water singed the surface, the air hot and dry.

As she moved, the massive outline of the central tower shrunk. Yet, the blackened form magnified the gothic monstrosity. Human skulls decorated the high fence, pierced by the spiked tops surrounding the castle. From the walls extruded gargoyles, their depiction of the natural forms Demons possessed. Hideous, but an unfortunate truth.

Her heart soothed knowing her destination averted the keep, for now. Instead, she walked towards the outer walls, moving from the epicenter. The side alleyways reeked of gloom, concealing the disreputable folks. The Demons who strength paled, their true configurations mutating the Human form.

The Slums. A perfect place to plan and evade watchful eyes.

Isla tapped her sword's hilt. What was the best route for entering the palace? Ideally, a contact, someone approachable and respected. A great idea, if she had an extensive network with Demons, not. Nobles fitting these criteria avoided leaving the Underworld and abhorred Gods, so a less than perfect idea.

Hold the thought. There was one. But would he welcome her?

Their past together had been peculiar. She his daughter, him her father. She became his halfling daughter, stealing her vessel.

Nevermind the risk, she had no choice. Still, how to find his whereabouts?

Isla reached a dead end, the outer sand crafted wall looming above. She scoured the land, the broken houses, and grub covered beggars smudging the city-style. Sending a wave of aura, the spell ricocheted, hitting blood and returning. The magic pulsated, the quickness an indicator of distance and the strength, direction.

She walked the perimeter, continuing to thrum her spell. An abandoned slum holding held her destination. Her gaze shifted right, the spell silent. The entrance was barricaded by rusted metal sheets, nails suspending the obstruction.

Isla peeked over the top, the interior empty.

She ascertained the area, her senses alert. Nothing, no one watched her or acted aloof. The corner bend hid her location from the expansive street.

With a tug, the thin plate creaked. She peered at the ends. The right side missed one nail, the other halfway removed.

Pooling her aura into her index finger, she imagined the hottest temperature of the brilliant white stars. She extended the fire, gifting form and severed the nail.

Isla released the spell and wiped the dripping sweat. Another jerk of the metal and she bent the sheet, revealing the upper half of the doorway.

She shifted her body, blocking the boomerang effect of the metal. With both hands grasping the doorframe, Isla lifted herself into the room. She landed headfirst but her hands outstretched to cushion her fall.

The metal sheet bounced back into place and the room darkened. Except for the short streams of light illuminating the door, the place was a void.

Blinking softened the darkness, a quick adjustment for her eyes. Odd, had she always felt this accustomed to the dark? Even night time within the forest had unveiled this comfort. What happened?

Still, a question for later. Who knew how long the High Nobles would ignore her presence.

She stood, brushing her knees. The stone above the entrance was clean and empty. A good medium for inscribing. Though dangerous to employ, she needed a barrier.

Again, she directed her aura to her finger. However, her lighter touch only scalded the surface. She inlaid grooves upon the stone, each line forming the main intricate symbols of wall and force. A risky bet to display magic, but the barrier would break her concentration elsewhere.

She finished the last mark then infused her aura. The greater the aura, the stronger and longer-lasting her created barrier would be. A blue hue shimmered before her, the delicate field instated.

Now, she could start her plan.

Isla made herself comfortable in the room's far corner, closing her eyes. Focus was key.

A gamble, this plan could fail. But when compared to other ideas, this had chances of success. Still, feeling the heart of her aura—her soul—required concentration. Skimming the surface had been her previous depth, but now was different. The center became distinguishable to her. An odd experience. Not painful, but awkward and uncomfortable, like she grew a third eye, one capable of overseeing her body from above.

However, this was an experiment. An attempt at trying something new. Which meant dangerous and perilous, but multiplied to an unknown level. So fun, if only sarcasm saved her here.

Isla enacted all her aura, separating her soul from her body. Her reincarnation was a similar event. She believed her soul left her dead body to find another. The idea held significance, but remembering became difficult. Or rather, impossible.

As long as the tether connecting the two remained, she could return. Losing consciousness and control could also destroy the link.

The act was painful. Stripping the physical form had a nauseating effect. Her mind felt distorted and unstable. Her stomach somersaulted and bile rose, threatening release.

Her concentration shattered and she collapsed sideways. She heaved the contents of her stomach-wrenching out. Her lungs demanded oxygen but were rewarded with a sweltering hot substitute. The poor compensation incited another stomach twisting vomit. Her body convulsed, ignoring her silent cries. Tears streamed her face, mixing with the mucus dripping from her nose.

She laid, passing the minutes and appeased her breathing. Her control returned, but she remained patient. Forget abandoning the plan, she had no alternative. There was no choice. This had to work.

Isla returned upright, wiping her face. She would try again.

The pain recurred, but her perseverance gained hold and she advanced. She focused her mind with a single thought. Freedom.

She searched for her wings. This time she succeeded. Her vision split and she viewed the room at two different angles. Finally, they merged into one.

Isla urged her soul forward out of the building, seeking the sky. With speed, she traveled across the Underworld planes to unknown cities. Her mind swam in euphoria and excitement.

Yet, the wonder seduced her and time quickened. She found her mind drifting, her cause escaping. What did she desire? What was she seeking? Yes, she had a purpose, one spanning her centuries of time.

Before the threads grounding herself freed, she grabbed hold, clawing herself back to solidify her base. Her quest remained and her goal centered on the Lesser Demons. An existence overlooked by Nobles. Their wildness survived amongst the humanization of Demons. Much akin to animals and insects, they endured their hierarchical position beneath those who thought.

The search was quick as her current state confused her timer. She located several flying Rat-bats for her bidding. Some were airborne while others scurried the ground sand pits.

Her origin centered on Adamantium. From there, she attached aura to the Rat-bat's husks. The amount negligible, but functional as her eyes. Her imagination flourished and the images flowed back.

The connection remained as she returned her soul to body. She settled back with ease. The two beats synchronized with each other. Now, she waited and watched.

A/N: Hope you enjoy the longer chapter!