Isn't it just a cliche of fairy tales and fantasy to be wandering through a forest, a magic one at that? But what I have never understood is why many forests are deemed "magic forests" when the forest itself is not magical, only the people and creatures living there are.
	But this forest, without a doubt, is magical. 
	Crystalline leaves on the trees. In the strangely gentle winds they clink together like teacups, reminding me of wind chimes. Yet somehow despite the uncountable trees and innumerable leaves, the noise never grows louder than a teasing whisper. 
	Above the canopy is a storm that billows, but can never summon more than a pleasant sprinkle. Cool on the skin with a teasing wet. My clothes never getting damp and my holster never dripping. If it does condense, it's akin to morning dew. Glittering with the greatest strength in even the weakest of lights. 
	Every so often a bolt of green lightning comes down the sky, but the thunder never follows. The flash never makes you jump. In fact the way it comes down from the sky reminds me of how sap looks on a tree trunk. The silent lightning gives off a syrupy kind of light, like a night light or a street lamp on a misty night. Perfect for such sweet, dewy rain.
	A deafening silence drowns out all noise. Your breathing is louder than the wind. The hushed rain offers a placid pitter patter heard only between heart beats. 	
	The forest feels like it's behind glass. But not in the sense of a soulless museum exhibit where you are to be chided for smudging the glass, in the sense that it all feels like a dream. Surreal with how everything is so far, yet close. Perhaps the forest isn't really here and is only some enchanting illusion, as fleeting and immaterial as the song of its leaves; but really I couldn't care less. I wander in a morphine dream. Basking in the warm, gentle mood of the woods. 
	I take a single leaf in my hand, the crystal bends the ground beneath it. The grass is a whitish blue, with gray specks that are stretched through the leaf's refraction. The light above is gray and green as one would expect from a storm, but the clouds above are one calm layer, like the entire forest lives in the eye of the storm. Rolling the leaf in my hand feels no different than with any other leaf I've felt. 
	I notice something perched above me in a tree. The bulbous shape looks down at me. Reflecting my curiosity with its own odd glinting face. I smile and it does too, albeit in a warped cheshire cat fashion. I pick a branch to knock it down from the tree.
	The shield falls to the ground. It's beautiful. A royal blue trim of treated mithril backing a finely polished face of steel. Its mirror surface wrapping into exquisite patterns that I could stare at for hours, they remind me of watery waves. The tiniest shifting of my eyes to another pattern causes all the others to hypnotically crest and fall upon each other endlessly. An ocean captured in glittering metal. 
	An animal huff pulls me from my stupor. A deer stares at me over the horizon of the shield. It's fur resembles the grass. I have never seen a deer come this close to people before, it must be an exceptionally friendly and curious one. It cranes its head to the side and huffs again. I smile, perhaps it wants a snack?
But when I reach past my holster for some food, I see its eyes. They're an angry, putrid black. Their soulless stare judges me guilty of being a crime against nature. It unnerves me that such a docile animal is capable of such hatred, the deer stamps its hooves and rears its horns angrily, seemingly docile then. 

I begin to raise my hands to admit defeat, I retreat slowly but the deer follows me. It doesn't walk majestically as a deer should. It prowls like a clumsy wolf, one who is tired of games. 

The deer's blood lust boils over into its antlers. They become tesla coils, green ropes of electricity buzzing angrily. The deer bucks its head. I instinctively cover my face with the shield. The lightning bounces off. The deer screams furiously. I waste no time unholstering my pistol. But just as I aim my P38, the deer casts another storm of lightning. It connects with my right arm. I'm knocked to the ground. I feel my arm slowly locking up from the deer's lightning, but before it paralyzes completely, I manage to empty my magazine into the deer's side. 

The slide locks back and my finger locks over the trigger. My arm is heavy and useless as the deer stumbles towards me, bleeding out. In its last moments, I'd expect the deer to be determined to execute me with one final bolt.

But instead it painfully stumbles onto its legs, admitting defeat. Staring at me with even greater hatred at being bested. It rests its chin on its leg and a bullet flies through the deer's head. 

"Found you, finally!" I hear the trees declare. 

A pair of antlers peek out from behind a fallen tree. At first I think the deer are in the midst of a civil war before the rest of the voice comes into view. 

The antlers sprout from an Irish M27 helmet, budding out of the two stahlhelm bolts, with a large brass badge on the front. A pale face with brown hair just as long as and colored like the tree trunks sits below it. The tall girl's big doey eyes are a sappy golden amber, they hover above a smug smile.

"Erm… I guess, you found 'it.'"

She steps over the log and plants a boot on top of the deer, like she's a conquistador. The girl wears a blue poncho with white patterns much like the shield I had found, but less wavy and more flowing like the tail of a shooting star. Comfy stitching covers her tribal tunic, it reminds me of those to the far North. In her hands is a Luger with a svelte flash suppressor on the muzzle. 

"The deer?" I ask.

The girl smiles smugly again.

"The shield." She rubs the back of her head and looks away. "I don't really care much for the deer, they're pests," she mumbles.

"Y-You aren't going to scold me for upsetting the natural balance of the forest?"

"What?" She does a double take, "why would I do that?"

"Uhhh… no reason." 

I've met many a dryad who were furious that I had "murdered" an innocent forest creature. Yes, the coyote trying to see how deep my bones are is innocent. 

Despite being so friendly, she keeps her distance. The girl takes the shield into her arms like it's a baby. She caresses the lustrous curves and sighs relieved. Gently tracing her finger along the patterns on its surface like a blind man would read a braille poem. Entirely enamoured.

With my free arm I pop open a healing potion and drink it to cure my partial paralysis.

"That won't work." The girl says.

I stop midswallow. "Why not?"

She stands and gathers fallen branches. "Magic is useless for that."

"Magic… useless?" I've never heard that word used when referring to magic.

She sits and pulls out a matchbook. Fumbling as she strikes a match. 

"Why not just use a magic spell?"

She finally lights a match and touches it to the kindling. 

"We can't use magic." She says quietly. 

"Why not?" The girl grabs her helmet and curls up. "Just because we're Tieflings, it doesn't mean we can use magic."

"You're a Tiefling?"

Her eyes widen, "haven't you seen a Pale Tiefling before?" She gasps. "Are you from outside the forest?"

"Yeah?"

I expect her to give a jubilant response and be full of excitement, but she just pulls her knees close and stares into the budding fire. There's a pause before she speaks solemnly. .

"Is it nice… outside the forest?" 
"In its own way, yeah," I confirm.

The Pale Tiefling girl continues to look into the fire. The orange flames flicker inside her amber irises, giving the yellow eyes twinges of orange. They're impossible to miss in the infinite gentle blues, greens, and grays of the forest. Slowly her eyes begin to burn with a strong conviction. 

"If I heal your arm, would you lead me out of the forest? I want to see what's outside of it. Do you remember the way?"

"Of course."

The Tiefling nods and beckons for me to come closer. She holds my arm next to the flame, moving without great urgency. In fact every one of her movements are calm and slow, almost lazy. She gently massages the veins on my arm and I feel the paralysis slowly melt away.

"Why won't healing magic work?"

"It's not an affliction. Your body isn't being hurt, your blood stops but the paralysis still lets your cells live, feeding off your life force. It's a matter of encouraging blood flow, the warmth of a fire helps."

"What about a spell of purification?"

"The deer aren't demonic." She says curtly, "neither is their lightning."

"Are you? You're a Tiefling."

The simple question is a stabbing accusation to the Tiefling girl.

"NO!" She jabs a finger at me, her antlers cast a frightening shadow. "We are NOT demons." 

I wince when she squeezes my arm with alarming strength. 

"Sorry…" The girl shrinks away. "Pale Tieflings are only Tieflings by name, we aren't demons." Her antlers sprinkle a sad shadow onto the tree behind us. 

"It's alright, you didn't hurt me too much."

"But… I did and demons hurt people," her antlers sink lower. "Don't they?"

We sit staring into the fire, the crackling filling the awkward silence.

"Can I ask what your name is?" I say.

The Pale Tiefling girl's antlers perk up at the unexpected attention.

"Peura Sakara." She pauses, still a little shy. 

"I'm Anon."

	Peura finishes purging the paralysis from my arm. I bend it every which way, grateful to be able to use it again. But when I turn back to thank Peura, she has almost disappeared into the forest again. Blending in so well, you'd think she was turning invisible. 

	"Wait, Peura!" Her glowing eyes look at me. "Didn't you want to see what is outside the forest? We made a deal," I say, "and it's in bad taste to not uphold one's part of a deal."

	Peura freezes. She stands thinking before she looks up at the gray sky above, as if to ask it for guidance. The helmet is held to her chest as the wind slowly blows her white and blue poncho along, playing with it like a cat. It must be scary for her to leave the forest. She takes one final breath and steels herself, putting her helmet back on.

	"Aren't deals something a demon makes?"
	"Look who's calling who a demon now."

	A mischievous smile forms on Peura's face. She walks over and curtly kicks dirt over the fire. One moment her leg armor shines with orange and the next it's as cool as the grass. 

	"Let's go then."

	I wonder if it is true that all Pale Tieflings move as silently as Peura does. She stalks from behind, and at times I have to look back to see if she's still with me. Her movements are an even quieter ethereal wonder than the tinkling crystal leaves, which are suddenly louder than ever in contrast. Shrouding her presence. 
	Despite wearing such heavy armored boots Peura's footfalls are as agile as you would expect, like a deer's. Even the magazines in her belt are absolutely quiet, that includes the cumbersome snail drums for her Luger. 

	"Peura, can I ask something?"
	"Go ahead."
	"When you said Pale Tieflings are only Tieflings by name, what does that mean exactly?"
	She sighs, and for an instant I'm worried I hit a sour chord again but she speaks slowly and surely.
	"Isn't it just a cliche of folk tales and legends to have a bad person transform into something at the end, a demon usually?" I nod as she hops over to walk by my side, not skipping a beat of her explanation. "You will always see stories about how people become demons, but never a story about how demons became… became…"
	"Good people?"
	Peura smiles and continues, "have you ever wondered if demons might not want to be demons?"
	I stop to ponder that idea for a moment.
	"No… usually they seem happy as demons, but if they weren't, I guess they'd want to stop."
	"And so the Pale Tieflings chose to give up their demoness," Peura murmurs with a twinge of sadness, like she had remembered a painful experience, "but the Demon King couldn't exactly let that happen."
	"What did he do?"

	Peura stops dead in her tracks and stares ahead. We've reached the end of the forest. Her jaw drops at the sight before us.
The forest behind us has a certain ambient glow to it. A gentle blue light that radiates into the dark stormy overcast. 
	Villages and hamlets litter the landscape, all connected by quaint little dirt roads. The houses and stores are still full of life, dining tables still set and merchants' carts stocked, but lacking people. Each building an empty ribcage. Buildings corroded, burnt, or burnt and corroded by some unholy bewitchment. 	
It reminds me of an exclusion zone. It's a depressing, dark scene, but I hear Peura gasp.
	"It's beautiful."
	I notice she teeters on the edge between the forest and the world beyond. Her boots planted shakily on the final fringes of forest grass, the armored tips just barely poking over the mud of the exclusion zone. 
	"Is there something wrong, Peura?" I ask.
	"N-N-No… I'm fine."
	"Then let's go."
	"But…" Peura steps back under the shelter of a tree. "I was always told to not leave the forest, ever. Our deal just said I wanted to see what's beyond the forest. I never said I wanted to step outside of it."
	"Oh, that's okay." I say and begin to come back, but suddenly she puts up her arms.
	"WAIT! J-Just, don't tell anyone. Okay?" She whispers.
	"Okay, I promise."
	"Deal?"
	"Deal."
	"Don't break the deal."
	"It's sealed."
	Peura lifts her boot and it falls onto the mud. She smiles nervously but excitedly. Now, I didn't know it at the time but that was a grave mistake to ever let a Pale Tiefling step outside their forest. 
	We walk through the ruined towns, Peura basking in the simple novelty of the experience. She doesn't notice the slightly off putting things. Such as a suit of armor shaped for a wolf but sized for a horse or the rifles laying in formation instead of their riflemen, Peura is too filled with wonder.
	"Anon's what's that?"
	I squint at the statue she's pointing at.
	"I think that's some kind of crow."
	"People here really must have liked crows, huh?" Peura leans in to look at its wings. "These ones are so fluffy and cute, the ones in the forest are the complete opposite."
	I nod and notice a floating light in the distance.
	"Do you have fairies in the forest?"
	"Fairies?" She asks terrified.
	"Yeah?"
	"ARE THEY HERE?"
	"I saw one flying over there." I point.
	Peura unholsters her Luger quick as lightning and frantically searches for the fairy. Shooting at anything that is remotely fairy shaped. By the time I jump to stop her, the toggle lock on her pistol has locked back. 
	"FAIRIES EAT TIEFLINGS!" Peura tries to push me off as I hold onto her shield. "THEY SLICE YOUR HORNS OFF WITH THE EDGES OF THEIR WINGS, THEN THEY SUCK THE BLOOD FROM THE WOUND!"
	"What are you talking about?"


	Peura calms down and lowers her shield, letting me stand on the ground again.
	"You do know fairies don't do that, right?"
	"T-They don't?" Peura looks at the ground, embarrassed. "We don't actually have them in the forest."
	I ask, "then how do you know about them?"
	"That's what the Red Tieflings told us, the 'normal' Tieflings."
	"I know fairies often don't like Tieflings, but you're only a Tiefling by name, aren't you?" Peura nods and shivers a little. "They'll be more friendly, I promise."

	I make sure Peura holsters her Luger but she holds her shield close by for comfort. I pull her by her free arm, following the glittering fairy dust trail towards the fairies' home. Rounding the corner of a wall to see it.

	In the middle of a field sits a single Panzer, a bump of steel in an ocean of furrowed mud. It would be a somber scene of a dead tank left behind to rot, alone even after death. But it's not, it's been blessed with friends in its afterlife. From a distance it looks akin to fireflies dancing around their favorite tree. 

	Fairies keep it company at all times. Going so far as to make it their home. On the exterior armor they have made small farms. Growing tiny veggies on the dirt that has gathered over the dozens of years the tank has laid dormant.  The Panzer happily receiving head scratches by fairies tilling its dirt hair. Out the tank's exhaust pipe a Dutch style windmill spins lazily. The fairies have even built tiny bridges over holes punched in the armor. 

	I turn back towards Peura to see a fairy perched on every split of her antlers. 
	"A-A-Anon!" She whispers while standing frozen. "Are t-they eating my-y antlers?" Her yellow eyes are wide with terror. 
	The fairies play with her antlers, swinging and climbing to their heart's content. A couple just calmly hugging them and rubbing their cheeks against the rough surface. 
	"No, Peura, the fairies actually seem to like you. Love you even."

	Peura turns pink, too flustered to react. She swoons and sits with her back against the treads of the tank. Drawing more of the fairies' interest. Many more fly out of the tank towards her. Pulling at her poncho, climbing on her legs, trying to see their reflection in her shield, and even knocking against her helmet with their tiny fists. A baker's dozen of fairies fly to nuzzle themselves against the soft yarn of her poncho. 

	The Pale Tiefling squeaks meekly as her face burns. She slowly brings her arms in to hug the fairies close. Her head goes slightly limp and her eyes glassy as she simply relishes in the moment, living in an adorable paradise. 

	I peek into the tank to see learn more about how the fairies live in the Panzer. 
	In the turret they have built a tiny restaurant with rails lining the drop into the commander's seat. Each table lit with a tiny Christmas light in place of a candle. One table has a fairy looking fondly at her date, a .50 BMG casing. The barrel of the tank's gun is filled with rain water with a shrapnel hole near the breach, the fairies use it like a well. In the ammo rack there are tons of little hammocks made from socks with a brass case for 'company' at night.

	Near a vision slit they have set up a tiny movie theater. On armor ridges market stalls have fairies coming and going, littering fairy dust onto the people below. The bottom of the tank is a crosswalk with fairies going to and fro. In an old cardboard box they have made a room for ballroom dancing and in one of the crew's seats they have built a fairy gym. With weights made of old lug nuts and mechanical parts. 

	In the ruined engine is a bathhouse. The pistons and parts hollowed out to make tubs, with bellows of fire quartz crystals below. A lounging fairy waves down two workers to make her water hotter. The two bath house workers hammer her crystal to conjure piezo-fire. The lounging fairy melts and slips beneath the fresh bubbles, only giving a weak thumbs up.

	"Hey, Peura? You really have to see this."
	"Haaaahhhh…" Peura is too flustered with all the attention she's getting the fairies, slowly melting away.
A pair has begun to pull at her hair and another rubbing her cheeks with their hands. The fairies have run off with her helmet, it sits on the ground while rocking back and forth as a party of fairies pretend it's a ship to sail on. All of them working to reenact the painting of George Washington crossing the Delaware. A particularly brave fairy taking the place of Washington by standing stalwartly on the brim of the helmet. The entire time they litter golden fairy dust as they giggle incessantly. 
Nearby I notice two armor plates have been leaned on each other, forming a sort of military hanger in which I can see some fairies maintaining an MG-34 they've pulled from the tank. To the side of the hanger are five graves, each marked by a stack of stones. 
"Anon? C-Can I ta-a-ke some home with m-me?" Peura stutters, absolutely overwhelmed by the fairies climbing over her.
"You said you don't have fairies in the forest, people would know you left."
	The light from the tank washes my face clean of the dark, dirty overcast above us. The sheer amount of fairy activity makes the tank look like it's alive again with a heavenly glow, the fairies have given it a second life in a way. They've even made the cutest radio station in the radio rack. Staticy music plays from the decrepit radio. Strange… only the speakers appear to be intact, where are they getting the signal from?

	I look around casually but then seize up at the sight of something moving in the village. Blood drains from my face. Only the smallest glimpses are all I can see as it hides behind the buildings, but that's all I need.

The fairies catch wind of its approach and suddenly disperse, flying away to batten down the hatches of Panzer. Peura falls to her hands and knees weakly reaching for the fairies.

	"Peura?" I shiver and take a step back. "PEURA!" She's still too deep in her fairy induced hangover to see what's coming towards us. What has just rounded the corner and now stands in the open street. 

	A siren head looms over the ruined village, presiding over it as its territory like a king. Its speaker mouth chomps hungrily. Tasting the air, looking for prey. 
	Peura comes to her senses as the siren head slowly turns towards us. The misty rain being cut by its air raid siren mouth, it must be a specific species of siren head native to the area. It begins to stomp towards us slowly, lumbering as its grotesque long limbs swing like nooses in the wind. 
	"We have to go!" I pull Peura to her feet and we towards the woods.
	"ANON, WAIT!" Peura pulls her hand away and meekly stands there like a child about to be scolded. The siren head quickly coming closer all the while. 
	"WE HAVE TO GO!" I yell as I unholster my P38.
	"The fairies, Anon."
	I freeze. If we get away, there is no doubt the siren head will eat the fairies instead.
	"Please, Anon. I've never seen fairies before. I don't want my first time seeing them to be filled with dead ones."
	"Fine," I admit, "but how are we going to fight that?" I point at the lumbering eldritch tower still marching towards us. Its footfalls are heavy.
Peura's pupils constrict as she stares at the siren head, but she does so without anger or fear, speaking calmly like a squad leader ordering a fire mission or a repositioning of his troops. All the while I'm terrified and desperately holding my pistol.

"Draw it towards the forest away from the fairies." She says. "We take it down from there." Peura removes the stick magazine from her Luger and replaces it with a fat snail drum. "I'm going to personally stab it to death."
"Stab it, with a gun?"
Peura motions for me to follow as she sprints into the woods faster than lightning. I fire frantically behind us to ensure the siren head continues to follow us. We hide by dropping to our stomachs in the woods.
"What do you mean, stab?" I ask again between rushed breathes. 
"This is how Pale Tieflings fight." Peura watches the siren head approach our hiding spot. "Ambushes." The siren head stomps over bushes heedlessly. "When we were introduced to guns we chose ones that fit the way we fought. I'm a Stormdolk."
"Stormdolk?"
"We are the ones who confront the enemy up close. It's like what you could call a Beserker." She says, "and this is my sword and shield. Peura gets up onto her knees to ready her Luger and mirror shield. "And your human warriors would often carry daggers, this is my 'dagger' ammo, lighter loaded 9mm." She reloads a fresh snail drum into her gun. "For when you have to storm the enemy and fight close up, you need capacity and control." 
I nod and reload my own P38, suddenly wishing I had bought that FG42 back in the Red Tiefling city to help kill the siren head easier. This is going to be very difficult.
Siren heads can often be found in exclusion zones like this, favoring mana polluted areas for the delicious monster snacks that are attracted by the magic. But what they love most are stormy areas, because of the lightning. Thanks to how high up their heads are they can be struck by lightning which supercharges the volume of their screams. 
Sometimes with a great enough power they can even sprout another speaker like a mutated limb. The one we are fighting is a younger siren head because it has only one speaker. Unholy red electricity occasionally sprouts in an arc of static from its body.
The siren head's feet have ethereal glowing red wires connecting it to the ground, like a slimy, scarlet electric film. You can "kill" a siren head by cutting it in half, but if a single foot is standing an entire new siren head will sprout from the grounded remains. A star fish from hell. 
"To kill a siren head you have to uproot it like a weed, right?" I ask Peura, her eyes still hyper focused on the task at hand. 
 "Only when you knock it off its feet can you truly kill it." She confirms. Peura stands ready to fight, poised like a wolf. Her antlers aimed forward to gore the siren head. "Ready?"
I take a breath and flick the safety off my pistol. "Ready."
Quick as a flash Peura is gone, already within arms reach of the siren head. The siren head shrieks. I feel my body lock up from a sickening reflex. 
It's the feeling you get when you are about to vomit where your entire body seizes up. It only subsides when the siren head takes a breath, but it leaves you feeling queasy and dizzy with a ringing sensation of the scream echoing within your body.
But I hear nothing, only a silent pressure building in my ears. Crushing my skull until it finally cracks in a splitting static pain as jolting as a fire alarm waking you up, but at least I can hear again. The siren head's whine is an ear piercing drill into my confused psyche. Weaponized tinnitus.
Peura braces herself against the scream, standing in the siren head's path as it stares down at her, her shield raised, pistol aimed. 
Suddenly the monster begins to get dizzy from staring at the hypnotic reflective waves of Peura's shield, it goes silent. Stumbling over its scream like a spastic does over their words. I waste no time in aiming my pistol and holding down the trigger. 
The loaded chamber indicator on my P38 has been replaced by a tiny nixie tube that can count up to 8. It slowly ticks up as I hold the trigger down. Each round of 9mm being sacrificed into a single projectile of much greater strength. Once it eats every round in the magazine, I release the trigger. A huge comet of concentrated mana burns through the air and smacks into the siren head.
The siren head lifts one foot off the ground. Peura seizes on the beast, climbing its leg and emptying her soft recoiling 9mm into its stick-like body. Each shot is silenced by the apparent true suppressor that is the flash suppressor on the end of her Luger. But as she ascends the monster's wounds slowly heal behind her with like a zipper spitting red static. Peura flips her legs around the siren head's neck, choking it as she holds her Luger like a nail gun against its head, driving bullets into the beast's air raid siren with metallic plinks of suppressed fire.
The siren head throws her to the ground. Peura reloads her Luger as she falls before landing with the agility of a deer. In the same instant she closes the toggle lock of the gun she charges forward. The siren head is taken aback by the crusader's incessant, almost suicidal, charges.
The Pale Tiefling dodges and weaves with incredible reflexes. But she fails to dodge a surprise powerful slap from the monster's arm, I can only watch as she braces for the impact. In the last moment where I'd expect her to be turned into red mist in the wind, a barrier fans out from her shield. A crystal wall of leaves. They burst out like flares from a plane.
Peura is launched into the woods. The siren head turns to reach into the Panzer like it's a cookie jar. The fairies screaming from inside. I need to distract it, if only for a minute. 
"HEY! RADIOHEAD! CREEP!"
It turns and lumbers towards me. I bring up my P38 but it only clicks sadly. The slide is locked back. Out of ammo. My jaw drops at the towering monster. It looked big from afar, but up close it's enormous. 
An abrupt burst of green tracers rip through the siren head's stomach. The fairies have begun to fight back. They have set up the MG-34 like an anti-tank gun, using Peura's helmet to brace the gun. A fairy signals to fire again. Another burst tears through the siren head. Fairies discard the brass into a pile for later, feed the belt, and readjust the gun. Burst after burst helps to stumble the siren head, but it remains standing.
"GET AWAY FROM MY FAIRIES!"
A blur of white and blue rushes past and tackles the siren head, finally knocking it off its feet. Peura whacks the muzzle of its siren with her empty Luger. The drum mag splintering in its gnashing mouth.
I press my P38 against the struggling siren head's battery that juts out the back of its head. The siren head's skull explodes in a burst of red lightning as a slug of 9mm bores through the battery. 
The sweet smell of smoke is all that's left. Peura and I weakly breath quietly. A timid calm has replaced the buzz of the fight. Peura steps off the siren head and holsters her weapon.
"Fun part's over," she says with a relieved sigh.
"Fun part?"
Peura draws a mini sawtooth bayonet from her belt.
"Have you ever carved a siren head before?" She asks mischievously.

Peura's knife chews into the skinwalker. It gnashes through the flesh. It crunches through the bones. It tears through the tendons. I sit on the Panzer along with a trio of particularly curious fairies watching Peura cut through the hide. The black skin is strewn to the side. The siren head guts steam. A mess of organs flops onto the grass. 
The limbs pile up. The organs are put in a stack. She begins to pull the bones out of the siren head, cracking them like a turkey's wishbone. The way Peura carves is slow and steady, she's enjoying herself like she's carving a thanksgiving turkey to serve. Reveling in the occasion.
"Tell me Anon, have you ever eaten a siren head before?"
"Is that a rhetorical question?"
"No! Siren head meat is great!" Peura tears out the ribs and holds them like sticks of celery as a dreamy look washes over her face. "It's what we're eating for dinner tonight!"
I stare on in disbelief. "D-Dinner? Siren head meat?" I thought if Pale Tieflings have deer antlers they'd only eat deer things. Not meat and much less siren head meat. "Why?"
"Anon… Pale Tieflings aren't super men, I zipped around dodging blows and doing flips. Do you have any idea how many calories that burns?"
"Do Pale Tieflings burn a lot of calories when they 'focus' like that?" I ask, referring to the way her pupils constricted to pinpricks. 
"Yeah, you need a lot of energy to do that and since we don't have magic…" Peura mutters the last word with a twinge of shame. "It comes from food."
"Don't you want to eat something other than," I wince when Peura throws me a chunk of meat. "Something other than siren head?"
Peura ignores me, "we can take strips of siren head meat and dry them into jerky." Peura wipes a bit of drool from her lips. "The jerky is good by itself, but if you soak the siren head jerky in wine or beer. You can make an amazing pie out of it."
"Siren head pie?"
"Yeah… my family would make it a lot."
"What about if the siren head ate people?"
"Is it because demons eat people, Anon?" Peura stabs her knife into the siren head angrily, "so by the transitive property we ate people?"
"No… just… I don't want to eat something that ate humans."
"They don't actually eat." Peura sighs and smiles. "You know those flashes of red electricity, they're powered by that."
"So they don't eat people?"
"Not quite? They do suck a similar red electricity out of your vocal cords if they catch you." Peura stabs the knife into the siren head's neck. A fountain of blood splatters her face, " and if it did 'eat' someone? It would have used its voice to draw you in from a distance with a painful scream for help."
"Oh." I freeze, staring down at the siren head meat slab in my arms. "That's kind of morbid."
Peura's bayonet hits something hard. "Hey! We got something here!" She cuts open the neck to reveal the siren head's literal voice box. "Anon, these are so fun!" Peura holds it up like a trophy.
"PUT THAT DOWN!"
When she hears my fear, Peura's face twists into a mischievous cheshire cat grin.
"What's wrong, do you even know what these can do?"
"NO, AND I DON'T WANT TO!" 
Peura pushes her hand into the dry, fleshy box and twists something. Out comes a moo of a cow. She laughs happily and twists her hand further like it's a radio dial, suddenly gentle jazz music begins to play. It captures the attention of the fairies who poke their heads out of the Panzer. 
"F-Fairies!" Peura exclaims. "Do you guys want this?" She holds up the flesh box. "How about we make a deal? You trade something we can fry with, like a pan, and I'll give you this. You can play all the music you could ever want from it!" To prove her point Peura twists her hand to switch the tune to swing music. The fairies buzz excitedly and bring out a cast iron pan for us to use.
I stare at the sizzling siren head steaks on the pan. Peura stokes the fire and talks over the crackling. 
"Since we don't have enough time for drying the meat into jerky, this is the best we can do."
"What about the rest of the siren head? We can't eat that all."
"Ehhh… it'll probably melt away." Peura peeks over my shoulder at the body. "Actually, it already is." The siren head slowly is melting into a black slurry that soaks into the ground. "Hey, you ever wonder where they come from?"
"I remember reading the work of researchers in the Dead Front. They believe it's like other Eldritch, they're birthed from clouds laced with corrupted mana. Suddenly you see a tiny black stem drop from the sky like lightning, it lands and immediately looks for a host."
"A host?" Peura nibbles on a tiny crisp of burnt siren head.
"The baby ones aren't big enough to 'eat' on their own yet, so they either imbed themselves somewhere with a mana or electrical current or even worse, into a living being."
"What happens then?"
"Most living beings have nervous systems that use electricity, so they feed off that until they grow to maturity. It's not uncommon to see a siren head baby sustaining the host by luring smaller prey to force feed to them."
"Does that mean if we saw a siren head this close to the forest," she gazes at the soft blue aura of the nearby trees. "The clouds and rain are full of corrupted mana?"
"In the forest? No. Out here? Yes. This area has some background mana activity."
"How much?"
"3.6 prumins, not great, not terrible."
"Is that a lot?" Peura asks.
"One prumin is the amount required for a skilled expert's explosion spell, it's named after a Crimson Demon. Sustaining low doses overtime is like being a lobster slowly boiling in a pot. A high dose all at once overloads a magic user's nervous system."
"What happens when you get a bad dose?" Peura removes the steaks from the pan and hands me one. 
"You become incoherent and dazed, in very bad cases sick, before you pass out to avoid nerve damage." Peura's eyes grow worried. I quickly explain the rest, "but if you don't use magic you don't have to worry at all. Compared to say, an elf, an elf would maybe have to periodically expel the excess mana, not with spells but through a…" I clear my throat,  "'reversal' of their digestive system."
Peura sighs relieved and begins to eat her steak. I look down at my serving of the dubious meat. I slowly cut through the meat. It's as soft as veal. I flip the cut down to see a fine charred outside with a nice pink on the inside. It smells amazing, like the smokey air outside a carnival's food stands. I gingerly place the piece of meat in my mouth and chew.
It's so tender. The meat melts into a fatty, greasy, and delicious slurry with just a few bites. It's ever so slightly tangy, almost spicy. Electric on your tongue which tingles from the peppery taste.
"Holy shit." I murmur.
"What? Do you not like it?" 
"No, it's really good." 
"See? I told you." Peura smiles smugly, full of herself. 
We sleep soundly under the watchful eye of fairies flying around the Panzer. 

I wake up to the gentle kiss of morning mist on my cheek. In any other place I'd be cold and shivering, but here? It's only a soft caressing of cool dew on my skin. Akin to the way in the Fall a gust of wind blows just right, pleasantly chilling you only with the slightest cool to raise the hair on the back of your arms. Taking away your breath as it runs its fingers across your skin. Ethereal and fleeting to a fault. Leaving you dazed. 
An errant fairy smacks into my forehead, giggling. I follow its glittering flightpath that ends on a particularly stalwart branch that supports the weight of many other fairies. I rub the drowsiness from my eyes and smile when I realize it's not a branch at all, it's one of Peura's antlers. Her helmet is glittering with gold flakes from the fairy dust falling onto it like snow. Drifts piled up around the base of her antlers that pop out of stahlhelm bolts.
	Peura polishes her shield with the greatest attention possible, she's even ignoring the fairies. For an instant her gaze screeches to a halt after tripping over what appears to be a bump in the otherwise pristine mithril. I see her jaw muscles tighten but loosen when she angles the shield for a better look. She breathes a sigh of relief that would usually be reserved for a loved one beating their illness at long last when she sees that it was a trick of the light.
	"You really like that shield, don't you?"
	No response, she's too deep in wiping away a little stain of dried siren head blood. I start to turn away but Peura speaks.
	"I made this shield myself, like all Pale Tieflings do."
	"All?"
	"Yeah, but not all are blacksmiths." Peura smiles smugly.
	"Are you a blacksmith?"
	Peura sets down her shield and imitates Rosie the Riveter by putting her hand on her bicep and posing. 
	"Damn right. I come from a line of blacksmiths reaching back for eons."

	I sit up, "would now be a bad time to ask you how you feel about dwarves?"
	"I…" Peura's smug confidence melts. "I haven't actually ever met a dwarf. I know they're short and bunchy and argue, but…" she trails off.
	"They certainly do argue a lot" I say as I stretch. 
	"I have always wanted to travel to one of the great dwarf cities, talk with the forgemasters, to go to Neumagh Hold."
	"We could go." I say but Peura begins to shrink away, the fairies try to cheer her up by rubbing their cheeks against her's. "I can guide you there."
	Peura's amber eyes dart up towards me nervously.
	"There's a saying to, 'never meet your heroes,' right?" She slowly pulls out her Luger only to look at the gentle blueing with tinges of shame. "'Because they might let you down,'" Peura gently runs her thumbs over the suppressor on the gun's muzzle. "It would kill me for a forgemaster to discard my work as being in the same realm as a child's weekend fancy."
	"Bu--" I protest.
	"I made this suppressor myself, I improved the design to be lighter while reducing crackle potential." Another finger grazes the toggle lock as one would pet a puppy. "My father made most of the parts in this gun, but I fabricated the toggle lock." She smiles nervously, trying to hide her embarrassment. "If the dwarves are truly as great of craftsmen as I am told, I don't need to have them confirm my inferiority." 
	"W-Well, we don't have to see the dwarves, or at least not those ones." I backpedal, searching for something to raise her spirits. "In fact I think the fairies would miss you if we left so soon."
Peura smiles at a trio of fairies curiously looking into the mirror reflection of her shield. Two compete to make the silliest faces while the last is getting dizzy looking at the rippling wave patterns in the metal mirror. 

"Do you know why fairies are often so friendly?"
"Why?"
"Fairies are often a traveler's companion of choice. Cute, compact, and courageous. But with how dangerous Fankasia is, how many of these travelers actually live to a pleasant old age?"
"Wouldn't that kind of loss make them bitter?"
"Fairies…" a fairy dances on the tip of Peura's antlers as the others watch, "they're not simpleminded but they have a unique view of the world. It's why they gather brass. It's fired most often in moments of great passion and stakes. To them a brass from their companion's gun is as meaningful as the moment itself. They want to gather experiences; that's why they are so adventurous."
"I'm going to miss them." Peura's cheeks turn pink when a fairy rubs her head against them. "I almost don't want to go back to my village after all," she murmurs as she melts with her back against the Panzer, "and deal with all those deer like the one we fought."
"I thought the deer was kinda cute," I say offhandedly. That was my mistake.
	Peura glares furiously, chock full of haughty disbelief.
	"Deer? CUTE?" She leans forward, her antlers poised like spikes. I'd shy away if the threat wasn't made laughable by the fairies lazily sitting on it. "They are PESTS! They're stupidly territorial! You're lucky it didn't execute you on sight. It only attacked because it saw you had my shield!"
	"Do they not like shields?"
	She sighs sadly, "the deer don't like Pale Tieflings or anything remotely related to us. In fact traveling with me would mark you for death." Suddenly she shuts her mouth, realizing what she had just said.
	Worry fills my mind, "so it would be impossible for me to see your village?" 

	"Not impossible…" she sucks on her teeth, thinking. "But the deer do make traveling extremely difficult," she taps on her helmet showering fairy dust onto her lap. "This is actually a Red Tiefling helmet. I found this one buried in the ash sands, I never liked our usual 'frog' helmets, someone must have forgotten about this particular Red helmet. It's a good luck charm for travel. I swear the deer ignore you when you wear it. At least until they see our antlers, I guess they look kind of like branches from far away?" Peura looks into the brass sigil fondly, "But even then they will hear you before they see you, they're smart little buggers."
	"Is that why you have a suppressed pistol?" 
	Peura nods, "all Pale Tiefling weapons are silenced, it keeps half the forest from trying to hunt us down." She stands and holsters her gun, putting her hand out. "We'd have to move quietly and carefully, but it could be done."
	I smile and take her hand. Peura pulls me to my feet with the same strength she almost threw me off her shield with, a blacksmith's strength. Fairies watch us with greater interest.
	"It's a deal then."
	Peura grins, "what is with you and deals anyway?" She slaps me on the back and teases me. "Are you secretly a Red Tiefling?"

	Suddenly the wings of all the fairies begin to flutter frantically, many fairies flying up to pull back on Peura's poncho like a little kid would their mother's shirt.
	"What's wrong?" She asks as she bends over on her knees.
	The fairies jump onto her antlers all of them trying to weigh them down in hopes of keeping her from leaving. Peura blushes again and watches a fairy pull on her hand while she hugs it sadly. 
	"I don't think they're going to let me leave, Anon."
	"Maybe they want something to remember you by?"
	Peura looks around her for something, "would they be happy with brass?"
	"They already cleaned it all up."

	"They want more?" Peura sighs and rubs the head of the fairy that was pulling on her hand, "they're a little bit greedy don't you think?" She taps the fairy's head playfully. "Where am I going to get more brass from?" She asks it.
	My eyes look up towards the brass sigil on the front of her Red Tiefling helmet. The medallion is a pitchfork standing in a skull surrounded by pentagram, as you would expect for a demon kingdom's seal. 
	Peura's eyes meet my gaze, "Anon… no...." she looks down at the fairies. "Do you really want this?" She asks them. They all flutter happily. Peura sighs, "if I give them this, the deer will shoot us on sight. Are you really okay with that Anon?"
	"I trust you. You killed a siren head. You can handle a couple deer."
	The Pale Tiefling's horns perk up and she holds her shield full of pride. She takes off her helmet, handing it to the fairies who immediately begin to play on it. 
	"They are cute." Peura smiles foolishly, "cute enough to make me do stupid things."
	The helmet is flown into the Panzer. There's a mad fumbling of metal inside like a silverware drawer had been broken. Out comes a bulbous shape resembling a frog. The helmet rolls towards Peura's boots. She picks it up full of disbelief. It appears to be an odd mixture of both an Irish M27 and a German M16 helmet with prominent bolts on the sides.
	"Look at how thin the metal is!" Peura examines the feldgrau helmet closely.
	"Is that a bad thing?"
	"No! It means this was made during the war with the Red Tieflings. We had better metallurgy back then." She thumbs the spot where the insignia of the Pale Tieflings should be. "They were unmarked back then too." Peura feels the liner on the inside. "It doesn't have any Jackalope fur on the inside either."
	"How do you know all that?"
	"I think you humans call it being a… 'gear queer?'" Peura sighs fondly, "all it's missing is the sniper pla--"
	Another something comes flying out of the tank and Peura catches it. The plate has bumps near the top like an oyster shell. It is a duller shade of a stormy grayish blue compared to the bright mithril trim on Peura's shield. 
	"Anon!" Peura is all giddy. "This is a sniper plate made of mithril! With a steel plate behind for backing. Look at these reinforcement ribs!" She turns over the sniper plate to show me the way the metallic ribs thin as they bend into the oyster shell bumps but get thicker as they support flatter areas. "Mithril is strong but bends so these help when the sniper plate is hit so it bends in such a way as to not fold into the helmet. You can just hammer it back into shape after!" The fairies smile as she hooks the sniper plate onto her helmet. "These are usually reserved for Pale Tiefling Pikemen but I think we can make an exception right? At least until I get a new brass sigil to put on the front!"
	"S-Sure." I nod pretending to understand what she just said. "Where could the fairies have gotten this all from?"
	"Maybe they helped a Pale Tiefling who got lost."
	"And they left their helmet behind so they could remember them?"
	"Yeah."
	"Like you are now?"
	Peura stops before looking back at the fairies who are playing on her old helmet.
	"Yeah..." she sighs, "do you think they'll miss me?"
	"Considering how we saw they even cared enough to have buried the tank crew of the Panzer, I'd say they will." I tap on the front of her new helmet, "and you will too."	

	The forest is still as peaceful as we had left it. Calm tinkling of the crystalline leaves. Gentle rain that doesn't soak. I follow Peura, feeling like I'm swimming in the peaceful current of cool humid air. I look up at the fluffy, cotton candy storm clouds.
	"Christ, another one?" I say, a bolt of lightning cracks across the sky. "That storm must be pretty bad up there."
	"It's not bad, it's good!" Peura cheerfully corrects me, she points at a lightning bolt beginning its descent. It follows her finger like she's painting a sappy blinding green line. "All that lightning is good."
	"It's pretty to look at if that's what you mean."
	"It's more than that." Peura removes her helmet and holds it to her chest like a soldier bidding farewell to his fallen brethren. "In Pale Tiefling tradition, every bolt of lightning is heaven reaching down for a ghost who has finally found peace."
	"Do you have ghosts in this forest?"
	"It's not uncommon to come across a few in your lifetime." Peura looks back at me with a smile that turns upwards with confusion when she sees my eyes shiftily search for ghosts that could be lurking beyond the trees. "Anon, not every ghost is a malicious spirit. The ghosts in this forest are all harmless, we just give them a wide berth out of respect."
	"Then what are they, friendly?"
	"More just lost and wandering souls. Probably sorrowful at being forgotten by their loved ones."
	I watch yet another bolt of lightning drip across the clouds. Suddenly they seem more kind than curt with how they flash, like a sudden spilling of neon liquid. The green light reflects off Peura's mirror shield.
	I bump into it and stumble backwards. 
	"What is it a dee-"
	Peura shushes me as her antlers perk up to listen to our surroundings, "Do you hear that?"
	"Hear what?"
	A smile forms on Peura's face.
	"Lava. A lava river!"

	Much to my surprise the forest gives way to a floodplain that centers about a gash in the earth. Lava lapping at the edges like blood from a fresh cut. Occasionally a bubble of magma will pop, launching a blinding drop of lava into the air like a firework only for the misty rain to cool into a black snowflake that falls on the ashy beaches.
	The pumice is oddly spongey beneath my feet. Not anything like sand on a beach. Every step causes the tiniest plume of black powder to rise into the air. The beach smells like smoke but the river smells like steam oddly enough, like water off hot coals. I'm hesitant to get too close to the stifling heat of the lava.
"Don't worry, Anon. The lava's bark is worse than it's bite." Peura kneels over the lava. Basking in the blurry air over the river like it's sauna steam.
"Hey, Peura? You probably shouldn't be that close to the river."
She looks up with a sudden, knowing smile. 
"Don't worry Anon, I'll be fi-- AHHHHH!" Her arm plunges into the seering lava, consumed by the orange demonic blaze. She screams as her arm sinks deeper likely being melted into a slurry. For an instant everything stops and I can only stare as Peura writhes in pain. I pull her away from the river, fanatically searching for the healing potion in my backpack. 
A million thoughts run through my head. If the lava burned off her entire forearm leaving a nub left or if it didn't finish eating at the flesh leaving a ragged mess of bone, then there isn't really anything we can do. The healing potion can only heal so much. I get a sinking in my stomach. Without magic to patch consequences over, the full weight of the world suddenly bears down on you. People get hurt for real. People die for real. 
I hear Peura laughing. She rolls over holding her arm playfully. It's only singed black by an ash cast. I stare at it confused.
"I got you!" She giggles as she holds up her arm. Ash has already begun to flake off like snow from a speeding car in the wind. "You should have seen your face!"
"W-W-What?"
Peura regains her composure. "It's not even 'real' lava! It can't melt you if you have a soul! Even if it could, it would take AGES!" She takes a breath and grabs my wrist. "Come on! Try it!" She says with a mischievous grin, "or are you a demon? Without a sooouuul?"
I feel the scathing heat of the lava on my skin before it even touches the surface. I wince and turn away, bracing for the burn. Peura suddenly plunges my hand into the lava.
My hand is still there. The surface was a blazing, slimy film that felt like how hot water first feels against your skin after coming in from the cold. Scalding but not painful. Anything beneath the scummy surface is simply like pleasantly warm bathwater. It's a euphoric change from the eternal cool, misty rain of the forest. The wonderful warm seeps into my bones. 
I lose my focus, forgetting what I was supposed to be doing.
"Feels good right?"
"Riiiiight," my voice flutters. "How come it doesn't hurt?"
"It just looks like lava. The glow and the warmth?" She gestures at the pulsating light that comes from the river's surface, the orange bloom sandwiched by the black ash beaches in hypnotizing. The sappy current of the lava blossoming in orange swirls to mix with the blue ambience above it. "It comes from an entire ecosystem of bacteria living in the water."
My head goes blurry with a tranquil calm and my arm sinks in deeper, suddenly the magic dosimeter on my waist begins to tick loudly. I look at it and jump back from the reading. 
"There's mana in the water?" I remember the mana pollution outside the forest, "Is this all from mana run off? did the mana pollution sink into the water table?" 
"It's from bacteria. A tiny ecosystem of hundreds of kinds of bacteria that culminates in this."
"Huh, was the water always like this?" 
"It changed around the time of the war with the Red Tieflings." Peura dips her hand back into the lava. Particularly hot streaks of lava gather around her wrist like capsaicin oil in a hot soup.
"Did this water have anything to do with the Pales declaring independence?"
"That's ridiculous." Peura splashes the lava through the air. "We don't even have a use for mana."
"But a liquid that generates mana is definitely something people would fight over, the possibilities alone."
"Even if you wanted to, it's impossible to separate the mana from the bacteria."
"How come?" I cup my hand and lift out some lava, much to my surprise the lava becomes an oily black slick.
"Think of it like trying to separate a living human from the water in their body, they'd die without it. The river gets its glow from the bacteria and the mana. It's an inclusive 'and,' they need each other and die off without the other."
I nod and look over at Peura. She's gently brushing away a drop of dew that beads up on the ornate brass sigil of her helmet. Reeds wave gently in the wind behind her. The lava bubbles contently. 
You can't help but feel dazed and sleepy when you're next to this river. The steamy aura of the lava is a sublime change from the cool but not soaking drizzle of the forest. The evercesant churning of the magma is a pleasure on the ears after ages of delicate shimmering of the crystal leaves on the trees.
Suddenly I hear a rumbling of a stomach, Peura's eyes widen as she shrinks away embarrassed.
"Way to ruin the mood."
"W-We didn't eat a-anything since we left," Peura watches the reed waving in the wind with an odd interest, "not even breakfast." She says, defeated.

"Let's just fry the si---"
There's a wet plap of Peura throwing the siren head meat onto the beach.
"Peura. We can't eat it with ash on it."
"We aren't going to eat it. We're going fishing with it."
"Seriously?" I look back at the river. "There are fish in there?"
Peura begins to strap the siren head meat to her shield. Taking great care to use the paper wrapping to sponge up any blood that would otherwise stain the pristine metal.
"No, there's something better than fish. Oysters!"
Lava oysters are delicious little creatures. They live near the river banks in the calmer areas where the magma swirls around like freshly mixed frosting. The oysters grow to be as wide as a DVD and have meaty insides the size of burger patties, but are really more meat than shell. Their shells resemble obsidian with flecks of blue mithri reminding you of a starry sky. At least that's what Peura tells me, because they filter feed beneath the lava level. I can't even see a single one, only reeds waving in the wind.
	"Be careful of their tails," Peura says pointing to the "reeds." "They'll stab you with them."
	I ask offhandedly, "can we eat the tails too?"
	The end of the tails look tasty, like a marshmallow that looks brown and fluffy, almost black from being overcooked over a campfire. Perhaps in a way they are being cooked by the heat of the lava. Slow roasted.
	Peura stares at me like I'm an idiot. 
	"No… definitely not for eating." She sighs. "I know they look all delicious, but they are full of hundreds of bones and thousands of sharpening stones. It's a sheath for the pike tail of the lava oyster. And whenever the wind blows it's just sharpening the blade," she explains. 
	Suddenly the marshmallows don't seem as alluring, neither do the oysters.

"But don't worry, Anon! We're still going to be able to get them out of the lava."
"How?"
"It's a two man job." Peura hands me her Luger. "Here's how it's going to work, I am going to sneak up on the oysters and then you shoot off the nearest one's tail. It'll curl up and I will grab it to throw the oyster ashore."
"Wouldn't that alert the other oysters?"
Peura raises her shield, "that's where this comes in." Siren head meat plaps against the newspaper covering on the metal. "The oysters stab at the nearest fleshy thing when they're scared, but don't actually know what they're stabbing. No eyes and all that."
I try to hand her Luger back, "I can use my own pistol."
A smug grin is all I get back and a curt, "is your pistol suppressed?" 
Peura laughs when I have no retort. "Don't worry." She stands behind me, using her long arm to show me how to properly grip the pistol. 
Her poncho is warm and velvety against my body. Her antlers tilt downwards as she peeks at the way I hold the Luger. It's akin to resting beneath a tree on a burning day, grateful for its shade to show you the good in the world. 
"Hold it less like a gun, more like a fencing saber in one hand. The way the gun is built is to encourage that." I push my arm out and aim like I'm George Patton competing at the Olympics. "Good! Now just firm up that wrist and breathe." 
	It's strange. The gun does feel like a sword. In fact all I'd need is a shield in my other hand and I'd feel like a Germanic knight galavanting around the Black Forest. The Luger balances superbly, there feels to be nothing at all in my hand, even with the suppressor on it. It's an extension of my body. 

But the way it holds? It's even better. The grips are fondly reminiscent of a Remington Model 51, they temper the aggressive grip angle into a cushy hand fitting curve. The Luger is as natural to wield in your hand as it is to make a finger gun with your two fingers. 	
"Nice right?" Peura smiles proudly, "it's even more comfortable bracing it on a shield." 
She mimics my match shooting stance and places her arm in a contour of the top of her shield which is kept close to her chest.
"It's shaped so one can intuitively steady their aim with it."
 Peura lets her forearm gently run along to grace the peak of her shield and changes her stance to be more like a SWAT team member's, presenting her shield first.
"We even have a defensive stance. There are a lot more stances I can teach you but for now aiming like that will do."
The Pale Tiefling girl gets on her belly and begins to crawl towards the lava oysters. It's alarming how quietly she does so. The way her antlers part the mist and her poncho sways in the wind, it's hypnotic like a snake moves. 
An errant shot could potentially veer off and kill Peura. I can't be that close to the oysters or the crack of the Luger's suppressor will prematurely spook them. 
Peura points to the nearest oyster. I slow my breathing and fire. The wounded tail begins to curl up but Peura quickly grabs it to cast it ashore with a noisy flourish of burning, splashing lava.
The reeds shiver and when the pikes are unsheathed there is a whistling that reminds me of a falling artillery shell. The oysters seize on Peura but she brings her shield up to block the stabbing of the tails. All the pike tipped tails sinking into the siren head on her shield. 
Eventually they calm down and return to their normal sleepy state, the blades sheathed now that they believe Caesar is dead. Peura turns back to me and gives a happy thumbs up. We continue the cycle of shoot, pull, and block until the entire colony of oysters is sitting on the beach.
	


	We gather them into a large pile that we sit around. 
	"Guess we'll need to shuck them." I pull out my knife.
	"You don't need a knife." Peura takes her fingers and holds an oyster's tail tight. It pops off when she gives it a little tug. "Now all you have to do is twist." With a hearty twist like she's wringing a towel the oyster shell comes apart. "The tail is what keeps the shell together. Easy right?" She greedily slurps down the meat of the oyster. 
	I take one of the bigger oysters into my hand. The shell feels so smooth and silky in your hand. The blue flecks of mithril are hypnotizing. I pop off the tail and twist the shell. A cool gust of air escapes from the oyster, like I had just opened a soda bottle, the air on my skin feels like the first breath of cold wintery air in your lungs. Freezing but refreshing. If I didn't know any better I would have thought these oysters had been chilling in ice for their entire life instead of boiling in lava. The oyster is heavy in my hand. It's more meat than shell really. It doesn't smell anything like the ocean. More like fried fish.
I look up to see Peura giddily downing oyster after oyster. The instant one touches my tongue I know why she loves them so much. It feels velvety and tender in your mouth. The heat of the lava must have served as an eternal slow cook. But the flavor isn't anything like fish, it's wonderfully fatty and imbued with the essence butter. In fact it's the very definition of fatty and buttery. Decadent in how rich it is. Borderline creamy with how smooth the flavors are. The oyster meat comes apart like a fatty liver when you chew. It's a paradox of how cool the meat is on your tongue but how it chews like it's still hot and steamy.
"Anon!" Peura says through a mouthful of oyster. "Don't throw away the shell just yet, we can use the mithril in it, and there's still oyster oil in the bottom!"

Sure enough swimming in the bottom of the shell is a pocket of melted oily fat. I give it a cursory sip. There's that fishy taste. The oil tastes exactly like butter that's had countless legs of lobster and crab dipped in it, and you get to drink it all.
"Do you like them?" Peura leans forward. A splatter of oyster oil on her cheek. 
"I didn't know an oyster could taste like this."
Peura laughs proudly, absolutely full of herself and oysters. 
"We actually use mashed oysters as a substitute for butter." I'm too distracted with tearing into another oyster to respond. Peura continues, "but best of all? Are the pearls."
"Pearls?" I pop open my oyster and jump back at what I see. 
Peura peeks at what was inside the oyster. "Yes, Anon." She plucks it from the oyster's tongue. "A pearl." In the dull blue light of the forest I can see an oily film of fat on the outside of it. "This is actually how we get our lead," Peura explains, "for a while Pale Tieflings used muskets. But then?" She opens her oyster and smiles when she pulls out a brass pearl. "We realized this stupid little metal had a use after all. It used to be seen as a sign of bad luck if you had found a brass pearl instead of a lead pearl because of how rare the brass pearls were, but now it's good fortunate to find one."
"Is there a lot of brass and lead in the lava?"
"Think of all the bullets that miss and all the brass casings that get lost in the dirt" Peura gestures to the river, "they all have to end up 'somewhere' and lots of forgotten things happen to end up in the lava rivers." She lies on her back and eats another oyster, speaking as she chews. "It's a lot easier to let the oysters do the work and get the lead and brass out of the water for all our ammunition needs." Peura flicks open another oyster, frowning when she finds a lead pearl. 
"Wouldn't they get lead poisoning from the filter feeding the water?" I suddenly stop eating.

The Pale Tiefling girl's amber eyes shine with the same brilliance of an oily brass pearl in the weak, rainy light as she stares at it. 
"That's what the oysters make oil for. It keeps them from accidentally poisoning themselves." Peura throws a shell onto the quickly growing pile of oyster remains. "They are able to keep the lead levels in the lava to almost zero too. They multiply like rabbits. Wonderful and delicious little creatures." She cracks open another oyster like a can of beer and lets the meat and oil fall into her mouth. "Mhmm, thank you Heksje Hasje." 
"Heksje Hasje?"
Peura's eyes spring open and she smiles bashfully.
"It's a character from a child's bedtime story." She explains as she rubs the back of her head.
"Let me hear it." I throw another shell onto the pile. "We have a lot of oysters to go."
"Alright." 
Peura waves an oyster shell as she tells the story.
"There once was a witch named Heksje Hasje. She was a kind, good witch who flew on a crow feather broom to lead people across rivers with a magic light so they wouldn't drown. But one day an oppressive nobleman marched into the forest with a great army of demons in mithril. So many in number that it looked like the forest had been set on fire with a white flame. They forced the people to do magic for their own amusement, making great demands of the people.
But one day the nobleman became angry with the forest people, saying they had done a great evil with their magic. Magic he had wanted them to do in the first place. Being a smart nobleman he was versed in wrongful punishments. So he ordered all the forest people's ammunition to be taken but left their weapons. His army went about the forest killing all those who resisted. They even took all the lead and brass that could ever be mined. 
Needless to say they had amassed a mountain of lead and brass so high even Heksje Hasje couldn't fly to the top. Now, Heksje Hasje had heard what they had done. So when they asked her to lead them across the rivers, she refused. The demons became furious and took her crow feathered broom to break it so she could never fly again. She pleaded with them to stop but they were too hard headed to listen.
So when she marched up the river with the nobleman, his mithril army, and the endless mountain of lead and brass she suddenly dimmed her light and drowned them all in the great rivers. The nobleman's rage was so furious he boiled the very water into lava. Melting all the lead and brass because if he couldn't have it, no one could.
But Heksje Hasje was smart and knew she had to save this treasure from being lost. And when she saw the floundering demons, she remembered a creature that was just as hard headed. The oyster. She made these little oyster treasure chests out of the demons' armor. Giving them pike tails so no one but she and the forest people could open them, because surely if a demon tried they'd be too hard headed to open them."
Peura sighs and throws her shell in the pile. 
"The end."
"That's… a bit extreme for a child's fairy tale."
She smiles mischievously, "aren't they all?"
I lie on my back alongside Peura as we finish the last of the oysters. We lie there happy and full. The crystal leaves on the trees catch the light to burn as brilliant white flames above us. Softly giving metallic plinks when they crackle against each other.

	"AHA! I told you there was a path here!" Peura throws aside a pair of branches before hopping into a grassy clearing like a doe would.

	I look around at the endless line of open grass we stand in, "it looks more like a clearing."

	"A path is a path, Anon." But her excitement darkens when she looks around at the glittering crystal leaves, as if their light has disheartened her. "Though it is… narrower than usual." She kicks a nearby tree. "The lumberjacks haven't been here this month just yet."
	"You have to clear the path every month?"

	Peura beckons for me to follow her down the narrow plain of bluish white grass. 

	"These trees grow fast. So fast that you never see the sprouts or even the young ones. They just 'pop' into existence." A mischievous grin blooms on Peura's face. "Almost like they're cursed. Ohhhh scary."

The oyster shells in Peura's pack clink together like champagne glasses. Something you'd hear in any smithy working their hammers against plates of mithril

"Did you really need to save ALL of the oyster shells?" I ask.
"W--" Peura suddenly stops and holds me back with an arm. Her eyes follow the deer tracks in front of us before sighing when she sees the deer is long gone "We shouldn't have to worry about the noise we make this close to my village."
"We're finally close to your village?
Peura nods, "that's why I'm willing to carry all these shells back."
"What are you going to use it for?"
"The shells have mithril flakes. We grind them up and refine them like mithril ore."
She taps on the sniper plate of her helmet
"You didn't notice the resemblance yet? That these look like round oyster shells? It's like how some of your humans make parts of their armor look like animals."
"And you chose the oyster because of the strength of its shell?"
"Bingo." 

As we walk along the grassy path I notice how the trees have begun to get shorter. There is a minimum height that is still tall, but the way the tops of the trees lower gives the illusion that we are descending into a deep valley. Which is suddenly broken by the sight of Peura's village.

From this distance it reminds me of little mounds of snow surrounded by colorful fields. Think of snow that fell far too early but still has piled up courageously on top of fall leaves. The occasional imposing fortification built of obsidian stone standing tall like dark oak trees. Behind it all is a massive lava lake with a river that has broken loose to run freely down the center of the village.

"Devil's Lake is a nice place," Peura explains, "I'm sure you'll like it."
"Devil's Lake?"
Peura immediately sighs. "Yes. It is called Devil's Lake. We are Pale 'Tieflings,' who also hate being called demons. The irony is not lost on me." 

The village is far bigger than I'd expect. Fields of vegetables and pastures for goats are abundant. The "little mounds of snow" I had seen were actually yurts, albeit with a unique Pale Tiefling flair. The bottom is a cobblestone foundation with bands of wood that run upwards to support a white concrete like plaster, yet on the outside cloth blankets are hung to insulate them from the cold. The yurts serve as a center point for more solid longhouses.

The house Peura lives in is no different. It is just downstream of a stoic, obsidian brick smithy from which the ambient noise of forges can be heard. Yet outside you can already see the ambient glow, specifically from the side of it. Because the smithy sits right on the edge of the lava river that cuts through the village. A massive water wheel being turned by the current. 

"Anon, quit gawking. Let's go inside." But suddenly Peura stops, "wait, I need you to remember." She turns around with her amber eyes burning holes into my soul. "Don't say ANYTHING about how I left the forest. The consequences would be bad, very, VERY BAD." 

Peura then motions for me to follow her inside the smithy. 

***&&&&

It's much more like a factory floor than a smithy. All around us is a bustle of activity. The collective noise of machines humming, hammers clashing against metal, and blowing of forges is rhythmic. All of lifting them together. Almost ritualistic in nature.The smell of metallic smoke filling the air akin to a barbeque pit but chilled by a constant blast of dry air. Flute music can be heard from a break room. 
A line of Pale Tieflings work huge hammers in unison against long, almost needle thin chisels held by another line of Pales beneath them. The chisels going into what look like rifle barrels. In another area a dozen workers work in unison to polish and measure Luger parts still in the white. Far in the back there are workers making what appear to be shotgun parts with the same attention a 1700s gunsmith would give every musket he made. Each one made with an emotional attachment so sincere that he couldn't even talk about it without becoming flustered and embarrassed. A particular Tiefling looks at the completed toggle lock assembly of a Pedersen with unspeakable pride, a job well done, he begins on another without a moment's rest with hurried religious fervor.
Minus the deer horns the Pales have, you could easily take a black and white photo of the smithy and it would stand its own in a gallery of the great renaissance of American and European gun manufacturing before the advent of soulless stamping, unfeeling CNC machines, and careless black finishes. Back when they still made them like they used too, a dignified era where guns were still made with the careful fitment of finely tailored suit, each part carved with the care of Michaelangelo chiseling his David, and always being given loving kisses of immaculate bluing or parkerization. Where the phrase "interchangeable parts" didn't mean "a loose standard," but was a sworn avadant to God. 
Peura leads me through the controlled chaos of the smithy towards the back where a more traditional forge on par with what you'd see the dwarves maintaining. One of the walls engraved with a Pale Tiefling looking up at the sky longingly. A fat, squat man sits at a nearby table. The fat man chisels the inside of a rifle barrel with the delicate meticulousness of a jeweler. He refocuses a light down it with an intricate system of mirrors smaller than fingernails so that he can see where his needlelike chisel is being placed before giving the most conscientious smack to the back with a delicate blow of his finger sized mallet.  He finishes his rifle barrel and sets it on a stack of others, but just as he reaches for a new one his eyes catch on Peura's smiling face. 
"Doe face! You're back! Did you find anything?" He beckons for her and kisses her on the cheek, fussing over her in the only way a happy father can, "what happened to your helmet my deer? You didn't lose it did you?"
"Don't worry, I found a new one." Peura taps a finger against the mithril sniper plate on the front of her helmet, "and then some."
Peura's father gently removes the plate and runs his hand over the metal.
"Do you have any idea how much mithril these old plates have? Enough for a dozen Pikemen!" Her father sighs absolutely enamored by the ancient beauty. "It'll be a shame to melt this down." He calms himself, "where in the world did you find this?"
I see a vein surreptitiously pop up on the side of Peura's neck. She can't exactly say, "well deer father I left the forest and met a bunch of very kindly fairies who gave me this helmet." 
"I found it on the ash beach of a river. It was partially buried alongside the helmet." She empties her pouch of the oyster shells to distract him. "I even brought these back too."
"Wonderful!" 
Peura silently sighs when he takes the bait, giving me a relieved smile.
Peura's father notices me, "and who is this?" 
"A wandering human I found in the forest, his arm was paralyzed by a deer."
"Did you kill it?" Her father asks motioning for her to sit.
"Yes." 
"Good girl!" He turns to spit. "One less pest in the world." He turns towards me, "tell me son, did it sneak up on you?"
I start to open my mouth before I see Peura slowly shaking her head side to side with her shield on her lap.
I make up a lie. "It did. I didn't even see it coming before it caught me in the arm." I see Peura nod and rest her elbows on her shield.
"You're lucky it wasn't a Crow!"
"A Crow?"
"Nasty creatures they are."
Peura's father gently takes her helmet, "I'll get the tailor to make you a nice jackalope fur liner for this, deer." He hugs her before leaving, "it's good to see you're home safely!"
Peura and I are left alone in the back of the smithy, only the music of the feverish gun working between us. 
"Do you want to see where we keep all the guns we finished making?"
"Do you think I don't?"

She giddily unlocks the door to the room where all the finished guns are held with a noisy flourish. Shutting the door behind us quietly and shushing me while giggling herself. It's pitch black. Peura pokes me in the forehead with her antlers when she leans down to turn on the lights.
Rows of mushroom lights turn on one after another flooding the room with a white phosphor like glow. Tiny sparks crackling off the mushroom heads onto the guns below. Racks and racks of rifles, pistols, and shotguns are illuminated one after another. It smells sweet like maple syrup for some reason, but mixed with the fresh cleanness of newly cut wood. I can't help but smile, I feel like a kid in a candy store.
I pick up one of the nearby rifles. You know that electric feeling when you hold a beautiful gun? That heart skip when you finally feel the full weight of it in your hands. How you can't help but go silent. Your mind is too preoccupied in adoring the construction you have been given the chance to admire. It's like appreciating a good poem, it's a work of art with how it all comes together, breathtaking mechanical perfection.
It's a Pedersen rifle. I pull the toggle lock open, it's like glass. The fitment is immaculate. I let the charging handle fly and it snaps shut, locking up tighter than a dwarf vault. I bring it to my shoulders and am shocked at pleasure in aiming the gun. It's the same pleasure elven archers of old feel in that split second their bow is finally pulled all the way back. Chock full of precise potential. 
One has to appreciate the way the Pale Tieflings managed to integrally suppress a toggle locked gun. A quick examination of the gun had revealed that it had tiny baffles notched into the rifling, rifling within rifling. These baffles redirect the gas to vent out the holes in the heat shield over the barrel. Instead of a suppressed report you get an even quieter crackle like a stove with the heat shield glowing like coals with enough sustained fire. The suppressors are built with the leftover metallic ground up shell of the lava oysters, giving the insides of the barrels a shiny black appearance like black nitride. 
"What is that for?" I ask, pointing to flight parachutes hidden in the corner.
"Oh… those…" Peura says sadly, "those… just some ancient trash." She quickly changes the subject. "Do you humans still use Enfields?"
"Some Kommandos still do. "I say, "the British loved them. Had something called the 'Mad Minute' too."
Peura beams with excitement, "we have something like that too! The Damming of the Red Tide!" Peura grabs an en bloc out of an ammo box. "Pale Tiefling riflemen are still called 'Archers' because like with how Archers like to reuse their arrows, they really like to reuse brass because we can only get it from oyster pearls." She runs a finger along one of the waxy brass casings. "Archers must complete the Damming of the Red Tide to graduate, upon which they receive a brass badge to put on the front of their helmet. It's a big deal."
"Can I try it?"
Peura looks up with a smug smile, "do you really think you can do it?"
"Well, let me see it and I'll see.
She leads up towards another intimidating black obsidian brick building. Clearly a fort. I hear the sounds of drilling on the other side of the wall. Two Pale guards stand watch at the gate with the same Pedersen rifle I carry. Wearing the same helmet Peura had, the odd mixture of an M27 and M16 stahlhelms, but they have brass insignia on the front. Much like how Peura's Red Tiefling helmet did. But the Pale Tiefling insignia isn't a pitchfork standing in a skull surrounded by pentagram, it is a leaf standing above twin antlers or tree branches surrounded by an ocean like circle.
Peura salutes the guards, "are they doing the Damming of the Red Tide today?"
"The Pikemen are using it later this afternoon but it's ready."
"Got it!" She beams with excitement and gestures for me to follow her.
A Pale Tiefling shooting range looks just like a human shooting range at first glance. 
"Where are the targets?"
Peura's smugness grows, "I'll show you." 
She pulls on a cord and suddenly targets pop up at random distances, running along the grass between cover. Being pulled along by an intricate system of pulleys and ropes. Some even hop over the lava river that cuts through the field and past us. Many of them are a sadistic interpretation of a texas star. Instead of having straight arms they undulate like an octopus', it is a nightmare.  
"Still think you can do it?"
"Uhhh." More and more targets pop up endlessly. An entire army of them advancing towards us. "Do I need to shoot them all?"
I go prone and aim my rifle down range as Peura resets the course with another pull of a rope. She throws down a bandolier full of en blocs for me to wear. Each filled with ten waxy rounds of gorgeous .276.
"You'll need to shoot them all." She points to a line of gravel cutting horizontally across the field. "If you cross that line, you fail."
I nod, "alright, let me try."
It's fun but difficult. I fail time after time for one reason or another. I lose my calm and my shots start flying, I fumble with loading the en blocs into the Pedersen, I can't transition fast enough, I forget about a target until it's too late, or I run out of ammo. Each time Peura taking the brass from my failure and chucking it into a bin.
"Come on Anon! Stormdolks like me had to do a variant of the course to graduate!" She shows off her brass badge, a couple bits of fairy dust on it. "There were less targets, but they were faster and closer!"
I must have put hundreds of rounds through that Pedersen, but it ran like a champ. Patiently waiting for me to try again. A unique caveat of how the Pale Tiefling's build their suppressors is what Peura had called, "crackle potential." For some reason when they heat up the suppressors begin to generate static electricity that crackles in green arcs which can occasionally jump back to jolt your hand.
Peura explains it as how the ghosts that wander the forest often find company with the oysters. So when these ghosts move on to the afterlife and lightning strikes to take them to heaven the oysters hold the charge. But honestly? I think it's just a byproduct from the mithril extraction process with how they let the ground up shells sit in water with an electric charge so mithril crystalizes on the wire.
I fire the last shot from my Pedersen and absolutely destroy the last target. I breathe a sigh of relief. I felt like I had just ran a mile. A mountain of brass sits right next to me from a perfect ejection pattern. Peura gathers the brass and save it for some reason. I move up to blow on the red hot barrel but have to dodge a bolt of green electricity arcing off of it. 
"And now the most fun part," Peura says, as she points to the lava river near us. "Submerging it in the lava."
"Like a blacksmith with a sword?"
	Peura nods happily. I plunge the red hot barrel into the lava which sizzles and watch it drip off the barrel. Some soldiers in the distance cheer as they walk towards the shooting range.
 Peura whistles, "ohhh it's the Pikemen."
They change the course so the targets are further out, setting familiar oyster shell shaped sniper plates next to the river. A Pikeman begins to load his gun. It's one of the shotguns from the smithy. A Walther toggle lock shotgun. The shells are jet black.
	"How come the shells are made of suppressor material?"
	"They're loaded with sharpened .50 caliber slugs. It takes a lot of energy to push that kind of projectile to the speed and range we need. Part of the enormous force of firing is diverted into the shell material which disintegrates after firing. Really they're more anti material rifles than shotguns."
	One cue a Pikeman begins his graduation test. The muzzle blast and noise is like getting socked in the head. A ludicrously huge flash of green fire blows out the barrel with each shot. 
	Peura points to the sniper plates, "it's partially why only the Pikemen get sniper plates."
	"Because they're pretty much snipers?"
	"Yeah, and because they have the closest relationship to oysters. But it's not all bad." Peura points to the empty spot on the Pikeman's helmets where a brass badge would usually be. "They can't use the Witch's Song. So Stormdolks and Archers get it all to themselves for our brass."
	"The Witch's Song?"
"You remember how Archers love to save brass? Stormdolks do too. And it's a pain to police it all up by hand, so we use the Witch's Song for it."
	She lets me do the honor of pouring all the used brass from my successful Damming of the Red Tide into a red hot badge mold. It comes out beautifully. Peura pulls a couple old casings out of the bin and taps them on the badge.
	"Even if Pale Tieflings cannot cast magic ourselves, we can still use it if it already exists. Like how even if you can't cook you can still eat." 
She holds a lighter to the brass casings before throwing them. 
"So with the Witch's Song we can do this," she asks a nearby group of Archers watching the Pikemen do the Damming of the Red Tide to "play the Witch's Song."
	They unhook flutes from the webbing underneath their white and blue ponchos. It looks a lot like a suppressor. They begin to play a tribal like tune, think the Deku Palace tune from Majora's Mask. The brass suddenly begins to shiver, before getting up on their fat ends to wiggle side to side towards us like they're dancing to the music. Slowly marching in a neat line.
	"We don't know why the brass does that. We just know you have to tap them against your badge and play the song."
	"Do they have to be spent casings?"
	Peura nods, "maybe the heat of firing the bullet activates something in the brass. We're not sure. It just doesn't work on live rounds." She smiles mischievously, "some people think it's because the brass comes from the oysters. So when we play the music, the brass thinks it's Heksje Hasje coming back to gather the treasure."
	"But the bullets alone don't do that, do they?"
	She shrugs, "they don't so really no one knows why. The lead could deactivate the ability for the brass to respond but then that doesn't explain why they stop doing it after they're gathered up."
	The Archers continue to play until the brass gathers at their feet.
	"After battles soldiers would play it to recover their spent brass to be used again, so if you were a Red Tiefling sleeping at night you'd hear it in the distance, when you retreated you'd hear it, and even if you had won a battle you'd hear it." Peura thanks the Archers, "it's great for morale."
	"It reminds me of songs Harpies would play when they fly through the air."
	Peura looks down sadly, "that's where some of the inspiration comes from since Heksje Hasje could fly." Peura looks up at the sky, "but we can't because it's always raining. Too dangerous, once you get above that calm cloud cover it is a stormy hell." She whispers to me quietly, "most all Pale Tieflings dream of flying." 
	One of the Archers who played the Witch's Song for us sits while looking up at the sky. Full of longing. Akin to how humans are always filled with wonder when they look at the moon. Perhaps the Pales are so talented with working with the flow of air and gas because they like to watch how the wind blows in their spare time, always looking at the clouds. 
	"But anyway!" Peura exclaims, "We should get going. It's almost dinner time!"

	Peura throws open the door.
	"I'M HOME!" I wait, expecting some grand ceremony, but there's nothing. 
	"Peura I don't think anyone's ho---"
	"Wait for it."
	She lifts a finger and waits.
	"THERE HE IS!"
	"Who?"
	A fluffy, bunchy little goat toddles around the corner. Stubby little legs like a Corgi hurriedly tap their way towards Peura. Tiny vestigial wings wagging happily. Peura picks him up and begins to nuzzle his goat fluff.
	"Ohhhh I missed you." The small dog sized goat stares at me sleepily as Peura scratches his head. "Vuohi is a darling, he's so well behaved." She scratches his head faster, "yes you are, yes you are!" Peura sighs, "if you're hungry now I could fry us up an appetizer of goat meat."
	I whisper, "is that really okay to talk about around…" I point to Vuohi who nibbles on my finger lazily. He's just happy to be here.
	"What? We don't eat goats like Vuohi. He's atoned."
	"For what? His goat sins? Did he confess to Goat Jesus?"
	Peura rolls her eyes and lets Vuohi go.
	"Atoned goats aren't for eating. They're pets. Now Reformed goats?" Peura beckons for me to peek out the window at fat goats outside grazing in a field as they roam. "They're for eating. They're livestock."
	Out in the field there's a woman walking along to herd them back towards a barn close to the house. A Reformed goat shambles along, all slow, fat, content, and lazy. There's not any intelligence there just like with cattle. I look down at Vuohi who wiggles his wings happily at the attention I give him. 
	Peura explains, "they were both once demonic goats, but with enough time they became like this." She kneels down to rub Yuohi's belly as he gnaws on her poncho. "The forest seems to soften most everything that lives here over time. Except for deer… and maybe Crying Crows…" 
	The kitchen is tight with low ceilings. A wide potbelly stove crackling softly. Even though the eternal drizzle of the forest doesn't soak, it still dries me from the rain. For just a moment I am surprised to see steam rising up, is it from me? No, it's just from a huge pot that's boiling on the stove. Peura grins, pulls off the lid and beckons for me to peek at the yellow bubbling inside.
	"What is it? Soup?"
	She feigns mock surprise, "can't you smell it? It's curry!"
	"Curry?" I can't quite smell the distinctive smell of curry though. It's muddled by something more sweet and deep than curry like a kind of dark chocolate but punctuated with spikes of spicy. 
	"I mean, maybe not like your human curries, but similar." Peura offers me a spoonful. "Once upon a time, Pale Tiefling musketeers would only be fed once they had emptied their powder horns in combat. And it'd be poured right into the horns, so the powder would make it spicy."
	"You… don't use real gunpowder in it today, do you?"
	"Of course not! It's probably just a story, like Heksje Hasje!" Peura offers me the spoon of curry again, "it might be a little spicier than you're used to."
	I taste it carefully and instantly regret it. My entire face burns and I lean against the counter. I'm sweating from how spicy it is, but it's not a chemical kind of spicy you get in snacks. It's a deep, rich one that swirls on your tongue with a flavor of its own. The meatiness of the curry washes away the bite of the spice. It's so spicy but it just makes me want more. The bliss of how it feels after the bite is addicting. 
	"Good, isn't it?"
	"Holy shit. I think that's how getting hit by a flamethrower must taste."
	"Oily and burnt? Maybe it's the goats meat in it?"
	"No, it's just that hot." I wipe the sweat from my head. "The meat is great."
	"We should probably get the dining room ready. My parents will be back soon."
	
	Dinner with Pale Tieflings is a pleasant experience. They're cheerful and love making conversation. It's like a christmas dinner. Wonderful food, wonderful drinks, and even wonderfuller people. Though I notice a big difference between how they drink and how dwarves drink. Dwarves see any alcohol as a reason for a great big show. But the Pales hold their liquor slowly and calmly, much like how they handle themselves all the time. We just sit around for hours, eating and drinking together. Losing track of time.
	"I do have to ask." I say, as Peura's mother spoons more curry into my bowl. "Are all Pale Tieflings as friendly as this?"
	"I'd hope so." Peura's father responds, "we make a point to be good people unlike demons. Think of it as kind of a… gift, yes, a gift."
	Peura's mother agrees, "demons hate giving gifts you know, it goes against their nature. So when they do? It's the most sincere thing they can do. Gifts mean fulfilling dreams, and all demons do is eat dreams."
	"A fun little 'oath' we have is, 'or may a demon eat my dreams.'"
	"Humans have things like a 'pinky' swear that's similar."
	"'Pinky' swear?" Peura's father laughs happily before turning to her. "Peura, I dropped off the helmet at the tailor's. He's going to look at it tomorrow morning before he starts on the jackalope furliner."
	Peura's mother scoffs, "you know those jackalopes got into my garden again. Eating up everything!"
	"I thought you put up fences?" Peura asks through a mouthful of curry. 
	"Fences that they jump over! Honestly at this point we should get some of the neighbors together and go on a hunt." 
	Peura's father agrees. "We need more powder too. It's a good idea."
	"Anon and I could go hunt some jackalopes." Peura turns to me, "would you like to?"
	"Sure, sounds fun." I point to my Pedersen rifle leaning on the wall. "I'd love to get more time behind that rifle. It's a joy to shoot."
	"Have you cleaned the suppressor yet?" Peura's father asks.
	Peura beckons, "bring me the rifle. I'll show you how."
	"And while you are doing that, I'll get the buns out of the oven." Peura's mother excuses herself. Yuohi follows her. Probably angling to get a treat. 
	Peura opens the action of my Pedersen and pours whiskey down the barrel. I watch in shock as she tilts it forward so the whiskey drains into a bowl. 
	"The alcohol dissolves the powder we use in our bullets. After fighting, it's not uncommon for Archers to offer up some of their drink to their rifle to clean it. Think of it like," she searches for the right word. "Pouring one out for the homies."
	A great platter of food is set on the table. Big bread buns that are a perfect golden brown steam tantalizingly. Fit to bursting.
	"What are these?"
	"Bread Balls!" Peura says, happily reaching for one but burning herself.
	"They're still hot!" Peura's mother warns.
	"I know…" 
Peura sucks on her finger and spears a ball on her fork. Cheese oozes out around the tongs.
"Are these filled with cheese?"
"Those are," Peura's father points to the ones with square marks cut in the top. "These are filled with meat, and those are filled with both." 
I take one filled with both meat and cheese, handling it carefully as to not burn myself. It feels a lot like a pork bun. All soft and cushy. But it's crispy on the outside like it's fried even though they've clearly been baked. I bite into it and instantly feel the gooey cheese burst out like it's an overfilled jelly donut. Rich and creamy. But then I taste the meat and how wonderfully it's seasoned. Tender and juicy. Streaks of goat meat juice mixing with the snow white cheese. It's everything guilty about a chicken parmesan but with even more tender, thick meat that's been cooked to rival even beef.
"Can we take some on the hunting trip tomorrow?" 
Peura's mother beams with pride.
"Of course! Take as many as you'd like!"

Peura's father finishes the rest of his drink before saying, "how about some music?"
"Father…" Peura protests.
He only puts his hand up to ignore her pleads as he walks into the other room. Coming back with an ivory trumpet case, but what he pulls out is not a trumpet. It's a flute ornately carved from a suppressor plated in brass to give it flourishes of extra holes. He taps the mouthpiece fondly.
"We Pale Tieflings know how to control the air, it's a speciality of ours. Perhaps one day we could make planes!" He laughs happily but quickly goes quiet when he sees that I'm the only one smiling. Flying must be a taboo topic. Peura's father sighs and wraps his lips around the mouthpiece. 
Music explodes out of the instrument. An entire brass section wrapped up into a single pair of hands. The sound of trumpets, tubas, saxophones, and many more all playing in perfect unison. But it's not like with a computer where it's all 'too clean' and synchronized, there are still the humanizing bits of imperfections. A fouled note here, a cue missed there. Peura's father's fingers move across the suppressor like a mad pianist's. Playing a rendition of Sing Sing Sing with a more military feeling. The swells of brass punching like the drums of a match. If Pale Tieflings could freely travel they would put so many bards out of work in taverns across Fankasia. They're a one man band.
"I always wanted to meet the human you called, 'Louis Armstrong.'" Peura's father says after he finishes playing. "You can imagine my sadness when I had learned he had passed. The same goes for others like Glenn Miller… Benny Goodman… and such…" he feigns a smile, "but I suppose things from the past can still make us feel loss in the present."



The next morning Peura waits for me outside the house. Playing with Yuohi while she looks up at the sky. Her eyes glassy with a daydream. I almost don't want to disturb her. She looks so peaceful just petting his back as the eternal gentle rain of the crystal forest falls onto her horns. Making them shine a pleasant blue against the white crystal leaves. A drop of dew about to fall off one like a fat dollop of maple syrup from the bottle. Catching the light to look like a leaf of its own. I wonder if the rain feels more like dew because the sap of the trees somehow mixes into it.
She is adamant to bring Yuohi along. Declaring him a vital part of our mission. I think it's more so she can nuzzle his goat fluff as he mews contently. She even lets me have a turn as we walk towards the fields. It only proves my point because despite the fluff of the goat being so little, it's soft and velvety like the perfect blanket against your skin after a wintery day. 
"So… these are the fields." Peura says, pointing the fenced off areas, narrowing her eyes angrily when she sees the hole the rabbits have chewed into the fences. "Little pests! They blew a hole straight through!"
"They must have sharp teeth."
"No, I do mean that they 'blew' a hole through it. Didn't even jump over!"
I'm left on that ominous note as we follow the rabbits' trail of destruction. 
"Oh no!" Peura yells. "They got one of the firefly hives!"
"Hives?"
The hives are built into the sides of boulders. Looking more like comfy hillside houses carved out of stone. Lights play around from within. But inside one the lights flash angrily instead of lazily like the others. The fireflies that fly around dodging raindrops look as you'd expect, if it weren't for how their "lights" are just a candle that burns in a glassy container on the end of their body. The bottom filled with an oily wax that sloshes around, like you'd get from a lit candle. It's pretty to see them flying around during the day. 
&&&
One settles on a crystal leaf. Cleaning the rain from its head before starting its meal, as it feeds on the leaf the fire in its tail grows brighter to generate more waxy oil in its glassy container. We round the corner to see that one of the firefly "castles" was hit by what might have been a bomb. Blown wide open with fireflies flying angrily inside. I walk closer to get a better look.
"Anon? You really don't want to do that!" 
"What? Why?"
There's the click of many lighters, akin to a stove lighting. Fiery pilot lights twitch as they burn out of the tails of the fireflies like stingers on a bee. 
"Oh…"
I immediately step back but just to make sure I get the message the fireflies shoot bursts of fire from their tails. The wax splattering on the grass like napalm. I dodge the fury of a hundred fireflies as I run back to Peura. Vuohi bawing worriedly next to her.
"They go for the head." She says. "Sometimes people can go blind if the wax gets in their eyes."
"They have flamethrower tails! Of course they can blind people!"
"If they're really mad they attack in swarms. They fly in a cyclone to generate a small tornado and all shoot their fire at once, bending their flight to aim the gathered fire at whatever they choose."
"Oh."
"Here…" Peura pulls out a mason jar. "It'll be best to let them calm down, while we're here let's harvest some wax from another hive really quick."
"Won't they burn us?" I ask as we walk to a calm hive. 
"They're normally harmless and you just take it from their slag heaps."
At the base of a hive is a heap of oily wax. The outside has cooled but the inside is still oily and soupy, resembling a bathtub the size of a small bucket. Wax chunks and oil flow out the side of the firefly castle like water from an aqueduct.
Peura scoops her jar along the edge between the wax and oil. 
"My mom wanted me to pick up some more oil for her cooking."

She puts down the full jar on the grass while she grabs the lid. Vuohi immediately trots over to stick his tongue into the jar, lapping up the oil. Peura huffs and taps the back of his head and when he doesn't stop she picks him up like a bad puppy and sets him to her side.
"The oil does taste kinda sweet." She sticks her finger in the jar before offering it to me. "It's similar to your human crisco, though I think it's more like a honey lard."
	I gingerly take her finger in my mouth to lick off the oil. It does taste ever so slightly sweet, not overwhelmingly so but you notice it because oil shouldn't have the taste of honey.
	"What do you do with the wax?"
She rolls her eyes and splashes a flick of oil at me.
"Anon… we use Pedersen rifles. What else do you think we use the wax for?"
"Candles?"
Peura sighs, "we mainly use it for the waxing process of our .276 ammunition." Peura spins her jar around to separate the oil from the wax. "We just spin the stuff until it separates to get them to settle into two layers."
A swarm of fireflies bursts from the ruined hive. I instinctively aim my rifle but Peura pushes it down. 
"Calm down, they're not going for us!"
The fireflies swarm a nearby rock, the cumulative flight of so many fireflies creates a cyclone that pushes it along slowly but surely towards their hive. A lash of fire from the top arcs into the air like lightning. Chopping the rock into clean layers. The cyclone breaks into two smaller ones. One holding the rock against the broken hole in their hive and the other blasting fire to weld the rock in place. Taking the time to punch holes with bursts of fire to create windows. Once the task is complete, the fireflies calm and happily fly into their hive. Through the windows I can see the lights inside moving sleepily.
"You know, if you're really good with a flute you can control them."
"Seriously?"
Peura nods, "they're really helpful for welding and construction work."

The trail of destruction then leads us through a pumpkin patch. The endless orange is a little unnerving. The wavering watery metal of Peura's shield is the only thing that keeps me sane. The oceanic waves are still as hypnotizing as ever. Liquid mercury framed by blue. But I keep seeing sleeping faces in the pumpkins. I jump when one yawns.
"Peura!" I whisper. "One of them just yawned!"
"They're mandrake pumpkins." She says. 
"Don't mandrakes scream?"
"That's because they're underground, if someone woke you up from your dirt nap you'd be mad too."
"Are these pumpkins going to scream?" I hiss.
"Ohhh yes they can, if you're not quiet." She smiles mischievously.
"Don't." I plead.
Peura opens her mouth. 
"DON'T!"
Peura screams loudly and I cover my ears. I see her giggle madly. 
"If you keep pulling that shit one day I'm not gonna believe you when you say something serious!"
"You'll know when I'm joking." Peura waves away my worries. "Besides, the most the mandrake pumpkins can do is yawn." She sighs, "it keeps the birds away."
"Birds?"
"You know? Crows? The Crying Crows? They love the insides of these."
In the distance Peura and I see a pumpkin shifting side to side.
"Do these pumpkins dance too?"
"No… no they don't."
We sneak up on the moving pumpkin. I keep my Pedersen rifle ready and Peura aims her Luger. Both of us take care not to knock any of the pumpkins we step over around. The squelching of our boots in the muddy soil is deafening on its own. At the pumpkin Peura cranes her head around the side and almost falls over. I catch her.
"What? Is it a Crying Crow? A rabbit?" I mouth.
Peura recovers from her sudden dizzy spell. 
"No, it's a shield turtle."
I scoff, "then what's the issue?"
She frowns, "oh, okay, you go ahead and take care of the shield turtle then!"
"Alright." I shoulder my rifle, "I will."
I stomp around the side of the pumpkin to see the turtle's butt sticking in the air. It must have knocked its head against the pumpkin enough times to break through. It's just eating the soft gooey inside. I look back at Peura who's still fuming at my attitude. I aim my rifle but the shield turtle hears me. I watch as it backs and out aa----
The instant I see its shell I become dizzy beyond belief, like I just got hit by a truck that wanted to Iseki me. I fall through some pumpkins onto the ground. Peura laughs and walks over to pull me up.
"Not so easy now is it?"
"What the hell was that?"
"We take inspiration for our shield design from the shell of shield turtles." She explains, "you can see why it gives us an advantage right?"
"It felt like I got hit by a truck. I couldn't tell where I was!"
Peura forgets what she had just told me and looks over at the shield turtle, he chomps lazily into the side of the pumpkin. His shell flashes once in the weak light. Peura stumbles around, her legs turned to jelly. Falling onto me, her horns almost poking my eyes out. She looks at the borderline cheesy pumpkin guts on my chest. Shaking the thick stuff off her poncho. Vuohi stumbles past the turtle to lick the pumpkin off her clothing. Happy to be included in our Looney Toon antics.
"I'm gonna stomp his shell into pieces."
"Agreed."
It's a lot easier said than done. Everytime we get close we get dizzy and fall over into more pumpkins. Looking like walking pumpkins ourselves. We try to shoot it from a distance but even when the shell is small if you focus on it, you get dizzy enough to make shooting impossible. Eventually both of us are steaming with irrational anger at being beat by such a tiny stupid thing, it hasn't even stopped eating to acknowledge us once!
I hand Peura my rifle. 
"I'm just going to punt it."
"What?"

I run towards the turtle. A hand over my eyes. Ready to kick the world's worst pinata into the air. My foot connects with something hard and turtley. I uncover my eyes to thankfully see the belly of the turtle. Which suddenly explodes from a .276 bullet ripping through it. Raining turtle bits and shell fragments over the pumpkin field like shrapnel from an airburst.
"GOT THE FUCKER!" The barrel of the Pedersen smokes gently, Peura leaning in to smell the sweet smoke. 
	We follow the trail of rabbit destruction even further. Vuohi has eaten all the pumpkin off Peura's poncho, now taking the time to lick it off her cheeks like a puppy. I try a bit of the pumpkin guts.
	"This tastes just like the cheese in the Bread Balls." I say.
	"It's the same. We get our cheese from the pumpkins, cream from the aged pumpkins."
	"Do the goats not make milk?"
	Peura looks at me confused, "are they supposed to?"
	"Do you only have guy goats?"
	Peura shows me Vuohi who baws innocently.
	"They're flat down there."
	"H-How do they reproduce?"
	"I… don't know… we just kinda would come back to baby goats and didn't ask questions."
	"How? You're telling me for THOUSANDS of years, not a single person has seen a goat, atoned or reformed, reproduce?" Peura shrugs and hands me Vuohi. "How do you even know he's a dude?"
	"He has tips on his wings. Girl goats don't."
	"What do they have? Nipples?"
	"No, they have antenne."
	"Antenne? WHAT DO THEY REPRODUCE VIA WIFI? DO THEY HAVE FUCK RADIOS?"
	"I DON'T KNOW!"
	I give up. Holding Vuohi close, who cleans the pumpkin off my clothing. He starts to lick my cheek too.
	"I think he likes you, Anon."
	"If I wake up as the father to a litter of baby goats I will never forgive you for it."
	Peura laughs at the idea, but her smile is quickly wiped off her face like she had heard something in the wind.
	"ANON! STOP! DON'T PUT YOUR FOOT DOWN!"
	I freeze. Vuohi looking at Peura just as scared as me.
	"What is it now?"
	"Landmine."

	I look down to see a stalk that resembles the top of a forbidden tuna, leafy and shaped just like it, minus the pin. I walk back to Peura.
	"Didn't you hear it?" She asks.
	"Hear what?"
	"You can't hear it?" She points to the landmine.
	"No?"
	"Seriously? It's pretty loud." Peura holds her antlers tight, like I would hold my hands over my ears if something was too loud. "It's just broadcasting away. Can you humans not hear stuff like that?"
	"I can't hear a thing."
	Peura looks at me confused.
	"It means the rabbits must have made a den nearby."
	"How does it mean that?"
	"You prefer to poop when you're comfortable don't you?"
	I look down at the landmine.
	"That's rabbit poop?"
	"Jackalope poop, but yes." Peura gets on her knees and carefully steps over to the leafy landmine. "You have to be very careful digging these up."
	"WHAT? Why would we do that?"
	"We can't just leave it, Anon. Someone might step on it." Peura explains, "it's also how we get our gunpowder, that and jackalope horns."
	"The rabbits… erm… jackalopes… shit out… gunpowder?"
	"Pretty much, yeah." Peura draws her knife. "You can dig it up, but if you disturb the stalk which is the fuse it explodes."
	"Have people gotten their legs blown off by stepping on these?"
	Peura nods.
	"Jesus christ." I mumble.
	Peura looks carefully at the stalk of the poop landmine. 
	"Usually the Archers are the ones defusing these, they have these nice long sabers for close quarters combat." Peura mimics a wizard shooting bolts of lightning from their wand. "The grips have batteries so they can shoot lightning to give them more range." She smiles. "They use them like the French used their swords to pop champagne when cutting the stalks off the landmines."
	I sigh and hold Vuohi tight as Peura snaps the stalk off the landmine with her knife.
	
"All done!" She says. Uprooting the landmine. It's four to five inches long and looks like a carrot. These jackalopes must have crazy assholes to shit out a carrot shaped landmine. "We can use this for powder, just need to grind it up and dry it!"
	I follow Peura who listens with her radar antlers for other landmines. I jump when I hear a sound akin to a nail gun nearby. 
	"It's just them driving their shit into the ground," Peura whispers.
	"Why do you even live here?"
	She shrugs and beckons for me to follow. She parts a bush to reveal a jackalope finishing its business. Sniffing the air, its ears pointing around to listen for danger.
	"We have to be very careful not to scare it."
	"Or else what? It's gonna poop on us?"
	There's a loud rustle of Vuohi poking his head through the bush alongside us. The jackalope hears us and pounds its head into the ground. It gnashes its teeth together to make a spark, there's an explosion of black powder and suddenly the jackalope is gone.
	"VUOHI! Bad goat!" Peura holds her hand to her forehead in frustration. Handing me the knife as she gives Vuohi a talking to.
	"Do we have to disarm that landmine too?" I ask.
	"..."
	"Peura?"
	"..."
	"Please no…"
	One sweaty bomb defusal later, we are one powder carrot richer. Soon stumbling upon more and more. Disarming them all until we find the motherload. The nest of the rabbits. A crater that's been hollowed out, a tall wall of trees protecting it. 
	"Okay, we won't be able to kill them all. But if we get the biggest one, the others will scatter. Like a demon kingdom after their king dies, mass chaos and exodus. Total societal collapse."
	"That's a little dark."
	"But we will make sure to get that one." She points to a jackalope that's missing a horn. "He's probably the one that blew the hole in the fence!" 
	"They have powder in their horns too?"
	"Yeah, powder horns."

	Peura crawls up on her belly, making sure Vuohi stays with me. I keep him quiet and happy with head pats as I lean on my rifle. Peura signals to get ready to shoot. Counting down with her fingers. I ready the Pedersen. 3… 2… 1…
	We get jackalope after jackalope all of them confused as to what's happening with all the chaos. I even get a reload in. I'm glad I did the Damming of the Red Tide, even though they're scared the jackalopes still hop around like hell. The silencers on our weapons really help, all the jackalopes can hear is the bullets killing their brethren. 
	But eventually enough get their senses back, jamming their horns into the ground and gnashing their teeth. Reverse ass blasting to launch themselves into the woods. Running off into the distance.
	We gather the dead jackalopes by the bushel. Vuohi dragging one in his goat mouth. Gnawing on its leg. 
	"God what I wouldn't give for a bag of holding." I mutter.
	"The Crying Crows would sniff you out in minutes." Peura who notices an orange fleck on my shoulder. "Just like they would with… pumpkins…" She looks up with fear in her eyes. "D-Did Vuohi not clean all the pumpkin off your clothing?"
	"No?" I raise my arm to reveal one last pumpkin soaked patch. Peura jumps on it, wiping it off with a jackalope carcass before throwing the body into the woods.
	"We should really go, like… NOW."
	"What's so bad about a Crow?"
	Peura looks at me more scared. 
	"You don't want to know."
	Suddenly the forest doesn't look pretty around us. The glassy leaves distorting the light like funhouse mirrors. All of the trees looking the same like some sick joke. Peura's eyes have grown frantic. She looks around the forest confused. My once stalwart dependable guide reduced to a shivering terrified mess.

	"Vuohi!" She lifts him up and pets his head with a shaky hand. "Lead us home!"
	He knows just how dire the situation is somehow, staying silent and only moving his head towards where we should be going. Even he looks scared.
	The trees bend over us, the quiet song of their tinkling leaves has become an endless gossip. All of them pointing and laughing at our fate. Vuohi stops pointing with his head. Sniffing the air. Throwing his head in another direction, his eyes looking back at Peura.
	Peura freezes, holding Vuohi tight.
	"It's close."
	We take off in a run, trying to be as quiet as we can but the panic quickly takes over. Culminating into a loud sprint. A tree cracks behind us. I look back to see its crystalline top falling to the ground to shatter beneath the treeline.
	"ANON! STAY WITH ME!"
	More trees begin to fall behind us.
	Peura stops, "we can't outrun it." She looks at me. "Anon? You trust me, right?"
	"Yes."
	She grabs my arm. "I'll be back." She looks around before blushing, pecking me on the cheek. "I promise I won't leave you here." She whispers. "Hide for me."
	I'm so stunned I don't say a thing, only watching her run off into the forest like a deer with Vuohi in her arms. 
And then I'm alone, as isolated as the first time I had come to the crystal forest. With the warmth of company gone the drizzling rain is freezing. In the endless canopy of trees I feel claustrophobic. I turn to see more trees falling in the distance. I follow Peura's instructions, running somewhere to hide.
I find a tree whose roots have grown to create a small hidey hole. I sneak in and curl up. More trees crack like thunder around me, the Crying Crow growing closer like a thunderstorm. Before, a sudden silence. All I hear is the blood rushing in my ears.
Then comes a pained cawing, like the cry of a wounded horse on a battlefield. The Crow weeping as it stomps closer. But the stomps aren't rhythmic like a monster's, they stumble around like someone who had been struck by shrapnel in the gut. The Crow cries more and more, weeping for attention. It's lost.
I see its massive clawed feet choke the ground it steps on, bloody tears falling in front of each footstep. The Crying Crow stops to lean against my tree. Weeping with such sadness my instincts want me to help it. It rests its head against my tree like a child would against their mother's shirt. Dejected and lonely. Soon it leaves. Gouging a trail that follows its exit. 
I poke my head out from underneath my tree. It looks as if the tree had been shot with a thousand razor blades where the Cow had rested its head. The wounds in the ground are dug deep. The bloody tears littering the bluish grass.
But then I hear laughter in the trees around me. It baited me. The Crow explodes out of the trees. Knocking them over. It's massive. The size of a bear. Grossly proportioned for a bird, wings that are too big and fat, a body that is emancipated. It falls down, clearly not a product of nature. Evolution wouldn't make something so disgusting. It flails angrily before it stands again, knocking trees over by accident with its axe shaped wings. I fall to my back to avoid the flying guillotines and begin to crawl away. The Crow was crying crocodile tears the entire time. It has a bony mask that grows out of its face like a tumor. Gagging and blinding it, it is akin to a torture device. The thing has bones that stick out of its skull to poke into its eyes so they are constantly bleeding. Dried scabs running down its face. 
I aim my rifle and shoot at the Crying Crow, but a magic barrier glows around wherever I shoot, like it had sucked out all the latent magic in the forest just to spite me in this very moment. It stumbles towards me like a chick who wants to play, fresh out of the egg. It leans down to sniff me. Its eyes are not very good at all with how they bleed. It drips tears on my cheeks. And then, it leaves. Losing interest in me to search for other toys to play with. 
For a couple minutes I just sit there, trying to keep my heart from exploding with how fast it still beats. I hear movement in the forest and Peura jumps out of the trees with Vuohi in tow.
"I thought you left me!" I cry.
"I promised I wouldn't."
We run back to the fields, occasionally looking back for the Crying Crow but make it back to Peura's house safely.

"A Crying Crow?" 
"In the forest!" Peura explains to her mother. "We took care of the jackalopes but ran into one."
Peura's mother hugs her. I sit down next to the fireplace to play with Vuohi. Looking up at Peura's father who comes into the room. He goes up to Peura's mother, pulling her away for a private word.
"I need to talk to these two. Alone."
He closes the door behind Peura's mother and stands, just staring at us. A storm of emotions in his eyes. His antlers are drooping. Peura's father sighs and reveals Peura's helmet that he was hiding behind his back. His fingers run along the edge of the old metal. He steels himself to finally speak.
"Doe Face? I know you left the forest." He tells Peura, her amber eyes growing wide. "I-I…" her father stutters, "I found fairy dust in your helmet when I was taking it to the tailor." Peura's jaw tightens, "and you and I both know there are no fairies in the forest."
He taps her helmet sadly and puts a hand up to shush her before she can say anything.
"Don't." He sits and beckons for us to sit at the table alongside him. "Peura… you know I love you, right Doe Face?" She looks at him worried. "There's a secret handed down by head blacksmiths of each village. To be told to the next head blacksmith before we die. A… curse of sorts upon our people."
"What?" She protests. "I… I… I can explain, I--"
Peura's father kisses her on her forehead. 
"Just listen, Doe Face. Let me explain." 
He holds her close, Vuohi snuggling in my chest knowing the gravity of the situation.
"You're a smart girl. You remember what I told you about our great Civil War with the Red Tieflings."
"Yes, father. I do."
"Did you never wonder why demons would want to stop being demons?"
Peura stops to ponder that idea for a moment.
"Because they had seen something horrible."
"Something horrible?"

Peura's father's eyes gather the burning light of the fireplace as he tells the entire story of the civil war.
"Before the Civil War the Demon King had assigned his head advisor and greatest general, Kavala, to oversee magic experiments done by what would become the Pale Tieflings. Pushing for more and more results, more and more arcane magic, to ignore more and more safety protocols. Until one day, there was a great disaster. It turned the leaves to crystal, the water to lava, and made all the demons see the light."
"The light?"
"It might have been a true light or it might have not. Perhaps they saw the face of God himself in it. Perhaps they saw a window to a more peaceful life, one free of the constant violence of demons. But whatever had happened it made the Tieflings in the forest reject their demonhood."
Peura looks at me to make sure I'm hearing this too, and she's not crazy.
"But the Demon King's general had survived, and vowed for vengeance. Kavala refused all but total subjugation of the Pale Tieflings for their sin of even asking for independence. The Demon King gave his express approval over his actions."
"What happened? We won didn't we?"
"No. No, we didn't win. We only won a single battle. A battle over a dam where we held back the Red Tieflings."
"The Damming of the Red Tide?"
Peura's father nods slowly, "the Pale Tieflings were a scrappy bunch, always beaten in battles but working out ways to inflict some losses upon the endless Red tide with ambushes. Kavala and some of his army were crossing the dam while Pale Tieflings surrounded each side of the dam, picking demons off one by one as they tried to overrun the line, until the crows and their riders could arrive."
"Wait, we rode crows once?" Peura leans in full of excitement.
"We did, the Pale Tieflings were once masterful experts of flying through the air, even harpies would be jealous at the way we flew our glorious steeds, our giant crows, through the air. They swooped in and blew the dam with bombs. Drowning Kavala and the army that had marched behind him."
"But we still lost?"
"That was the only battle we had won the entire war. The rest was chaos, the thing demons do best."
"Why do we even live here? How are we here if we had lost?"
Peura's father's eyes become teary.
"The only thing a demon likes more than chaos, is to make a deal."
"What deal did we make?"
"The Pale Tieflings were able to persuade the Red Tieflings that perhaps genocide was too kind a solution, and that to destroy our culture and leave us to pick over its ruins was even crueler. They stripped us of our magic. They created the endless storm above the forest. But worst of all? They corrupted the steeds we had loved so much. The Crying Crows that roam the forest are the corrupted descendents of those crows, cursed to turn on their former beloved masters with a single smell of them. That's poetic isn't it? It's worse than having to put down your beloved pet, it's your beloved pet and all its children hunting you down with nothing but pure contempt."
He sighs and rubs his head.
"And the final part of the deal, to save us from genocide, was that a Pale Tiefling could never leave. Every single one was to be trapped in the crystal forest forever"
"And if the deal is broken?" Peura asks.
Peura's father feigns a weak smile.
"The Red Tieflings come back to finish the job."
Peura's eyes go blank.
"I-I… I so… uhhh." The weight of the situation crashes down on her.
Peura's father is silent.
Peura stutters, "I-I killed us all then?" She looks down at her lap. "I've doomed our entire people." She mutters.
Peura's father hugs her tight.
"It's okay, Doe Face, it's okay." He eases her through her catatonic state, looking over at me. "Anon, you're from outside the forest right?"
"I led her out. I'm sorry." I raise my hands to beg for forgiveness. "I didn--"
"QUIET SON!" He yells. "Now is not the time for blame, eventually a Pale would have wandered out of the forest on their own and the magic would then let the Reds know. What is important is that we nip this in the bud."





"How?"
"How long would it take for the Reds to arrive at the border of the forest?"
"It took me months to walk here, but with teleportation magic? Two months? Maybe three?"
I think over the distances in my head.
"Assuming you have endless PHD level mages at your disposal… you would be at the forest's border… within…" my stomach drops. "One week…"
Peura's father kisses her forehead one last time, "Doe Face. I love you and will love you no matter what." He hugs her tight, wiping away the tears rolling down her face. "We'll be back."
He beckons me to follow him. 
"Anon… you and I have work to do."
"Yes, uhh…"
"Sankari, my name is Sankari."

	At the top of the smithy a giant dungchen horn blows loudly. Soldiers running about in formation. Messengers being dispatched to other villages to get the word out as quickly as possible. Weapons and armor roll out of storage, being brushed out for mass issue to every able bodied Pale Tiefling. It fills me with pride to see so many Pale Tieflings donning their helmets and shields. The Archers even practicing with their sabers, throwing bolts of lightning from their tips.
	I watch as a platoon of Pale Tiefling scouts listen to their squad leader. He holds up a wooden mask, a tribal take on a gas mask. One big black hole where the mouth would be and two great lenses. He shows a small bottle of tree sap mixed with the firefly oil. It has the consistency of honey, he slathers it onto the lenses of the gas mask, finally he lights it on fire. The lenses alight with a burning orange. Excess sap dripping down the cheeks of the mask like tears. Night vision masks. He blows it the fire out and uses the same focus instinct Peura did long ago when facing down the siren head. The lenses glow a bright sappy orange. It's hypnotizing. The thought of dozens of those suddenly lighting up the night before an ambush must be a terrifying crux of the Pales' emphasis on psychological warfare.
	Generals and Commanders discuss where to hold and ambush the enemy, to hold outside the forest or around each village? Abandoning the villages could help a guerilla front as we know the landscape best, but then material and logistics are practically non-existent. 
	"We won't win."
	"What?" I turn towards Sankari who sits in the corner of the smithy with me
	"We won't win against the Red Tieflings." He looks out the window towards the war fervor taking place outside. "The Red Tieflings are innumerable, even a fraction of a demon kingdom's army is enough to crush us."
	"Bu--"
	"We may be a great guerilla force, but we then we can only win if the demons tire of fighting." He sighs. "When was the last time a demon had tired of killing?"
	"What do we do then?"
	"Hold the very best we can with the single weeks worth of preparation we have."
I can see Peura sadly playing with Vuohi, trying to ignore the feverish panic outside. But then I remember something she had mentioned off handedly.
"What if we assassinate the Demon King."
"Assassinate the Demon King?" Peura's father chuckles sadly, "you'd be better off slaying the nighttime with a flashlight."
I push, "but think of the chaos it would bring. The Red Tieflings would have to go home, their generals will prefer future power over settling old scores." Peura's father thinks it over, "we would get more time to prepare, perhaps even avoid war altogether." I push my idea harder, "you even said it yourself, 'it's best we nip this in the bud.'"
At the border of the village, Peura's father waits with me. We watch the leaves twinkle above us. It's saddening to know such a beautiful place will be covered in blood in less than a week. It will take us a week just to make it out of the forest. And to get to the Demon King's castle, to offer surrender papers to demand a meeting with him? Where if everything fails, we assassinate him? It will take months. Hopefully there is a forest left to save if we get there…

"Is she not coming?" I ask Sankari.
"I guess not." He says. "I understand, the guilt on her soul must be immense."
"Do Pale Tieflings have souls?"
His eyes glass over with sadness. "We don't know, perhaps we still are just demons in the end."
"ANON!" I hear a voice yell. Peura runs up the hill, Vuohi nipping at her tail sad she has to go.  "Sorry, I'm late."
"It's no problem at all."
Sankari gives us one final blessing before we go.
"Doe Face…" he kisses Peura's forehead. "Be safe."
She nods, "I started this. I will end it."
Sankari nods and hands me his ivory instrument case, "all you need to play this is to just let the music flow through your soul."
"Seeing how well you played it, then Pale Tieflings have a soul after all?" Isay.
He smiles, "I guess so."

Peura and I quickly march through the forest. Avoiding deers and crows the entire way. The gap left by Vuohi is only filled by a stressful tension. The kind a drowning man feels in his final moments. Sleep is restless and meals are chores. But one night, when the edge of the forest is near. I hear Peura crying.
"Peura?" I turn her over to see her curled up underneath her blanket, hugging her helmet the fairies had given her.
I pat her back and curl up alongside her, to console her. 
"It's going to be okay."
For the rest of the night I help ease her down from her panic. Her tall body is warm against mine, feverish even. Her antlers twinkle from the sappy dew that drips off their tips. Her amber eyes are like miniature fires that reflect off the moon filled crystal leaves around us.
"It'll be okay." I say. "We're going to fix this."
We wake up early the next morning to the noise of beating drums. Finding the Red Tiefling army has arrived on the edge of the forest. The Red Tieflings are devish shifty little beings. Covered in armor from head to toe, sleekly shaped to look as form fitting as possible with their Dutch M34s. Covered in tasteful flourishes of red atop the dark gray. A stark contrast to the white and blue ponchos the Pale Tieflings wear over their armor. Each Red Tiefling carries an M1941 Johnson, the rotary magazines shining with a rune marking them as bags of holding. They are even wearing gas masks for some reason. Suddenly a Red Tiefling clutches his stomach, ripping off his gas mask to vomit. Mana sickness. The Pales may have some hope after all.
Giant wolves in armor follow behind them like trucks. Two Red Tieflings riding it, one to steer and one to man the Lewis Gun mounted on its back. Inspired by Russian Tachankas. Peura puts her helmet on and watches with horror at the endless Red tide marching down the forest's border. In the distance is the town she had had such joy exploring when we had first met.
"Anon…"
"I know… I know."
We try to sneak around their lines, but the Red Tieflings are so much in number that there isn't a single unguarded spot. But we do find one area that is guarded by lazy demons, we choose that road block for our breakthrough the following night.
"Anon?"
"Yeah?" I say as I check each pocket of my bandolier is loaded. 
"I made us some food."
"What? When?"
"Before we left…"
The entire journey we had been eating bread, water, and salted dried meat.
"What did you make?"
"Bread balls."
She pulls out a small box from her pack, steam rises out when she opens it.
"It's why I was so late… I wanted to make us something special. I made it all myself for the first time." She offers me one. On the side of her trigger finger I can see a very bad burn. "Oh… I burnt myself getting them out of the oven."
I bite into one. I'll be honest. It's nowhere near as good as her mother's food. But honestly? I think it tastes better. Perhaps it was the stress or shitty combat conditions; however, what I know for sure is that Peura's embarrassed smile and love she put into the cooking made it better. We eat quietly. 
1
"Do you remember what you asked me, when we first met?"
"I asked if you were a demon."
"Yes…" Peura stops chewing. "Do you think I am?"
I hug Peura tight, I feel her holster digging painfully into my ribs but I don't care. I feel her antlers ruffle my hair. 
"Stop with the paranoia. You know what I miss? The mischievous Peura. The one who liked to crack jokes and… kinda played pranks on me. Do you remember the lava river?"
Peura smiles happily. "Yes."
"The look on my face?"
"Yes."
"I want you to be happy like that." I rub the tip of her antler fondly, "we'll make it through the demon lines."
We ready our night vision masks. I follow Peura through the night, her amber eyes looking back at me every so often to make sure I'm not too far. We come up on the road block. Every single Red Tiefling fast asleep. The fire crackling faintly, more just a hot ash pile from neglect. 
Peura and I tiptoe past the guards with no problem at all. But just when we are about to be home free, we see a Red Tiefling walking back towards us. We look around us. The houses are all filled with Red Tieflings too. Peura pushes me behind her and aims her pistol. The Red Tiefling unable to see us in the pitchblack. I trust her aim entirely. 
It fails. She flinches from pain when the trigger presses against her burn, sending the bullet flying into the Red Tiefling's stomach instead of pain. He yells angrily waking up the guards behind us.
A crafty Red Tiefling sees our shadows along the side of the road as we run. He shoots and hits Peura in the back. I see the bullet tear its teeth through her body, flying clean out the other side. She gasps and falls to the ground. The Red Tieflings surround us as I desperately try to staunch the bleeding.

They throw us in a jail cell. Only the moon looking down at us disappointed through the window and nothing else inside. Peura weakly holds her hand against her wound. I am curled up next to her to hold my hand against her wound too.
2
"I wish my heart wasn't so good at her job." She says through gritted teeth.
"But then you'd be dead."
Her eyes become sad.
"Sorry, bad word."
"No! Good word! Very, very good word!"
A Red Tiefling in robes walks through the cell door. Escorted by two Tieflings in full armor. He walks with royal prowess like a king. Bestowing glory upon all simply from the sight of him, at least that's what he thinks it's like.
"My, my, you Pale Tieflings have changed quite a bit over the years."
He leans in with a toothy smile, bags underneath his sunken eyes give the impression his skull is hollow. But his eyes shine with a remarkable spark of intelligence. Knowing this is all part of his bigger plan. Someone who hasn't slept in ages but has kept himself going with just coffee and spite.
"You do know who I am? Don't you?" He glares at Peura.
"Are you my prisoner's union representative?" She teases.
Without pause he kicks her wound angrily, sticking his spiked boot inside her chest. Poking at her ribcage until she faints. 
"There, now that Miss Deer Horns is quiet." He turns to me. "We can talk, man to man."
He motions for the guards to bring him a chair, the one they bring is more like a throne. 
"I never expected a human to be helping these disgraces to demonkind. What are you getting? Fame? Glory? Riches?" He kicks Peura's unconscious body, raising an eyebrow at her blood staining his royal boot. "Do you know who I am?"
"No?"
"Me? I'm General Kavala!" 
"The Pales mentioned a General Kavala, but they said he was killed."
"Oh, I was!"
"Then how are you alive?"
He sits and smiles, "magic is a wonderful thing, isn't it?" He sighs dreamily. "You can do such WONDERFUL things with it!" An ethereal blade sticks out of his pointer finger. "You can even cheat death! I mean, you need a soul to do that, it's a sort of deal with the devil kind of thing." He laughs at his own pun, retracting the blade. "I happened to acquire 13 souls when I became the Demon King's chief advisor!"
3
I'm dropped the floor when he returns to his throne. 
"I'm going to meet him tomorrow actually." Kavala laughs, "portal magic is a wonderful thing!" He points to Peura's shivering frame. "It's too bad these idiots gave up their magic, even broke their deal like the incompetant idiots they are."
"Incompetant?"
Kavala frowns, "you do know just how incompetant they were, right?"
"No?"
He feigns disbelief before laughing, "DON'T TELL ME, THEY TOLD YOU ABOUT THE CIVIL WAR, AND YOU DIDN'T QUESTION A THING!" He pounds his throne as he screams with laughter, wiping a tear from his eye with the reopened ethereal blade on his finger. "That's rich!"
Kavala leans back in his throne, gesturing with his bladed finger like it's a cigar and he's discussing matters with a dear friend.
"This whole thing was started because they had rigged a magic experiment." He rolls his eyes, "I lost some memories since then, death and all, but they had weaponized it against us."
"They said you forced them to do it and an accident happened."
"Perhaps, but the 'accident'" he imitates me, "was too devastating not to be weaponized." Kavala taps his throne disapprovingly. "That was actually my first death. I was watching these stupid new recruits drill with their rifles next to a giant wolf, disgusted by the Pale Tieflings' gross fucking crow statue. But anyway, suddenly something happened. It was like a light had melted every living thing around the forest, killing them. Killing. Me."
His eyes become blackholes of putrid anger, like the deer's.
"Did you not question how everyone in the forest had lived through it, but no one around it for miles had survived? Entire towns and cities reduced to exclusion zones in a second? That kind of transgression cannot be tolerated."
Peura wakes up and wheezes, holding her wounded chest.
4
"The fact they gave up magic." He grabs her antlers, I try to stop him but the guards restrain me. "Prove they are a disgrace to all demonkind." His eyes turn pitch black again. "I'll make you a deal." The ethereal blade is brought up to Peura's antlers. "I cut off… half… of her an antler. I give you your stuff back. You'll be left to die here anyway. Might as well get comfortable. He shrugs, "but no weapons of course."
Peura is too out of it to react, loopy with pain. Fearful of what will happen, just like I was scared when I had gotten my arm paralyzed when we first met. Wait… I still have a healing potion in there.
"A fourth of her antler."
"A fourth? Boy, you are in no position to negotiate." 
"A fourth." I repeat.
He shrugs, "alright."
I don't want to say what it was like for Peura to lose to the top of her antler. Kavala watches me crawl for the healing potion.
"That won't be enough to save her," he laughs as he walks out.
The bottle is cracked but it's otherwise intact. I look over at Peura on the floor, bleeding even more profusely than before. Any damage her body had naturally repaired is worse than before. I crawl up to her, gentle not to hurt her anymore. I was stupid.
I gently tilt the healing potion into her mouth. She drinks it by reflex. Her wound healing, but not enough to make it non-fatal. I hold her close as I feel her breathing growing weaker. This is my fault. I never should have led her out of the forest. I start to cry.
"Anon?"
"Yes?"
"I… I…" she gasps and falls limp. 
I start to sob as I hold her limp body tighter.
"G-Got-t-t y-you!"
I open my eyes to see Peura giving a weak smile and pointing at my face.
"Y-You should have… seen… seen…"
"Shhh… yes, you got me good."
"Hah."
I hear something plink loudly against the metal bars in the window. A curious fairy looks inside. 
"H-Hey, little buddy."
1
She flies down to my shoulder, sitting and looking at Peura worriedly. I recognize the fairy. It was the fairy who had taken the place of Washington by standing stalwartly on the brim of Peura's first helmet when the fairies were playing around to reenact the painting of George Washington crossing the Delaware, before we had fought the siren head. 
Washington fairy smiles and bumps against my cheek. She doesn't quite know what's happening. She freezes when she sees the bloody stump of the top of Peura's antler. 
"Yeah… they cut it off." Washington fairy looks at her wound. "She's not going to make it." 
Peura's eyes open weakly, "oh hey! It's a fairy!" Her arm comes up to pat the fairy's head but misses when it falls short from lack of energy. Washington fairy is on the verge of tears. "I missed you guys. A lot. So cute…" Peura mumbles. "I guess Red Tieflings are the ones who slice off your horns. Not fairies." Peura closes her eyes again.
Washington fairy stands. Her wings buzzing with anger, about to go nuclear. She stamps her feet on my shoulder balling her fists and fluttering up into the air. Zipping off into the night but a golden light that pours through the bars of the window. 
Washington fairy brought her entire army, even remembering Peura's original helmet which is filled to the brim with fairy dust. The fairies all flutter around Peura, sad and angry at the sight of her so hurt. They shower fairy dust on her wounds to pull her back from the brink. Washington fairy scribbles on a piece of paper. It's hard to read, scrawled out like a little kid's writing.
RED. TIEFLING. BAD. WANT. OUT???
I nod. My confirmation is all they need. The fairies slather fairy dust all over the wall. There are loud flutters before it all explodes to knock down the wall. I carry Peura in my arms, following the fairies out of the prison. Red Tieflings shoot angrily to stop us. 
2
They are knocked down by walls of fairies who pummel them with their tiny fists. The hatred they have for Red Tieflings is astonishing, but in a vengeful kind of way. A cloud even breaking off to loot the weapons lock up for our stuff.
The fairies lead us out of the town and back to their Panzer. Regrouping there with the other fairies inside the tank ready for action. I look back towards the crystal forest. The blue clouds slowly turning brighter with the coming morning. Washington fairy scrawls out another message.
BRING. HOME. ANTLER. GIRL?
I explain to them how to get back to Peura's home of Devil's Lake. Peura will live thanks to their magic healing but will still need some days to recover. I lean down to Peura's loopy eyes. 
"Peura? Can you hear me?"
"I can." She wheezes.
I grab her arm. "I'll be back." I peck her on the cheek. "I promise I'll finish our mission." I whisper. "Live for me."
The fairies carry her off. Washington fairy jumps on my shoulder pointing to the lights in the distance of Red Tiefling soldiers who have followed the fairy dust trail. 
"Shit!" My Pedersen rifle only has the 10 rounds in its clip. I need more gun than that. 
I search for a weapon, the fairies who looted the lock up drop one in my hands. Peura's Luger. I remember what Peura had said "hold it less like a gun, more like a fencing saber in one hand." I aim it just like she had shown me, shivering when I remember her kind touch. She never did show me the other stances…
I'm ready to fight the tide of Red Tieflings. I'll drown beneath it but have found my hill to die upon. Washington fairy motions for me to climb inside the tank. The fairies inside working furiously on something. I hop in through the hatch to find the fairies have cleaned up their mini society. They've expelled tons of magic to restore the tank to its glory days.
3
Dozens of fairies dressed like Rosie the Riveter and Wehrmacht tankers run around the inside of the panzer. A pair of fairies carry rivets around on their shoulders like they're drill rifles. Other fairies are hammering to restore the armor plates. The fairy who was once lavishing in the bathhouse is now barking out orders to ready the engine. Even the MG-34 has been put back into place, the fairies readying it like an artillery cannon again. A trio of fairies pushing me into the driver's seat. Pointing out the controls to me with excited flutters.
In the top of the turret Washington fairy blows a tiny bugle as if signaling a cavalry charge. She plays with such passion I can't help but remember Peura's father's gift. I open the ivory case and hand her the brass flute. Other fairies help her hold it, with her experimenting with what sounds she can play. Working out a backing of brassy drums that fills the tank with its music. Other fairies join in to play the flute together, starting a whimsical rendition of When Johnny Comes Marching Home.
The bathhouse fairy slaps the back of my head with her wings, giddy beyond belief. The engine is ready to go. I start the tank with shaky hands. The entire panzer shivers happily like a horse who has been freed from its pen to run free at last. The lights of the advancing Red Tieflings stop. They're likely as surprised as I am. I punch the accelerator, the tank's treads chewing into the dirt of the field feverishly. 
"I was hoping to get the Demon King's castle." I explain the entire situation of how Peura was hurt. The fairies whisper to each other. Pointing at the cannon. I guiltily tip toe around Peura getting the tip of her antler cut off. My refusal to touch on the subject makes Washington fairy's eyes widen. She stands and begins ordering fairies around, climbing into the cannon with one final salute.
"W-Where is she going?"
The cannon fires, a golden comet flying across the early morning sky. But when it reaches the peak of its arc the comet explodes like a firework, the golden sparks burning a portal into the air. The fairies punch the accelerator. Washington fairy falls through the open hatch into the tank, exhausted. The panzer flies through the portal, already sputtering with low its fuel is. But fairy after fairy climbs into the cannon to be fired like a firework, exploding with almost suicidal feats of magic to burn portals with teleportation range that would make a magic PHD blush.
Landscapes rush past us. Clocktowers over Red Tiefling towns ring to signal the new morning. The early birds watching with jaws dropped at the metal titan speeding across the land. All that they see is a golden ring open in the air, a panzer rush though it, a golden comet flying out of its cannon to explode like a firework, and yet another golden ring opening. The final portal opens to the Demon King's castle in the distance. 
A huge black mountain of obsidian brick. It stands with the confidence of Caesar before his assassination during the Ides of March but lava pours out the castle walls just like Caesar's blood after the assassination. As if the entire castle is the victim of some grand betrayal. Storm clouds brew above the castle. The evil twin of the calm drizzling rain of the crystal forest. It doesn't rain only dripping red demonic lightning.
The Panzer finally sputters to a stop. All of the fairies taking a well deserved break. One that is quickly cut short by a loud siren approaching. I reload Peura's Luger and climb out of the tank, ready to face the expected onslaught of the Demon King's finest. 
My stomach drops when I see a siren head stomping towards us. It all comes full circle now. I'm paralyzed by fear as the ground cracks beneath its bony feet. It throws out a tongue of red lightning to slice off the panzer's cannon. The thunder is its siren scream. 
5
The fairies explode out of the tank, furious their home has been damaged. The cloud of fairies pushes me onto the barrel. I hold it tight as they lift me into the air. They quickly lift me clear of the siren head who can only scream angrily. But there's only so far fairies can be pushed. I feel the barrel shiver as they tire. Washington fairy climbs onto the muzzle of the barrel. She points to a grotesquely fancy window. The chambers of the one and only Demon King. Washington fairy gives one final salute as I jump off the barrel.
I fly through the Demon King's open window. Smashing into the ground and sliding to a noisy stop. I lay there, pretending to be dead just in case some intrepid guard notices me. Looking up through the darkness. In the distance is a mountain of pillows and blankets with a single lonely candle sadly glowing as it looks out its window. When no alarm is sounded, I start to get to my feet.
"You are a bold human. Bolder than the rest of your kind."
	A great blast of shadow magic almost burns my face. I look up to see the face of the Demon King himself materialize in front of me. Two great jagged horns with spikes fit to skewer children of his enemies upon. A hulking frame that could blot out the sun and steal the moon in its hands. His eyes are twin beacons of red hatred and malice. He is the very embodiment of the phrase, "Demon King." He raises a great arm and the candles in his chambers all light at once. Illuminating his battle axe that is poised above my head. The Demon King intends to split me down the middle, right down my spine.
	"Prepare to die." He gloats. "Any last words?"
	"Can it be a question?"
	The Demon King swings his axe down, stopping at the very last moment to berate me.
	"It better be how sharp my axe is."
	"W-Why do you have so many pillows and blankets out? Have you been sick?"
	Such a simple question catches even the Demon King off guard, it's anticlimactic to a laughable level. He looks back at his pillows and blankets strewn on the floor.
 
	"NO! I HAVEN'T! THE DEMON KING NEVER GETS SICK! NOW PREPARE TO DIE!"
	I watch as he raises his axe once more, but the infernal blade reflects the mirror image of dozens of trays and goblets discarded around his chambers.
	"Why do you have so many dishes up here?"
	"BECAUSE, BECAUSE… BECAUSE!" The Demon King stammers. "I… I eat up here!" He grows angrier and angrier.
	"But Mr. Demon King, surely as the King of Demons you would eat in a great dining hall filled with a monumental feast? Why would you eat up here?"
	The Demon King sets his axe down and rolls his eyes.
	"It's comfier to eat up here." The flaming anger in his eyes has begun to singe a sadness around his pupils, an embarrassed light behind them that knows it is out of character for the King of Demons to do this but the emotions have already begun to pour out.
	"What about upon your throne?"
	"I… don't like my throne room that much either…" the Demon King has become bashful, or as bashful as a hulking infernal monstrosity can be. "Don't misunderstand, it is beautiful! High arches fit for dragons to fly through, ceilings that rival the height of clouds, endless rows of torches and ornate stained glass windows older than your upstart species!" I stay silent as the King leans on his axe, he sighs. "But it's…" he grasps for the right word, "too big."
	"Too big?"
	"It's too grand. It takes far too long to cross. When the doors open across the throne room, them being stupidly big is the only reason I can even see them open, the time it takes for people to then walk to my throne is frustrating!" The Demon King pounds his axe into the floor, cracking the obsidian marble. "And if they're nervous? They always are…" He adds with a quick mumble, " it's beyond tedious to watch them stumble towards me!"
	I nod as he looks to me for confirmation.
	"Do you have any idea how HARD it is to be the Demon King?"

I don't really…
"Is it because I'm the Demon King?" He asks, "that they're always quaking in their boots? I'm not THAT mean." The King explains. "It's like they think I will disintegrate them with a mere flick of my wrist, and I can! But that doesn't mean I will," he puts out his hands in frustration. "I only disintegrated four people for high treason during my entire reign of terror! Four!" He continues to soften up slowly. "Like you humans, if you all tried you COULD obliterate an entire elf kingdom in a week, but that doesn't mean you WILL!"
	It's a little strange to hear such a deep, rumbling voice express such humility. Demons aren't known for that, and Demon Kings are definitely not supposed to even know the word.
	"Even my advisors? They're too scared to tell me anything but suspiciously good news! And that just makes me more worried, because I don't know what's actually happening out there, if one of our Lords acts out how am I going to find out unless they tell me?" 
The Demon King conjures a chair for him to sit on. 
"Sure, I might get angry, but that's partially because I haven't been told anything helpful in so long! Ohhh it's great that our skull count is up, it goes up naturally. Stop coming to me with," he does an annoyed high pitched voice, "'my Great King Of All That Is Bad And Mean And Dark, our skull count has gone up because of you!" 
	I watch him get up and grab a nearby leg of mutton and goblet of wine that were sitting next to a mountain of dirty dishes. How long has he been up here?
	"Eons! Eons of that. It's still infuriating to deal with when they come to me here in my chambers! It was even worse when I was still using the throne room! I couldn't even see who was coming down until maybe five minutes of them walking!" He takes an emotional chomp of mutton, biting clean through the bone and is so distraught he crunches it down anyway. "And all the advisors are gremlins, have you seen their legs? It takes so long for them to walk anywhere!"
	8
	The Demon King continues to eat and drink, ignoring me. I'm not sure what to do now. 
	"Do you stress eat?" I ask.
	"Stress eat? Maybe…" he looks at the mutton with a hint of guilt and regret, that he quickly hides in a mouthful of meat. "Enjoy? No, not at all." 
He swallows the meat like it was coarse sawdust in disguise, downing wine that he seems to enjoy as much as a warm, watery fruit punch. 
"My chefs are too scared of displeasing me with my meals. So they don't exactly do anything 'exciting,' I can't even remember the last time they did anything that wasn't some variation of mutton or wine." He continues to eat and speaks through his mouthful of food. "And with how they often find jobs elsewhere, because 'cooked for the Demon King: AND SURVIVED' is all you need on a resume to work in the finest restaurants in Fankasia. All they are told is to cook the same recipes by the outgoing chefs. Who were also taught the same."
The Demon King looks at his food and puts it down, kicking away the plate.
"Why even the eggs they cook are bad, how do you screw up a fried egg?" He begins to pace around, "egg yolks should be steamy, rich, and… and…" he grabs the sill of the window I had flown through. "Yolky! They should be yolky!" The King puts his arms out towards me, before quickly hiding his gesture by pretending to practice choking. "Not watery and tepid."
He's so frustrated and distraught he leaves to wrap himself up in his blanket fort. The Demon King lowering the lonely candle next to him. It too is surrounded by little pillows of its own. On a table I can see loose stuffing and fabric piled up next to needles and string. I carefully walk closer. He had clearly made these to make his only true friend in his bed chambers feel at home, and maybe perhaps because it reminded him of himself?
9
I stand looking over the Demon King who turns himself over to look away.
"Why did you come here human? Let me guess, 'to kill me so the world may be free of my oppressive malice!'" 
I hear a toy's squeak and see the shadow of a goat dance on the wall. I look around the Demon King's mountainous shoulder to see it's a stuffed animal. He has many goats. Lined up along a shelf. A clear demarcation of his personal hobby. They go from scrappy and amauter to professional art, yet the first goat is clearly missing.
"Are you going to ridicule me for making those before you try to kill me?"
The Demon King sighs and places the first goat back up on the shelf. Staring at it fondly. It's a scrappy little cute affair. Imperfect cuts and clumsy stitches in the fabric. Overstuffed, it looks like a goat only in the faint sense. But clearly the most beloved. Its ears have been stitched back on countless times. As countless as the stuffed goats on his shelf.
A leg of mutton is reached for as the Demon King drowns his sorrows further in tasteless meats. He takes one bite before throwing it into the corner of the room and chewing spitefully. 
"H-H-Have you e-ever tried a P-Pale Tiefling Bread Ball? They're a lot like pork buns but can be filled with chees---"
It's like an avalanche of blankets and pillows, almost washing me away. The mere movement of the Demon King was enough to displace all of that. Being sad and lonely doesn't matter, he is still "the" Demon King for a reason.
"Like a pork bun? Cheese?" Cheese rolls off his tongue like the name of a long forgotten childhood friend, the waves of nostalgia playing with his pronunciation. "Do you have any?"
I nervously reach into my pack. Reaching for the small box of food that Peura had prepared. When I pull it out, the red hatred of the Demon King's stare softens to become more of a gentle bloom. Like a red Moth flower's glow. I open it and it's still steaming. The moisture condensing in the Demon King's eyes as the beginning of tears.
And when I offer him one, he snatches it away excitedly. But then he stops, turning back to me full of suspicion.
"You came here, all the way to offer me a…" he looks down his hands. "Pork bun?"
"It's a Bread Ball and some are made with goat meat, but sure."
"To what? Assassinate me?" The Demon King has begun to retreat into his cold shell again, perhaps the warmness burnt him? "Poison me?"
"If I was an assassin, would I say 'yes?'"
He begins to come out of his shell again.
"I suppose not… and surely any poison to kill me would take some moments to take effect. More than enough time for me to axe you in half."
The Demon King takes a tiny, nervous bite. He stares at the tiny little dumping.
"It's delicious." He says, finishing it in another bite. The Demon King looks up at me, incredibly embarrassed to show such emotions to a human stranger who had fallen through his window. "C-Can I have another?"
I hand him another, "this one is with ch--"
	All he needed was to hear the first syllable, he swallows it whole. Getting up to sit on his blanket pile. 
	"Would you like anothe--"
	"Yes, please."
	"This one is both meat and cheese."
	While he eats, I gingerly sit next to him. Much to my surprise he scootches over to make space.
	"I like these too," I make small talk. "The meat and cheese are the best."
	The Demon King chuckles softly, his gnarled expression has become soft and genuine.
	"I should have made you eat half of the first, and waited to see if you died of poison."
	"When was the last time you ate with someone?"

	His hands seize around his Bread Ball. 
	
"I don't know," the Demon King sighs, "it gets lonely up here. You know? No one wants to talk to a demon, even fewer want to talk to a king. So then who would want to talk with a Demon King?"
Before when he had asked if I knew how hard it was to be the Demon King, I thought it was the kind of haughty, self absorbed rhetorical question but now I can see it was something anything but.
"I…" the feelings begin to pour out as he knows nothing other than oversharing. He doesn't know how much you should share. "I had a pet goat named Gut when I was a child." The Demon King stares blankly at the floor. "I loved him. But I was taught at a young age to never speak to others unless it was to assert my authority. My father had walked in on me in the courtyard rubbing Gut's belly. He thought I was soft and turned Goat into stone, making me beat Gut into dust with my bare hands." 
The Demon King looks at his outstretched palms with horror.
"It is nice to talk like this." He finishes his bread ball. "This is nice. You are nice, human." The Demon King sighs, "okay, now tell me the REAL reason you are here human. Assassination? Be honest."
"Yes… assassination is one of the reasons." Suddenly instead of fury, tears well up in his eyes. "But!" I clamber. "It was a last ditch kind of thing!"
A tear begins to fall down his face. The one person he had opened up to still in the end was there to kill him. 
I do the stupid thing, and hug him.
At first he rejects it, his body tensing up to flatten me. But then he relaxes, breathing softly and wiping his tears.
"It was only a, 'what if' kind of idea. Not a true plot."
"Do you swear?"
"I swear on my soul, or let a demon eat my dreams."
The Demon King's eyes open wide at my oath. 
"You know of our culture?"
"I've hung around people who do, do you know of the Pale Tieflings?"
He shakes his head side to side.
"Y-You ordered the magic experiments in their land?"
The Demon King shrugs.
"What about the rejection of their independence, as 'it was an affront to your authority as the King of Demons?'"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Not even the second civil war? You didn't order ANY OF IT, especially after the first peace deal was broken?"
"Deals being broken are a great sin, but… no? This is the first I've heard of it, like I said, my advisors only tell me the best of the best news."
I slowly explain the entire ordeal to him. From me meeting Peura, to her stepping out of the crystal forest to meeting the fairies, her village, and the fighting that ensued to eventually bring me here. I tiptoe around Kavala slicing off part of Peura's horns.
"Kavala? Why… I… I…" he fumes explosively. "I will handle this matter personally, human." He suddenly stops, having trouble saying his next sentence, "as… as… a… g-g-g… gift. A gift, to you."
The Demon King kicks open the door of his bed chambers like Odyessous returning home after his great journey. He looks around, frowning angrily and wagging a finger.
"There is supposed to be a legion of Red Tieflings standing guard here."
The hallway is empty. A Red Tiefling's footsteps echo loudly as he pitter patters his way down the hall. 
"There's supposed to be a bathroom here, I swea---"
He freezes when he sees the Demon King and I standing down the hallway. 
"YOUR MAJESTY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT OF YOUR QUARTERS?"
"We're changing how things are working around here."
The Demon King marches past him quickly, sending him spinning into a wall. I sprint to keep up with the big guy. We walk into the throne room and immediately I see what he means. It's more like two football fields with a throne at the end. It looks a lot like the chair Kavala had in the prison. 
"I see what you mean." 
He grins. "FINALLY, SOMEONE UNDERSTANDS!" 
The Demon King stomps his foot once, full of satisfaction. The hall shakes waking up the advisor reclining on his throne. 
"YOU!" He picks up the advisor by the scruff of his neck. "We're making some changes!" The advisor looks up terrified. "FIRST. We're changing this damn throne room!" 

The Demon King's voice echoes through the hallway to prove his point.
"It's too damned big! All this wasted space! Put up some walls for new rooms!"
He carries the advisor in his hand, pointing out everything he has been sick of for the past centuries.

	"Look at how little light there is in here, it's like Hades threw his nightgown over my head, it's so dark!" 
	"Do you not like our demonic torches?"
	"It makes everything smell like smoke!"
	"Yes, the burning flayed skin of our enemies."
	"Doesn't that strike you as needlessly cruel? What about some normal light fixtures? Not everything needs to be so demonic!"
	He points outside at the lava lake and moats around the castle.
	"And why lava? Why can't we just have normal lakes and moats? You know? WITH WATER?"
	"From the river Styx?"
	"NO!" The Demon King glares angrily, "JUST NICE, CLEAN WATER!" 
	We stomp past a blood fountain made from skulls.
	"Who thought this was a good idea?"
	"T-The cru-u-uel trophy of our victory over o-o-our enemies?"
	"It's a health hazard! Where do we even get all this blood? And these skulls, why is it always skulls?" The Demon King pushes over a statue made from skulls. "Are all of you so hard headed that you see yourself in these?"
	On the bridge across the moat he points up at the eternal black storm.
	"Do we have to have that? Can't we have blue skies? This is depressive!"
	"That's t-t-the p-point your g-g-grand d-d-dark-n-ness!"
	"It's stupid! Who sits up and says, 'mhmmm you know what? I want shitty weather all year round!' What purpose does it even serve beyond looking depressing?"
	"Security."

	The Demon King frowns, "we have entire legions of flying demons and witches! What are they doing all day?"
	"Making the storm."
	The King face palms and drops the advisor off the bridge. 
	"I swear…" he holds the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Nobody here understands how stupid this castle is." The Demon King waves his hand frustratedly, almost knocking me off the bridge too. "We have dozens of puzzles you have to solve just to get inside! People go missing because they forget the answers! There's a labyrinth just to get to the dining hall!"
	"Is your entire castle just a dungeon?"
	"Apparently, because that's what demons like to live in. A stinky, dark, and tedious dungeon." He stares down at the black, cracked ground. "I haven't felt rain or sun upon my skin in eons! The lava just makes the ground dry and the clouds above are magic, they have no water in them!" 
	He throws the doors open to the tower on the other end of the bridge. Descending the stairs, waking up the sleeping guards with his stomping.
	"YOUR MAJESTY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THE WAR TOWER?"
	"Seeing what my advisors have been up to."
	One of the guards looks at his partner with terror in his eyes.
	"Your majesty, there is no need to! All is well. We aren't at war with any-AHHHH!"
	The Demon King throws the guard through the tower wall, the guard shrieking as he falls. The guards outside the war room shake in their boots as they hesitate to open the doors.
	Inside is Kavala and the other advisors pushing toy soldiers around a map of the crystal forest. Kavala nods mutters about logistics, so caught up in his grand campaign to notice the other advisors have noticed the Demon King's return. 
	"The invasion forces are ready, but I require more material to sustain this portion of the encirclement. Morale is low since mana sickness is causing excessive rotation of troops; however, no matter what they will follow orders. Their oath of service commands it." He balls his hand like he's holding hundreds of chains in his fist.
	Kavala notices the advisors are quaking in their boots, he turns around. His face contorting in flashes of emotions. Shock, anger, frustration, and finally a feigned smile.
	"Your majesty!"
	"What is all this Kavala?"
	"N-Nothing, sir, just a little discussion about how to improve morale. All good news."
	"Not talks of invasion?"
	Kavala grows furious when he sees me.
	"You haven't been talking to this, round eared human, have you, your majesty?" Kavala's hand shakes as he points to me. "An upstart like him from an upstart race helping an upstart rebellion is not a trustworthy source of information!"
	"Rebellion? So there is something going on?" Kavala's smile disappears as the Demon King presses harder. "As my chief advisor, aren't you supposed to be trustworthy?" The Demon King leans over Kavala angrily, "Full and honest service was your oath, was it not? AND YET, YOU LIE TO ME!"
	"I haven't lied at all your majesty! All of what I told you was GOOD and HONEST!" Kavala pleads desperately.
	"You ONLY told me the good news. Never speaking about your schemes or the wars you wage without my permission! YOU LITTLE PISSANT GREMLIN!" 
 Kavala loses his temper, unsheathing his finger blade to lunge at the Demon King. I quickly slide the Pedersen rifle off my shoulder. Kavala's blade slices the sling in two as he rushes past me, but I jam the barrel into his stomach. I look back at the Demon King. He sets down his axe and nods.

I bash Kavala's stomach with the muzzle of my rifle. Throwing him to the ground. His robes flopping over his head. He sweeps them to the side just as I place the Pedersen against his head. 
"How about you deal with me instead?"
BANG
The suppressed muzzle flash only singes the area where the bullet enters his head. It crunches through his skull and feasts on gray matter, before leaving out the back full and happy. The other advisors scream and recoil from the blood. Kavala seizes on the ground. I watch as the wounds quickly heal. He gasps like he was pulled from the river Styx. I continue to summarily execute him with .276 to the head. Taking away his eleven remaining lives one by one.
"Please, human, let's make a deal!"
BANG
"I beg of you! Cease your illogical rage! We can talk!"
BANG
"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"
BANG
"I'll give you anything! I know people!"
BANG
"They can grant you near immortality!"
BANG
"I WILL HAVE YOU STRUNG UP BY YOUR NECK!"
BANG
"What if we work out surrender details for your friends?"
BANG
"How about tourism to promote relations?"
BANG
"MY KNIFE IN YOUR NECK IS WHAT YOU WILL GET NOW!"
BANG
"AHHH!"
PING
Kavala holds his blood soaked head, looking up desperately at me.
"Human. I want you to understand this, this is my last life. If you do this. I will truly die." His eyes burn with fury, he spits at my feet. "If this is some human negotiation tactic. You have proved your point. Let's make our deal and move on."
I rest my Pedersen rifle against the table. Kavala smiles mischievously. Glad he could fool me. A smile that disappears when I unholster Peura's Luger.
"You know that Pale Tiefling girl? Whose antler tip you sliced off? The one you tortured in front of me?"
He grimaces as I point the pistol at him. I fire the gun to help prove my point.
"YES, YES, I REMEMBER HER."
"She was the one who broke the peace deal you brokered with the Pale Tieflings eons ago. The one you knew that eventually would be broken."

"Finally, someone appreciates my intelligence."
"That's not so much a deal," I fire back, "as it is a scheming backstab." 
The Demon King nods appreciatively. 
"You want to know something else?" I wave the Luger like it's a sword, "this happens to be that girl's pistol too." I kneel down to face Kavala up close. "She's something called a 'Stormdolk.'"
"Stormdolk?"
"They are the ones who confront the enemy up close. It's like what you could call a Beserker." I say. "Wielding a shield, and this as their sword." I tap the Luger with my finger. "They do this graduation drill called the Damming of the Red Tide." I say with a smile while Kavala seethes at the name, "and you lost a life there."
"I did."
"You took away the Pale Tiefling's crows because of that."
"I did."
"So…" I stand up and pull him to his feet. 
He leans against the counter, spilling blood all over his war plans. Red drowning the Red Tiefling's lines. Blood drips down his lip. 
"And so, what? Prove your point, human so we can make out deal."
"Sadly, I'm not qualified to use this Luger as well as a Stormdolk can. The Pale Tiefling girl, Peura, had only ever taught me a defensive stance."
"Get on with it human, I tire of your drivel."
I smile.
"So, I wanted to learn an offensive one, to impress her when I get back home." Kavala's eyes open wide, his lip quivering. "Stand still."
I jump on Kavala. Beating his head in with Peura's Luger. Right on top of his Tiefling horn, to parallel him slicing Peura's antler off. The toggle lock's craftsmanship makes it the perfect part to break the tip of the horn off. I use the suppressor to "quiet" his pain with blows to the skull. Cracking it mercilessly. Letting forth all the rage that has built up over the entire time I have known Kavala. Spilling his blood all over his war plans.
"I just wanted to have a comfy time learning about a magical forest, BUT I COULDN'T HAVE THAT!"

I deliver the final blow to kill Kavala. I stumble back, exhausted. My jaw drops when his head begins to fix itself. I aim the Luger to blow it apart again but the Demon King brings his hand up to stop me.
He smirks, "do you remember what Kavala said about knowing people who could give near immortality?" I nod. "Well, they're not so much people as they are… something else."
A black portal crackles into existence behind Kavala. He wakes up just in time for it to begin sucking him in. He looks back in existential terror.
"NO! PLEASE! I CAN STILL GIVE YOU WHAT YOU WANT! AN ENTIRE KINGDOM OF SACRIFICES! IT'S STILL ON ITS WAY!" Kavala clings to his blood soaked war plans as papers fly past him. "I JUST NEED ANOTHER SOUL IS ALL! PLEASE, NO! THE KINGDOM WILL BE YOUR'S"	
The pins holding the war plans in place come loose. Letting the map fly free to slap Kavala in the face, sending him flying into the portal. Where he's slowly pulled under a watery black sludge by hands, he screams and tries to pull them off as he drowns.
The Demon King just watches, whispering, "there are powers even beyond me, friend. I am a mere king but not a power higher than that." He playfully nudges me with his shoulder, "I'm no god."
The portal closes and Kavala's scream echoes through the room.
"Friend…" I mutter… looking up at the Demon King. "You called me, 'friend.'"
"That's what you are, my friend."
	
Friends are nice. Friends help you and you help your friends. 
I sit in the new throne room of the Demon King's castle. Instead of new walls he opted for something comfier, crystal leafed trees as far as the eye can see. A miniature forest. I watch as the Demon King lovingly cups one of the leaves in his big hand. His eyes springing up when he hears a playful bawing. A dozen goats nuzzle up to his feet like puppies.

The way the Demon King melts when they do so, he's like a little kid, always reacting like it's the first time he saw the atoned goats. He falls to the ground with an earth shattering rumble. Boisterous laughter reaching as high as the crystal tree's canopy. The glassy canopy has replaced the previously dreary ceiling. Glowing sap trails run down from the excess wax that filters out of the firefly castles who have made her home here. Replacing the demon fire candles to make the throne room bright as day. 
"Anon!" The Demon King shouts, "leaving so soon?"
"Yes, I'm sorry."
"Ahhh!" The Demon King stands and begins to conjure a great spell of magic, "let me conjure you a portal now! The new advisors aren't as meticulous about portal magic as they should be." A grand golden portal opens before me, Peura's hometown sprawling out before me. "They're kind of distractible."
Washington fairy flies through the portal, saluting me as she goes to the Demon King. 
"Ahh! How is the siren head infestation being dealt with?" He asks her.
Washington fairy stirs when she tells him the bad news. 
"That bad, huh? We should send more people." The Demon King pats her head gently, "thank you for telling me." He looks up to call one last time as I step through the portal. "And Anon, don't forget to tell Sankari about the new settlement! They want some of those shields!"
"They're already moving in?"
"The towns are right there! Plus the closer they are, the more of the forest they can see." The Demon King leans back, petting one of his pet goats. "They really like the deer too." I roll my eyes, "they think the deer are kinda cute." He says offhandedly.
"Deer? CUTE?" I say. "They're pests! You're lucky there's disarming magic in the rain now! It used to attack you with paralyzing bolts of lightning, even magic couldn't heal it."
The Demon King chuckles and waves goodbye.

I bask in the cool rains of the Pale Tiefling forest. Still as wonderfully faint on my skin as ever, sappy, dewy, but no soaking. I look up at the sky. Now that the great curse is lifted off the land. Much of the mana pollution has been cleaned up and the tieflings learn magic from the fairies. The rivers are still lava, but the clouds? They come and go as they would in any other part of the Demon Kingdom. It's a beautiful day for flying. A flock of Repented Crows fly overhead. Their riders are absolutely ecstatic with how little cloud cover there is today. But that's the funny thing, perhaps it will always stay this way, it still always sprinkles. Not only is the sun refracted by the rain but it's refracted by the crystal leaves. Giving the visual equivalent to fresh, glittering snow all around you.
I walk down to the Smithy. Flute music can be heard around the back, though it isn't that good. Whoever is playing it is clearly still learning. I smile when I peek around the corner. Peura sits, frustratedly trying to play the first notes of the Witch's Song.
"Ugh… that's not right." She tries again. "That's not right either."
I sneak up on her and poke her in the back, since she's usually the one doing the sneaking she screams and bolts up.
"ANON! DON'T DO THAT!" 
She rubs her antlers nervously. My heart sinks when I see the scar left behind by my mistake in the prison. Her antlers had healed thanks to gratuitous amounts of fairy dust but the scar still remains. 
Peura puts her flute away. Tapping her helmet slowly.
"How was the Demon King?"
"He's still as big of a softie as ever."
"Did you remember to bring Vuohi back?"
I freeze for a moment before Peura smiles mischievously as Vuohi toddles up to me.
"I DIDN'T EVEN BRING HIM!" I say. "The last time I forgot him over there, the Demon King didn't want to give him back!"
Peura giggles, "you should have seen the look on your face."