Chapter 604: Interlude - Schoon Verfrist - Conflict

    Schoon Verfrist lived a cursed existence.

    The demon hadn’t asked to be born. Hadn’t been asked to be born a demon, specifically. Hadn’t asked to be one of the Immortal races, hadn’t asked for White Dove to curse him with a compulsion that could never be satisfied.

    Hadn’t asked for a Sin that was unusual, outside the norm. An outsider even among demons.

    Many of them got typical Sins. Lust and Pride, Sloth and Gluttony, Wrath, Greed, and Envy. Each was difficult, but they were known. Others knew how to handle a demon of Sloth slacking off, or working themselves into an early grave. It was understandable when a demon of Gluttony declined a meal, or asked for fifths.

    Schoon’s Sin was Clean.

    It colored his perception of everything. Every surface was dirty, and could be cleaned. Every floor needed to be swept, every dish bussed, every rug beaten. Other demons could understand a demon of Envy copying every style and fashion. They didn’t understand Schoon’s need to wash his hands a fourth time, a fifth time. How simply removing his hands from the water made them dirty once again, how the very dust in the air was enough to pollute his fingers and make him unclean.

    It extended to more than that. Food was never prepared properly, specters of disgust floating through his mind. Ideals were polluted, always with a flaw. The less he learned of society, the better.

    It wasn’t like his Sin was Lust, and he could simply go without. Entirely ignoring his urges led to a slovenly life, a rejection by peers as he smelled, dishes going unwashed and getting sick with disease. Leaning into them had led to him cleaning his house again and again, until there was no more house left, until his hand freely bled as he’d flayed his skin off.

    There was no winning.

    The best thing Schoon had found was to throw himself into work, any work. The villages and peaceful, ‘flat’ lifestyle of Draakveld didn’t lend themselves well to throwing themselves into endless work to distract him.

    When Vorstenhel came along, Schoon had found his answer. A leader, a cause, a mission. In the wake of the Immortal War, the demons were rising, determined to conquer the world, and take their rightful place in the hierarchy. The so-called ‘lessons of the past’ were a distant memory to nearly every living demon, and it made no sense to most of them why they restrained themselves so.@@@@

    He tried to clear it by thinking of his speech. What would the right opening be this time? Serf? No, he was too far east, this was still old Exterreri land. Still High Elvish for the language, but that looked like the Sea of Stars. He’d have to switch soon. Villein? It was technically correct, but nobody knew what it meant. Ah, time for a classic.

    “Rejoice, minions! The glorious Kingdom of Draakveld is delighted to annex you and your lands! No longer will you have to face the darkness alone! No longer must you worry about what strange and new world you find yourself in! We demons declare a new era! One of peace, prosperity, and learning! Together, we can see this vision made real! Together, we-”

    Schoon’s speech was cut short by a blade going through his heart. He twisted around, meeting the visage of a snarling elf. The elf leaned forward, butting Schoon with his horns. The demon felt cold, his lifeblood flowing out of him.

    “Long live Remus.” He spat into Schoon’s face before twisting the blade and pulling it out with a flourish.

    Both Schoon and the elf blinked as Schoon remained hovering, looking hale and whole. The moment of shock quickly passed, and the two exploded in a flurry of blows and magic. Swords clashed as Sound tried to vibrate the elf apart, and Mist condensed and froze on Schoon’s skin, trying to hinder and slow him down. The two battled, the ferocity intensifying as they realized any injury done to them would be healed - but by the same token, any injury they dealt was soon removed.

    A barrier of glittering stars popped into existence between the two of them. Both Immortals hit it at the same time, knowing well the rules on instant barriers created out of the Celestial element, assuming the other was responsible, and both bounced off in surprise as the shield held.

    A light flared nearby as a witch dropped her invisibility. She sat side-saddle on her broom, a wide blue hat over blue eyes and hazel hair, stars sparkling in her eyes and on her robe. The light came from her pipe as she inhaled, then a puzzled look crossed her face. Turning the long pipe upside down, she smacked the bottom a few times before a flaming bird popped out.

    There was a sharp intake of breath from the elf. Schoon expected to be hit with a tidal wave from his Sin, ashes and smoke from the burning bird, but there was none of that. The flames burned in a way that calmed his obsessive urge, that didn’t make him want to clean without end.

    “Brrrpt!” The bird protested, flying over to the witch’s shoulder. Her pipe cleared, she took a long inhale then puffed out two rings, the second, smaller one threading the needle on the first, larger one.

    “I didn’t give you permission to die in my city.”