The entire auction house rung in panicked cacophony. Mages scrambled everywhere, guards rushed across the floor, and yells mixed in the sky. Jalen watched more than a few bumbling idiots trip over themselves in their haste to make an escape.

    Even his amusement wasn’t enough to keep him from shaking his head in disgust. The majority of the mages in this room were high Rank 4s or Rank 5s, and there were definitely at least a few Rank 6s scattered throughout it as well.

    They were meant to be amongst the most powerful people the empire had within it — but the mere mention of the Damned Plains was enough to make them soil themselves in fear. Of course, Jalen had no delusions that these were truly the strongest the empire had to offer.

    Almost all of the mages of any real worth aren’t wasting their time at an auction. They’re hidden away or training. But even still, there should be some people here that aren’t completely pathetic.

    His gaze swept across the room in search of something interesting. He’d spent years sifting through worthless, backboneless fools. Jalen liked to think he had something of an eye for people that wouldn’t keel over at the slightest sign of an issue.

    And sure enough, he found what he was looking for.

    In all the chaos following Vermil’s announcement, there were several people that hadn’t so much as flinched.

    A woman on platform 2 leaned over the railing, staring down at Vermil. Her mask did nothing to disguise her interest. Jalen was slightly more interested in her hair. It was a fiery orange-red, the color of the Torrin family servants. Another woman stood on the platform with her, clad in heavy black robes that were a size too large for her. She was going out of her way to conceal as much of her form as possible.

    Then on platform 6 — a large man sat in his chair, straight backed. His fingers drummed against the armrest as he waited to hear Vermil out. A slew of attendants surrounded him, rushing around in a panic that he did not share.

    Upon Platform 8 was a tall woman with black hair. She stood, arms crossed behind her back, head cocked to the side like she were watching an interesting show play out before her.

    And those weren’t all of them. All throughout the room, there were scattered points of mild interest. Mages here and there that weren’t completely worthless. It was actually a few more than Jalen had expected to find, though Vermil hadn’t actually done anything yet.

    He was a single supposed demon surrounded and revealed. There was a sea of bodies between him and the mages. Only the most cowardly fools would be getting terrified already. This was possibly the worst spot for a demon to attempt an attack.

    “You’re finished, demon!” A mage yelled. “Showing yourself here is like throwing yourself neck-first onto a blade!”

    “Demon,” Vermil repeated, cocking his head to the side. “Is that what you think I am?”

    The guards surrounding him on the platform pressed closer. They readied their weapons and yelled orders, but none of them were actually willing to close the gap between them and Vermil.

    Even if the only proof of his identity was his claim to be from the Damned Plains, no sane man wanted to get anywhere near a demon — and not even an idiot would pretend to be one.

    “You just said you were,” the mage called back. “Are you not?”

    “Lay down,” one of the guards called, his voice breaking. “Hands behind your back!”

    “No,” Spider said.

    The guards stared at him.

    “Please?” the guard tried.

    “Decent attempt, but no,” Vermil said. He set his massive grimoire down on the ground with a heavy thud. “Now, I believe we were having an auction, were we not?”

    “Where are the Inquisitors?” a mage yelled through the cacophony. “They’re paid for situations like this! Someone remove the demon!”

    That’s a good question. An event like this should have at least one Inquisitor on staff somewhere. I’d imagine Vermil was even planning for that. He wouldn’t have made an entrance like this if he didn’t expect an Inquisitor. As moronic as their group is, I can’t say they’re often slow to act on information.

    What’s going on?

    “Be calm!” a woman roared. Her voice boomed through the auction house like rolling thunder, ripping through the chaos. Jalen’s domain prickled. Her words had been imbued with magic. A lot of it.

    Sound magic. There’s something you don’t see much anymore.

    Not a scrap made it through his domain. The woman was strong, but he was stronger. That was almost a disappointment. It had been too long since he’d had an interesting challenge. Still... they had to be a high Rank 5 or low Rank 6.

    And, to Jalen’s mild surprise, the order worked. The panicked scrambling paused.

    A form flew through the air before alighting on the ground across the stage from Vermil. She wore gray robes with plates of armor sewn into them, covering vital spots. Imbuements ran throughout the material to strengthen the connecting cloth, and it had clearly seen some use before.

    “We’re not going to humor—” a mage started.

    “What do you want? I represent the Herron family. I can guarantee we can get you what you need.” the sound mage said, cutting the man off immediately. She shot a glare at one of the guards who was starting to approach and the man faltered before taking a step back.

    “Now, that’s not how an auction works,” Vermil said. “Everyone deserves to get a chance to bid — but seriously, where are the Inquisitors? Are they asleep? Those idiots have a job to do! Is this seriously how bad security has gotten?”

    “You wanted the Inquisitors to show up?” the sound mage asked incredulously.

    “Isn’t that their job? I just claimed to have come from the Damned Plains,” Vermil said irritably. “Would someone do me a favor and call them over? I’ll happily start the auction once they arrive, but I really need those stuffy pricks here to verify what I’ve got for sale.”

    “What do you mean by that?” the huge man resting amidst a sea of attendants rumbled. “Enough teasing. You have our attention. With a scene like this, you had best pray that your product is as important as you and your accomplice say.”

    “Accomplice?” the sound mage asked, spinning toward the man. “I’m no—”

    “What does he have for sale?” the man asked, ignoring her protests. “Tell me.”

    “A type of rune that not a single one of you has ever had a chance to get your hands on before,” Vermil replied with a laugh. “Demon runes. Harvested straight from the Damned Plains, from some of the most powerful entities within it.”

    “Bullshit,” someone yelled immediately.

    Vermil pointed in their direction. “And this idiot is why I need those stuffy Inquisitor pricks here. They can sniff out Demons anywhere.”

    “If those runes are real... then you’re a demon,” the huge man said flatly. “They will kill you.”

    “Let’s save that discussion when the Inquisitors arrive. It seems we all have a similar interest in getting them in here to verify my claim, yes? I was promised there would be an Inquisitor here, so if someone could go ahead and get them off the toilet and over to doing their job, that would be fantastic.”

    There were a long few moments of silence.

    Then another form blurred through the air. A man leapt off his platform and slammed down on the stage between Vermil and the sound mage. His entire body was wrapped in a black cloak and he had a wide, floppy hood pulled low over his head.

    “I don’t suppose you’d be the Inquisitor?” Vermil asked.

    “No. I am not.” The man’s back twitched. Something bulged under his cloak.

    “Bummer,” Vermil said. “You’ll have to wait your turn to bid, then.”

    The sound mage took a step back, her eyes widening as she caught sight of something under the man’s hood.

    She didn’t get a chance to do anything more.

    Blood-red wings ripped free from the man’s back, ripping through his clothes. He grabbed at his good, dark, pointed fingernails digging into the cloth as he tore it away from his face and threw it to the ground.

    His mouth was full of jagged fangs. Deep pits covered the man’s face and his nose was nothing but a flat surface with two thin holes. Yellowed, snakelike eyes peered out from sunken sockets. Black flames danced across his wings and coiled down his back like a twisting tail.

    The man held a hand out.

    A bloodstained rosary fell from his fingers. It clattered to the ground, bone marbles clinking against each other.

    Power exploded through the room in a wave. It fizzled against Jalen’s domain, hissing and popping all around him.

    “I’m afraid the Inquisitor is otherwise indisposed of,” the man said, his lips pulling apart in a thin sneer. “You’ve chosen a poor day to posture as one of my kind, scum. You are ruining my game.”

    Standing before Vermil was a demon — and based off the raw power burning from the monster’s body, they were easily at the peak of Rank 5 or the bottom of Rank 6.

    Jalen stared, lips parting slightly behind his mask. The demon was strong. They’d been concealing their power by using the oppressive power of the Inquisitor’s beads against themselves.

    Huh. Didn’t see that one coming.