A soul was never just a soul.
Some were dull and ordinary, little more than dim embers. Others burned brighter, twisted by ambition, greed, vanity, or cruelty. The darker the life, the richer the harvest.
Warlocks had understood that truth for ages.
A soul ripped free at the height of despair, when victory had already turned to ruin and hope had curdled into agony, carried far more power than one taken peacefully. That was why experienced warlocks rarely killed quickly. Breaking the body weakened resistance. Breaking the spirit refined the prize.
Evenson happened to possess exactly such a soul.
Its former owner was Obadiah.
With the trade concluded, Evenson dusted off his hands.
"Now," he said, "let’s get to the reason I came."
Agatha tucked the soul crystal away before leaning lazily against the edge of her bed. One clawed finger slid beneath Evenson’s chin as a playful smile spread across her face.
"So serious?" she purred. "Wouldn’t you rather have a little fun first?"
Evenson calmly turned his head, neatly dodging her touch.
"Do you ever get tired of trying that?"
Nine visits out of ten to the Felscar Rift ended exactly like this.
Agatha flirted shamelessly.
Evenson ignored her shamelessly.
It had become routine.
His restraint had nothing to do with morality, fidelity, or personal principles. It was simple self-preservation. Sleeping with a Shivarra Matron wasn’t a romantic adventure.
It was an excellent way to spend the rest of his life hopelessly enthralled to a demon.
No, thank you.
Agatha laughed, clearly entertained.
"You’re no fun."
Whether it was finally unloading merchandise that had been gathering dust or successfully making Evenson uncomfortable, she seemed to be in an unusually good mood.
"Fine. What do you need?"
"Gan’arg," Evenson answered. "I’m looking for Gan’arg laborers. A foreman would be even better."
Agatha blinked.
"A warlock asking for engineers? That’s unusual."
Then she shrugged.
"Although... coming from you, I suppose it isn’t."
Among the Burning Legion, Gan’arg filled the role of engineers and mechanics. Every fel cannon, infernal engine, siege platform, war machine, and fel-powered starship bore their handiwork. They weren’t frontline fighters, but without them the Legion’s war machine would grind to a halt.
Evenson had come specifically to find one.
His fel engine existed only as a concept. He needed professionals capable of turning theory into reality.
Unfortunately, he’d never actually met a Gan’arg before.
That was where Agatha came in.
She knew everyone worth knowing in the Rift.
"Come on," she sighed, climbing gracefully from the bed. "You were hoping I’d lead you there all along."
She shot him a knowing look.
"For someone who’s normally so stingy, you became awfully generous today. I should’ve guessed you wanted a favor."
Evenson chuckled awkwardly.
"You caught me."
"Obviously."
She walked toward an ornate mirror to prepare herself.
Fortunately, her idea of getting ready was refreshingly efficient.
A quick pass through her hair.
A jeweled crown.
A delicate veil.
Done.
Evenson silently offered thanks that demon matrons didn’t share humanity’s reputation for two-hour beauty routines.
As they descended deeper into the Rift, the surroundings grew increasingly desolate.
The bustling districts gave way to cracked stone roads and neglected caverns.
Evenson frowned.
"Where exactly are we going?"
"The Lower Rift."
Agatha didn’t even slow her pace.
"The Gan’arg live down there."
Evenson had heard of the place.
The Lower Rift was home to lesser demons and forgotten servants, the bottom rung of Legion society.
It seemed like an odd place to find engineers.
"They isolate them because their experiments are dangerous?" he guessed.
After all, engineering tended to involve explosions.
Better to accidentally vaporize a hundred imps than inconvenience a high-ranking commander.
"That’s part of it," Agatha admitted.
"But mostly..."
She glanced back over one shoulder.
"...their status simply isn’t very high."
Evenson raised an eyebrow.
Really?
Back on Earth, people loved to say science was the primary productive force.
Apparently the Burning Legion had missed that memo.
Inside a worn-out fel laboratory in the Lower Rift, a heavy sigh echoed through the room.
Gan’arg Foreman Gornos stared blankly into the distance, reminiscing about better days.
Once upon a time, Felscar Rift had stood on the Legion’s front lines.
Fel artillery fired around the clock.
Countless war machines rolled off assembly lines under his supervision.
As chief foreman of every Gan’arg engineer stationed in the Rift, Gornos had been someone even powerful commanders treated with caution.
After all...
No one wanted to discover that the fel mech assigned to reinforce them had mysteriously become "stuck" inside its launch bay.
No one enjoyed standing suspiciously close to the impact zone of friendly fel artillery.
Crossing Gornos had always come with... technical difficulties.
Back then, he had been indispensable.
Times changed.
As the Burning Legion’s warfront expanded farther into the cosmos, Felscar Rift slowly became an abandoned backwater.
The mighty chief engineer had been reduced to supervising maintenance on fel cannons that hadn’t fired in over ten thousand years.
There were no new projects.
No new weapons.
No glory.
Without work, and lacking the combat prowess of true warriors, the Gan’arg’s standing within the Legion steadily declined.
Scientists had it rough.
Clatter.
Something landed beside him.
Gornos’ eyes snapped open.
His expression darkened instantly.
"That’s it!"
He shot to his feet.
The massive circular saw embedded in his mechanical arm roared to life with a shriek of spinning steel.
"You little pests! Time to witness the wrath of a genius! My saw’s been dying for some exercise!"
Then he looked down.
"...Wait."
His anger evaporated.
Scattered across the floor were five or six soul crystals.
They weren’t especially high quality.
In his glory days, he probably wouldn’t have bothered picking them up.
Now?
He hadn’t seen this much payment in nearly ten thousand years.
Still, Gornos didn’t reach for them.
Anyone who casually tossed around half a dozen soul crystals in today’s Felscar Rift wasn’t someone to offend.
Slowly, he turned around.
His eyes widened.
Lady Agatha herself.
Even at the height of his influence, she had been someone he preferred not to provoke.
Then he noticed the second visitor.
A human warlock.
Could this be...
That bizarre newcomer everyone had been talking about?
Evenson folded his arms.
"Pick them up."
His voice was calm, matter-of-fact.
"They’re yours."
A faint smile crossed his face.
"I trust you won’t try to cheat me with Lady Agatha here as a witness."
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