Not Two

If I were an ordinary man, a severed wrist would lead to a gush of blood, then hypovolemic shock, followed by unconsciousness and death.

But what flowed in my veins (and arteries) was different, rather than pouring like liquid, it creped as a gelatinous mass, forming a glistering red whip-like tentacle, from the severed wrist. It was thanks to the symbiotic slime familiar I introduced to it.

A gaunt humanoid jumped at me, trying to take advantage of my shock and pain even as its flesh melted in dissolving rain.

But this much pain was nothing. Just moving Od through my magic circuits, even outside this world backlash caused greater agony.

I was used to it. I even welcomed it. The sweet agony that came with power.

I guess Archer was not the only masochist in our relationship. Although I remained the sole sadist, which was a bit sad for me. I wanted to be occasionally whipped too.

But for a long-term relationship, some compromises were needed.

With a nonchalant flick of my damaged arm, the crimson whip-like tentacle cleaved the charging creature in two, severing it through its petal-shaped maw.

This outcome was hardly surprising; my Blood Slime far surpassed the capabilities of the destroyed Storm Kiss.

Ironically, the loss of my Mystic Code and the wound it had left had actually enhanced my combat effectiveness rather than diminishing it.

Meanwhile, my driver's sword dispatched two more adversaries—one with four legs, and another on two.

"Die!" the burned man screamed, and rain parted as a wave of telekinetic force ruched towards my chariot.

As it stuck the only result was that lapis lazuli briefly shined blighter, as the barrier absorbed it.

I chuckled and called out, "Did you really think it would be that easy to defeat me? I'm intrigued though—how did you manage to free yourself so destructively? Your powers should have been neutralized once you were bound." Then, I saw it: the final piece of the puzzle.

"I get it now, you didn't free yourself—you were freed," I said. "If one were to use a split screen to describe simultaneously seeing both Earth and this realm, then what I'm experiencing now is like focusing on the line that divides the screen. I finally understand; it's not just a simple boundary." I paused, gazing into the void, and what inhabited it. "Ah, so there you are, little demon. You were never truly here nor there, but somewhere in between—dwelling not within the spaces we knew but beneath the very threshold itself."

A burning wheel covered in eyes that shone like beryl—my higher, angelic self finally glimpsed the third realm that existed at the crossroads of the other two dimensions.

Within it was a massive spider web, its threads anchored to every single creature and every single cultist who followed Brenner.

The strongest threads, however, were anchored in both Brenner and the burned man. They were so densely wound around them that they appeared cocooned. Viewed from this realm, they resembled more spider prey than collaborators.

I also discerned that it was these very threads keeping them bound together. Attacking them would be pointless; the demon would simply heal them, stitching their wounds shut with unreal spider silk.

In the next moment, Archer buried so many swords in Brenner that the man looked like a hedgehog. I could see the demonic web feeding off the pain inflicted on Brenner, using the so-generated mana to push the swords out and knit the flesh back together.

Brenner retaliated by firing a bolt of iridescent light from his staff, but Archer was too nimble to be hit.

"Run him down, Khenumra," I commanded my driver, rainwater streaming down my face.

With a flick of the reins, the chariot executed an impossible U-turn, and we charged at the burned man.

He was quick enough to dodge to the side, but not quick enough to evade my blood whip.

The wound closed quickly, but it provided me enough time to observe his unnatural healing—and even more importantly, to trace where the pain was flowing.

To the center of the web, and what lay within it.

From a bird's-eye perspective, I saw a lake's shore under a twilight sky. It was almost abandoned, save for two nude boys lying on the ground, holding hands and gazing at the sky.

"The moon looks a bit like an eye, Mike," one of the boys said with a soft, gentle smile, looking upwards. It felt as if he were looking directly into my eyes.

He resembled Will, only a bit more perfect: more defined muscle tone, a more symmetrical face, as if all imperfections had been airbrushed away.

No, upon closer inspection, he was Will—or at least his mind and soul. I could trace his body on Earth, clothed in blood-stained garments, frantically painting a wall with a bucket of red blood mixed with black ichor.

"That's no moon," said the other naked boy, who looked like a more perfect version of Mike. Yet this wasn't Mike; I could see the real Mike on Earth, frantically beating his fist against an invisible wall, trying and failing to approach Will.

And I noticed something else: this boy was not completely naked. His eyes were concealed by sunglasses, and his shadow took the form of a giant spider.

The imposter boy raised his hand defiantly and declared, 'Begone, Rin Ranyarion Fëanorion, you're not welcome here.'

The lake stilled, becoming mirror-like. I could clearly see the Moon, which was also my eye, reflected in its dark waters.

Then the lake erupted, shattering the reflection.

As below, so above.

As the reflection shattered, so did the moon.

I lost an eye.

No matter, I had many more.

Bloody tears leaked from my physical eye, only to be washed away by the magical rain.

I reached into my pocket with a blood tendril, pulling out one special bar. The tendril emerging from my wrist split open, revealing a gaping maw filled with crimson teeth.

Sometimes I liked to eat with my fingers.

The delicious taste of chocolate and the gentle, healing warmth of gothic ether spread from my arm, replacing the eldritch tendrils with a human-looking hand. The pain and aches were gone.

Why did he use that specific name—Rin Ranyarion Fëanorion—among all of mine? And where did he get it? The straightforward answer might be Archer's stolen memories, but my intuition signaled that wasn't it.

Using that name, he established a sympathetic link to strike at me. But these links can cut both ways if one is skilled enough to manipulate them.

This constraint would shape the forms I could take upon my return. But sometimes limitations are a wellspring of power.

I stole a quick glance at Archer's ongoing battle; it was a frustrating stalemate. Every wound he inflicted on Brenner seemed to heal almost instantly, but each time, Brenner became slightly less human.

Two had joined the fight, mainly using telekinesis to hurl furniture, discarded swords, and even the bodies of both living and dead cultists at Brenner.

"Is that—God, is he turning into a drider?" Dustin's voice broke the tension, filled with both disbelief and stress.

"What the hell is a drider?" Steve interrupted, clearly bewildered.

Dustin rushed to clarify, stumbling over his words in his haste. "It's a D&D thing—half-spider, half-dark elf. Super creepy!"

Lukas quickly added, his own voice laced with urgency, "Imagine the worst of both worlds. Human-level intelligence, but with spider-like agility and venom."

Steve furrowed his brow, still puzzled. "Wait, so we're dealing with Christmas elves now?"

Dustin rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated. "No, Steve, not Christmas elves! These are dark elves, like from high fantasy. This is serious!"

Lukas stepped in to further clarify. "Think less 'Santa's Workshop' and more 'nightmare fuel from the bowels of hell.'"

"I need to focus now," I told my driver, redirecting my attention back to the immediate reality. "Can you handle things from here?"

"No problem, master," my driver responded, relishing the chaos. "Their agony is like sweet honey to me, although it seems someone else is also partaking."

"That's the issue I'm about to address," I assured him.

Shards of the moon fell upon the lake and transformed into a silver ship. On its white sails, emblazoned with golden fire, was an abstract geometric representation of a wheel with countless eyes.

I stood upon the bow, embodying the form of a prince among the Firstborn, shining like a star upon the darkened waters.

The waves rose as if to bar my passage, but I sang a soft, melodic tune, and they stilled, allowing me to reach the shore where the two naked boys were.

Well, one naked boy, and one that was something else entirely.

I jumped from the ship onto the shore and walked lightly toward them, leaving no footsteps in the wet sand. The air was filled with the scent of the lake and the surrounding forest.

"It's so well-crafted. I commend you for your skill," I said, addressing the not-boy.

"Stop! Go away!" he snapped.

"Mike, what's happening?" Will asked, covering his nakedness with his hands. He darted swift glances at both me and his companion. "Why are you fighting with someone who looks like an elf from Lord of the Rings? What happened to the moon? And where are my shorts?"

The false Mike fiercely stamped his foot, shouting, "I banish you, Rin Ranyarion Fëanorion."

The sand beneath him crumbled, opening a chasm filled with darkness. Swiftly, like a snake, it lunged at me. But I gracefully leaped aside, my laughter sounding like the ringing of bells.

"That won't work again. The Act of Naming is powerful, but also perilous," I warned, amused "By speaking that name in this place, you've made it part of the narrative. Because even a barred gate is still a gate, not a wall. You should be more careful about the plausibility of your own role. The Mike Wheeler that Will Byers knows is no sorcerer."

"Mike, what is he talking about? And since when do you know magic? Why did you hide that from me?" Will asked, his eyes wide, looking almost kicked puppy.

The imposter Mike turned almost gently toward Will, placing a hand on his shoulder, and said, "Not now. Just trust me. I'll explain later."

Will, almost instantly relaxed, leaning into the touch, "I always trust you, Mike."

"But you really shouldn't trust it. And you should stop calling it 'Mike.' The last thing we want is for it to acquire a potent name like Michael. Though, the name is so ill-fitting that there's little danger of that happening," I cautioned.

"Don't call Mike an 'it'!" Will bristled defensively, his eyes narrowing. Maybe subtlety was the wrong approach.

"Don't listen to him, Will," fake Mike urged, "You'll regret it."

"Regret?" I asked lightly. "When we last met, I was quite fair. Everything you wanted, I granted. Those you wished to be saved, lived. Do you truly regret our deal?"

"All for the low, low cost of damnation," fake Mike retorted, his voice tinged with bitterness that sounded false to my ears.

Not to Will's, for he looked at fake boy his with gentle concern.

"That wasn't the price I asked for. Casting away your humanity was your choice," I retorted. My words rang true, for they were the truth. In this dream realm where our minds met without the barriers of flesh, that much was obvious.

"Choice?" the demon retorted. "The alternative was death."

Will's eyes flickered between me and fake Mike, his face contorted in an internal struggle.

"To gain something, you must lose something—a life for a life. Only when you tried to avoid paying the price you did find yourself in this predicament. But that was your choice alone."

"So, I should have gone like a lamb to the slaughter?" the imposter said, his voice tinged with a flicker of alien emotion for the first time.

"You either pay now or you pay later," I responded, my shrug as elegantly pretentious as only an Elf of Noldorin descent could manage. "And later usually comes with interest."

"Mike, did you make a deal with the devil to save me?" Will interjected, cutting through our argument with his question. For a moment, I was caught completely off guard. Upon mentally reviewing our conversation, however, I could see how he'd arrived at that completely incorrect, albeit understandable, conclusion. "Did you get magic powers that way?"

"The devil, that bit too much," I said amused. "Although I did slither into this Eden, bearing the fruit of knowledge. Will take it, Will Byers? Will hear my truth and be set free by it?"

"Truth?" Will's brow furrowed in confusion. After a moment of contemplation, his posture stiffened. The boy moved his hands, which up till now he was using to cover his private to his sides, clenching his fists. This mattered to him more than shame. "I don't care about that. Release Mike. Take me in his place."

With Will's proclamation, a subtle tremor vibrated through this realm, echoing his words and, more critically, the intensity of his desires.

A satisfied smirk curled my lips.

"No!" fake Mike shouted. The demon in the form of a nude boy stepped between me and Will and shouted, "You can't have him. He is mine."

A deep blush painted Will's entire body, and a contented smile played on his lips.

But it was too late. I had found a loose thread, and a precise tug this whole web would unravel.

I turned my attention to my eyes gazing into more real realms.

In the basement of Hawkins Lab on Earth, Brenner had undergone further mutations, growing both in stature and grotesqueness. The human half of him appeared almost comically diminutive compared to the fleshy, spider-like lower portion. While I termed it a 'spider', it lacked an exoskeleton. Instead, it had spidery legs made of sinewy flesh and twisted bone, tapered with a bone blade at the end, which gouged the rent in the concrete floor with each step.

The spider-grotesque lashed out at Archer with those legs, and then with a bolt of fire from the staff that had completely fused with his right arm, creating an amalgamation of flesh and metal.

Archer dodged with grace, retaliating with the sword he held and those he summoned in mid-air.

He wasn't alone in the fight, but by inflicting the most damage, he managed to keep Brenner's attention wholly on him. I left him to it.

My attention shifted to Jane, who stood next to Mike. She was attempting to breach the invisible barrier that separated them from Will, who frantically drew the giant image of a spider in blood.

Dustin, Lucas, and Max were beside them, trying to break down the barrier using chairs and the swords they had procured.

I tried to reach out to Jane mentally, but her focus on her task was unwavering.

Next, I turned to the older kids. Steve and Trevor stood guarding Two, fending off the cultists while Two unleashed telekinetic chaos. Steve wielded a sword, while Trevor had managed to procure an iron war hammer, now gruesomely stained with gore.

One of my eyes whispered instructions to my apprentice, while I refocused the majority of my attention back to the demon and his unknowing captive.

"It displays a certain elegance. You have improved from your earlier attempt in asylum," I said, speaking to the demon. I needed to distract it for a while. "But to execute such a design requires specific elements. Will Byers is the key. That is why you have sent Brenner after him."

"Brenner?" Will said, his voice dreamy confused. The boy's eyes were unfocused. "I remember him calling me Eighteen." Will turned to the demon he still believed that he his best friend. "How did we escape? What happened to our friends? Why can't I remember?"

"That happened a long time ago," the demon replied in a comforting voice. The relaxing scent of wood was brought on a soothing breeze. "We had been rescued… He is messing with your mind. Trust me. We are on the lake, skinny dipping. Just two of us. Trust me. Everyone is back home safe. You don't need to worry about them."

"I… you are right. But the deal?" He turned back to me. "You can't have Mike."

"You want Mike Wheeler," I replied. I could finally sense that distraction was enough, along with the effort the demon spent to calm Will. "That is a wish I will happily grant."

"Will!" came the cry from the forest. The real Mike was running, towards the Will.

In a rush to reach his best, he had outpaced the rest of the group, led by my apprentice, holding a glowing jewel in his hand, Trevor right by his side.

Jane was rushing right behind Mike, followed by Dustin and Steve on one side, and Max and Lukkas on the other.

I could feel the unseen power gathering and deftly countered it. I tossed a wink, at the scowling demon.

"Mike?" Will said confused, "Two Mikes?"

"It's a trick," the demon said.

"Will!" Mike shouted, "Get away from that fake!"

"You are fake, fake," the demon shouted back.

The atmosphere thickened with tension as the rest of Will's friends (and Steve) stormed in. Their voices clashed — a chaotic mixture of urgent pleas, warnings, and cries of confusion, with each trying to rise above the din.

"My original order was to bring Mike Wheeler," I said to my apprentice as he approached his boyfriend at his side. I kept my voice neutral, to ensure it didn't come across as criticism. Just a demand for an explanation. "Not everyone."

"Sorry, Master Rin," he said, looking down at the ground, "Frea—" he caught himself, shifting his tone, "Eleven insisted on coming with him, and she brought everyone else along."

"Even Trevor," I asked.

As Trevor stepped forward, determination in his stance, he interjected, "I insisted. Someone had to have Damien's back."

"Acceptable compromise," I conceded, nodding. "Delaying to argue or dealing with a reluctant Wheeler would have been counterproductive." I noticed my apprentice's posture improving slightly, a hint of pride or relief perhaps. I then shifted my focus, asking, "But why are you naked? I'm aware the realm tries to enforce nudity, but given your skill at manipulating self-image, you should be able to counteract that."

Because not only were they naked, but so were the other boys and Steve. However, the girls wore the same clothes they had on Earth. This realm manifested Will's desires, and evidently, he didn't care to see the girls undressed.

"I'm cool with letting it all hang out," the blond twink said, punctuating his statement with a cheeky wink.

I wasn't easily fooled, though. While what he said was technically true, and he genuinely didn't mind the nudity — my apprentice knew better than to outright lie to me — I could detect subtle signs that he wasn't giving me the full story. The minor muscle twitches, slight dilating of the pupils, and other minute details didn't escape my keen observation.

His attempt at deception was commendable for his skill level. He had been a good student, learning much from me.

However, that didn't mean he was flawless. "You didn't notice. It's subtle, but there's an additional effect at play here. It keeps you from realizing you're naked. It's like those dreams where you're out in public or at school, and it suddenly dawns on you that you're naked — and have been for a while. It seems further training in Defensive Meditation is in order."

Trevor chuckled.

I didn't what was funny about that, but I did not care. I continued speaking to my apprentice "Dress yourself, and remember: sutler tools are important. I know that you sometimes struggle with this. Perception, my young apprentice, is at the forefront of this shift."

I paused for a moment, ensuring he was truly absorbing my words. "The clothing we choose is not mere fabric. It is a statement of our intent, a projection of our self-image. It shapes how others perceive us and, more importantly, how we perceive ourselves. Self-perception can be a potent catalyst."

Drawing a deep breath, I continued, "Our attire, chosen with purpose and intention, can be a shield against external influences or a conduit to channel our inner power. By donning the right outfit, we subtly manipulate our own psyche, reinforcing our will and heightening our focus. And, in a realm where belief and will can shape reality, such nuances are paramount."

Pausing for a beat, I added a sterner note, "However, there are indeed rituals where being skyclad is appropriate, drawing on the raw vulnerability and openness to raw elements. But here, in a web of an incubus, is not one of those moments. Especially not for one of your current level."

In usual course events, giving a lecture was not an optimal way to spend time in an area controlled by a demon. But my plan depended on timing.

Conflict on both earth and mirror-realm on the first look had devolved into a stalemate.

Those on my side, Archer and Khenumra, were superior combatants. But while they inflict damage on respective opponents: Brenner and Creel, they could not finish them. Not as long as the demon kept nullifying all damage, up to the complete termination.

On the other hand, Archer could continue the current level of engagement for hours. And my familiar was linked to the mana source in the Otherworld. At this level of attrition, he could fight Creel until the sun burned out.

Naturally complex effects such as full damage nullification required fuel. And a lot of it.

Damaging the pawns until the demon exhausted the magical energy available to it was a workable strategy. Save one thing. The source.

The demon used hurt inflicted on its hosts.

It was an efficient solution.

In the normal course of events, host sanity would slowly devoured, as the fidelity of replacement parts lessened through each "healing". Resulting in wild mutation seen in Brenner.

But still, it would take too much time until the poor host was rendered in non-functional immortal, and yet perpetually suffering mass of flesh.

In contrast, Creel had managed to achieve some sort of balance.

It took me a long time observing, but I have managed to unravel the mystery behind it.

It was Creel nature. I had never seen someone so naturally gifted with Absorption, and I had Matou Zouken for a neighbor.

Each devouring the other, like two snakes biting the other tail.

Demon feeding on Creel's pain, and Creel feasting on the imaginary flesh which demon used to heal him.

It did explain both Creel's survival to exposure to Hydra's Blood and fast-bred hordes of monsters.

It was somewhat ironic that the seasoning of Hydra's Blood turned Creel into an almost perfect feast for this demon. It only showed that Archer's culinary skills were unmatched. Even when he did it by accident.

Creel's assimilation of the hive-mind meant that each E.L.F could be viewed as an extension of him, much like a finger to a hand. It wasn't breeding in the traditional sense, but rather an accelerated form of "healing."

This revelation illuminated why all attempts to propagate E.L.Fs in captivity were futile. Even in the Otherworld's greenhouse, the only semblance of success was stuck in a mere vegetative state.

The crux lay in understanding the limitations of the Rule Breaker. Even in its diluted form that Archer could manifest, this Noble Phantasm had its boundaries.

Imagine deploying magecraft to obliterate a target's psyche, thus commandeering the empty vessel. If one were to pierce this ensnared vessel with the ritualistic dagger, Rule Breaker would only terminate the controlling magecraft, leaving behind the hollow shell. Similarly, if one was incinerated by a fireball, the dagger wouldn't restore the ashes; it would merely nullify the continuing effects.

In the Otherworld, this resulted in mindless, sprawling vines, never to advance to another morph.

It was worse in the Enrichment Centre. The Otherworld greenhouse provided automatically anything the plant planted needed to thrive. From examinations, it was a conceptual effect, similar to the Reality Marbles.

The reason was that E.L.Fs required a minuscule amount of exotic matter, like one present in Xen crystals. Which was abundant in both Xen and anomaly but non-extant on Earth.

Using E.L.F biomatter to cultivate more of the same was hardly profitable.

The final, and most vital component in this puzzle, was Will.

With every stroke of the young artist's blood-tinted brush, the demon edged closer to its materialization on Earth.

Demons, by nature, were abstract existences. To them, there had been barely a distinction between their own being and a representation of themselves.

For instance, certain demons could teleport through reflections, for in that mirror world, their reflection was not just an image but an extension of their very essence.

The act of summoning them using crests or sigils had tapped into this very concept, providing a tangible manifestation of what was essentially an intangible phenomenon.

That was a danger, but also an opportunity.

What could be used to summon, could also be used to bind.

It was just a matter of timing.

And distraction.

While I was thinking, Two had managed to get dressed. Well, "dressed" might be an inaccurate. As I have commanded, he had manipulated his self-image to appear clothed, given that none of us were truly physically present in this realm. The demon included, as it lacked a native material form.

Against the backdrop of the lake shore and the vast expanse of a moonless night sky, Two's projection took form. He sported a fitted black tunic that clung to his lean frame, paired with dark pants that seamlessly flowed into polished black boots. The ensemble strongly evoked memories of Luke Skywalker from "Return of the Jedi,"

Only this Luke was from a slash, edgy fanfiction. One where Luke had fallen to The Dark Side, and "interrogated" Han Solo.

"I wouldn't mind some pants," Trevor replied, ruffling his red hair with a hint of discomfort. "I'm generally fine with being in the buff, but here it just feels... exposed."

"Focus on my eyes," I instructed. With just a hint of Od expenditure, I employed Hypnotism to alter his self-image. Like a mirage taking form, Trevor's appearance shifted until he resembled someone cosplaying Han Solo at a Star Wars convention. "There, a perfect pair."

"I don't know, I think Leia's slave girl outfit might've been a better choice," Two mused with a suggestive glance. "It would definitely suit Trevor's... complexion."

Trevor raised an eyebrow playfully. "Channelling some incest vibes there, are we? And hey, if you're so fond of that outfit, why don't you give it a try?"

Two smirked, tilting his head slightly, "You'd like to see that, wouldn't you? So, what would you give for such a show?"

Trevor leaned in closer, a teasing glint in his eyes, and whispered seductively, "I'm sure I could... properly compensate you."

I wasn't the only one trying to create a diversion. However, I couldn't be certain whether this was a passive or active effect at play. This realm was crafted from Will's desires, and he surely would enjoy such a display. However, employing such tactics is also typical for an incubus.

The shrieks of the boys, and one young man, standing near Will, pierced the air.

"Mike! Why the hell are we naked?" Dustin exclaimed, his voice pitched higher than usual.

"I don't know, dude! Where are our pants?" Mike replied in panic, trying to cover both front and back at the same time.

"You came naked?" Will said confused.

"Max, stay behind me," Lukas shouted, and then added, "Wait, you are dressed?"

"Did you try to peak?" Max replied amused. "Nice tush."

"Here, take mine," Jane said, begging to take off her shirt.

"Keep it on!" Mike shouted back.

"Everyone, calm down!" Steve shouted. Unfortunately, his attempt at authority was undermined by the fact that he was firmly covering his private parts with his hands.

"Hand me the gem, my apprentice," I commanded, observing the ensuing chaos. Everything was proceeding according to my design. With Two and Trevor now clothed, the very essence of this realm had been disrupted, enabling the others to break free from the illusion and realize their state of undress.

It was inevitable. After all, the realization is an essential aspect of those all-too-familiar naked dreams.

The gemstone was an exquisite beryl, wrought using the Arts of the Elven Jewel Smiths. The gem shone with beautiful sacred light. It was also one of my many eyes.

It had served as a beacon, guiding my apprentice and those he brought into this realm, and it was now destined to fulfill one last purpose.

Ruthlessly I crushed in my fist. It was as painful as if I had dug an eye from my skull.

Odin had sacrificed his eye to gain wisdom. I was more generous. I had sacrificed mine to impart it.

As the gem shattered, it unleashed a burst of brilliance, laying bare the truth.

While one Mike stood unchanged, behind the other, the silhouette of a giant spider emerged, as a three-dimensional shadow.

"Behold, an incubus!" I proclaimed with a dramatic sweeping gesture.

"What's an incubus?" Steve whispered.

"Sex demon," Dustin whispered back, "the male kind."

"So that's why it looks like Mike," Steve muttered more to himself.

"How does that make sense?" Lucas chimed in.

"Boys," Max added with an eyeroll, "So oblivious."

"You are ruining it," the demon said. Though it retained the visage of Mike, its inhumanity was now laid bare. It was eerily flawless, creating an uncanny valley effect. It appeared more like a statue or a figure from a dream than a living boy of flesh and blood. "I am giving Will exactly what he wants. Why are you meddling in my business?"

It was a valid question. There were myriad reasons for my involvement in this matter. The most straightforward reason was that this occurred in my jurisdiction. I had, in a manner of speaking, claimed Hawkins; thus, acting as its Second Owner was merely fulfilling my typical role.

Hawkins was the site of an anomaly I had been researching, so it was only proper to lay claim to it as a Magus.

There was a sense of tidiness to it all. This demon had been birthed by my actions, so it was only fitting that I clean up my mess.

Furthermore, there was profit to be made from selling refined E.L.F parts, not to mention the lives saved by producing AIDS medicine derived from it.

Lastly, as a demonologist, allowing such a captivating demon to roam free was unthinkable. Adding it to my collection was the only proper course of action.

But there was no advantage in revealing all this. So, I borrowed words from Archer—well, his younger self, to be precise: "It's not wrong to save people."

"Yes! Yes!" the demon exclaimed, raising its hand upwards, almost in benediction. "It's not wrong to save people. And so many people on Earth need saving. So many dying, wishing for just another moment, just another breath, before darkness comes. I know how that feels, and so I want to help them all. Save them all."

"Admirable goal. But admirable can so easily be twisted into abhorrent. Just with a slight shift of perspective. How does feeding them all to Henry Creel fit into that?" I retorted, speaking to the demon. "Or have lied to your followers?"

"Who even is that glowy dude?" Mike whispered, a hint of exasperation evident in his voice. He then glanced down, muttering, "Man, I really wish I had pants right now."

"It's an Elf, named Rin Ranyarion Fëanorion," Will responded quickly, keeping an eye firmly on the demon.

"Is he... you know... on our side?" Steve whispered, glancing in my direction.

All that whispering was rather pointless. Elves had much better hearing than Man. And without that, this was a mental realm. There was no sound. That was just how the mind interpreted this environment.

"Why do you say that?" Lukas whispered back.

"Dustin said that Elves are evil," Steve replied.

"I meant Drow, not all Elves," Dustin hurriedly whispered back.

Steve looked confused. "How can you tell he's not... one of them?"

"He is not black. All Drow are black."

"That's racist," Max chimed in. "Is Lukas your token black friend?"

"It's not racist. It's in the rulebook." Dustin tried to defend himself, his voice rising.

"Do you mind?" the demon said, placing his hands on his hips with exaggerated patience, much like a teacher addressing a disruptive student. "We're determining the fate of the world here. But I'm sure that what you're discussing is similarly important."

Eleven, who had been rather silent through the proceedings, finally spoke up, pointing at the boys. "Give them pants. Then they'll be quiet."

The demon looked thoughtful for a moment. With a casual flick of its fingers, swimming shorts materialized around the waists of the boys. They looked down, relieved, but as Mike tried to speak, he found he couldn't produce any sound.

Eleven frowned, "You silenced them."

The demon tilted its head, genuinely confused, "Isn't that what you wanted? I thought the objective was silence."

Before she could speak and potentially worsen the situation, I interjected, "Don't attempt to change the terms of the deal you struck. It will have consequences for both you and them. Consider this a lesson, and a relatively inexpensive one given the curriculum." I then turned to the demon, pressing, "I'll ask you once more: have you lied to your followers? Or must I ask a third time?"

"The truth I have imparted is this: All shall become One. But that is not the end. Not even the beginning of the end. Merely the end of the beginning. All who have fallen by the Chosen forever remain within him. His mother, his sister, all of them. Even Alex. Thus, all of my promises are to be fulfilled. Victor will be reunited with his family. Martin will be part of the eternal monument to the human race. All those lost souls will forever be part of something greater, as they wished," the demon proclaimed, "Knowing this, do you still oppose me?"

It was the common truth that demons were liars. As with all common truths, that was oversimplification at best. Many truths man held dear were solely based on human own perspective.

Misunderstanding, not malice was the most common cause of tragedy when dealing with demons.

"Even if my beloved had not fed that cannibal you favor with false children seasoned in Hydra's blood, that kind of existence would be unbearable," I sighed and replied. This conversation served my interests, so it was essential I came across as reasonable to encourage the demon to continue. The more I understood about the demon, the easier it would be to bind it. Of course, knowing it in a biblical sense might be even more effective, but seduction was off the table. The presence of a younger audience, and the urgency of the situation, made it impractical. "That poison would make each moment a torment."

"That only makes it easier for me to keep them alive," the demon responded. "Life is suffering. What can eternal life be, if not endless suffering?"

"What a boring world you will make. The planet will be covered with immortal flesh trapping the wretched souls. The humans will be reduced to butterflies trapped in a spider web. No science, no art. Every moment will be just the same as the next. That pain would be just an afterthought, even if they had eternal bliss, they would not live, only be preserved. And that is if you succeed. What if you failed? Every life you take in your crusade would for nothing?"

The demon stared at me, a look of utter bewilderment in its eyes. "Why would such things matter to me? Survival is paramount."

I had miscalculated with that statement. However, it was a valuable insight. I quickly re-evaluated my assumptions, piecing together the puzzle with all the information at hand.

First, there was the demon's origin. It was a temporal clone of Two, extracted at the moment of death, driven by a desperate desire for survival.

Then came the act of self-sacrifice. This clone had given itself up to save the original and all his comrades.

Yet, knowing Creel's nature, I understood that wasn't the end of the clone's journey. It was ensnared within the mind of a deranged psychic cannibal as Creel was poisoned.

The next step was an educated guess, but I believed it to be accurate. The transformation into a demon was a convergence of two desperate wishes for survival: those of Creel and the clone.

Desperation, pain, and an unwavering will to survive were the recurring themes.

While I was already aware of most of this, our recent exchange had provided the last pieces of the puzzle. Understanding these nuances was crucial for crafting the perfect binding. And when dealing with demons, any imperfection could lead to desolation.

Even if my assumptions were wrong, there was no time left for doubt. I needed to act.

I summoned the fullest extent of my divine self.

The Root of Akasha was both the origin and the destination of all phenomena, including souls.

It existed outside the confines of time and the world's axis, making it atemporal.

Thus, my soul was simultaneously there and here.

I recalled that transcendent moment when I had touched the infinite—a memory too profound for the conscious mind to retain.

It was a personal adaptation of a technique I had acquired at exorcist summer camp.

For me, at least, the Root was a more fitting conduit than God.

The power transformed every aspect of me.

On the gilded chariot, I was bathed in holy light. My clothing transformed; the lab coat I wore became something more grandiose.

In the intervening void, flaming wheels within wheels, replete with eyes resembling beryls, collapsed onto themselves. From their ashes arose a six-winged serpent of pure light.

And in this trap, set for Will Byers, the luminescence of my skin blazed for a moment with intense brilliance. Then, as it subsided, I found myself clad in gem-encrusted mithril armor of Noldo craftsmanship, complete with a large helm shaped like wings covering my face. I stood as a prince of the Firstborn, prepared for battle.

"What have you done?" the demon screeched in panic.

"What must be done," I sternly replied. Silently, I touched the mind of my apprentice. Be prepared. I have found the keystone. Once I break it, you must take all you brought back to their bodies. Fire will light the way.

He nodded, confirming he understood.

I raised my hand, summoning the power of mercury. Of all my gifts, this blessing—intended for hunting devils—was the most appropriate now.

As I brought my hand down, quicksilver materialized from thin air, forming a thin whip that struck with the speed and intensity of lightning.

In retrospect, it was rather obvious. The one thing that stood out from the rest: the sunglasses the demon wore. The only article of clothing on the demon.

They were the keystone. A memory of an event that never transpired: the rape and murder of Will Byers. Through this non-event, the boy knew the demon.

What a perverse muse.

What wretched inheritance.

The demon attempted to dodge, but it was far too sluggish.

The sunglasses split in two.

The illusion crumbled.

Gone was the twilight shore, reminiscent of the lake near Hawkins. Instead, we found ourselves in a vast spiderweb, each strand as thick as a man's arm.

And there was the spider—the demon's new form. A colossal creature, as dark as the night, the size of a minivan.

Yet, this realm was no truer than the last. Just another perspective. But one that no longer ensnared Will Byers.

In the void, the six-winged serpent spread its wings. Its feathers rained down, transforming into burning swords as they fell, lighting the path between them in a cascade of brilliance.

"Follow me!" Two shouted, racing down the path illuminated by fire. "This is our way out."

"Shouldn't we stay and help?" Eleven called out.

"We'd only be a burden to the Master," Two retorted sharply.

"No!" the demon screeched, "Will is mine!"

It moved with an unnatural swiftness across the web, especially for a creature of its size.

With a swift gesture, I transformed the quicksilver whip into a mirror-like wall, blocking its advance.

"There's no point in stopping them," I declared to the demon. "With that Neverwhen unravelled, Will Byers no longer knows you. He can no longer paint your image."

"Leave Will alone!" Mike halted and boldly confronted the demon.

"Mike, you can speak again?" Lucas exclaimed, "Wait, I can talk again too."

"That binding dissipated with the realm. Didn't you notice that you're dressed normally now?" I interjected, my patience wearing thin. Distractions were something I could ill afford. "Now, less talking, more running. Leave this to me. I have everything under control."

"I can make him know me again!" the demon howled, its mandibles striking fiercely against the shield. "Give him back."

"Will, I think Shelob's bigger, badder brother wants some quality time with you," Dustin quipped, trying to inject some levity as he ran alongside Will. Even in a hushed tone, his voice seemed to reverberate throughout the expanse.

"Yes!" the demon bellowed in a dark ecstasy. "I recall now. I am the last of the brood of Ungoliant. The Devourer of Light. The last desperate hope at the final breath. That single strand of spider silk that ensnares salvation. The venom that slays death itself."

Its darkness intensified, its form expanding like a ravenous shadow. The strands of the web started to be assimilated into its vast, obsidian form, causing the web to implode inward. I could see figures being drawn into the void—Brenner, Creel, and countless others, sinking into the spider-shaped abyss.

This was catastrophic. All my meticulous planning came undone, for the demon now had a Unit Designation—a true Name. And with it, an unparalleled power.

I reopened my physical eyes, witnessing their spirits sprinting towards their earthly vessels. The demon was too engrossed in its transformation to obstruct them.

Creel's body contorted, its mouth stretching wide in a silent scream. From within, a shadowy miasma surged upward, growing and consuming as it ascended. As it did, Creel's body withered, shriveling like an autumn leaf.

The shadow breached the ceiling, consuming the floors above until the very skies lay exposed, now covered by an ominous spider-shaped cloud.

Upon merging, the shadow swallowed the expanse. Darkness, blacker than the void, consumed all—both light and air—generating fierce upward gales.

"Fly," I commanded my charioteer, "Take us back to the tower."