A Waste of Time

Chapter 60: Quiet Spiral

When Daemon came back after washing away the grime of his battle with dreams and the stale taste in his mouth, he didn’t just slip away unnoticed — he made sure to wrap his thick arms around each and every girl in camp. A tight hug for Jia, a playful squeeze for Xia, a gentle pat on the head for little Mei. One by one, he drew them close and whispered, “Wish me luck.”

No explanations. No clues. Just that wide grin and a wink that made their questions choke in their throats. So they did what he asked — they whispered soft wishes of luck into his ear, even as their brows knit with curiosity that burned like wildfire behind their eyes.

When the last one was done, Daemon ducked into his tent — the flap dropping shut behind him like a secret drawn across the world. He sank onto his mattress and exhaled. Time to see what kind of joke you’ve prepared for me today, he thought, letting his butt sink into the mattress almost to his lower-back.

He slipped into Asura’s World — that shifting realm stitched from his own will and its game-like hidden rules. Today, the scenery on the right glowed with life. A massive City stretched endlessly across the canvas of earth and stone. The main road thrummed like an artery, flooded with people and creatures — Humans jostling beside Elves draped in vine-woven robes; Dwarves haggling over ores with Beast-Kin merchants; Giants ducking under stone arches that seemed too small for their hulking frames.

Even wild Beasts — Dire-Wolves, Ridgeback Boars, Storm-Falcons — prowled or fluttered freely alongside wagons pulled by scaled Lizards. Dragons — actual Dragons, their scales shimmering in impossible colors — perched on spires, some lounging lazily as if they owned every brick.

Daemon stood above it all, a single mortal overshadowing the entire teeming sprawl. Every soul below him paused. Heads tilted skyward. Eyes wide. Some pointed in awe, some fell to knees, some just gawked with a mix of terror and adoration.

Hah. What am I? A new god? He let a sly grin curve his lips but didn’t linger. A quick glance left — and that smile vanished. The other side was darkness. Endless, devouring, pitch black. Not a flicker, not a spark. Just a weight pressing on his mind.

“Roll.” His voice echoed. Firm. An order to the hidden gears turning behind the curtain of this realm.

Ding

The familiar chime struck like a Hammer. He felt the pull — that sudden tug deep inside his skull. Dizzy, spinning — and then vanished leaving the inhabitants of that City behind him face the swirl of shadows on their own.

Tsk.

“Failed, huh... That one ran off like a startled rabbit. Maybe he’ll live long enough for me to toy with next time... Mmmm, still pure. Delicious.” The voice drifted from the black — honeyed poison, each word a caress that coiled around the ear. Within the City, every living thing shivered. In moments, the streets dissolved into a tangle of limbs — a haze of primal heat that smothered logic and shame.

A shape pushed forward — a woman’s face carved from moonlight and nightmare. Horns curled from her brow. Her body — barely wrapped in translucent cloth — slithered forward with a predator’s hunger. Licking her lips, she watched her influence spread like wildfire. One day, sweet boy... one day you won’t escape the dark so easily...

“Back already?” Jia’s voice snapped Daemon from the aftertaste of that vision. He blinked — back in his tent, back among warmth and the smell of spiced broth. She stood by the flap, arms crossed, one brow arched high. “I thought you’d be fasting in there. You lasted what? Half a minute?”

Daemon rolled his eyes and flopped onto the makeshift wooden stool beside the table. “Maybe someone wasn’t exactly genuine when she wished me luck.” He stabbed a piece of braised meat and stuffed it into his mouth.

Jia snorted and slid onto the stool beside him. She nudged his elbow just enough to make him drop a stray piece of vegetable. “Maybe someone needs to explain why we’re gambling our luck on whatever you do in there.”

She doesn’t need to know. Yet. He gave her a lazy grin and kept chewing. One day, maybe.

In his head, though, the real reward from today’s Dice-Roll replayed in bright colors — a new Construct. He’d felt it the second he returned to the Iron Throne. Where once there had been nothing but stumps and churned earth from all the trees they’d felled for the Big Houses — now rose a new shape.

A Farm.

Not just a rickety fence and some sad garden plots, but a vast, circular Barn flanked by two long Hangars. Sturdy timber walls boxed in a field where Cattle and Poultry now roamed. Chickens clucked near shaggy Oxen; Goats butted heads under the shade of newly planted trees.

He’d stood there a moment, watching Grunt and Runa run their calloused hands over the Barn’s doors, counting tools, poking at feed bins, patting the animals with wide grins that split their tusked faces in half. Like children unwrapping the fattest present in the world.

Good. They need this. They earned it. But Daemon hadn’t stuck around long. He had tasks to chase — and a hunger to tame.

He made sure to visit Kyra and Kira before leaving the camp. The Tigress watched him with her lazy, amber eyes — a heavy tail flicking at flies that didn’t dare land. The cub, Kira, batted at his boots like he was prey that squeaked.

“You’re both spoiled, you know that?” he murmured, dropping a slab of salted venison onto the grass near their den. Kyra rumbled low — a sound halfway between gratitude and mild annoyance. He scratched her behind the ear anyway. One day you’ll admit you love this, he thought, grinning when the great cat’s tail smacked his shin in mock protest.

Soon he was up in the trees, branches not even bending under his lightweight as he scrambled higher and higher. When he reached the broad crown where Kirin perched, the Eagle cocked its head and gave him a single, lazy Caw.

Daemon pointed at its bandaged chest. “How’s your wounds today?”

Caw. Kirin flexed its wings, the feathers gleaming where the sun broke through the canopy.

“Can you move freely?”

Scree. The Eagle puffed its chest out, almost insulted.

“Good. Let’s go. Take me that way.” He swung himself onto its broad back, pressing his belly flat against the warm feathers. His arms locked around its thick neck-feathers like a child clinging to a pillow. Riding this thing like a horse is asking for a broken tailbone, he thought, flushing when Kirin twisted its head around to look at him — that golden eye filled with mocking amusement.

Pi-pipipi.

Daemon’s brow twitched. “Laugh while you can, feathery bastard. Fly me or I’ll pluck every plume off your backside and hang your naked butt over the Smithy door as a warning to all who dare mock me.”

Kirin’s wings spread in answer — and the branch cracked under its forceful launch. The forest dropped away in seconds. Wind battered Daemon’s ears, his teeth rattled as he pressed his cheek against Kirin’s neck. Below them, the camp shrank to a tiny cluster of smoke and grass. Then it vanished behind a sea of emerald canopies as they soared deeper into the Myriad-Beast Forest.

Less than an hour later, he swooped into Scattered-Woods Village with all the subtlety of a thunderstorm. The main market street was already a mess of wagons, crates, and gawkers. News of his hunts always drew a crowd — men taking a break from the job of farming the fields wore wide hats, kids running around, old crones shopping with toothless grins.

But today, the shadow they saw overhead wasn’t the usual sight of a battered cart dragged by a sweating Ox. It was Kirin — wings spanning more than twice the width of the street, talons gripping a rope tied to something the size of two carts.

A Potbellied Hippo — freshly dead, its rotund body limp as a stuffed sack of turnips.

Daemon’s voice boomed down from the clouds: “Old Man Lou! Where do you want this dropped? Street’s clogged up worse than a fool's brain after drinking your stale rice wine! Clear a spot or I’m dumping it in the clearing.”

Panic. Delight. Chaos. The villagers scattered under awnings and behind wagons as Kirin circled lazily, massive wings stirring up dust devils that overturned baskets of cabbages and sent chickens squawking.

Only the sharp bark of Old Man Lou’s crew restored order — a squad of burly men who poured out of the Butcher’s Shop, waving their arms like madmen.

“Make way!”

“Back! Back I say! Unless you want to wear Hippo stew on your heads!”

“Move it, Granny, or you’re helping chop bones for free!”

Daemon smirked as the crowd melted away like snow in summer. He patted Kirin’s feathery neck. “Easy now. Bring it down slow.”

Screech. Kirin rumbled, half insulted at the idea of doing anything “slow.” But it obeyed, dropping altitude until the crowd’s upturned faces were wide-eyed and pale.

Daemon leaned down and hissed into Kirin’s ear, Don’t even think about showing off now. One wingbeat too strong and I’ll have to mop up half the market street.

Kirin’s head tilted, feathers fluffed in mock innocence. It released the Potbellied-Hippo gently — as gently as a two-ton predator could manage. The heavy carcass hit the ground with a dull thud that rattled nearby stalls.

Daemon leapt off its back with a thump, boots landing square in the churned dirt. He straightened, gave Old Man Lou a lazy nod, then reached out to tap Kirin’s leg. “Good work today. Go up and circle till I’m done.”

Pi-pipipi. The Eagle croaked, clearly amused by all the attention. Still, it bent its legs, sprang skyward, and with a single massive wingbeat, vanished above the rooftops — leaving behind a storm of dust and swirling market debris.

Daemon winced as he turned back to the villagers now swatting rice grains from their hair. He scratched the back of his head and forced a sheepish grin.

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