Uranophobia - Chapter 1 - RavioliHailstorm (2024)

Chapter Text

For almost two hundred years, demons in the Realm have lived and died under perpetual cloudy skies. Summer days are cold and windy. Winter days are damp and gloomy. At night, absolute darkness engulfs everything.

Eight years ago George was born in the Realm. Both of his parents were demons: the only creatures which can still exist in this desolate environment.

Or at least, they do their best to continue existing.

George is still too young to comprehend the harsh reality beyond the clay walls of his family’s hut, but he is aware that his mother is trying to hide her worry.

“Why are you looking outside, Mum?” Hooves click upon a cobblestone floor as the eight-year-old trots to his mother’s side.

“I’m waiting for him.” Her voice is distant: distracted.

Together they stand in the hut’s doorway. George’s mother Naamah leans against it, holding aside the curtain which acts as the door. George does not need to ask who she meant by “him”. For the past month, his mother has ventured out frequently to search for her missing partner: George’s father. Even when leaving the hut is unsafe, she still speaks his name every day, hoping that he will hear it and find his way home somehow.

“Mum, why hasn’t Dad come back yet?”

Naamah fears that if she confesses her suspicions, then they will become real. Instead she simply lies: “I don’t know.”

She suspects the truth, but she is not yet ready to share it with her son.

Reaching for her hand, George implores, “Is it safe for me to play outside today?”

“Well…” Numb from exhaustion, Naamah hesitates and pokes her head out the hut’s doorway. Her slitted pupils narrow slightly, adjusting to the muted gray light outside. Inhaling deeply, she sniffs the air and strains her ears to listen for the sounds of scuffling footsteps: a sign that danger lurks nearby.

Nothing.

Naamah looks around. Her son will probably be safe, so she relents, “Alright, but just for a short time. Don’t travel farther than where I can see you, please.”

“Really? Thanks, Mum!” Bursting with excitement, George rips his hand away and dashes outside. He sprints forward on all four limbs, leaping and somersaulting and giggling as most demonic children do.

Despite the grief which haunts her thoughts, Naamah cannot suppress a faint smile as she watches her son play outside. Sprinting and crawling among gravel hills and rocky outcrops, the eight-year-old demon is still young enough - naive enough - to enjoy life. During moments like this, she misses her own childhood. She misses her partner, too.

While George scratches in the dusty ground, creating art with his claws, Naamah lifts her eyes.

An endless landscape of gray surrounds their isolated hut in the highlands. On the horizon, many dark smudges indicate a distant city in the lowlands. Most of those huts are probably abandoned. Maybe George’s father Judas was trying to travel there before…

Naamah stops herself before she can think about it again. Shivering from more than just the chilly winds which whistle past her hair, she returns her attention to George.

Blissfully unaware of how difficult his life will be, the eight-year-old demon continues to play. He has strayed farther now, sending an instinctive wave of concern through his mother.

Concentrating again, Naamah looks left and right and forward. She listens, filtering out the sounds of George laughing and yelling. If danger comes, she will never forgive herself if she does not notice it in time.

No sign of trouble… yet her discomfort does not fade.

George’s black cloak ripples in the wind, fluttering like a flag around his skinny limbs as he performs some sort of a gymnastic routine. Even from this distance, his giddy joy is visible: practically contagious. Usually the Realm is not safe enough for him to play outside like this, and of course the Realm is never safe enough for a child to play without supervision. Naamah wishes she felt comfortable enough with letting him enjoy this rare freedom for longer, yet inside she knows his time of innocence must reach its end. Throat taut with remorse, she calls, “George?”

“What?” He skids to a halt, panting with exhilaration. His slitted pupils are enlarged, almost completely round.

“Come here, please.” Stepping outside, Naamah beckons him.

“Is everything alright, Mum?” Obediently George hurries back, loping toward his mother on all four limbs. Black fabric drags along the ground; his cloak is still too big for him.

When her son arrives and stands up fully again, Naamah murmurs with faint amusem*nt, “Your cloak is all dusty now.” She leans down, carefully using clawed fingers to brush him off. “And your hair is full of dust, too.”

“Oh.” Self-consciously George shakes his head. Dark brown and feathery, his hair still hides the horns which grow beneath it. Only male demons grow horns, so Naamah wonders whether George inherited her father’s horns or his own father’s horns.

Once her son has calmed down, pupils narrowing back into slits again, Naamah warns, “I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” Uncertain now, George shuffles to join her inside the hut again. His joy disappears as Naamah pulls the curtain closed, blocking off the view of the world outside.

Shadows swallow the two demons as the mother kneels before her son. “This may be difficult to understand, but you must hear it.” Rubbing the tops of her son’s hands with her thumbs, Naamah holds his gaze. She knows she will not cry, yet the urge to release her emotions is almost overwhelming. He looks so much like - “Judas. Your father. He won’t come back.”

Stunned, George blinks. “Why not?”

Naamah has spent the last month planning how to say this. When she delivers the news, she speaks slowly and clearly. “Judas did not leave because he wanted to. Your father loved you, George. He loved you and me more than anything else.”

“Then why did he leave?” George does not understand. “Is he gone forever? Did he die?”

“No, Judas didn’t die.” Shaking her head, Naamah explains, “But yes, he will be gone forever. Even if he did come back, he wouldn’t be the same as he was before.”

George repeats, “Why not?”

Naamah answers his question with another question: “My love, do you remember how I told you about the green clouds that the Heavens pour onto the Realm sometimes?”

“Yeah.” George remembers. Whenever green clouds poured down from the Heavens, the family would need to flee the area and climb onto higher ground until the green clouds dissipated.

“And do you remember the last time you saw your father?”

“Yeah.” George recalls, “Dad said he was gonna get food.”

“That’s right.” Naamah sighs. These memories tear through her head. They hurt her heart. “He was going out to find food for us, but the angels in the Heavens poured the green clouds a little earlier than we expected. Judas was probably in the lowlands - near the city - when the green clouds fell. He breathed in too many chemicals.”

“What are chemicals?” The word is unfamiliar to George.

“Chemicals are what the angels put in the green clouds to make our brains stop working,” Naamah explains patiently. “The green clouds are full of those chemicals.”

“So did Dad’s brain stop working?”

“Not completely,” Naamah concedes. “But your father’s brain won’t work like it did before. Those chemicals turned off every part of his brain that made your father who he was. You know those demons that we see sometimes when we travel away from home?”

“Mm-hm.” George shudders as he imagines those primal, animalistic creatures: demons who barely resemble him and his mother anymore. “Affected” is the term for a demon who has breathed in those chemicals which alter their brain’s structure. Affected demons can only manage growls, shrieks, and gurgles in their throats… and last month George’s father became one of them.

“Those demons were like us before they breathed in the chemicals from the green clouds,” Naamah reveals.

“Can we change them back?” George asks hopefully.

“No.” It is another hard truth that her son must learn. “That’s why you need to be very careful. Never go near those green clouds. If you aren’t careful, then you’ll breathe in the chemicals -”

“And they’ll make my brain stop working like it worked before?” The eight-year-old guesses.

“That’s right,” Naamah confirms gravely. “Promise me that you’ll be careful.”

“Yes, Mum,” George vows. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

“Good.” Finally releasing her tension in a heavy sigh, his mother bows her head. Glossy locks of dark brown hair cascade around her shoulders. Beneath her black cloak, she is even thinner than her son.

Although George’s mother dreads it, soon they will have no choice except to leave the safety of their hut. No matter the danger which lurks out there in the Realm, they must venture out in search of food.

Naamah has described the Realm’s cultural history to her son many times before. Hopefully if she shares enough memories and stories with the next generation, then their ancestors will continue to live through these few surviving descendants.

Until two hundred years ago, the Realm was rich with life. Some demons played instruments in marketplaces. Other demons cooked traditional dishes and shared them with neighbors. Most demons celebrated holidays and practiced ceremonies together. Love for each other and for their heritage permeated every aspect of demonic culture.

Now only a few thousand unaffected demons remain: a small fraction of the population who existed in the Realm before the Heavens began dropping chemicals on them.

Sometimes George asks about ancient traditions and ceremonies, eager to learn more about how wonderful it was to be a demon in the distant past. Unfortunately his mother’s response is usually, “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Why don’t you know?” George is disappointed.

“Many things have just been lost,” Naamah explains gently. “We’re all just trying to survive now.” Before her son can accept the answer and leave, his mother adds, “But I have more to say.”

“Yes, Mum?” George turns around to face her again.

Naamah kneels before him. Her eight-year-old son is skinny, ribcage visible on his chest, but he is always growing. Someday, if he lives long enough, he will be taller than her.

“When I was young, I wished for many things.” Naamah sighs from nostalgia. “I wished for the Realm to be how it was in ancient times, I wished for peace, I wished for everything.” A pause. Glancing down at the cobblestone floor of their hut, she admits, “Last month I wished for Judas to come back, too.” When she notices her son’s impatience, she finishes, “But if you make too many wishes, you will be disappointed.”

“Why?”

“Because most wishes don’t come true.”

“Does that mean we can’t make wishes anymore?”

“Well, no,” Naamah concedes. “I do still have a wish, and so far I think it will come true.”

“What’s your wish, Mum?”

“My greatest wish, George?” She lifts her gaze to meet deep umber eyes. “My wish is that you will live longer than me. If my wish comes true, then you will live a long life, and you may share what I have taught you to the next generation.”

“What if I don’t live longer than you, Mum?”

Her expression darkens. “I don’t know.” It is a lie. If anything happened to George, the last unaffected member of her family, she would not have a reason to live anymore. Inhaling a deep breath, Naamah resolves, “But that is why I will do whatever it takes to protect you, George. I will be proud of you no matter what. You are everything to me, and I love you.”

George does not fully comprehend the severity of this promise yet, but he knows exactly how to respond. Shyly he promises, “I love you, too, Mum.”

“Wonderful.” Releasing her tension, Naamah slumps down to relax for a moment. “That was all I wanted to say.” Brushing off her cloak, she stands upon her hooves and walks toward the curtain-door. “Now let’s go out and see if we can find some food, hm?”

Demons are tough creatures. During the past two hundred years, they have become well-adapted to life in the Realm’s harsh environment. They have excellent night vision to see through gloom and shadow. Their stomachs can digest almost any organic material. Their bodies can endure both blazing heat and severe cold. They can heal from almost any wound, surviving injuries that would be fatal to other creatures.

However, demons are not immortal. Like all living things, they must eat. Here is the problem: food is scarce in the Realm.

When the angels in the Heavens closed their gates two hundred years ago, the skies became permanently overcast. The sun vanished, and without sunlight, most plants could not grow. Without plants, most animals died. Without animals and plants, the demons had nothing to eat. As the environment collapsed, a famine began: one that has lasted for 190 years. Nowadays the demons’ main source of food is the compost that angels dump from the Heavens. It is one of the only sources of organic material in this post-apocalyptic wasteland.

Finding food is a challenge in the Realm, but demons can survive for 30 days without eating. After that, they will starve and die.

Walking behind his mother, George glances back. They are in the lowlands now, so the spindly limbs of dead trees obscure the rocky hills behind them. Somewhere back there is the hut, hidden among the highland slopes.

“George?” A female voice summons his attention.

The eight-year-old demon startles, turning around to look ahead.

His mother is waiting. She stands still, gazing expectantly back at him. “Is everything alright? Did you hear something?”

“No.” Sheepishly he trots forward to rejoin her.

“That’s alright,” she smiles with understanding. “I would prefer a false alarm anytime.”

They continue walking through the dead forest. Clouds allow only muted gray light to stream down through tangled branches. Except for swishing cloaks and the soft steps of hooves on the dirt, the forest is silent.

Without George’s father Judas, Naamah must be more cautious when traveling beyond the hut. Her partner was a spectacular fighter, an ideal protector, whereas she is much smaller and leaner. If something is out hunting here, looking for an easy meal, she and her son must hope that it does not find them.

Luck is on their side today. George and his mother do not encounter danger during their journey through the lowland forest. They will receive a meal… but it is not the source of food Naamah hoped to find.

A weak, guttural cry echoes through the forest. The mother and son freeze in their tracks.

“Down,” she mutters.

Instantly they crouch together. George cowers by his mother’s side, straining his ears to listen. Somewhere ahead, he hears scuffling in dirt. Another shriek echoes through the forest. An eerie sensation prickles on the back of his neck.

“Come on.” Nudging her son to stand, Naamah keeps her gaze focused on the trees ahead. In the distance, she sees movement on the forest floor. “Move slowly.”

Hands tingling, George follows. Breathing rapidly with anticipation, he glances around as they proceed. Earthy smells of wet rock and peat bogs waft through the forest. With them comes the faint scent of blood.

Finally Naamah and her son enter a dusty clearing, where they find the aroma’s source.

Laying on its front upon the hard ground, a demon writhes weakly. Deranged and in pain, it bares sharp teeth. Its eyeballs are the color of maroon, almost completely black. One curly horn is intact while the other is broken. Blood stains the demon’s spine and the dirt around its body. Without a cloak, its naked body is visible: a human-like head and torso with the furry legs of a goat.

This is a stranger, but the sight of it fills George and his mother with distress. Hissing and spitting, this demon is not like them anymore. At some point it must have inhaled those chemicals from the green clouds, which turned off its brain and transformed it into a mindless creature like the others.

Instinctively placing a hand on her son’s shoulder to comfort him, Naamah is conflicted. She still has plenty of time before she starves, but younger demons cannot survive without food for as long as adults.

Today George and Naamah reached 17 days without food. They are losing time.

Painfully aware of her two options, George’s mother considers them. They could just leave this poor demon here to die in peace and continue their search for food elsewhere, or…

“Mum?”

“Yes, my love?”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s hurt.” Naamah points. “Do you see how he doesn’t have wings anymore?”

“Yeah.” George shudders when he notices the bloody stumps on the demon’s back.

“That’s a fatal wound.”

“What does ‘fatal’ mean?”

“‘Fatal’ means he won’t live for much longer,” Naamah explains. “All demons have things in our bodies called arteries. Those are big blood vessels that carry more blood than regular blood vessels. We have arteries in our arms, in our legs, and in our wings. When that demon lost its wings - maybe because another demon ripped them off - the arteries in its wings broke open. Now this demon is losing a lot of blood.” Lowering her arm, she concludes, “Soon he will die.”

“Oh.” George blinks as he processes her explanation. When she does not say anything else, he asks hesitantly, “What are we gonna do now, Mum?”

He expects that she will choose to leave, to go around the injured demon as its life seeps out onto the ground.

However, Naamah has reached a different solution. Her conversation with George was what helped her decide. She never wanted her son to learn about this, but she may not have a choice. If this knowledge will help him survive in the Realm, then he must know or he will starve.

Reluctantly she decides, “George, I must teach you something important today.”

“What is it, Mum?”

“There’s a ritual that may help you if you cannot find enough food.” Firmly she adds, “It is only for emergencies, though. It is only if you are losing time before you starve.”

Alarmed, George looks up at her. “Am I losing time?”

“Yes.” Naamah’s confession is solemn. “That is why I must teach you the ritual.”

As a cold breeze blows through the clearing, ruffling their hair and cloaks, Naamah guides her son forward. She keeps her hand upon his shoulder to calm him. Carefully they approach the wounded demon, whose wordless cries have weakened into faint whimpers. Blood loss will end his life in less than an hour.

Adult demons can survive for 30 days without eating, yet food is so rare in the Realm that starvation is still the most common cause of death. Whenever a demon encounters food, they must take advantage of it.

“Only if a demon is already dead, or about to die, you may perform this ritual.” Gravely Naamah warns, “Since this demon is on the edge of death, we will prepare his body for consumption.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we will eat him.” The idea of cannibalism deeply disturbs Naamah, who would rather eat anything other than a member of her own species. However, there is a reason this is one of the few ancient traditions which has survived until now. Sometimes there is no other option. “But before we eat him, we shall perform a special ritual so his spirit will forgive us.”

“What’s the ritual?” George’s faith in his mother helps him overcome his uncertainty.

“I will teach you.” Stepping forward until she stands beside the wounded demon’s legs, Naamah instructs. “First we draw a pentagram around the body.” Patiently she shows her son how to draw a pentagram, the Realm’s symbol of worship. Once they ensure each point of the star is the same length, she continues, “And then we draw a circle around the pentagram, connecting all of its points.” Bringing her son to the edge, she helps him draw the circle, too.

Once the shape is complete, George regains his confidence. Hunger curls and unravels within his gut like a bundle of snakes. Knowing that he will eat soon encourages him. “Now what?”

“Next we bow to show respect.” Beyond the pentagram’s outer circle, Naamah touches the top of her son’s head. They bow to the wounded demon together. It is unconscious now. “And then we must greet our fellow demon. This demon is male, so we call him, ‘my dear brother of the Realm’.”

“But he’s not my brother,” George points out.

“Not through family, no,” Naamah acknowledges. As they lift their heads from the bow, she reminds him, “But he is still a demon like us. Even if we are not connected by blood, we are all the same within our hearts.” Hoping that her son understands, she coaxes, “Say it with me. My dear brother of the Realm.”

“My dear brother of the Realm,” George copies.

“I must eat, and I ask for your forgiveness.” Naamah speaks slowly and clearly so her son can memorize the prayer. “Say that, too.”

“I must eat, and I ask for your forgiveness,” George repeats.

“Last of all, we wait in silence for thirteen seconds. That’s an important number in demonic culture.”

“So I can’t talk?”

“Right. We both must be silent for thirteen seconds.” Naamah’s tone is stern, then it softens when she permits, “You can count in your head.”

Silence falls over the clearing. George and Naamah watch the stranger - their dear brother of the Realm - as the seconds pass. The wounded demon was thin and gaunt when they found him, so it is easy to see when his ribcage stops moving.

The silence continues. Only a gentle breeze blows through the clearing, carrying George and Naamah’s breaths away. When the thirteen seconds are done, the tired mother whispers, “We end the ritual by thanking the demon for saving our lives.” Raising her voice slightly, she finishes the prayer, “Thank you, my dear brother of the Realm.” She nudges her son. “Say it.”

“Thank you, my dear brother of the Realm.”

“That is all. The ritual is complete. If the demon were not dead yet, we would end his life at this moment, but since he is dead already, we may proceed.”

“What happens now, Mum?”

“We eat.” Whereas Naamah stood completely still only seconds ago, tense and grave, now she suddenly launches forward. “Come on.”

Sprinting on all four limbs, the mother and son dash toward the corpse. Expertly Naamah flips over the dead demon so its front faces the gray skies above. With the enormous claws on the tips of her fingers, she rips open the demon’s torso. Using brute strength, she crushes its ribcage and then bashes the pelvis. Blood pours out from the gaping wounds. Red splatters onto the clearing.

Abruptly ravenous, Naamah opens her mouth to reveal jagged teeth. “Muscle, organs, and fat first. Eat as much as you can.”

George does not possess the strength yet to tear apart a body, but he is still remarkably strong for his size. He bites down upon a thigh, tearing off a chunk of flesh. Blood drips down his chin and dribbles along his neck.

For several seconds, neither demon speaks. Both Naamah and George gorge themselves. With their front canine teeth they bite into the meat. With their back molars they crush bones. After only one minute, the two demons devour ten kilograms of flesh. They barely chew, and they only pause occasionally to breathe before plunging their faces into the carcass again. Such a large meal would be enough to feed them for months… if they did not need to share it.

Distant shrieks alert Naamah, who jerks her head up. As she catches her breath, blood trickles from her nose, mouth, and chin. Scanning the forest around them, she does not see anything yet, but the sounds of footsteps reach her ears.

“George.” Hastily she shakes her son’s shoulder. His gaze is glassy when he looks up. Like her, he was entirely focused on eating. “George, my love, come back to me.”

As his mother grabs his bloody chin, physically lifting his attention away from the meal, the eight-year-old blinks quickly. The haze disappears from his expression as deep umber eyes meet his gaze. Swallowing the last mouthful of fat and muscle, he asks, “What is it, Mum?”

“Other demons are coming. They smell the meat.” Leaping away from the partially eaten corpse, Naamah joins her son and urges him to come with her. “Let’s go. They’ll be here in a moment.”

Pounding footsteps move closer. Shrieks of approaching demons echo shrill and harsh through the dry, leafless trees.

“Come on! Fast!” Dropping onto all four limbs, Naamah sprints away. Her frightened son follows.

George and his mother exit the clearing seconds before the other demons arrive. Hungry and starving, these newcomers waste no time before they rip apart the leftovers. As Naamah and George dash away through the forest, they hear snarls, tearing flesh, and snapping bones. In a few hours, there will be nothing left in the clearing except a puddle of dried blood.

For the first time in weeks, George and Naamah return home with full stomachs. Back in the safety of their hut in the highlands, the mother and son pant from the exercise of climbing the rocky slopes. Their bellies are swollen as their stomachs press against their ribcages and organs.

Although the day is only halfway complete, George asks, “Can I sleep early today, Mum?” Without waiting for an answer, he crawls toward the small rug upon the cobblestone floor.

“Yes, of course.” Naamah slouches with relief. After the trauma of sharing the cannibalism ritual with her son, she feels overwhelmed, too. “Sleep for as long as you want. We can practice reading more tomorrow.”

Relaxing near the doorway, the mother watches as her eight-year-old son curls up on his rug like a cat. Still wearing his blood-soaked cloak, the small demon drags a thin blanket onto his body. Within minutes George is asleep, resting his brain and body while his digestive system processes the colossal meal.

Naamah remains awake for thirty minutes longer. Her spine rests against the hut’s cool clay wall. Leaning her head back, she heaves a sigh. Briefly she closes her eyes, then she opens them to stare at the ceiling. Thin wooden beams, formerly tree branches, support a woven roof of grass. Despite its small size, the hut has plenty of furniture: chairs and tables that Naamah and Judas salvaged from abandoned huts while George was still a baby.

Ultimately Naamah joins her son to sleep. Like a cat she curls up on her own rug and drags a blanket over herself, right beside her son. A third rug lays empty on the cobblestone floor nearby. A third, unused blanket is crumpled against the hut’s wall.

Fighting the grief as it threatens to consume her again, Naamah sends a silent message to her partner: I miss you, my love. Please give me strength. You always knew how much I needed it.

Judas would have sacrificed everything for her and George… and he did.

When the demons wake up, they will return to the lowlands and bathe in the river. Tonight they will simply rest and digest, with another month left before the threat of starvation looms over them again.

No one has starved yet. Naamah and George still live together in their hut, nestled hidden among the highlands. The young demon is now nine years old, still growing and building his strength. Like all demons, George is swift and flexible, easily able to climb rocky slopes and tree trunks. Naamah still supervises him when he plays outside, but she no longer gasps whenever her son slips or trips or stumbles. His reflexes have become fast enough that he can catch himself before he hits the ground. If he fails to catch himself, his body rapidly heals all cuts, bruises, and scrapes.

Today George wants to play outside again. Opening the curtain-door, the nine-year-old peeks outside at the highlands beyond.

Endless gray skies. Rocky slopes. Jagged boulders covered with moss and lichens. In the distance, a broken tree trunk. Cold winds ruffle George’s hair. When he listens, he hears only gurgling water from a distant stream. Sniffing the air, he smells only stone and dust.

No danger.

Encouraged, George slides open the curtain with a cautious glance back at his mother. Naamah is curled up on a rug, breathing slow and steady while she naps. She rests the side of her head on one outstretched arm. Her knees are bent, pressing against her abdomen. Her goat tail twitches once beneath her cloak, but otherwise she sleeps peacefully.

Slipping outside, George ducks as if it will disguise his movements. He knows he is not supposed to go outside without her supervision, but he is restless. The temptation is too strong.

Often disobedience leads to trouble, yet sometimes breaking the rules can also save one’s life.

Stepping quietly over the rocks away from the hut, George is unaware of the change at first. His eyes react; both pupils narrow as the daytime becomes subtly brighter. Then he notices something else. Intrigued, the demon stops walking. He looks down. The area directly beneath him is still dark, yet the highlands around him look so much lighter than he remembers.

Unbeknownst to George, he has just discovered his own shadow. The nine-year-old stretches one arm. Bewildered, he marvels at the outlines of fingers which stretch across the rocks. Above, the clouds have opened. Rays of warm, glowing sunlight touch the Realm’s surface.

George is unfamiliar with sunlight. He does not know what it is or what it means.

Then a distant scream echoes across the landscape: “Evacuate!”

Startled, George snaps his head to gaze in the direction of the voice. Farther up in the hills, he sees a group of demons scattering in all directions. Some sprint at a frantic pace across the rocks on all four limbs. Others open their scaly wings and fly away. “Everyone evacuate! Go! Spread out!”

George is perplexed. He has never heard the word “evacuate” before. Where are those demons going? Why did they leave in such a panic? Is sunlight dangerous? He glances up as an experiment, then he drops his gaze immediately when harsh rays sear his eyes.

Maybe George’s mother will know what “evacuate” means.

“Hey, Mum?” Raising his voice, the nine-year-old trots back to the hut. His mother is still asleep, in exactly the same position as when he left minutes ago. Hoping that she will not be upset at the rude awakening, George rubs her shoulder. “Mum, can you wake up, please?”

“Hm?” Her eyes remain closed. Her drowsy hum is barely audible. Slender fingers curl, then relax. When George keeps rubbing her shoulder, Naamah scrunches her face and cranes her neck back. Groggy but conscious, she groans, “My love, what is it?”

“What does ‘evacuate’ mean?” Impatiently George sticks his face close to hers.

“Huh?” His mother’s eyes snap open immediately. Throwing off her blanket, she props up her torso with her elbows. Blinking the haze from her eyes, she rasps, “Why?”

“Mum, look!” Bounding toward the curtain, the nine-year-old points outside. “It’s bright, and there are other demons who ran away!”

Following George’s pointed finger, Naamah looks. She sees the sunlight. Unlike her son, she knows exactly what it means.

“No!” Instantly awake, she leaps up from her rug and scrambles to the doorway. Like the demon who screamed the warning to evacuate, Naamah knows that the only reason the Heavens would open the clouds is if they were planning to -

Directly overhead, an unnatural shadow interrupts the warm glow of sunlight. Like a silent storm, a mass of green fog appears. Billowing and ominous, these clouds are full of poisonous chemicals. Heavier than air, they pour down onto the Realm below.

With only seconds to react, Naamah grabs her son. In a panic she bunches a handful of fabric from her cloak, then she shoves it against George’s nose and mouth.

“Hold on to me!”

Flinching with surprise, George does not have a chance to ask what is wrong. Instead he obeys, wrapping his limbs around the front of his mother’s torso. She clutches his back with one arm, holding him steady so she can crouch. With her three remaining limbs, Naamah begins to sprint. Lurching forward at an uneven pace, she dashes out of the hut, around it, and down the slopes toward the lowlands.

“Close your eyes, George!”

As the mother speaks, her son glimpses what pursues them. The Cleansing chemicals plummet onto the highlands, sending an explosion of green fog in all directions. The clouds move as fast as a shock wave.

Rushing down the slopes, Naamah urges desperately, “Keep covering your nose and mouth with my cloak. Don’t try to speak.” Her breathing is ragged as she demands, “Take a big deep breath right now, and hold it. Don’t let it out. Just hold your breath.”

George has never seen his mother so terrified. He obeys, squeezing his eyes closed. He inhales a deep breath, then he fumbles to cover his nose and mouth with fabric from her cloak. With his legs and free arm, he continues to cling to his mother’s torso, gripping her as tightly as possible.

If George opened his eyes, he would see the green clouds consume the highlands, their hut, and the cliffs they have just crossed.

Finally the spreading cloud catches up. Even as Naamah sprints, leaps, glides, and flies at top speed, she is not fast enough. The green clouds swallow both her and George, but unlike her son, she cannot hold her breath or close her eyes.

While a sickly green mist spreads out through the lowlands ahead of her, swallowing the forest, Naamah continues without stopping. Heels press against her lower back. Tiny claws puncture the skin of her shoulder. Her son’s weight jostles below. A burning sensation travels down her throat, sending fiery waves through her lungs. Stars of color explode in her vision as poisonous chemicals enter her eyes.

“Just a little more time, baby,” Naamah promises, hoping desperately that it is true. “Just keep holding your breath. It’s not safe to breathe yet.” She feels his tension, how her son is straining himself to obey. She cannot sense any movement of his chest besides a rapid heartbeat. “You’re doing so well, George. I’m so proud of you. When you need to breathe - when you can’t hold it any longer - just take a small breath. Take the smallest breath you can take, then hold it for as long as you can, okay?”

George’s chest still does not move. He will be fine, Naamah tells herself. Navigating by memory despite the dense green fog which fills the forest, she remembers the route to the city.

Beyond the lowlands, abandoned buildings and towers remain from a bygone era when the Realm was bursting with life. Some of the towers might be tall enough to be safe from the Cleansing chemicals.

Against her chest, the young demon inhales a small breath, then his ribcage freezes again.

“Yes, that’s right, just a tiny breath.” Naamah’s voice sounds unfamiliar; it creaks and shivers like the voice of an elder. “Only another minute and we’ll be out of this, alright? Don’t worry about anything. Don’t worry about me or my voice. Just hold your breath and keep your eyes closed. Focus as hard as you can, and you’ll be safe. You will be safe.”

Years from now, George will realize that she is trying to reassure not only him, but also herself. She knows what her fate will be, and she can only hope that her son’s fate will be different.

After several minutes of racing through the lowlands, Naamah reaches the city. Flapping her wings, she ascends toward one of the abandoned towers which protrude from the green fog. Exhausted and clumsy, she nearly misses the broken glass window on the tower’s top level. Tucking her wings close to her sides, the female demon dives through the opening.

Still focused on following his mother’s instructions, George keeps his eyes closed. He has only taken two breaths since they fled the hut. His chest aches from the lack of air until he suddenly jolts.

A gasp fills George’s lungs as he hits the ground hard. He opens his mouth to apologize before he realizes the air is fresh: clean. His eyes snap open, too. Dizzy and disoriented, he looks around. No longer in his mother’s arms, he lays on his back upon a hard surface. Flipping over onto his hands and hooves, the young demon realizes they are on the highest level of a tower in the city. Nervously he creeps toward the broken window and peers over the edge, then he jerks his head back when he sees the murky green fog below. Lifting his eyes, George gazes into the distance. The Cleansing chemicals have spread far across the landscape, consuming the highlands and most of the lowlands around them. Since these clouds are heavier than air, they are dense only at ground level. At this altitude, the air is crisp and uncontaminated.

Next George turns away from the window… and his heart drops.

Naamah is still laying upon the floor. Her breathing is uneven, and each inhale rattles within her chest.

“Mum!” Afraid that she is dying, George races to her side. When he grabs her shoulder, her eyes open. The nine-year-old gasps with horror. His mother’s eyeballs are now maroon, almost black. “What happened to your eyes, Mum?”

“The chemicals burned them,” she whispers weakly.

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Unconcerned with her own fate, Naamah uses the rest of her energy to sit up. “You’re safe and unaffected. That’s all that matters to me.” Reaching out with two trembling arms, she spreads them for a hug.

Kneeling down, George shoves himself into his mother’s arms. “I’m so glad you’re safe, too, Mum.”

His gratitude breaks Naamah’s heart, but this time the universe will spare her from the agony of sharing the truth.

From somewhere behind George, a shuffling sound shatters the tower’s quiet air. A soft thump indicates that someone has bumped into some furniture.

“Oops, sorry.” A quiet female voice apologizes. “I didn’t mean to interrupt the moment.”

Releasing her son, Naamah cranes her neck to look. She blinks once, then again. When her eyes fail, she sniffs the air instead. A familiar scent drifts into her nostrils. For a brief moment she wonders how she recognizes it, then -

“Wait. Naamah, is that you?”

“Lilith?”

“Oh!” Astonished, a female demon springs out from underneath a table. Older than George but younger than his mother, she apologizes hastily, “Sorry, I was just hiding here in case there were any angels looking into the tower or something. I mean, I know there’s a low chance of that, but -” Lilith trails off when she notices Naamah’s blackened eyeballs. “Wait, are you -? Did you -?”

“Yes.” Fatigued, the mother slumps down onto the ground again.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry.” Lilith’s brain functions are still intact, untouched by the Cleansing chemicals, but every demon has loved ones who have been affected. Some demons have no one left who is unaffected.

Lilith is the fifteen-year-old daughter of one of Naamah’s friends. Naamah did not even know if Lilith was still alive until now. This female demon is barely old enough to be independent, but Naamah does not know anyone else who will be able to help.

“Lilith.” With only another minute of consciousness left, the mother reveals, “Judas is gone.”

“Judas, too?” Lilith presses a palm against her chest as her heart blooms with anguish. Glancing between Naamah and George, the teenager realizes, “Does that mean -?”

“Yes.” Accepting defeat, Naamah pleads, “Do you think you could take him?”

“Me?” Mortified, Lilith protests, “But I’m only fifteen. I don’t know if I could do it.”

“What are you saying, Mum?” George asks, trying to understand what is happening.

The female demons ignore him. Quiet weeping is the only response.

“Please, Lilith,” Naamah begs. Bloody tears stream from her eyes, leaking down her cheeks. “You’ll be wonderful, I know it. Don’t doubt yourself. Please.” Pressing her lips together, she squeezes her eyes closed. “I’m sorry, Lilith. I’m so sorry.”

“No.” Breaking her silence for the first time, Lilith changes her mind. Heartbroken, the teenager assures, “Don’t be sorry. I might be able to do it. I’ll take him.”

Unable to contain her relief, Naamah bursts into sobs. “Thank you,” she whispers. Shaking with gratitude, she collapses onto her side. “Thank you so much, Lilith.”

“Yeah, of course.” Despite her lack of confidence, Lilith is willing to help, so the teenager turns her attention to George. By now the nine-year-old demon is aware that a big change has occurred, yet he still cannot comprehend its significance.

“What’s wrong, Mum?” Wringing his fingers with uncertainty, he shuffles toward her. “Why are you crying?”

“She’s okay, George,” Lilith lies. Hoping to make this transition easier, his new caretaker encourages, “Come on. Your mom needs some time alone.” Forcing a smile, she distracts him: “Would you like to see the tower while she rests? We can explore the entire place together.”

Instantly brightening, the young demon agrees, “Yes, please!” Energetic again, he crouches beside his mother. “Mum, is it okay if I go?”

“Yes, George,” Naamah breathes, too tired to move. Her emotions have receded, fading away like the rest of her. Barely clinging to consciousness, she adds, “Be good for Lilith, please. I love you.”

“I’ll be good, and I love you, too, Mum,” George promises. Excited to explore the rest of the tower, he skips away with a final giggle over his shoulder, “Bye, Mum! See you later!”

With his mother’s permission, George accompanies Lilith out of the room and into a staircase which leads down to the tower’s lower levels. By now, the Cleansing chemicals have begun to dissipate around the cloud’s edges. Soon the poisonous fog will dissolve completely, leaving the air clean and safe again.

After footsteps exit the room, Naamah relaxes. Thankful for Lilith’s quick wits, she considers how wonderful it is that her last memory of her son consists of him smiling and laughing.

Hopefully the future will bring better days.

Then Naamah loses consciousness, sinking down into an endless abyss: a void which swallows her entire soul.

On the level below this one, Lilith introduces George to the tower’s kitchen. She shows the young demon every tool, utensil, pot, and pan, reciting their uses or making up their uses if she does not know them. Really Lilith is just buying as much time as possible before George realizes what is occurring above their heads.

An hour passes. As Lilith escorts George further and further down the tower, introducing him to all of its rooms and decorations, something moves in the tower’s highest level.

Two eyes snap open, revealing blackened eyeballs. Smeared blood dries on dusty cheeks. A female demon awakens and hauls herself off the floor. Until now, this body belonged to Naamah, but her soul no longer dwells within it. Now this female demon is affected: completely reduced and erased. No more knowledge. No more wisdom. No more love.

With damaged eyes and lungs, the female demon crawls up onto all four limbs. She does not attempt to stand; crawling feels more natural. Instead she creeps toward the tower’s broken window and sniffs. Her only thoughts are about food and where she might find it. Nothing else exists in her altered brain. The Cleansing chemicals have turned off everything else permanently, transforming the mother into a mindless creature: one of the thousands of demons who roam through the Realm without responsibilities or identities.

Bursting out of the tower, Naamah spreads her wings and flies away. Leaving the city behind, the demon begins an endless hunt for food. She has lost her memories, she has lost her culture, and she has lost herself.

The angels call this process a Cleansing. Demons call it the only fate worse than death.

At fifteen years old, Lilith was already struggling to care for herself before she became responsible for George, too. She was the youngest of four siblings, but when George asked what happened to the others, she simply grunted, “A Cleansing happened.”

Like George, Lilith is the last unaffected member of her family. When the Cleansing chemicals dissolved and disappeared, she took the opportunity to guide her young companion to her own hut in the city.

Several times George asked curious questions about when they would go back to the tower, about when his mother would be done resting, and about when they would be done sharing Lilith’s hut.

Unbeknownst to the nine-year-old, his time with the teenage caretaker has only begun.

Despite her initial self-doubt, Lilith quickly adapted to her new role and responsibilities. She is only six years older than George, resembling an older sister rather than an adoptive mother. Once the newcomer settled in with his caretaker in her hut, Lilith began teaching George everything she knew. She helped him learn to navigate through the Realm while avoiding its many dangers. She helped him learn to read, completing the mission that George’s parents started. Lilith also shared things that George had never known before. She showed him how to brush burrs, tangles, and thorns out of his leg fur. She taught him how to shine his hooves.

Most importantly, Lilith reveals the power of a demon’s name. It is a special trick: a unique aspect of demonic biology. Lilith does not realize her companion did not know this, so she mentions it casually as they hike along a mountainous slope.

“Did you know that if I say your name, you’ll hear it no matter where you are? Even if you’re on the other side of the Realm?”

“What?” George scoffs. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying. It’s true!” Lilith stops walking. Turning around, she stares down at him. “It’s one of the coolest things about being a demon. You can hear your name no matter how far away someone is when they say it.” When George remains skeptical, Lilith balks. “Are you telling me that’s new information? How did you not know that?”

“I barely left the hut for, like, ten years!” George protests. As a twelve-year-old orphan raised by a teenager, he has developed a potent attitude. “How can you possibly expect me to know that?”

“Okay, fine.” Lilith rolls her eyes. “I’ll prove it to you, then instead of calling me a liar, you’ll actually listen to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” George responds dryly. “Did you say something? I wasn’t listening.”

Lilith gives George a light-hearted shove, strong enough for him to wobble on his hooves. “Not so tough when you’ve got the low ground, huh?” Before her companion can retaliate, Lilith switches back to the original subject. “Stand there. I’ll move away and say your name.”

“Fine.” Crossing his arms gruffly, George waits as his caretaker sprints away to dive into a small cave. He stands, shivering in the wind until -

“George.”

“Huh?” The twelve-year-old jolts with shock. Ducking his head, he stares intently at the cave entrance.

“George.”

No sound reaches his ears, yet he hears his name. It echoes within his head, faint yet clearly audible. He recognizes Lilith’s voice, too.

“I…” Speechless, George feels weak in the knees. His arms flop back to his sides as Lilith emerges slowly from the cave with a smug grin on her face.

“How was that?” She giggles with amusem*nt at his stunned reaction.

“I heard it.” George does not understand. “How did you do that?”

“I just whispered your name really quietly.” Lilith’s casual shrug would be irritating if her trick had not impressed him so much. “It works for all demons. If you said my name, yelled my name, whispered my name - anything - I would hear it no matter where you are.” Then Lilith’s expression becomes serious, and her voice lowers with warning. “But you shouldn’t try it with demons who are affected. If they’re close, they’ll be able to figure out where you are and attack you.”

“That makes sense,” George concedes. His mind races with adrenaline even as she turns away. Eager to learn more, he stumbles up the slippery slopes to follow her. Although living in the Realm is tough, impossible for most creatures, George has never loved being a demon as much as he loves it now.

At thirteen years old, George experiences his first teenage growth spurt. He is now as tall as Lilith, and though he is still skinny, his body has become lean and sturdy. The teenage George is also proud of his horns, which sprouted from his head soon after his birthday. Poking out from feathery dark brown hair, the horns are short and black: just little nubs. As he becomes older, they will grow to resemble the twisted horns of a markhor goat. Just like Dad’s horns.

Of course George is incredibly thankful for Lilith’s presence in his life. She accepted an enormous burden by agreeing to raise him. Even more incredible, she has never regretted her decision, so George is ashamed to admit that he wishes he could have a male caretaker, too.

Lilith has always done her best, especially considering she is only nineteen years old, but George assumes there must be some things a female demon might struggle to understand. Most demons in the Realm are affected - mindless creatures after breathing in Cleansing chemicals - but surely a positive male role model must exist out there somewhere?

Unbeknownst to George, Lilith will fulfill his wish without even realizing it.

Starting a few months ago, she began leaving the hut occasionally for “walks”. Today her younger companion learns why.

“George?” Sliding open the hut’s curtain-door and closing it after herself, the caretaker finds him picking thorns and burrs from his leg fur. “Can I talk to you?”

“Yeah.” George pauses and lifts his head. When he notices her hesitant expression, he wonders, “What happened?”

“Could you come outside, please? There’s someone here.”

“Someone here?” Alert, George leaps up. Ignoring the rest of the weeds and dirt on his cloak, he hurries to join his caretaker in the doorway. “Who?”

“Don’t worry, he’s not a stranger,” Lilith reassures hastily. “It’s someone I know.” With a shy blush, she asks, “You know how I’ve been taking walks a lot recently?”

“Yeah?” Before she can finish, George guesses sarcastically, “I suppose you’re gonna tell me you were actually walking to somewhere?”

“I was.” Finally Lilith spreads one arm in a sweeping gesture, sliding the curtain open. It reveals the clearing beyond her hut’s entrance, the forest beyond, and somber gray skies overhead.

Only a few meters away, another demon waits patiently in the clearing. One hoof paws at the dusty ground with slow strokes. His arms are crossed, but when Lilith and George emerge from the hut, both arms drop to the demon’s sides.

“Hello, George!” In a voice that is deep but pleasant, the male demon greets, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” George responds with a polite dip of his head, then his attention switches to Lilith.

Acknowledging her companion’s quizzical expression, Lilith introduces: “This is Baphomet. He’s my partner.”

“Oh.” Surprised that his suspicion was actually correct, George turns his head to assess the newcomer again.

Baphomet is a few years older than Lilith, but he is still younger than George’s parents. He wears a clean black cloak without a hood. Long, curved horns protrude from the top of his head: the horns of an ibex goat. With broad shoulders, bulky arms, powerful legs, and a towering height, this male demon would be intimidating if his expression were not so friendly.

“I’m sorry about how sudden this is,” Baphomet apologizes. He bows slightly: a signal that he means no harm. “I completely understand if you’re a little cautious. Being wary out here in the Realm is a good trait to have.”

George hesitates. Although he does not look at Lilith, he can sense her watching him closely. Then he remarks, “You know my name already.”

“I do,” Baphomet concedes. “Lilith told me a few things about you, but I’m glad to meet you in-person.”

First George wonders why the male demon has not moved; Baphomet stands in exactly the same place as when the curtain-door opened. However when George sees him and Lilith exchange an uncertain glance, he discovers that both of the older demons are waiting for him to make the next move.

“Would it be okay if Baphomet lived with us?” Lilith’s eyes burn with an intense, fervent hope. “It’s okay if you don’t want that yet, but -”

“Sure, it’s fine with me.” George interrupts with a shrug. Once he learned they were acting so strange because they were hoping for his approval, accepting the presence of this new demon was easy. To the newcomer he allows, “It won’t bother me if you move in and live with us. Just please don’t make out anywhere near me. Kissing is gross, and I don’t want to see it.”

This flexibility impresses both Lilith and Baphomet, who are both stunned at how smoothly George accepted the male demon’s arrival. They were certain that the teenager would resist the idea of sharing food or space.

In celebration Baphomet and Lilith rush to each other. They embrace in a tight hug, spinning around in a circle as the powerful male demon lifts his lover. George grimaces with disgust as Lilith whoops with delight, slides her arms around Baphomet’s shoulders, and presses their foreheads together.

After Lilith’s hooves return to the ground, she bounces and dances with exhilaration. Finally she will not need to leave George unattended and walk for hours to visit her lover; now he will live with them!

Next Baphomet approaches George. The younger demon tenses, preparing to get lifted in the air and spun in a circle. However the older demon stops before him instead. Delicately he asks, “Are you okay with hugs, George?”

Relaxing slightly, the teenager answers, “They’re fine, I guess.”

“Okay, then.” Although Baphomet is bony, half-starved from a lack of food, his figure is remarkably muscular. Pulling his new companion into a tender embrace, the older demon murmurs, “Thank you, George. We really appreciate this, and I promise I won’t be a burden.”

When Baphomet pulls away, he smiles with amusem*nt at the embarrassed blush on George’s face. None of the three demons are really sure what their relations are now. Is George their adopted brother? Is Baphomet his stepfather? Are the couple George’s replacement parents? No one is sure, yet in the Realm where everyone seems to be the last survivors of their families, any form of community is welcome.

A long time ago, Judas and Naamah taught their son that love is what dwells in the core of demonic culture. Love between partners, neighbors, friends, even strangers. Love is the only thing that gives demons in the Realm something to live for. If Lilith trusts Baphomet, then George trusts him, too. So the found family grows.

In the future, George will often tease Lilith about how soon she became pregnant after her partner Baphomet moved into their hut. Of course Lilith will be embarrassed whenever the adult George mentions it, but it is true. Only a few weeks after their first meeting, the couple discovers that a new generation will join them.

Although the teenage George has developed a keen awareness of his surroundings and a fondness for spending quality time with others, there are still some things beyond his comprehension. For example, Baphomet’s behavior is completely inexplicable to him. Frequently the older male demon leaves the hut to search for food, yet he returns within two hours each time.

After one of these ridiculously short trips, George stands from the floor to address the older demon as soon as he returns. “You’re back already?”

“I am.” Baphomet closes the curtain-door behind himself. Temporarily ignoring his younger counterpart, he gazes across the dim hut to see his partner Lilith. “How are you feeling, my love?”

“I feel fine.” Sitting complacent on her rug, she shrugs. “I’m hungry, but I probably have, like, three more days until I really need to eat.”

“You know, you can cover more ground if you stay out for longer,” George suggests, unable to believe that Baphomet had never considered this. “If you’re only gone for a couple of hours, there’s no way you can go as far.”

“I know,” Baphomet finally responds. With mild irritation, he looks back over his shoulder to explain, “But I wanted to come back and check on Lil.”

“Why?” Puffing his chest with confidence, George gestures to the female demon. She listens with an amused grin. “I’m here, and it’s not like Lilith is unconscious or something. She can defend herself.”

Unsatisfied, Baphomet switches his attention from George to Lilith, imploring her to agree with him.

“You know, Baph, George does have a point.” Smirking at her partner with a mockingly thoughtful expression, Lilith reminds him, “Didn’t you tell me yesterday that you wish you had experience teaching so you can be a good father figure?”

“Uh… I guess so?”

“This seems like a perfect opportunity for you to get that experience, then,” the pregnant demon decides. Briefly she pauses to adjust her position upon the floor, grunting softly as she flips onto her side. “My mobility isn’t gonna change until my belly starts getting bigger, so you should take this valuable time to train George. Teach him how to forage and everything while I’m still capable of running and flying and defending myself. Get all of the teaching experience that you need. Then, by the time I’m all heavy and lumbering, George will be able to go out by himself to bring food back for us, and you can spend all of your time protecting poor little defenseless me.” Eyes gleaming with entertainment, she asks triumphantly, “Happy with that solution, baby?”

Baphomet is not happy with the solution. He does not like any plan which involves leaving Lilith by herself, but his partner has decent arguments. Reluctant, he relents, “Okay, George. Next time I go out looking for food, you can come, too.”

“Awesome!” Thrilled that he will get a chance to go outside and stretch his legs, George bounds to Baphomet’s side. “Can we go back out now?”

Before her partner can provide any sort of excuse, Lilith exclaims, “Yes, of course! Maybe without you two rowdy boys, I’ll have a chance to sleep and conserve my energy.”

Outnumbered, Baphomet has no choice except to concede. Stomping out the door, he grumbles, “Okay, George, I guess we’ll go.”

A chilly breeze blows through the lowlands as George follows Baphomet out of the hut. Although the older demon does not say it aloud, he acknowledges that Lilith and George were probably right. Surely his lover will be fine in the hut for a few hours. His overreaction is simply the result of anxiety: a devotion to protecting his found family. In a world where danger can come from anywhere, fear can easily become petrifying.

During George’s childhood, he usually stayed by his mother’s side whenever he left the hut. As a teenager, he strays several meters from Baphomet’s side while they walk. This distance offers the illusion of independence, even though George still struggles to keep up with the older demon’s pace.

“Do you need me to slow down?” Humor flashes in Baphomet’s eyes as he glances back at George, fully aware that his longer legs enable a quicker stride.

“No, I’m fine.” Self-consciously George tries to catch up without making it too obvious.

“Okay, then,” the older demon shrugs.

Like Lilith, who is more like a sibling than a parent, Baphomet has become the positive male role model who George yearned to have. Despite his stubborn attitude, Baphomet is also incredibly compassionate. Like Judas, he always encourages George to be proud of their demonic heritage. “It’s the best part about us,” Baphomet often says. “Being demonic is what connects everyone in the Realm together.”

After two hours of walking, Baphomet and George reach the edge of the lowlands. Gradually the forest thins out, the dead trees becoming less numerous until the pair reaches the edge. A sharp cliff face towers above them, marking where an ancient river must have carved this valley. Lichens and moss grow in clefts between the rocks.

“Are we going up there?” Intimidated but trying to hide it, the thirteen-year-old squints as his eyes travel up the steep slope. Icy winds billow past his ears and through the openings of his cloak.

“No, we’ll walk alongside it,” his older companion decides. With their clawed hands and goat hooves, they might be able to climb the cliffs, but Baphomet does not want to risk any falls. Instead he considers their direction, glancing both ways before he points. “Let’s go east. I think there’s a compost pile that way.”

“Alright.” This territory is unfamiliar to George, so he does not argue.

Baphomet turns away, leading his young companion farther from the hut on their search for food. The pair walk alongside the rocks for another hour until a new odor wafts into their nostrils. Usually they smell only dirt, stone, and decaying trees. Occasionally they detect the scents of demons who passed through an area before them. However this new odor is different.

Baphomet and George increase their pace, lowering to travel on all four limbs. Together they creep toward the odor’s source. Navigating around thickets, bushes, and boulders, they follow the edge of the cliffs until they reach something new.

A compost pile. Unlike the rest of the Realm, which is gloomy and filled with gray tones, the pile is full of vibrant colors. Bright yellow banana peels, dappled green apple skins, gritty brown coffee grounds, crumpled white egg shells, rice soaked with orange sauce, fatty meat rinds, wrinkled potatoes covered with sprouts, squishy globs of oatmeal, rotten cubes of cheese -

All of this might be waste from the Heavens, unwanted by the angels who discarded it, but everything is edible for the demons. Whether the food is fresh or covered with mold, they can digest it… if the food is truly available for them to take it.

Peeking at the compost pile from a safe distance, Baphomet and George assess the situation. Plenty of food out in the open with no other demons around? It might be a trap.

“Should we get it?” George whispers, ravenous as he observes the variety of organic material.

“Maybe.” Practically salivating, Baphomet agrees, “Let’s check the perimeter first.”

Neither demon has eaten in eleven days, so they can afford to leave this meal behind if it seems too good to be true. With their scaly wings tucked close to their sides, the pair stalk the outskirts of the compost pile. All of this came from the Heavens, the same place which drops Cleansing chemicals into the Realm. It is not impossible that the angels might have placed some sort of trap here to catch demons who attempt to steal this tempting feast. Slowly moving through the undergrowth around the compost pile, Baphomet and George search for any signs of danger. No nets, no snares, no cages, no deadfalls… and most importantly, no scents of angels.

“It might be safe,” Baphomet mutters once they reach the other side. Checking the clouds, he adds, “No sunlight, either.” Finally he looks at George, who has not spoken yet. “Did you see anything weird? Anything at all?”

“No.”

“Good.” Baphomet’s body remains stiff, but now the source of his tension shifts from suspicion to excitement. Returning his gaze to the compost pile that awaits their consumption, he murmurs, “Oh, this is a good one. Come on.”

Together the demons race forward. Leaping onto the compost pile, they tear it apart.

Only two things ever fall from the Heavens. First are the clouds of Cleansing chemicals which doom any unlucky demons below to a fate of amnesia and insanity. Ironically the other thing is compost - food - a source of salvation. Compost is the demons’ main source of nutrition. Without it, they would have no choice except to cannibalize each other.

“Find things we can carry,” Baphomet instructs, voice muffled as he consumes everything his mouth touches. In between enormous bites, he pants, “We need to bring back enough for her.”

“Mm-hm.” George does not bother to utter words as he rummages further into the pile. Chewing and swallowing almost everything he finds, he gathers more organic material for their pregnant companion.

“Be careful of ambrosia, too,” Baphomet warns. Lifting his face from where it was buried in a clump of yogurt, he adds, “If you smell it anywhere, let me know.”

“What’s ambrosia?” Gnawing on a watermelon rind, George glances up.

“It’s something the angels drink.” Baphomet wipes his mouth, smearing white across his jaw. “It’s poisonous for us. Ambrosia is the only thing the angels eat that we can’t touch.”

“Got it.” George nods once and saves this reminder to his memory. Whereas he dug through the compost carelessly before, now he searches more cautiously.

Once the pair have filled their stomachs, they drag handfuls of organic material into their arms. Smelly liquids stain their cloaks, soaking the fabric. Neither of them cares about the rancid stench or the bitter flavors. Demons can eat everything… except for ambrosia, of course.

“We’ll leave the rest for someone else,” Baphomet announces after they finish. Removing a sheet of fabric from his pocket, he shakes dust off an empty sack. It is a relic from the time when the Realm teemed with artisans, weavers, and craftsmen. After George and Baphomet fill the sack with extra compost, the pair of demons leave the pile behind.

“Will it still be here later?” George wonders.

“Probably not,” Baphomet sighs with faint remorse. “Maybe the angels will dump more in the same spot, but it’s hard to predict.” As they leave the clearing behind, the older demon’s tone becomes bitter. “I’m sure the angels wouldn’t like the idea that they’re feeding us, so they probably dump compost in different places on purpose.”

“Huh.” George kicks a stone as they enter the dead forest again. “I guess that makes sense.” Weaving around a tree trunk to nudge the stone again, he wipes his jaw absently. An unidentifiable mix of food and juice sticks to his skin. Self-consciously he wipes both hands on his cloak. Maybe he will have a chance to bathe in the river later before the inevitable post-feast exhaustion hits him.

Submerged in his thoughts, George is too distracted to notice a faint noise nearby. Lagging a few meters behind Baphomet, the young demon hums to himself as they pass through a cluster of abandoned huts. Tendrils of ivy shroud circular walls. Clay dust litters the ground beneath crumbling doorways. One ragged curtain-door sways in the gentle breeze. Several grass roofs have collapsed and filled the empty huts, hiding the unused furniture left inside.

“Hey, Baph?”

“Yes, George?” The older demon pauses ahead, allowing his companion to catch up.

“Maybe sometime we should -”

Passing another hut, George does not get a chance to finish.

Too fast to see, a dark shape explodes out from the hut’s doorway. A sudden force slams into George’s side, crushing the air from his lungs. Pain bursts in his spine as a huge weight slams him against the ground. Sharp claws slash across George’s arms and chest. Hot breath billows against his throat. Damaged eyes shine, vivid and insane. Jagged teeth glisten with foamy saliva.

An ambush!

A scream rips through George’s throat as the other demon bashes him repeatedly against the ground. It is starving and emaciated, yet still incredibly powerful. His eyes squeeze closed as he tries desperately to push off his attacker… until the weight vanishes off George’s front.

Something collides with his attacker. A thud reverberates through the air as bone hits bone. Heavy footsteps shake the ground around him. Instinctively the teenager raises both newly free arms to shield his face.

Sounds of snarls and snapping jaws reach George’s ears. As another wave of panic flows through him, his eyes open again. Gray skies above. Spindly tree branches. No pain in his throat. Fresh holes in his cloak reveal where the other demon scratched him. Warm blood trickles from open wounds.

Wrenching himself off the ground, George scrambles up onto all four limbs again.

Now the vicious demon is engaged in battle with Baphomet. The older demon heard George’s cry for help, deserted his sack, and shoved off the attacker. Dust flies up into the air as the entangled combatants tumble, grab, shove, kick, and roar at each other. The other demon is affected and naked, wild from the chemicals that altered its brain.

Wrangling his crazed opponent, Baphomet tries to keep its claws away from his gut and its jaws away from his throat. Hissing and shrieking with fury, the attacking demon pummels Baphomet with its hooves. Blood leaks from many fresh scratches and bites, staining the ground below.

When Baphomet glimpses his young companion watching from too close, he grunts, “George, hide!”

George cannot hide. He is frozen, unable to move. Stiff with terror, he witnesses the brutal fight with wide eyes and an open mouth.

Then the attacker pins Baphomet down, holding him against the ground.

“George, go!” Struggling to break free, Baphomet tucks his chin down to hide his throat. This battle can only end with a fatal wound, and he is not sure if he will be the one who survives. Voice straining with effort, he shouts, “Run, George!”

George remains frozen: mesmerized. The other demon’s words reach his ears, yet somehow his brain cannot process them. Breathing fast and shallow, he watches.

Slowly losing its strength, the attacking demon releases its grip on its opponent to strike him again. Claws rake across Baphomet’s chest, scraping his rib cage. While the other demon’s attention focuses on the blood which spills from his victim’s skin, Baphomet seizes his chance.

Bucking up again, he twists his head sideways and down before thrusting it back up again. Baphomet’s aim is perfect; one curved horn stabs his attacker’s lowered head. Its sharp point thrusts directly into the soft flesh below the other demon’s jaw, slashing open its esophagus.

Newly open arteries gush with blood. A strangled screech rips from the attacker’s throat as it releases its grip on Baphomet. Fatally wounded, it gurgles and stumbles back. Blood continues to drip from its throat onto the dirt.

Face twisted with determination, Baphomet ends the fight with a well-aimed kick from both hooves. One hoof strikes the attacker’s head while the other thumbs against its collar bone. It is the finishing blow.

Already dazed from blood loss, the other demon limps away into the undergrowth. Wandering into the forest, it departs as suddenly as it arrived. Soon it will die and become a meal for someone else.

Finding his awareness again, George springs forward. Joining Baphomet’s side, he offers both arms to help his companion stagger up onto his hooves again.

Finally safe, George regains the mental ability to process what happened. Like his older companion, the younger demon knows a fatal wound was inevitable. If Baphomet had not intercepted the other demon in time, George would have been the wound’s recipient. I would have died, he realizes. Even though Baphomet was not related by blood, the older demon protected him without hesitation. If he had been unsuccessful in battle - if he had lost his strength or balance too soon - he would have sacrificed his own life for George.

“Are you hurt?” Even though Baphomet bleeds from many wounds, he assesses his younger companion first. Noticing the holes in George’s cloak, he pants, “Any deep bites or scratches?”

Knees wobbly from relief, George shakes his head. “No, not really.”

“Good.” Baphomet releases his concern in a heavy sigh. Then he reaches the same discovery that hit George moments ago. He realizes how narrowly they avoided a gruesome fate of being ripped apart and eaten alive. Instead of being triumphant, Baphomet catches George off-guard when he erupts with rage. “And you idiot, George! What were you doing? How could you be so stupid? I told you to hide! Why didn’t you run? You need to be paying attention all the time, literally every second!” Eyes blazing, he demands furiously, “Do you have any idea what would have happened if I hadn’t driven that demon off? If you had stayed frozen like that - not listening to me - and that demon had killed me, it would have killed you, too! Both of us would be dead!” Then his fury transforms into horror. “And what about Lilith? If both of us were gone, then she would be alone. She would have no idea what happened to us, and she’s pregnant! Without us, she would have to do everything alone. She would need to raise a child without any help at all, just like how she did for -” Abruptly he trails off, falling into silence before the word “you” can escape him. Promptly Baphomet’s anger fades, dissolving like salt in a river. He sees George’s awestruck expression, which lingers despite the younger demon’s fear. Closing his eyes, Baphomet releases his tension with a sigh. “Sorry.” Self-conscious now, he grumbles, “I shouldn’t be yelling at you. The ambush wasn’t your fault.” When his eyes open again, his slitted pupils have expanded. Lifting his sack off the ground and slinging it over one shoulder, the older demon mutters, “Come on. Let’s go back home.”

“Okay,” George replies weakly. “I’m sorry, Baphomet.” Ashamed yet amazed, he scurries after the older demon back into the forest. They walk much closer together this time, like a father guiding a son through treacherous territory.

Forgotten memories seem to flutter through the cluster of abandoned huts as the pair of demons leave it behind. Maybe someday demons will exist here again, or maybe it will remain a ghost town forever.

As the pair walk, the skies overhead shift from a soft gray to a deep stormy color. Night is coming. In a few hours the Realm will be completely dark.

“We need to hurry. She’s probably waiting for us.” Sick with worry about his pregnant partner, Baphomet looks around. Even as the demons’ eyes adjust to the low light of sunset, their surroundings are still less distinguishable. By nighttime, all of these trees and rocks will appear the same. “I don’t know this part of the lowlands.”

“Are we lost?” George asks shyly.

“Right now, yes.” Fortunately the older couple have already established a signal for when they are lost. Stopping in his tracks, Baphomet lowers his head and closes his eyes to murmur, “Lilith Lilith Lilith.”

Silence. Both he and George remain quiet, listening.

Then Baphomet’s head snaps up. Although his lover is far, many kilometers away, she heard her name when he spoke it: code for “I’m lost. Please guide me back home.” In return, she said his name three times, and her lover heard it inside his head.

Shoulders stiff with certainty, Baphomet turns and points in a seemingly random direction. “This way.”

While the daylight dims further, shadows consume the Realm. George and Baphomet’s slitted pupils expand until their irises are no longer visible. Soon Baphomet’s sack disappears from his shoulder, blending in with his cloak.

Within another thirty minutes, the sky is dark. No lightbulbs, no lamps, no fires. The Realm is completely black.

Traveling through the forest is challenging at night. The demons tread carefully when the ground becomes uneven. Pebbles crunch beneath their hooves. Wood snaps whenever Baphomet’s horns hit a low-hanging branch. Only the scents of the forest and the sounds of wind waft through the air.

“Lilith Lilith Lilith,” Baphomet mutters ahead. He waits for a brief moment, then he confirms, “We’re still going the right way.”

“Epic.” Inexperienced and clumsy, George must focus hard to avoid tripping over roots. After another minute he gains the courage to ask, “Baphomet, are you still mad at me?”

“Mad?” The older demon sounds surprised. “No, not at all.”

“What?” George is doubtful. “I thought you were mad. You shouted.”

“I know I shouted - and I’m sorry about that - but I wasn’t mad,” Baphomet clarifies. “I was scared. That demon could have killed you.”

“But you didn’t look scared,” George insists. “You tackled that guy and pushed him off me!” Why would anyone endanger themself like that if they were afraid? “I know you’re just lying to make me feel better. You weren’t scared.”

This time Baphomet hesitates. For several moments they continue their journey in relative silence, listening to the empty forest around them. Then the older demon sighs. “George, I know it’s hard for you to believe this, but I’m telling the truth. I was so scared when that demon attacked you today. Just like my partner, you’re a part of my family. I was afraid of that other demon just like you, but rather than letting my fear paralyze me, I made that fear energize me instead. I love you, and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“Oh.” With a fresh wave of shame, George ducks his head. Baphomet wasn’t lying. Weakly he apologizes, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” the older demon dismisses, his tone nonchalant. “I know you’re still kind of young, so some things will take some time to understand. These are all nuanced things that we need to comprehend here in the Realm.” After another pause, he continues thoughtfully, “And as you know, I’m gonna be a dad soon. I’m happy about it, of course - happier than I’ve been in a long time - but honestly I’m also terrified. The Realm is a tough place to live, George. You know that as well as I do. Raising children here isn’t impossible - you and I grew up here, obviously - but sometimes it seems like survival is becoming harder every day. At any moment, something could kill us and eat us.”

George does not know what to say, but he does not need to say anything.

“Lilith Lilith Lilith.” Baphomet sends his lover another signal. He pauses to listen for her response, then he sighs with relief, “Okay, we’re probably close.”

Even with night vision, traveling over rugged terrain is a challenge. Baphomet still carries a sack full of compost on his shoulder, but he is exhausted. “George?”

“Huh?” The younger demon perks up. He thought they would spend the rest of their journey in silence. “Yes, Baph?”

“I should add that I don’t like hurting other demons.” Guilt seeps into the older demon’s voice. “I don’t regret what I did because I know it was for a good cause - to keep you safe - but I wish I didn’t need to fight anyone.” Full of remorse, Baphomet continues, “Before the Heavens closed their gates two hundred years ago - before they started dropping Cleansings on us - all of demonic culture focused on love. We didn’t need to be nomads like this. Demons lived in communities who loved each other. We treated friends like family. We treated strangers like friends. And now?”

After the older demon finishes, George hears a soft gasp ahead. This time it was Baphomet’s turn to trip over a root. A thump reverberates through the ground as a clumsy hoof catches his fall.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Embarrassed, Baphomet grunts, “I was just distracted.”

“That’s fine.” Relieved to know that his companion is not as perfect as he seems, George encourages, “Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” More uncertain than earlier, Baphomet asks, “George, have you ever performed the cannibalism ritual?”

Caught off-guard, George stammers, “I have.” Memories resurface from the depths of his brain. A bloody puddle and a mangled corpse enter his thoughts. Naamah is there, too. George misses her.

“My parents taught my brothers and me about the ritual when we were really young,” Baphomet recalls wistfully. “Lilith and I talked about whether we’ll teach it to our kid. I hope we won’t, but I’m sure it will probably be necessary.” Then his tone transforms from nostalgic to bitter. “I hate how sometimes demons have no choice except to eat each other just to survive. How can I be okay with myself, knowing that I’m bringing a child into a world like this? In the Realm, it seems like all of us are doomed already. Either we’ll get affected by chemicals, or we’ll die from starvation.”

George’s heart aches with sympathy. He did not realize Baphomet felt so disillusioned. Hoping to provide some sort of comfort, he remarks, “You saved my life today, though.”

“Huh?” Baphomet is startled, as if he had forgotten George was still there. Not intending for his younger companion to perceive him as some sort of a hero, the older demon clears his throat awkwardly. “Oh, uh, sure. No problem.”

After another minute the pair adjusts their direction one final time. By now the territory is familiar; they recognize the trees and boulders which surround them.

Finally a hut looms in the distance. Home!

The sight energizes Baphomet, who pulls the sack of compost off his shoulder. Both demons bound toward the hut, eager to experience shelter and safety again. Hurrying inside, they close the curtain-door behind themselves. George heaves a sigh of relief.

“Lilith!” Meanwhile Baphomet drops his sack upon the hut’s cobblestone floor and rushes to his lover’s side. “Are you okay, my love?”

“Hm?” Awakening from her slumber, Lilith raises her head. The female demon lays curled up on a rug with a blanket draped over herself. An antique, cube-shaped stool hides her sleeping spot, partially concealing her for protection. Voice raspy from her nap, she greets, “Oh, hi, Baph! Welcome back!”

“Are you hungry?” Eager to share his success, the older male demon offers a clawed hand. Flinging off her blanket, Lilith reaches up. Fond smiles illuminate both lovers’ faces as he helps her stand. “We brought lots of food for you and the little one.”

“Oh wow, that’s so much!” Lilith glows with delight when she witnesses the bulging sack.

Proudly Baphomet leans down, he lifts the sack by one corner, and he dumps its contents. Organic material spills in all directions. Peels, rinds, skins, egg shells, grains, grits, and cooked oats form a rancid pile of compost. Tossing the soiled sack aside so it crumples near the hut’s wall, Baphomet puffs his chest. “Eat as much as you want.”

“You’re the best.” Bursting with appreciation, Lilith wraps her arms around her lover’s torso. For a moment they embrace, wings trembling as they unite. Briefly Lilith pushes her head up against the bottom of Baphomet’s jaw. Their eyes close with fleeting joy before the pregnant demon returns her attention to the compost. “Thank you so much. Now if you’ll both excuse me, I’m about to demolish this entire pile. Nobody talk to me until I’m done.”

An entertained grin spreads across Baphomet’s face as his lover leaves his side. Full of energy, she crouches beside the compost pile, practically throwing herself into it. With the same ferocious appetite as her companions, Lilith devours the pile of compost. Rapidly she consumes everything, gulping enormous bites until only scraps remain.

By midnight all three demons are fully fed, able to rest peacefully without the threat of starvation. Lilith and Baphomet sleep together on rugs, side-by-side. Breathing slow and steady, the couple cuddles as they share a deep slumber.

Tonight George is the exception. His rug is across the hut, only meters away from the others, yet it feels so much farther. Curled up beneath his blanket, the younger demon lays awake and frustrated. First he stares at the clay walls, then he flips onto his back to view the grass ceiling.

Thoughts seem to race through George’s head, too fast for him to process them. Cursing the sleep that eludes him, the teenager slips a hand out from under his blanket. Subconsciously he rubs the budding horns which protrude from the top of his head. They are still developing: a sign of his youth and inexperience. Immaturity, too, a whisper taunts from the back of his mind.

As George views the sleeping couple across the hut, he feels something. He cannot identify this emotion yet, but it bothers him. Of course he loves Lilith and Baphomet - they are his found family - yet he also hates the sight of them cuddling so happily. Someday he will realize this emotion is jealousy. He wishes he had something like that.

Not for the first time, George misses his parents. During his childhood, he would sleep with them all the time. Where are they now? What are they doing? Are they even still alive?

Then, after these familiar questions, a new question enters George’s brain: what would they have done today? Although the brutal attack has passed, its impact still haunts George’s brain. Insecurity, fear, and helplessness taint his memories. If Baphomet had not stopped that other demon in time, George would have died.

With an agitated huff, the younger demon flips onto his other side. Curling up tighter, he faces the clay walls again. A faint breeze whistles into the hut from around the curtain-door. Nighttime in the Realm is freezing cold.

Shivering slightly, George tries not to feel pathetic. He fails. Why can’t I be more like Baphomet? The older demon was courageous today, risking his own life for George’s sake… and what did the younger demon contribute in return? He cannot think of anything.

In only two minutes, the ambush began and ended. Before Cleansing chemicals destroyed their brains, an incident like this is exactly what George’s parents feared. When their son was an infant, they never allowed him out of their sight. When he was a toddler, they never let him leave the hut. When he was a child, he could not play outside without supervision.

All of these precautions were supposed to prevent an attack like the one that happened today. An affected demon would not hesitate to kill and eat a child. These monsters roam through the highlands, they creep through the lowlands, they travel across every part of the Realm. Without their identities and personalities and memories, affected demons exist without the love which once defined their culture.

At one point, the demon who attacked George was probably a kind, gentle soul. If he were anything like Judas, Naamah, Baphomet, and Lilith, that demon would have sacrificed his own life before he would ever choose to harm a member of his own species.

George remembers Baphomet’s words as they hiked through the night back to the hut. He regretted the fatal wounds that he inflicted upon the other demon, even though retaliation was necessary to protect his companion.

Is this part of growing up? Full of unease, George cannot imagine being strong enough - or brave enough - to face such a ferocious opponent again. Will he ever be forced to kill another demon? And even if he won the fight, how could he be okay with himself after ending someone else’s life?

As hours pass, the young demon’s thoughts begin to jumble. Gradually he sinks into a fitful slumber, hoping that his dreadful fears will never come true.