The Scumbags Guide to Enslaving Demon's

Vorth swaggered through the entranceway like it belonged to him. Chains swung from wrists and waist punctuated by commas — cold iron that flavored the air with grease and paperwork. He stopped under the burnt crest, angling his face towards the glow. He’d left his cohort in the courtyard. He’d come up alone.

Austin flinched for a fraction of a second. Commands issued in rapid, staccato bursts that militarized fear into obedience. ”Elena—roof flares. Seven—north gate. Mason—noncombatants to lobby.” East side was a kill zone. ”Trapdoors live on my mark.”

Commands sliced through lobby like knives; Elena’s response was serrated whisper. ”Trapdoors armed. Vines keyed. East is bait to them.”

Forty-two plates of chain-armor clicked out synchronized, marching beat from outside. Contract-words pulsed along Meridian’s steel hide; chants of ownership. The palisade responded in kind: denial. Austin had taught it that much.

Courtyard became machinic. Trapdoors launched into razor teeth; slabs pivoted inward and dropped teams through floors to cages of writhing roots and vines keen on shredding flesh and leather. Hooked barbs lacerated rotors until drones hooked each other down and folded into muted tornados of self destruction. Spears jabbed like porcupine spikes; fishhooks skewered assailants off balance. Meridian had been taught to defend itself.

Seven punched through like a locomotive. He rammed through one side, pinning two wardens by their servo-attachments until they cried out. He smashed into the cohort’s sergeant — taller, braided with thick armor-links, tether-pulse swollen at his throat. Chain-words ensnared Seven like a beast. ”Mine.” The collar beneath his jaw thrummed in agreement.

Seven’s vision tunneled white. He obliterated the man with remorseless efficiency — wrist bent back until it cracked, jaw smashed into his throat, tether cut clean through muscle. The cohort hesitated for half a heartbeat. Half a heartbeat Austin needed.

The tether thrummed alive in his grasp. Names. Words, rights, ownership scratched across the air in microscopic text. Ledger-scrawlings. The God System pulsed above him.

System: Target: Contract Tether — Type: Chain Anchor (Minor). Option: Devour. Gain: Chain Resonance (Minor Command). Cost: Assimilation +0.7%. Alert: Local registry flag raised.

He devoured the tether. It felt like iron and ink and history—other people’s palms sliding over receipts. Chains thrummed in his spine. Chain Resonance. Minor demonic language he could understand now flowed through metal and word structure. Half a heartbeat Meridian chain-links coiled painfully around his chest.

Assimilation burned like treason. Petty. He ignored the system’s warning flare and calculated without decimals and accepted his cost. He’d already given away pieces of himself to the tendrils.

He wouldn’t swallow a man to protect the keep.

”Status?” he snapped.

”North gate is locked.” Seven panted out. ”Courtyard—is contained. East funnel’s rolling in traffic.”

Bunching together.

Combat folded in upon itself like an accordion compressing. Humans—trained by Humans in a day to be wardens—took up positions. Sealed off doors and fortified positions. Doors buckled, people dragged injured through side alleys. Chains tugged some dweller towards a ledger-tent; Roots unpicked tentpeg stakes and tossed aside with ease. Chain-wardens’ authority fragmented.

Palisade’s denial weakened trust in ledgers out on the street to worth less than live body.

Metal screeched where a group of wardens lashed together into a circle around a thrashing tendril breached in the courtyard. Austin flowed through the resonance and knew—names being screamed through brambles. He could pluck through the white noise, tug at words etched into a man’s flesh and consume the ledger tattooing him. Gain followers. Chain Resonance pulsed anticipation.

One of them was young. Pale where his armor still bore the mark of barracks concrete against skin.

He dropped his blade to the floor and met Austin with wide eyes, mouth parted by orders taught to him to plead. Please —

Ledgers crawled under Austin’s skin: credits and blood owed, sentenced into servitude. Austin could unravel those into his mind palace. Own a man wholly. Make him listen to him.

He saw Mason kneeling by the council bin. Saw an old woman nodding at him that morning before he ate his grits. Remembered vows Austin took.

He turned away. ”Go let your betters know buying humans in this district just went up in price real damn good,” he said. The warden swayed, agony and terror twisting features before taking off sprinting.

Seven clinically assessed the aftermath. Austin took. And didn’t. Gained new and paid its price. Somewhere a ledger-book auditor was highlighting red tags.

They ushered casualties back down to lobby below the scorched crest. Elena caught Austin mid-ascent on the inner stairwell, sap dried caking against knuckles. She brushed her thumb where fabric met skin — the tether Austin couldn’t claim for himself. She was calm but her eyes blazed daggers.

”You did good,” she said, voice hoarse with relief. ”Kept from harming anyone.”

He wanted to believe that cemented it. Made all things right. Chains whispered at his lips; resonance echoed against ribs starving for identification. He felt Meridian’s flesh concept warble at the chord Austin introduced to it and believed, for a second, that the palisade would keep them safe.

Suddenly there was movement upstairs. Heavy. Deliberate movement. Type only larger things made when they didn’t fear exposure. Chains dragged along marble. Footfalls purposeful and unapologetic. Silence rushed from their passing in proclamation.

Vorth filtered through lobby with that sanitized noble-man’s grace. No reinforcements. Cohort had been wiped in courtyard. Were no soldiers to be seen when he swept through entryways and traversed Meridian’s property as confidently as prey. Chains reflected off floor and haloed him stained-glass as shards of sunlight peaked through clouds.

”You broke them.” His tone slid across knots like butter, soothing open wounds. ”Good. Now listen.”

Austin squared his shoulders. Disbanding a cohort bought time. Hours. Days at best. Trading ceased. Ledger-men crunching numbers. Chain Resonance hummed across his ribs: visible. Flagged.

Somewhere high above Malrec current there would be buzzings making note to investigate discrepancies within their networks.

Vorth smirked as though he ground teeth made of wood fiber. ”Every market hears. You just made yourself an anomaly.” Fascinating. Dangerous. It all balanced out in the end. Came at cost.

Elena snorted bitterly. ”Hope you like yourself expensive to purchase.”

”Then learn how to not get broken.” He tossed his chains aside. Click. He stepped forward. Alone.

Past lobby and into Meridian’s shadow like he decreed the structure and found it fitting.

He stopped where rugs had been bleached white by smoke. Spire churned warped sunlight across his frame; chain-links sketched shadows on the ground. He placed his hands together.

”You have a question or something?” he drawled.

Invitation. Competition. Austin could taste registers overclocking on stim yet. Files flung open. Flags placed. Purchasing a disarm man was simple and frowned upon business ethics. Flag his scanner had discovered whistled siren through text and ink until wealthy saw potential in purchase.

Disabling the cohort didn’t dissuade market’s hunger. Made consumer-aware of erratic, unpredictable commodity to buy, dismantle, or refurbish.

Everywhere around them Meridian repaired itself. Smokers retied themselves into knotted rock; bodies shifted into queues like they’d memorized instruction overnight. Austin flowed through Meridian’s nervous system. Palpable and exploited with every strip of biological membrane. He offered something of himself to it. Harvested something fractured and bestowed necessity upon it.

Transactions both parties would remember.

Vorth loomed over infrastructure Austin cultivated and waited. One unarmed chain-dude surrounded by enemies and potential friends both. It was arrogant. Presumptuous, really. Lobby collectively bit their tongues.

”We’ll see.”