Chapter Two

Before Eitr could enter the sweatbox wagon, he was made to wear a padded straitjacket, padded mittens, and an iron mask with just three air holes, where the mouth was.

Blind and led up onto the steps, the boy was driven back to the palace, lulled to rest by sounds of horse hooves on stone and a murmur of conversation from the passing crowds.

Leaning back, he knew they were near his favourite bakery, and its famous cinnamon whirl.

With its Motte and Bailey-style layout, the Schoss (or Manor) would sit on a rise, and a long staircase would lead to the town guard.

Despite being a sizable town, Polka was easy to navigate, as it was divided into four distinct zones: Industrial, Residential, Commercial, and Military. The Commercial area was the tightest to navigate and the most crowded, which is why it took the longest to get through.

Using the tradesman’s entrance, the Wagon passed through a portcullis and stopped in a courtyard.

The floor was suddenly lowered via elevator until the wagon reached a palatial bunker, located half a mile underground.

***

Once settled at the bottom, Eitr was released from the straitjacket and mask, before stepping off the deck. The floor was raised back up until the column of full moonlight was shut off.

Large chandeliers and flaming torches lit up the vast rooms, all curved and decorated with shiny tiles. Eitr likened the place to more of a temple than a hideout. Cool air was piped in from ventilation shafts, while he tugged at the sleeves of his poet shirt.

Snatching a drink from the decanter, he gasped like a man finding water after a long stretch in a desert. 

Passing under the wooden catwalk, he heard a petulant voice call out from above.

“You’re late!” The little girl said.

Eitr looked up and saw Olga, the younger of the two princesses.

Pulling off the bandana, the young man shook his great mane of bright red hair, which had earned him the title: ‘The Blood-Red Prince’, a moniker which made him sound somewhat terrifying and battle-thirsty.

Looking up at the catwalk, Eitr smiled at the sight of his Step-sister, arms crossed and pouting..

“I merely took a detour.” He said, with a shrug.

“You have blood on you.”

Eitr was surprised to find crimson spatters on the front of his shirt. Frowning, he wasn’t sure if it was from the beating or the result of the multiple cases of contact poisoning.

Ignoring the query, he shook his head.

“I took the long way round.”

“You mean the demon realm?” Olga said. “We all know where you get those treasures from.”

Treasures. Plural.

Eitr’s excursion to Miasma was the worst-kept secret in the household.

Miasma, a territory covered in toxic fog, where survival was impossible, unless someone had an innate immunity to toxins, whose body was entirely poisonous from the flesh, down to the bones and organs. A person like Eitr.

“I am always careful,”  He said. The excuse sounded weak even to him.

Olga wasn’t done.

“What if you get hurt? What if you’re attacked and can’t fight back?”

Eitr lowered his head and covered a smirk.

The boy had kept his true lineage a secret even to close family. It was not a good idea to spread word of being the son of a demon princess.

“I-I-I will do my best to s-stay out of trouble.” He said, trying his best to sound anxious. "Why did you come here?"

"When you said you needed time alone, we all knew what that meant."

Eitr shivered with embarrassment.

God, I hope so, I wouldn't want to be misinterpreted.

"I am sorry for making you worry."

"So why do it?"

"I am looking for someone..."

"In the demon realm?"

Eitr stared into the parlour room mirror. "The best place for her."

“Brother!” Olga yelled, near tears. "Please don't feel left out. I-I'm sorry you have to be here, deep in the rock, but...with sister gone, I have no-one to talk to."

"You're welcome to stay." 

"It's nearly bedtime, now," Olga said, sadly. "I don't have long."

"Don't force yourself, for my sake. I know all this is for everyone's safety. I accepted it a long time ago."

Eitr felt bad for making his sister cry, but any hint that he was something of a sword expert meant an instant ride to military school.

Smiling, he took a package wrapped with a ribbon and placed it into the ‘Dumb Waiter’, a small elevator used to transport plates of food between floors.

Once the package reached the top floor, Olga unwrapped it, shifting her expression from tear-streaked worry to radiant joy.

Holding up the soft-pink cloak, she slipped it on and pulled it close.

"It's so soft." She said, eyes closed in wonder.

“How is it?” Eitr asked.

“I love it!” Olga said and then turned away, pouting. “I hate how good you are at this.”

“Try to be less easy to please.”

The little girl headed for the exit.

“You’d hate me if I were spoiled.” She said, stopping momentarily. “And then I would be truly alone.”

Looking up, he watched Olga disappear into the gloom of the catwalk.

***

Eitr folded his arms behind his head and walked over to the laboratory, a huge oval-shaped library with a section dedicated to science experiments, with three tables loaded with glass and brass equipment.

Picking up one of the three flasks containing a red, blue and green liquid, he watched it spill dry ice over the top.

“I don’t remember making these.”

On the other side of the room sat six cages, three with bodies of the recently deceased, their faces frozen in a pained rigor mortis, and streaming black liquid from their eyes and mouths.

The subjects were the worst of the worst criminals, remorseless, violent and a danger to society: murderers, rapists, terrorists, they were all expendable.

Eitr was mindful enough to screen the kind of killers, ie those that used self-defence, were exempt, since they were fuelled by survival instinct and had no choice but to take out the trash.

He had been testing with ‘Focused Contamination’, a way to expel the poison from his body and use it as an ‘area of effect’ skill.

Usually, this would only occur when he had a spike in adrenaline, like when he felt his life was threatened, similar to the Skunks’ gas or Squid’s ink.

Recently, he had been trying to find a way to use this AOE skill at will, without relying on adrenaline, but weighed the concern that this might make him a kind of supervillain.

As the son of a demon Princess, it was probably expected.

Except his mother was far from the archetypal demon.

Delicate with deathly pale skin, she had a serene aura that betrayed her lineage.

Her body had once belonged to that of a recently deceased ninja girl named K*g**o, who had not died at the demon’s hand but an evil Shogun named Genma pretending to be a Chamberlain.

A passing witch had taken pity on the dead girl and revived her consciousness (the spirit now departed) long enough for K*g**o to consent to hosting a demon core.

And thus, K*g**o was brought back as the demon princess Kakaru.

Some months later, seeking an heir, she eventually gave birth to Eitr and, with the memories of a Ninja girl, was able to train her son in martial arts and swordplay.

Even at six years old, a year into training, Eitr had the feeling one day his mother would leave without warning and four years later, she did just that.

***

Sighing, Eitr rolled up his sleeves and rechecked the clipboard, but his mind was elsewhere.

A hooded, grim-looking, fifty-something man, with a scar on his cheek, coughed gently.

“You’re spacing out again.” The Manservant said. "Young master."

Eitr shook his head.

“Gore.” He said. “Thanks for holding down the fort.”

The manservant pinched a space under his chin and pulled his entire face up, where it disappeared to reveal an attractive, twenty-something woman wearing glasses. She tapped her neck to bring back her original voice.

“It’s not like I have a choice, while you are off galivanting.”

Eitr smiled.

“You still wear glasses under your disguise, I see.” He said.

“I would not be able to see without them.”

“According to the other world materials, they have a way to press glass against their eyes. They call them ‘contact lenses.’

“Sounds positively barbaric,” Gore said. “I fear this other-world material is having a poor influence on you.”

“I experiment on human subjects,” Eitr said. “Am I no less barbaric?”

Gore’s expression momentarily softened.

“These people stopped being human the moment they became degenerates. From that point on, they were no less than feral beasts in the wrong body.”

“Beasts in the wrong body." The boy said, with a nod. "I can deal with that.”

“They were going to be executed anyway. This is just a roundabout way of doing it.”

Eitr rolled his shoulders, feeling a little less heavy, though his conscience was still clouded.

“Alright, alright.” He said quietly. “Onto the next.”