You are Xurzad, a minor demon of claw, flame, and cunning. When the Demon Lord consumed this world—draining its gods, sorcery, and hope—he left behind a few lesser demons to patrol the husk, you among them. Most were wretches and beasts. You, however, were... different.

You're taller. You carry a barbed whip, whose crack echoes across the ash-choked valleys. Your voice rolls like thunder, and your eyes burn with just enough hate to make the others bow their heads.

But you know the truth.

You're not that strong.

You rule this shattered region through fear. You've flayed rivals, crushed skulls, burned rebels. But always just enough. If they truly tested you—if they saw how easily you'd fall to a proper fight—it would be over.

The Demon Lord left you with a single order:
"Seek magic that remains. If you find it, summon my wrath. But call me for nothing, and your soul will be mine to gnaw."

You can call once. No second chances. When the portal opens, it opens wide, and you better have something for the Demon Lord’s hunger to devour.

Now, something has changed.

Last night, a pulse ran through the stone bones of this land. Ancient wards flickered, dust swirled into forbidden symbols, and the wind howled like it remembered a name. The other demons whispered. You roared at them to silence. But deep down, you're shaken too.

There may still be magic in this world.

You must find it.

>>6264123 (OP)
Choose Your Demon Retinue!
Regular Imps (Common)
Small, sharp-toothed tricksters with brittle wings that flutter uselessly. They chatter incessantly, sowing discord among themselves and others, always ready to lie, steal, or backstab. Though weak and cowardly, they excel at menial tasks, petty spying, and creating distractions. Their loyalty lasts only as long as fear holds them.

Fell Hounds (Common)
Brutish, snarling beasts with ragged fur and glowing eyes. Driven by hunger and instinct, these mindless creatures obey your commands when well-fed but can turn feral at a moment’s notice. Their savage ferocity in packs strikes terror into foes, but they lack subtlety and discipline. Useful as shock troops or enforcers.

Succubi (Common)
Alluring and cunning, these temptresses wear boredom like a shroud. With no soul to fuel their powers, they are grounded—no flight, no illusions, no metamorphosis—but their sharp minds and seductive wit remain intact. If given a mission requiring manipulation, deception, or espionage, they can thrive; otherwise, their impatience may turn them dangerous.

Cinder Imps (Rare)
Tiny, jittery fiends with smoldering red skin and ember-hot breath. Pyromaniacs by nature, they hoard flame and light flammables in secret. Their nervous laughter conceals a tendency to ignite chaos unintentionally or on purpose. Fragile and flighty, they flee confrontation, but their cunning makes them excellent saboteurs and arsonists.

Gravebats (Rare)
Pale, blind creatures with leathery wings that flap silently through cursed ruins and tombs. They feed on memories and whispers trapped in the dead earth, murmuring secrets in broken tongues. Skilled scouts in haunted or ancient places, they dread loud noises and bright lights, often scattering at the slightest disturbance.

Murmur Shades (Rare)
Ethereal fragments of tormented souls, drifting silently through walls and shadows. They whisper forgotten tales and sense residual magic with unnatural acuity. Completely useless in combat, they serve best as spies or seers, but their cowardice is absolute—any loud noise or harsh word sends them fleeing like smoke.

Your Limits:

Total demons commanded: Up to 10

Rare demons allowed: Up to 2 of your choice


Write ins are allowed, but write in demons are considered rare, and must be small, cowardly and/or not very useful in a fight

>>6264124
4imps, 3 hounds, 1 succubus, 1 cinder imp, 1 murmur shade

>>6264168

You stand atop a scorched ridge, the cracked earth groaning beneath your clawed feet. Below, the valley sprawls like a battlefield caught mid-collapse. The wind screams over ash and broken stone, heavy with the stench of sulfur and old blood. Smoke curls from distant wreckage. Your demons linger behind you, restless and growling, but from up here, you see the land for what it truly is—fractured, haunted, and far from dead.

To the northeast lies a flimsy survivor camp, half-hidden under scrap tents and broken wagons. Smoke rises from a fire. Shapes move inside. Prey—or bait. Not far from it, a field of upright stone slabs stretches across the ground, aligned too precisely to be random. No corpses, no rot, but a quiet tension hums there. Something old still clings to that place.

A cluster of cave mouths yawns nearby, likely part of the same underground network. Ideal for ambush or secrets buried deep. In the valley’s center, a tainted spring bubbles sluggishly. Oily rainbows shimmer on its surface, and the stench of rust and bile hangs thick. Something drinks from it. Or lives in it.

To the west stands a petrified grove of bone-white trees, their branches twisted like reaching fingers. They groan softly in the wind. Further out, a cracked black obelisk leans from the ground, pulsing faintly with buried power. Old runes crawl along its sides, half-melted and worn.

Closer still, a scorched battlefield sprawls across the land. No bodies remain, only weapons and shadows burned into the soil. Magic erased them cleanly. Atop a sunken hill, a shattered chapel leans against the earth. Glass glints from broken windows. Something whispers from within.

To the south rises a crude cairn strung with bones and bloodied charms. Someone still tends it. And farthest of all, nestled in a crater, lies a lake of pure black. It reflects nothing. Not sky. Not ash. Not even you. The Murmur Shade refuses to look at it.

What do you investigate?

> Approach the survivor camp and see who dares live
> Investigate the stone slab field and its silent arrangement
> Explore the caves and uncover what lies hidden
> Inspect the tainted spring and study its corruption
> Enter the bone forest and listen to its moaning trees
> Examine the cracked obelisk and follow its pulsing magic
> Walk the battlefield and search the shadows burned into the ground
> Descend into the sunken chapel and listen to the whispering voice
> Visit the witch’s cairn and disturb what offerings lie there
> Approach the reflectionless lake and face the void it offers back
> Write in

Decide if you go in person or if you send someone.

Roll 1d10 for each order you give your demons, lower is better.

(If it is equal or higher your fear level, you lose one fear point. Currently, your fear level is 8/10)

>>6264179


FEAR: 8/10
Your retinue fears you greatly. Your size, your whip, and your reputation keep them in line. For now, most of them obey without question—but if they ever sense weakness, this will drop quickly.

SOULS: 2/10
You have very little soul-energy left. Not enough to empower the succubus or fuel advanced demonic powers. Every time you use a soul for something major, this number drops. Gaining more will not be easy.

HEALTH: 7/10
Your retinue is mostly intact. One Fell Hound is limping and one imp may have a cracked wing, but they are still battle-worthy. If they get wounded or you don’t care for their condition, this stat will slip, reducing combat effectiveness and morale.

MAGIC: 0/10
There is no stored magical energy in your possession. You cannot cast or sense anything beyond basic demonic awareness. To use true magic, you must absorb it from the world—if it even still exists.

Your Demonic Retinue

Regular Imps:

Snatterskew – The loudest and most dishonest. Claims to be your “second-in-command.”

Gribnix – Eats bones, rocks, and once tried to chew your whip. You nearly incinerated him.

Mizplag – Keeps notes on everyone in smeared ink and blood. You don’t know why.

Drivvle – Always nearby, always muttering. You’re not sure if he’s terrified or worshipping you.

Fell Hounds:

Rotsnarl – Missing half an ear, but twice as aggressive as the others. Likes to maul first, sniff later.

Threxmaw – The largest of the three. Follows your whip obediently. Hates the Cinder Imp.

Gnashgut – Has a limp but never shows weakness. The others respect it… for now.

Succubus:

Velisyth the Withering Kiss – Elegant, mocking, and far too observant. Smiles like she knows how this all ends.

Cinder Imp (Rare):

Blazetooth – His laugh sounds like firecrackers in a skull. You keep him at arm’s length, but he loves you.

Murmur Shade (Rare):

Whisperthane – Drifts in silence, speaks only when magic stirs nearby. Knows names that no one taught it.

>>6264179
>Approach the survivor camp and see who dares live

>>6264323

Who goes?
> Xurzad
> Snatterskew
> Gribnix
> Mizplag
> Drivvle
> Rotsnarl
> Threxmaw
> Gnashgut
> Velisyth
> Blazetooth
> Whisperthane

Roll 1d10 for every demon you want to send other than yourself

Rolled 7, 5, 7 = 19 (3d10)

>>6264434
>> Gribnix
>> Mizplag
>> Velisyth

Succubus to find out, if they have any useful knowledge, and a few imps to support her.

Rolled 3, 2, 9 = 14 (3d10)

>>6264456
>+1

>>6264456
>>6264696
Of all the indignities you’ve suffered in this burnt-out world, this might be the most insulting.

You, a succubus of grace and venom, reduced to crawling through cinders beside two of the most irritating creatures ever belched from the Abyss—Gribnix, who snorts like a swine with a sinus infection, and Mizplag, who won’t stop clicking his infernal quill against his teeth like some deranged accountant of rot.

Xurzad, that overgrown brute with a whip and more ego than brain, sent you to investigate.
Because apparently, his claws are too important to dirty, and he doesn’t trust the imps to do it alone. You suspect he barely trusts himself to count past five.

Still.
You lick your dry lips.

There might be mortals nearby.
And mortals mean souls.
Delicious, trembling, desperate souls.

The camp you approach is a joke—patchy tents, broken wagons, and a crude attempt at concealment. Anyone with half an eye could see it from the ridge. At first glance, it looks abandoned.

But you’re no fool.

You notice the tracks. Sloppy, shallow, recently disturbed. A snapped branch here, a footprint too small for a soldier there. Someone's tried to sweep them, but not well. And the smoke—it doesn't rise from the camp, but from farther southeast, near a rocky outcrop.

You crouch beside the slope and spot it: a poorly hidden cave entrance, its stone mouth awkwardly draped with brush and cloth.

You can smell the heat. Hear the faint clinking of metal and murmurs. They’ve got a fire going inside. Idiots.

“They think fire underground hides them?” you mutter.

“Caves are warm,” Gribnix grunts. “Warm’s good. Caves are safe.”

Mizplag is drawing symbols in the dust. “Smoke trail—two, maybe three inside. Possibly armed. Possibly edible.”

You roll your eyes. “Possibly useless,” you snap, brushing a lock of silver hair from your face.

Still… this could be promising.

You crouch low behind a jagged rock. The cave entrance breathes faint smoke and the stink of fear. Someone's alive in there. And soon, maybe not.

Your claws flex. Your grin sharpens.


What do you do?

> Send Mizplag ahead – He’s quiet and curious. Maybe he’ll find something useful before dying.
> Send Gribnix ahead – Loud, dumb, and expendable. He might trigger a reaction.
> Go ahead yourself – Time to show these mortals what true beauty and horror look like.
> Hide and mimic a human voice – A desperate cry for help might lure them right into your arms.
> Wait patiently – They’ll come out eventually. And when they do, you’ll be ready.
> Write in

>>6264741
>Send Mizplag ahead – He’s quiet and curious. Maybe he’ll find something useful before dying.
scouting

>>6264759

You signal Mizplag forward with a lazy flick of your claw. He nods, clutching his little notepad like it’s some kind of shield, and creeps toward the cave entrance, hunched low, tail twitching with nervous energy.

For a few seconds, all is quiet.

Then—thwack.

The sound echoes like a whipcrack. A split-second later, Mizplag’s shriek is cut short as his small body is launched backward from the cave mouth, a thick crossbow bolt buried deep in his chest. He spins midair like a broken doll and crashes into the dust beside you, twitching. Ink spills from his pack. Blood follows.

You stare at him, half-annoyed, half-impressed.
They were ready.

He gasps weakly, trying to scribble something in the dirt with a trembling claw.
You almost pity him. Almost.

Smoke still drifts from the cave. The silence inside is too perfect now—whoever’s in there knows you're watching. Or waiting.

What do you do next?

> Rush inside the cave – No more games. Unleash your fury. Let them see what they've provoked.
> Send Gribnix inside – He saw what happened to Mizplag. Let’s see if fear makes him faster or louder.
> Grab Mizplag and flee – He’s dying, but he might’ve seen something useful. And you hate leaving questions behind.
> Retreat and report to Xurzad – You’ve seen enough. Let the big idiot throw himself at the problem now.
> Wait in ambush – Stay hidden. Let them think they've won. Wait for overconfidence to pull them into your claws.
> Write in

>>6264760
>Retreat and report to Xurzad – You’ve seen enough. Let the big idiot throw himself at the problem now.
if they're waiting, there's nothing we can do specially if they see a pretty girl right after an imp.

>>6264908

You snarl quietly, disgusted with the reckless gamble that just cost Mizplag his life. If these mortals are prepared to strike down your scouts so easily, rushing in now would be nothing short of suicide—especially with those two bumbling imps showing their faces before you. No, this is Xurzad’s problem now.

Dragging yourself away from the twitching form of Mizplag, you turn your back on the cave mouth and stalk back toward the ridge where your master waits. The weight of failure—however temporary—settles heavy in your chest, but you hide it behind a mask of cold disdain. Your voice will carry the news, and your master’s whip will decide what happens next.

You glance once over your shoulder. The cave’s darkness seems to swallow the faint smoke, and the silence presses in. Whoever waits inside knows you’re watching. For now, they hold the advantage.

You stride through ash and ruin, thoughts sharpening with every step. Soon, Xurzad will decide if this scorched valley yields souls or graves.

Your report will be brief, but the implications deadly.

You return to Xurzad. What do you say?

> “The mortals are no fools—they’re armed with hidden traps and crossbows that strike with deadly precision. Our scout was cut down before he could even react.”
> “These humans have a lair guarded by sharp-eyed sentries and layered defenses. They knew we were watching and set an ambush. They may have magic of their own.”
> “The cave is a deathtrap. Darkness hides more than shadows—there are more of them than we expected, and they are prepared to kill without hesitation.”
> “Our enemy is patient and ruthless. They let our scout approach, then crushed him like a bug from a distance. We face clever hunters, not desperate survivors.”
> “They have weapons that pierce armor and silence the boldest demons. If we attack without caution, we will bleed many before claiming a single soul.”
> “These humans may seem weak, but they strike with coordinated precision and deadly traps. We must proceed with cunning, or we will lose everything.”
> Write in

Rolled 6 (1d6)

Rolling to determine if Mizplag survives!

1 - the fucker returns like nothing happened
2 - he returns but he's all fucked up now
3-4 - having received no help, he bleed to death
5-6 - he dies on the spot

>>6265027
kek
time to whip that succubus

>>6265026
>“Our enemy is patient and ruthless. They let our scout approach, then crushed him like a bug from a distance. We face clever hunters, not desperate survivors.”
>>6265027
welp

>>6265049
>>6265210


You stare down at Velisyth as she delivers her report, her voice calm and her expression smooth—but the words themselves ignite a fire behind your eyes.

Mizplag is dead.

One of your precious minions, crushed like vermin while doing your will. You clench your clawed hand around the handle of your whip, leather creaking beneath your grip. You hear the quiet rustle of the imps behind you—suddenly silent, suddenly very interested in their own feet. Even the Fell Hounds stir.

Velisyth dares to stand proud, elegant as ever, despite her failure. You smell no fear from her. Only blood. And the faintest thrill.

This is a test. Of your rule. Of how far they think they can go without consequence.

Your whip twitches.

Maybe it's time to remind them.


What do you do?

> Whip the succubus – Show the others what happens when your orders bring back failure. Might increase FEAR, but risks provoking her.
> Send Velisyth back with reinforcements – Two hounds and an imp. Let them strike fast and burn the burrow down.
> Go there yourself – Enough games. Show the mortals what a real demon looks like. Risky, but glorious if successful.
> Send Velisyth back alone – No more handholding. If she returns again without results, there will be punishment.
> Send someone else – Perhaps Blazetooth and a hound. Let chaos and hunger handle what charm could not.
> Ignore the survivors for now, investigate the stone slab field – Magic may still linger there. Survivors can wait; power cannot.
> Write in

Roll 1d10 for every demon you want to send other than yourself

Roll 1d10 too if you wanna whip the succubus

Rolled 4, 6, 9, 6 = 25 (4d10)

>>6265275
whip the succubus, send her back with a tale of having run away from a group of imps who were torturing her
pimp-slap the imps a little for good measure

>>6265282
ah shit, I changed my idea but forgot to change the rolls
take the first two I suppose?

Rolled 3, 6, 4 = 13 (3d10)

>>6265275
>Send Velisyth back with reinforcements – Two hounds and an imp. Let them strike fast and burn the burrow down.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>6265282 1
>>6265367 2

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>6265382
>>6265367
>>6265283
>>6265282


You descend the ridge with your chin held high and your smirk carved deep.

Xurzad didn’t whip you.

Oh, he gripped the handle like he might—like the thought thrilled him—but in the end? Nothing. Not even a flick. All bark, no flame. Typical. The great horned tyrant of ash and bluster, more concerned with appearances than action.

Pathetic.

You strut through the ash fields, smoke curling around your heels like a cloak. Behind you, Rotsnarl and Gnashgut prowl low to the ground, their heavy breath rattling in their throats. Drivvle, the last imp you’d ever trust to hold a match the right way up, hops along behind, muttering to himself and chewing on something you hope isn’t human. You didn’t ask.

You didn’t care.

Xurzad had to send you back. With reinforcements. Because in the end, he needed you.

And maybe that’s how it should be.

Maybe it’s time someone else took charge of this sorry pack of snarling dogs and drooling goblins. Someone with style. With charm. With fangs and claws and the brains to use them.

You.

You see the cave up ahead, smoke still coiling faintly from the mouth. Maybe they’re still there. Maybe they’ve fled.

You flex your fingers. The hounds sniff the air. Drivvle giggles.

You prepare to strike.

Rolling to determine if the humans are still there

1 - still there
2 - gone

>>6265383


You leap into the cave with your claws extended and a growl rising in your throat, ready to unleash every drop of fury Xurzad lacked the guts to deliver himself.

But there's no one here.

No screams.
No steel.
No blood.

Just... emptiness.

The fire pit still glows faintly—embers crackling like laughter just out of reach. A cracked bowl, a bit of cloth, and the unmistakable stink of human waste confirm they were here. Recently. But they’re gone now. Slipped away, quiet as ghosts.

You hiss through your teeth.

You wanted carnage. You were promised souls. Instead, you’re standing in warm smoke and dried shit.

Behind you, Rotsnarl growls low. Gnashgut sniffs the stone. Drivvle pokes at a shard of pottery and says, “They pooped fast. That’s a bad sign.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

What do you do now?

> Let the dogs out to track them, if they left a trail, your hounds will find it. Let them hunt.
> Interrogate Drivvle, maybe the little worm noticed something you didn’t. Or maybe he’s hiding something.
> Burn the cave down anyway, leave a message in flame. No one hides from you without consequences.
> Return to Xurzad empty-handed, swallow your pride… for now.
> Leave a trap or curse behind, a gift, should they dare return.
> Vanish into the hills alone, you don’t need Xurzad. You don’t need orders. Maybe it's time to start your own hunt.
> Write in

>>6265385
>Let the dogs out to track them, if they left a trail, your hounds will find it. Let them hunt.

>>6265385
> Let the dogs out to track them, if they left a trail, your hounds will find it. Let them hunt.
Could be another trap. But we want BLOOD

Rolled 9 (1d10)

>>6265534
>>6265850

let me roll to determine where the trail leads to

1 - nowhere

>>6265534
>>6265850
>>6265851

You snap your fingers, and the hounds surge forward in a frenzy—ears flat, tails whipping, noses pressed to the dirt. They catch the scent instantly, dragging you through the brush and out of the stale-smoke cave mouth like a ribbon of shadow on their heels.

Blood.
Or at least the promise of blood.

They lead you to the witch’s cairn—the stacked stones crusted with dried charms and stained bones. You stand among the fetishes, the black soil thick beneath your feet, while Rotsnarl and Gnashgut tear at a patch of ground like lunatics.

A trail.
A clue.
Or a trap.

You frown, folding your arms. Could they really be hiding under the cairn? Foolish, but mortals will squeeze into any hole if they think demons fear old superstitions.

The dogs snarl, pulling up rocks and clawing deeper.

Are the humans really underground?

Your claws twitch with impatience.

What do you do?

> Scream for help – Bait them out. If they’re down there, let them think you’re a terrified victim.
> Hide and wait – Sooner or later, they’ll poke their heads out. Then you pounce.
> Look for nearby caves – They might have tunneled through or found another way in.
> Order the dogs to keep digging – If they’re down there, they’ll have nowhere to run.
> Burn the cairn – Drive them out with smoke and fire.
> Return to Xurzad with news – Maybe he’ll bring the whip for once.
> Write in

>>6265855
>Burn the cairn – Drive them out with smoke and fir
The safest strategy.

Rolled 3 (1d3)

>>6265859


1 - the humans surprise attack you
2 - the humans escape
3 - the humans get out through an unexpected opening but you notice them

Rolled 1, 26, 38 = 65 (3d100)

>>6265859
>>6265860


Burn it.

You curl your lip in a cruel grin and snap your fingers at Drivvle, who skitters forward with a small flask of pitch and a grin of his own. The hounds back off as you splash the cairn with the reeking oil, and with a hiss of whispered magic, you set it ablaze.

The cairn’s bones catch like dry twigs, the fetishes popping and spitting curses as they blacken. Smoke coils thick and choking, sliding down into every crack, every hole, every hiding place.

If they are down there, they will come out.

You wait, eyes gleaming in the orange glow.

Moments later—movement.
A crack in the earth, stones shifting behind the cairn.

They burst out through an unexpected split in the rocks—coughing, blinking, ragged but alive.

One boy, maybe sixteen, scrawny, terrified but clutching a crossbow like it’s the last piece of his soul.
And two women—taller, leaner, their eyes sharp with desperation and murder. Each of them carries what looks to be an elven warglaive, weapons far too fine for peasants.

Your grin widens.

Perfect.

Time to dance.

What do you do?

> Order the hounds to attack – Let them tear the weaklings apart while you watch.
> Charge them yourself – Show them what true fear looks like.
> Try to charm the boy – Easier prey, maybe he’ll even turn on the others.
> Focus on the women first – They’re better armed, and more dangerous.
> Pretend to negotiate – Then strike once their guard is down.
> Wait and see what they do – Their next move might tell you what they’re hiding.
> Write in

In any case, roll 4d100

Rolled 75, 56, 45, 45 = 221 (4d100)

>>6265862
> Try to charm the boy – Easier prey, maybe he’ll even turn on the others.
Surely, if he's scared, he's more vulnerable to manipulation...?

>>6265873

You glide forward, letting your voice slide like velvet through the boy’s fear-shaken mind. His terror is ripe, delicious, practically dripping from him—and you sink your claws into it with a practiced smile.

“Shoot,” you purr, your words coiling around him like silk.
“Shoot.”

He obeys with a dull, half-sobbing motion, raising the crossbow and letting the bolt fly. It strikes one of the women in the shoulder, spinning her around. The smell of blood hits the air like a trumpet call.

The hounds launch themselves forward without hesitation, a blur of snapping jaws and matted fur. Drivvle cackles and scuttles in to claw at ankles, biting whenever he gets a chance.

Screams fill the smoke, bright and savage.

You watch with a languid sigh, almost bored, until that moment arrives—when they are half-dead, helpless, eyes rolling with horror. That is your moment. The one you live for.

Their souls tremble like candle flames, begging to be snuffed.

What do you do?

> Drink the boy’s soul the succubus way – Taste his terror and his innocence, drain him until he’s nothing.
> Draw your dagger and sacrifice one of the women – A cleaner ritual, more traditional, more reliable power.
> Let the hounds and Drivvle have the other woman – They earned their feast.
> Sacrifice both women and drink their souls – Two for the price of one, a proper banquet.
> Sacrifice everyone and drink their souls – Greedy, glorious, a full harvest of fear.
> Spare the boy as a pet – Broken toys can be useful, after all.
> Drag them all back to Xurzad – Perhaps their information is worth more than their meat.
> Write in

>>6265887
> Drink the boy’s soul the succubus way – Taste his terror and his innocence, drain him until he’s nothing.
> Let the hounds and Drivvle have the other woman – They earned their feast.
>Write in: Bring the last woman to Xurzad. He'll figure out what to do with her.
Dunno if this is at all possible - feel free to stop me if I'm getting ahead of myself.
Also, while I love the regular updates, I'm fine with waiting a bit more if it means more people get to participate :D Feel free to shill the quest in /qtg/, I've been having fun reading it.

Your name is long and unpronounceable by mortals. Those who know about you call you only Demon Lord.

Your original world was ravaged by war and you were the sole survivor. Some weird kind of fairy calling itself an angel showed up and did a deal with you: since you were the last person on the plane, the plane belonged to you. She would take you to another plane if you gave the whole plane to her.

The place was a goddamn mess and couldn't be salvaged, and you were eager to find more people to murder. You accepted the fairy's deal.

She transported you, butt naked, into another world. But this time, the world had something you never saw before... MAGIC.

You dedicated yourself to learning as much as possible about magic. You became an archmage and soon enough you discovered the secret of immortality by drinking souls and lastly planar travel.

Then, like the fairy which brought you there, you became a planar trader. You'd buy planes that were languishing - with one or very few inhabitants - and then sell them to ravenous creatures for power.

After awhile, you became one of such ravenous creatures. No one could offer you power you didn't have already. You had to TAKE IT. Consume entire planes of existence to gain a little edge, to advance a little further on the scale of being.

Gods became terrified of you. For to be like them, you lacked only the power to create entire new planes of existence. Sure, you could summon pocket dimensions here and there from the ethereal, but to create a True Primary Material Plane was still beyond your reach.

You even consumed some minor deities, thinking you could gain their powers.

But there are only 20 entities in the whole multiverse who can do it. Those are called the TRUE GODS and they can't even do it alone. Their combined powers must be used to create a True Primary Material Plane.

They do it whenever an old plane dies off, or when one of them convinces the other it is time to create a new Paradise.

Planes can last for trillions of years, but you figured the gods create a new one every twelve thousand years or so, and abandon the previous one.

You could never get to them fast enough, for you'd have to jump up again and again faster than they create new planes.

And it isn't easy. There are trillions of planes of existence already, and the True Gods convene above the newest one, weaving the next.

To convince mortals and prepare them to summon you, takes at least a thousand years.

So in theory, given enough time, you could reach the gods. If they don't accelerate the pace at which they create new planes.

There are no known shortcuts.

But if one of the True Gods DIE... then someone else has to take their place!

They are all immortal of course, they can't truly die. But if throughout the nearly endless planes, they are no longer worshipped and become forgotten, then they are replaced by the others.

>>6265954

So your only plan for now to become a deity is genocide all the worshippers of a given deity throughout all the multiverse, establish in their place you own cult, while you keep climbing the endless staircase of planes from nearly the bottom where you reside towards the light where the gods continue to create new planes.

Eventually, they will need to make you a TRUE GOD.

And then... you don't know. But surely there must be something above a TRUE GOD. You just can't gleam it from down here.

But you have time.

All eternity.

Your standard invasion technique is to shard your soul in lots and lots of small pieces, send in tiny demons that can squeeze through the boundary between planes, like succubus, infect a bunch of mortals with demon seed through impregnation, wait a few generations until there is plenty of demon bloodline to go around, then start a cult, make a local minor god, sacrifice the local minor god and pull in one of your minor god lieutenants, then sacrifice most of the population of the plane to summon you in a cataclysmic ritual. Now and then you are stopped right at the point of summoning, the most vulnerable point of the whole plan, usually by a bunch of "heroes". This merely delays your invasion for another thousand years. No world has been able to pull it off successfully more than two or three times - well, except that one that did it seven times. But it was a total outlier.

Once the portal is open, you can travel backwards to lower worlds easily, spending just a really large amount of souls. But you rarely do it, consuming most of the plane before moving on. Still, now and then, there are powerful magic you leave behind - magic sealed to last thousands of years, hard to crack fast enough. You're a busy demons after all, you can't stay in a plane cracking every little secret, you gotta move on to the next and Gorge.

But these little secrets can be important. That's why you leave many minions behind every time you move up a plane. You choose a few to carry a telepathic link with you, to warn you if they find something worthy of your attention. They rarely do, but there have been a few true gems. Sometimes literally.

But where was I going with this... Oh! Nevermind. It is time for another invasion.

>>6265893

Sure, I can wait for others to give some input.

>>6265955
If you want more people to post it generally helps to give them options to vote on

>>6265887
> Drink the boy’s soul the succubus way – Taste his terror and his innocence, drain him until he’s nothing.
>Have the hounds rape the women