Encircled by a dozen sleeping bodies, a demon sat in a cold, stone-walled room. The demon’s skin was black and twisted, like a long-dead tree burnt in the winter. Its body was nothing but arms radiating out from a central point. Each arm had many elbows. They danced around each other chaotically. The arms which ended in hands manipulated tools strewn haphazardly about the room. The arms which ended in heads loomed over the chaos, managing everything listlessly.

  Many of the demon’s hands rested atop the sleeping bodies. Most of the bodies were homunculi: heads attached to a small blob of body with just enough organs to keep them alive. Some, though, were fully formed humans.

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  Another figure entered the room. Her long, pale hair shone in the flickering torchlight. Atop her head was a crown of many horns. This was the Demon King.

  An arm ending in a head unfolded to address the new figure.

  “Any news from Barbatos?” came the woman’s voice.

  “As usual,” the demon answered in creaking tones, “there has been no progress on his mission. However, he did mention that Marbas missed a report.”

  “He can manage his own men.” She gestured to one of the bodies. “What of this one?”

  “The connection is solid. With luck, we will learn many things.”