(EX2)

  Friends in Low Places

  Normally, when a demon died, its essence would float through the void for a time that depended on how powerful it was. The stronger the demon, the more time it took for all of that power to pull itself back together. Even a lesser demon could still take decades, however.

  It was the great counterbalance in the eternal conflict between the realms, and why the demons couldn't just send an endless cascade of soldiers into the mortal world. Demons may be technically immortal, but once you were out of the fight, you might as well have been out of it for good.

  The one exception, of course, was if a stronger demon assisted the coagulation of the deceased spirit. This required both demons to be close, to know one another well, and for the more powerful demon to sacrifice his own mana to accelerate the recovery of the other.

  Needless to say, this was not an event that happened often. But it happened today.

  Out of all of the demons in the realm, it was Crown Prince Eirwen who was performing the ceremony. Any who knew of such a gesture occurring would surely assume that the one being returned was a valued servant or loyal pawn, or perhaps had given his life in pursuit of a grand mission to earn such a privilege.

  ... Well, they wouldn't be wrong. The demon did give his life for the cause, and it was a cause Wren valued greatly. But he wouldn't call this demon a servant or a pawn. He thought of the one he was bringing back as perhaps a friend, or even better, a comrade in arms.

  He sketched out the arcane paths with calcium chalk, to represent the bones of the departed. He lit six candles, placed in the corners, and meditated on his target while the wax ran into the diagram, representing the blood. He placed items of importance to the departed into the formation, placed perfectly evenly around the outer ring.

  And finally, with the preparations complete, he added the final component of life - spirit - in the form of his own mana. He placed his hands to the runes and focused his great magical energies as the prince of all demons, and the diagram illuminated in brilliant blue light.

  "Gregory," he raised his voice as he concentrated on regulating his mana outflow. "Your prince calls for you! By right and ritual, I command the flow of the river of souls. Bend to my will and alter the appointed time!"

  A wind entered the chamber and he shouted louder to overcome its bellows. "Gregory! Follow my spirit and take it in as your own! Follow my will and build upon it your body anew! Come before me now! Return! Gregory!"

  The energy raging in the runes was torn away from them, pulled up into the air where the winds collided into whorling eddies. The power crashed together in an explosion of light, and a frumpled mess fell from the growing darkness into the middle of the diagram.

  A moment later, the seeming pile of rags stirred. "Master, your quickness to revive me holds me in your debt." The high-pitched voice came from a bleached-white skull that was revealed as the reaper levitated up into the air.

  Wren held up a hand. "It's just us here, Gregory. No need for such formalities. Welcome back, and good work."

  "Ahhhh, that's right," he cackled. "I fought the Witches! I really had them on the ropes for a bit, didn't I?"

  The prince gave an embarrassed smile at that. "You ran from a staring contest with Sacred Witch."

  "Oh, but she's so scary," the specter crooned. "So cool, so sophisticated, but when she's mad at you, it's so scary!"

  Gregory shot forward to the prince's side, still gushing. "And that kick from Thunder Witch! I didn't even know she could channel magic like that! I nearly flatlined when I felt it! If she'd been transformed, I'd have lost my skull right there!"

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  But instead of being put off by the closeness of a commoner, Eirwen grinned right back. "Right?! Her new outfit isn't just for show, either! Even in the darkness, the way she came over that table at you! You're lucky she couldn't see your scythe in the way!"

  The specter gripped the sides of his skull. "And then she nearly fried the flesh off of my face!"

  "You don't have any flesh on your face, Greg."

  "Oh no! She got it all?!"

  "Har har." Wren pulled his phone out and motioned the lesser demon over. "Come on, check out the shots I got! These are from the fight! I even managed to get a shot of Flame Witch crying!"

  Gregory was hovering over his shoulder. "That was hard to keep up the act through. It was a real rush, getting that much fear energy, but crying? I've never felt that bad before! Hey, even for demons, there's rules against making girls cry, right, master?"

  "If there is, I don't think any of us would ever admit to it," the prince countered. "But I understand your hardship. It's like seeing a fine porcelain vase break."

  "Right?! Right?!" the specter agreed. "A vase of strength shattered into a pile of sobbing rubble!"

  "Well, maybe this'll help raise your spirits." Eirwen flipped to another picture. "My spirit cameras caught the scenes from inside of your illusions, too!"

  "Oh, we can't use those," Gregory insisted. "All of them survived! Everyone would know they're fake!"

  "That doesn't mean they can't be in our private collections." He changed the set of pictures again. "And, of course, I'm sending you copies of everything from the camp-out, itself. Shield Witch on the stairs, Thunder Witch starting a fire, and check this one!"

  "Ah! She's got her head in the oven! Is that Flame Witch?!"

  "Oh, good eyes! How could you tell?"

  "It's the thighs. All of the kicks she throws makes them heaven-sent!"

  "Hey, doesn't that mean you should hate them?!"

  They went back and forth over all of the snapshots Wren's spirit cameras managed to take and picked out the best for each of their collections. Little surprise Gregory made sure to get a copy of the oven one. A bit more surprising that he also grabbed a copy of Flame Witch crying.

  Well, if you didn't know Gregory was a big softy. He was probably going to hang it somewhere and swear to it every day, or something.

  "Oh man, what great additions," he cackled as they finished. "This was a great idea, Wren! Too bad it's a one-off. They'd get wise if we pulled the same thing again."

  "Yeah, and they already know your gimmick," the prince agreed. "You'd never get so much as an attack off against them now, even against Flame Witch."

  The specter slumped dramatically. "The woes of a lesser demon ... I don't stand a chance against such splendor without a bag of tricks, and I've already burned through them."

  Eirwen reached over and slapped Gregory's bony shoulder. "Chin up, pal! I'm on something that'll get us more pictures than anyone else in the club could even hope for!"

  "Eh? Really? What is it?!"

  The prince grinned with a wink, holding a thumb up. "I'm going to be a photographer for their school newspaper!"

  There was a long moment of silence as Gregory's jawbone dropped and hung there, suspended by the joint. Then, finally, he admitted, "I don't get it."

  The blue-skinned demon sighed in annoyance at having to explain it. "What's not to get? Thunder Witch joined the airsoft club. That means that sixty percent of the Witches are now going to be in sports clubs! And since no mortal shutterbug is going to be able to compete with my spirit cameras, I'll get all of the best angles and shots automatically!"

  He leaned forward for emphasis. "And I'll have the perfect excuse to get all of the greatest shots of the Witches, themselves! Even the ones that are only just watching!"

  "Oh!" As the lesser demon caught on, he nodded ever more vigorously. "I see, I see! That'll be amazing! Please, let me know if you ever need a second cameraman! Maybe I can't fight them again, but I can operate undetected even from them!"

  "Of course," Wren immediately agreed. "You'll be my first pick!"

  But after a moment, Gregory turned away with a bone-rattling sigh. "I don't know how you can get away with all of this. As the crown prince, you'd think you'd have a harder time moving than any of us!"

  "It's because I'm still doing my job," the prince explained. "Gathering intel, keeping an eye on them, launching the occasional attack. So long as you do that, you can do pretty much whatever else you want and nobody cares. The first rule of demonkind and all."

  Gregory gave a manic giggle. "Do what you desire! Just be ready to pay the consequences!"

  He tossed a salute at the answer with a smirk, but then got a troubled look as his own thoughts went back to the topic at hand. "I just wish my little sister could understand. She's at that age where all she sees are enemies, and all she thinks about is pleasing mother and father."

  The specter hovered uncomfortably at that. "Ah, Master, you put me in an awkward position. You know to speak ill of any member of the royal family could mean my banishment."

  "Oh, right, sorry, Greg," he apologized, then shook his head with his arms crossed. "It's just so frustrating. You know, I tried to get her to participate in the festival play as a Witch. She would have been adorable, but she refused outright."

  Gregory dropped into his deep voice. "Why would I want to be the enemy of my people?"

  And Eirwen clapped his hands together before pointing to the specter. "Exactly!" But he shook his head again and threw an arm over his friend's shoulder. "Nothing doing, though. Come, let's get these printed so we can start placing them in our collections!"