The Demon Lord Is An Angel
Chapter 118: Burying Friends

Chapter 118: Burying Friends

Well after the last light of evening had faded, the Black Sheep buried Caroon and Namosa.

It was a mostly silent affair, with Amarena standing back as Noir and Kir spoke their goodbyes.

Kir didn’t know if it was appropriate for him to say anything, given how little time he’d been part of the group, but he said what he could, and with Noir and Sam’s nod, buried a piece of the soulstone skull with them.

"Doesn’t feel right, taking their share," Noir had said.

Once buried, simple markers were left on the graves, with Noir promising to return and give them proper tombstones.

They stayed for a long hour, then they returned to the house, and Kir laid himself out on the couch while Amarena, Noir, and Sam slept upstairs.

Stella remained on the same floor as Kir, reading a book from Bridget’s small library while sitting between his legs.

Eventually, Kir’s thoughts cohered enough for him to hold a conversation, and he rubbed Stella lightly between the horns.

"How’re you holding up?" she asked him.

"I’ll be alright... I’m more worried about Sam and Noir," he replied. "Back there... we didn’t really say much. I was wondering if Namosa and Caroon had any particular beliefs about what happens when someone dies."

"Are you asking me?" she asked.

Kir shrugged. "I guess I am... It just never came up in my life. Gods and such weren’t big topics with my moms."

"Gods have nothing to do with death, as far as I know," Stella said. "Most people just think if if you’re good, you get reborn in Heaven, or as royalty or as a god. And if you’re bad enough, you get reborn in Hell. Like, um..."

"Reincarnation," Kir supplied.

"Sounds right. Look, it’s not something I really think about either. Kindof asking for bad luck, and most people probably just muddle along and end up here on Ayther anyway." She went back to reading.

"Does... Has anyone ever remembered anything from a past life?" Kir asked.

"Sounds like a crazy notion to me. Just because I’m half gnosinian doesn’t mean I suddenly know everything," Stella said, her tone just shy of scoffing. "So don’t go finding religion now; most of them will tell you to kill me..."

Kir hadn’t meant to suggest that at all. He’d been thinking a lot about what he would do if someone close to him died. If he’d regret not telling them the complete truth about what made him who he was, the fragments of his past life included.

Stella’s answer left him feeling unsure of what to say.

Eventually, he decided to remain silent, before drifting into sleep.

-

The next morning, Kir woke up well before dawn.

Deciding he would cook everyone breakfast, he soaked some of the jerky to soften it up for frying, adding some dough to the pan to make frybread. There were few provisions in the house, and most of them were preserved meats, herbs, and other dried foods. When the meat and bread had finished, he used the pan with some water to boil up some rice.

Though each adjustment of the stove with magic hurt him somewhat, he was determined to make a meal for everyone.

Once the cooking was done, Kir set it aside. No one else had awoken yet, and so he went into the backyard, looking over the bushes and trees that had provided a small variety of fruits. Most of what he returned with were carics - a fig-like fruit - and clusters of pixieberries, which were spherical and grapelike in texture, though golden-orange in color.

The former he pitted and added to a bowl with some honey, while the latter he simply placed in a separate bowl, leaving them in their stem clusters.

Sam was the first one to show up.

They looked like they hadn’t slept all that much, with shadowed eyes. They’d donned one of Darlae’s shirts, which meant it was practically a dress on them. Sitting at the kitchen island, they stared as Kir put a plate of food in front of them.

As they lifted a piece of soft, fried jerky to their lips, Kir said, "I hope you slept alright."

They didn’t answer, simply chewing at the food mechanically and staring at their plate. After a long moment they stood, taking the plate with them upstairs as Noir arrived, looking only slightly less exhausted.

"Smells good," he said as he climbed onto a chair.

Kir served him a plate, before finally making himself one. "Sam isn’t talking to me," Kir said.

"They aren’t talking to anyone," Noir replied. "After we... buried Caroon and Namosa... I tried talking to them. They’re hurting, Kir... and I don’t know what to do except keep going and hope they get better."

Kir nodded. "Then let’s keep going. I’m going to head into town, see if I can sell some of the junk from the dungeon, and see about getting a message out. Do you want to come with me?"

Noir shook his head. "If they aren’t friendly to you, I doubt they’ll be friendly to any of us." He placed an entire cluster of pixieberries in his mouth and chewed, stem and all. "I think I need to stay here and look after Sam," he continued. "They aren’t... Namosa was like a second mother to them. And Caroon was... they’d finally gotten together after Stella played matchmaker."

Kir flinched. He hadn’t been aware... No, he could have been. He’d just thought that it was simply Stella teasing them, but they had grown closer in the time between the dungeon and arriving at the outpost. It only made Caroon’s death more tragic.

Whatever dislike Kir had for Caroon’s prejudices, he hadn’t deserved death. And Namosa... even if she was a bit aloof, she had cared for the Black Sheep.

Aside from their first encounter in the dungeon, Kir sincerely regretted not having much in the way of quality memories to share with Noir as they sat together.

An awkward moment passed, interrupted when Amarena came into the kitchen with thudding steps.

"Something smells good," she said, taking up a seat at the island and serving herself, mostly with jerky and one lonely piece of frybread.

Noir chose that moment to hop down from his seat. Kir called after him. "Noir... maybe when I get back, I can show you some things about magic," Kir said.

"I’d like that," the sheep beastkin smiled, before climbing upstairs.

As Amarena chewed, she watched Noir ascend. "He believes in you," she said.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Kir asked, the surprise of seeing a demon actually eating nullified by her tactlessness.

"It means that when I arrived to save them, he called out your name before recognizing me," she said, biting into more jerky. "What is this meat?" she asked.

"Cooked," Kir said, not sure if it had been aurochs or boar.

"Mm. I must learn that," she said.

"What was it like?" Kir asked, "The battle."

Amarena paused to swallow. "I arrived late to it... drawn by the goat beastkin’s wrath. He was fighting an elf, but his wrath made him blind. An error... He traded killing the elf for a fatal wound." She paused to tear apart some of her jerky with her hands. "The woman, Namosa, she was already dead. I cut down three by the time you arrived."

Kir took a long moment to process her story. She’d resumed eating by the time he said "Thank you," and stood.

"Wait, Heresy Son," she said.

"I have a name. It’s Kir," he frowned.

"You intend to visit the town. I wish to go with you," she said.

"Were you- Why?" Kir asked.

"Last night we arrived late, likely too late for mortals to challenge me. I wish to see if any are fresh and daring," she licked her lips, spearing one of the remaining jerky pieces on a claw and plucking it with her teeth.

Kir suppressed the twitch that almost entered his eye. "I’m just going to handle some business and find the Adventurer’s Guild clerk to send a message. I don’t intend to fight anyone, or kill anyone, or whatever it is you’re looking for."

"I am looking for warriors," Amarena said, her voice rising slightly. "I’m not about to sully my training with the blood of some unskilled fool. I have standards... As you will see when we battle again."

Great, Kir thought, she’s a muscle-head like Rain...

At least with Rainier, his strength was sheathed by compassion and charm; and hidden depths worth exploring. Amarena was... more like a naked blade. But as Kir had learned during the creation of Kangetsu, swords were far from simple. He had yet to understand what made Amarena so focused on tempering herself in battle...

"Maybe later," Kir said.

"It will be necessary for you to understand your war form," she replied. "You tie yourself in knots thinking like a mage, but to have a war form is something you must feel in your bones."

"I am a mage," Kir shot back.

"A mage with metal in his ears? A painful practice... though if you are a masochist, I would enjoy making you squirm." She grinned sadistically, her eyes traveling down Kir’s form.

He found himself swallowing, shifting as he felt a bit of heat... Wondering just how strong she was...

Suddenly Amarena grimaced. "Gah, it is the strangeling succubus’ influence... I sense you!" she looked past Kir to the living room.

Stella was lying belly-down on the couch, elbows propping up her chin. "No, no. Keep going. You two are cute together," she smirked.

"Stella stop... Now is not the time," Kir said, pushing against his own mana as he felt the instinct to compel her.

"Fine," she scowled, rolling off the couch and departing for the study and its books, muttering, "It’s a lot more fun than everyone moping..."

Kir sighed. "I apologize for my familiar."

"It’s nothing." Amarena cleared her throat. "People are strange after burying friends."

"You are welcome to come to town with me," Kir said as he started to gather up the loose dishes. There was one piece of fried jerky left that he scraped onto Amarena’s plate.

"We shall go now," she said, popping the whole piece into her mouth.

"Wash your hands first," Kir instructed. "And let me get you some clothes."

As soon as she finished chewing, Amarena said, "Death tempers us, Kir, but over-tempering will make you brittle. Do not forget that you are forging yourself at all times. That is the lesson my father taught me."

"Who was he?" Kir asked as he put himself through a bit of pain to activate the sink.

"An incubus who wanted to be a blacksmith. He wished to forge something beautiful... but I don’t think he managed it before he died," she stood and approached the sink, slipping one of her hands under the water.

Kir watched her hands for a moment. A thought arose about her, poetic given her description of her father’s goal...

"I’ll try to remember," he said, before leaving the room.