There are two types of demons in the Garden.
The first, and the rarest, is a formed demon. They have their own constructed body from soul essence, accumulated and rewarded over an incredibly long time. Ambassador Falkin, whom he recently had dinner with, was one of these.
They look human, function as humans, but are fundamentally not. Detecting them or noticing them in a crowd would be next to impossible.
Long-time servants of the Infernal Kingdoms can be rewarded with a soul body to serve in the Garden, a very rare honor. Their bodies are imbued over time with mana, making them very hard to kill.
The second type, and the most common, is a passenger demon. This happens when the demon and the human both share the same body. This could be a beneficial arrangement organized through a bargain between both parties.
Or less commonly, by force. Possession.
The bargained passengers have a more stable relationship with their host, with powers and consciousness fused in harmony.
Possessed hosts struggle, fight, and need to be dominated, with the demon being the sole driver and the mortal, the wagon.
In both cases, if the human is killed, the passenger demon returns to Hell.
A major indicator of a passenger demon is the eyes. Whenever the demon is taking the most control, focusing on something against their host’s wishes, the eyes change. A runny yellow begins to water into the sclera of the eye, replacing the white.
A temporary predicament, but it gives the human a sickly or feverish appearance.
Every Infernal Kingdom has spies and soldiers everywhere in the Garden. They had footholds in every major city and organization, silently fighting for dominance and influence. The capital city of the Lux Kingdom, Remus’s current home, was no different.
One such foothold was Remus’s destination this evening.
A dingy tavern hidden from the street, swallowed in alleyways and grime.
One of the addresses from Falkin’s list of information. It contained many of his faction’s loyal workers or sympathetic ears. An ideal ground for recruitment.
The tavern had no real windows. The thick, mucky door stood in the building wall like a jagged tooth. Faint screams and shouts of rowdy merriment came from inside. A little crappy sign hung over the door from a hook.
’Yer Hole ( Tavern )’
Remus wasn’t wearing an illusion disguise tonight. Just a worn black cloak and hood that easily blended into the streets. His attire wasn’t fancy, just plain clothes with a bit of soil enough to pass as another stain of society.
Dirt was the ultimate camouflage in the streets.
Opening the door and entering, no one paid him much mind. The cramped tavern was packed with people, arguing or singing.
The room was long and narrow, with the bar stretching on the left hand side. Tables and sectioned cubbies filled up everywhere else. The furniture was all shapes and sizes, as if stolen or dragged out of the river. Barrels and boxes, stools and chairs, everyone sat on something.
Remus lowered his hood and swam through the crowd of people to make it to the bar. Finding a little empty slot between a waffling sailor and a giant, bearded man, Remus leaned against the bar and ordered a whiskey.
Sipping his drink peacefully, he took stock of his surroundings, scanning the patrons subtly. Here and there, yellow eyes bloomed at the tables. Arguments, glee, strong emotions that broke the veil of the bargain.
It would be unlikely there would be any possessed here. Many demons dislike that sort of unpredictable attention. Getting into the Garden, by whatever means, took a long time, and they were eager not to leave.
"You havin’ another, mister?" the bartender asked, a middle-aged woman with dirty blond hair tied up in a tail.
"I’ll take another," Remus answered, turning back to her. "And a boat."
"Boat?" She scoffed. "This look like a fuckin’ dock to you?"
Remus just smiled politely and took something out of his cloak and dropped it onto the bar.
The thud of it hitting the wood was unnatural. Loud enough to instantly silence all noise in the tavern, drawing all eyes like a twig snapping in a dark forest.
The blond bartender looked down in awe. A sigil, a miniature knotted tree, molded out of black iron. Carved intricately into its trunk was the emblem of Her Infernal Majesty, Lilith.
Such a token was rare identification, this one in particular. It was the identification of an Infernal Knight.
The bartender said nothing, her face turning into a frown. Taking out a bottle, she refilled Remus’ glass.
"A boat then, huh?" she said quietly.
Whoever had turned off the noise in the tavern must have noticed, as everyone turned and continued to talk to each other again. If not, a little more cautiously.
"Just a little one, decent enough to get a look at a piece of the docks from a distance," Remus asked calmly, taking another sip. Lifting the iron tree sigil, he returned it to his pocket.
The giant man to his right had never taken his drunken eyes off the sigil since it appeared. As Remus pocketed it, the big guy leaned down to Remus’s ear.
"Who’d you gut in their sleep to steal that from, boy?" he growled quietly. Remus turned to him, noting the echoes of a yellow forming in the man’s eyes.
"It was stolen from no one. It was entrusted to me," Remus said quietly in return, looking him right in the eye.
"The balls of you." The giant scoffed, his stance wobbly from excess. "I don’t believe it. A runt like you, our Knight? Aye, right."
Remus looked the man up and down. He was a bear of a man, at least 7ft, barrel-chested. Huge black beard with a savage face. Large enough for anyone to be sympathetic to his mother and having to push him out in the beginning.
"Jack..." The bartender warned.
"Naw naw, Luce." The giant, Jack, waved his dismissive hand to her. His eyes never left Remus. "This runty arse comes in here, has our Knight’s sign, and look at em."
Remus didn’t take his eyes off the man either, nor did he say anything.
"Tell you what, runt," Jack growled. "Come downstairs to the fightin pit with me. Show me how you got that sign. I have a boat, you win, I’ll take you wherever you need. I win, I give that to whoever it should belong to."
The knight continued to stare at the drunken giant right in the eye.
"Very well."
The water was gentle in the night.
The wide dock river of the city had no traffic this evening.
Except for a little, barely noticeable ship.
It was a little fishing boat. One sail, a little cabin at the back, nothing much to it.
At the front of the small ship, Remus stood with a long telescope in both his hands. The sides of it were augmented with glyphs, creating more powerful functions for whatever he was looking at in the distance.
Behind him, laying against the ship’s wheel, feeling sorry for himself, was one Captain Jackson. His face was an absolute mess of bruises and blood, one of his meaty hands holding up a large raw steak over one eye. A tooth was nestled in his bloody black beard.
"Fanks for the steak, its helpen." Jack groaned, leaning heavier against the helm, which groaned in return.
"You’re welcome, Jack." Remus responded amicably, not taking his attention off the telescope. "I always respect patriots."