The Scumbags Guide to Enslaving Demon's

The meeting in the core chamber had already begun.

Selka led the team beneath the Hunger Reef through a worker gate hidden behind a stack of fish crates, moving with the easy confidence of someone who’d made this exact walk a thousand times before. The bone-paper task strip passed beneath a black coral scanner, and the scanner hummed once before grinding open a narrow gap just wide enough to slip through single file.

”Do not touch the walls,” Selka whispered. They taste hunger.

The lower feeding galleries were warmer than the harbor above, thick and close in a way that made the air itself feel used. Red lanterns hung from chains along the ceiling, casting uneven light over long stone corridors lined with iron doors. Behind some doors, something breathed heavily, slow and wet. Behind others, people whispered in voices too low to make out words, which was somehow worse than silence would have been.

Austin Veyron could feel the gallery’s hunger pressing against him.

It wasn’t a command yet — not exactly. It was something more patient than that: an environment built to make command easier once it finally arrived, softening a person up long before anyone gave them an order. The air smelled of blood, salt, and cooked meat all layered together. Every few steps, black coral tubes ran along the walls, carrying a red liquid steadily upward toward the fortress core.

Nyra touched one tube with two fingers, then pulled her hand away fast, like it had burned her.

”Fragment residue,” she said. ”Vordessa’s shard is bleeding influence down here.”

Sable’s face tightened into something hard.

”The Regent is using it to teach hunger obedience,” she said.

Ceryn recorded the tube marks carefully onto a strip of bone paper, working fast but precise. ”Evidence of forced conditioning,” the record keeper said. ”If the court ever denies what happens here, this goes into the public record.”

Veyra looked at the row of iron doors stretching down the corridor.

”And the people behind them?” she asked.

Selka stopped at a grated window, and what waited on the other side answered the question before anyone had to say it out loud.

Inside, six adult demons sat in a bare chamber, backs against the wall, wrists tied with black cords. Each had a bowl of red broth set just beyond reach — close enough to smell, too far to touch. A thin red line ran from the bowls to a wall mechanism mounted above the door, ticking faintly like something counting down.

”Feeding schedule,” Selka said. ”They make people hungry, then reward them for repeating the Regent’s words. By the third cycle, some cannot eat unless they hear an order first.”

Austin Veyron’s hands curled into fists without him deciding to make them.

”We free them,” Veyra said, flat and certain.

”If the doors open wrong, every gallery alarm rings,” Selka warned. ”Then the core meeting moves, or the Regent uses the captives as shields.”

Veyra looked at Austin Veyron.

”People first,” she said.

The phrase wasn’t an order. It didn’t need to be — not between them, not anymore.

Austin Veyron nodded once.

”We free them quietly,” he said.

The feeding gallery sent a pulse through the floor, low and deliberate, like the fortress itself had just noticed them standing there.

A black hound crawled out of a side vent, larger than the scent hounds up in the settlement, its rib cage glowing red through wet, taut skin. A metal muzzle covered its jaws, welded shut in a way that looked less like restraint and more like design. It sniffed the air once, turned its head, and fixed directly on Austin Veyron.

”Still,” Selka breathed.

The hound’s red eyes brightened, and something in Austin Veyron’s chest went cold at the sight.

It had found his hunger.

DEVOUR surged in response, immediate and eager. The hound’s core smelled like raw power and pure tracking instinct, and he could consume it whole before it ever sounded an alarm. The gallery itself seemed to lean in closer around him, hoping he would.

”Target?” Veyra asked, barely moving her lips.

Austin Veyron kept his eyes locked on the hound.

”Ration command in its muzzle,” he said. ”Not the hound.”

”Witnessed,” Veyra said.

”Witnessed,” Sable breathed.

Austin Veyron flicked the white root chain toward the muzzle, and the chain caught the metal bar without a sound. DEVOUR opened.

The command underneath was simple and vile, stripped down to its ugliest possible shape.

HUNGER OBEYS FEEDER.

He consumed it, and only it.

The red glow behind the hound’s ribs went dark all at once. The creature blinked, visibly confused by its own body, sniffed at Selka’s hand almost curiously, then lay down flat on the stone floor like it had genuinely forgotten why it had been hunting them in the first place.

Selka stared at it, stunned. ”You broke the feeding line without killing it,” she said.

”It was not the enemy,” Austin Veyron said. ”The command was.”

They reached the captive chamber a moment later.

Selka pressed her task strip to the lock, and the black coral scanner read the work history before grinding open the outer panel. Inside sat a second mechanism entirely — six black cords, each one running to a single red ration wheel mounted in the center of the wall.

”If I cut the cords, the wheel will shout,” Selka said.

Nyra lifted the neutralized heart shard, already thinking a step ahead. ”I can dim the fragment residue for a few breaths,” she said.

”Enough?” Veyra asked.

”Enough if everyone moves.”

Ceryn stepped close to the prisoners, voice low and steady. ”We are here to help,” the record keeper said. ”Do you want out?”

A horned woman near the back looked at the unreachable broth, then at the open panel, weighing something she’d probably never expected to have to weigh again.

”Yes,” she said. ”But the cords will make us attack anyone who gets in the way.”

Austin Veyron saw the truth of it in the red wheel itself. Each cord carried a different ration instruction — obey, eat, strike, return — a whole vocabulary of control wired directly into six people’s bodies. He could consume the entire wheel and take the gallery’s power for himself. The hunger wanted exactly that, painting a picture of every feeding command in the reef flowing into him at once, becoming one clean, terrible weapon.

He named the narrow target instead, forcing himself to see past what the hunger was offering.

”Coercive ration claim,” he said. ”Not food. Not memory. Not their bodies.”

”Witnessed,” Veyra said.

”Witnessed,” Sable added.

Austin Veyron pressed his palm flat to the wheel.

DEVOUR opened.

The claim tasted like bitter broth and empty stomachs, exactly the way it had been designed to feel.

NO FEEDING WITHOUT OBEDIENCE.

He consumed it.

The red wheel cracked down the middle. The black cords fell loose from the prisoners’ wrists all at once, and the bowls of broth became, simply, ordinary food again.

No alarm sounded — for a moment, anyway.

Then a hidden slate behind the ration wheel began to pulse red, steady and insistent.

Selka swore under her breath. ”Feeding audit,” she said. ”The gallery will report a missed cycle in ten breaths.”

Ceryn crouched beside the slate immediately. ”Can we write a delay?” the record keeper asked.

”Only if the system believes the workers moved the prisoners for transport,” Selka said. ”It needs a task confirmation from the people it was using.”

The freed prisoners stared at the open doors, hesitant, unsure whether to believe it was real. The red slate pulsed again, faster now.

Kessa stepped forward first, chin lifted. ”What do we have to say?”

”Not names,” Veyra said. ”Only the task you choose.”

Kessa looked at the others, then at the maintenance tunnel beyond the door. ”We choose evacuation,” she said.

The woman beside her lifted her head, finding her own words. ”Medic support.”

”Route clearing,” another adult demon said.

The words didn’t satisfy the feeding system at first — it wanted obedience, not choices, and the slate flashed brighter in protest.

Nyra pressed the neutralized heart shard near the panel, and blue-black light softened the red residue just enough for Ceryn to write the roles quickly into the task history Selka had already used at the worker gate.

GUIDE. MEDIC. EVACUATION. ROUTE CLEARING.

The audit slate hesitated, as if genuinely confused by what it was being handed.

Then it recorded the present actions instead of the missing meal, and the red pulse went dark.

For several long seconds, no one in the chamber moved.

Then the horned woman picked up her bowl, set it carefully aside, and stood on her own two feet.

”My name is Kessa,” she said. ”I choose to leave.”

The others followed her up, stating no names unless they wanted to. One chose only ”fighter.” Another chose ”medic.” A third chose ”worker.” Down here, in this corridor, their roles were enough — nobody needed more than that from them.

Veyra handed Kessa a short blade without ceremony. ”Can you use this?” she asked.

”Yes.”

”Then take the back route Selka shows you. Do not fight unless you choose to.”

Kessa looked around the chamber one last time — the open doors, the sleeping hound, the broken ration wheel still smoking faintly at its center.

”The Regent will know something changed,” she said.

”Probably,” Austin Veyron said.

Selka led the freed captives toward a maintenance tunnel that would carry them back up to the settlement lanes, moving quickly and quietly now that the audit slate had gone dark. Ceryn marked the route carefully on the record sheet as they went. Nyra stayed back near the black coral tubes, watching the faint red light continue its steady climb upward.

”The core chamber is directly above us,” she said. ”The shard is being placed into something larger.”

A deep bell rang through the reef, low and resonant, shaking dust loose from the ceiling.

Selka froze mid-step.

”First bell,” she said. ”The Maw Regent is about to command the hunger-army.”

Austin Veyron looked up at the stair rising toward the core, feeling the weight of everything still left undone pressing down on him.

They had freed six people.

But they had not stopped the machine.

”Then we go up,” he said.