5
Jerron rocked on his heels, his hands sweating half because of stress and half because he couldn't stop wringing them together. Nobody could stop Jerron from being anxious. You can't stop a Hellhound from barking; you can't stop Jerron from being a flaming ball of worry and unnecessary regret. It was just one of those things.
Jerron of Vorlian was a rookie demon, clocking in at a mere 190 years of age. He was flimsy, weak, and couldn't win a boxing match against a stick. What he lacked in physical prowess, however, he more than made up for in his sheer intelligence. The kid graduated the Aerchademy in the all-time top ten in the school's long history of incredible scholars. See, all demons on the Netherside were dragged through the Aerchademy's courses and then filtered out to jobs optimal to their skill set at a huge graduation ceremony type of deal. Jerron was at this ceremony now. His whole future depended on this. Whatever they called him to be would be his future for the rest of this life.
The more Jerron thought about it the more he wanted to throw up.
He just finished listening to the Headmaster assigning this guy Fabian Verrisi, a poor soul set with being an attorney for the condemned for all of eternity. Jerron felt kinda bad for him when he passed him, a look of pure disappointment and pain gleaming in his eyes. Then the Headmaster spoke again, jerking Jerron back to his impending doom.
"Jerron of Vorlian," he spoke. Jerron tensed, feeling uneasy as ever. This was it.
"Your assignment is... Assistant to The Demon-lord Darkias!"
This is just something I wrote, thinking it'd be fun to try out- and it was! If you want to see a continuation of this comment below, and if you have any story requests or prompts, be sure to comment that as well.
Jerron of Vorlian was a rookie demon, clocking in at a mere 190 years of age. He was flimsy, weak, and couldn't win a boxing match against a stick. What he lacked in physical prowess, however, he more than made up for in his sheer intelligence. The kid graduated the Aerchademy in the all-time top ten in the school's long history of incredible scholars. See, all demons on the Netherside were dragged through the Aerchademy's courses and then filtered out to jobs optimal to their skill set at a huge graduation ceremony type of deal. Jerron was at this ceremony now. His whole future depended on this. Whatever they called him to be would be his future for the rest of this life.
The more Jerron thought about it the more he wanted to throw up.
He just finished listening to the Headmaster assigning this guy Fabian Verrisi, a poor soul set with being an attorney for the condemned for all of eternity. Jerron felt kinda bad for him when he passed him, a look of pure disappointment and pain gleaming in his eyes. Then the Headmaster spoke again, jerking Jerron back to his impending doom.
"Jerron of Vorlian," he spoke. Jerron tensed, feeling uneasy as ever. This was it.
"Your assignment is... Assistant to The Demon-lord Darkias!"
This is just something I wrote, thinking it'd be fun to try out- and it was! If you want to see a continuation of this comment below, and if you have any story requests or prompts, be sure to comment that as well.
| Credit | Road work ahead? Yeah, I sure hope it does. |
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