In the deep crimson sky hung a blood-red moon, and below it was the sandy ground of the Arena, where various filthy skulls rolled. Among them was a little devil, about eleven or twelve years old, with a Secret Silver collar around his neck, gripping a steel fork, and trying his best to stab a Purgatory Rat. However, the rat twisted its body and slipped away under his crotch.
This little devil was Runt. When I first met him, I was just over ten years old, and it has been almost thirty years since then. At that time, my superior was still in power, holding high authority, and I was a favorite in front of him (here, "human" refers to the devil unless specifically stated).
