Bio

Spiral was a slave.
Of course, back then, she wasn’t known as Spiralling Ruin, she was just Dust. And she wasn’t much to speak of. Just a slave, bred for a lifetime of digging in a Lookshy mine, digging for Jade to fuel the Seventh Legion’s war engine. When the industrious Dust found a few chips of white Jade in a side passage, it seemed like a good sign. Her crew dug down into the tunnel, despite the dangers of the system, and the gleam of essence-infused Jade further in only sparked Dust’s excitement. Maybe she’d be rewarded. Maybe she’d earn a higher position, or shorter shifts, or…
As she frantically scavenged the rod of white Jade from its resting place in the wall, she barely noticed when it came out a little loosely. And was just starting to head back to the others when the ceiling caved in.
For days, she was trapped, calling for help, trying to dig her way out, but far too weak and drained from the exertion to succeed. Nobody heard her. Nobody cared. And as she huddled in the dark with her heavy Jade deathtrap, she wished she’d been a little stronger, or a little faster. A demon found her, and offered both, along with something she’d never been offered before. Freedom.
Five days spent in a cocoon stone found her strong enough to charge through the cave-in. Tough enough to make it deeper than she’d ever gone before. And confident enough to make it five days across the hot desert and into her new home.
Dust took to her training remarkably well. A quick study, and an eager learner, she adapted her natural skills as a worker to the talents of a Slayer, pounding away at the brass and stone of Malfeas to suit her patrons, working the rubble into new shapes, only to knock them down again. She loved it, her new demon guest loved it, and Isidoros didn’t seem to mind as she followed in his wake, finishing what he started. She was the inexorable pull of eventuality. The eroding of everything. Where she walked, walls fell. Some day, the walls that kept Lookshy safe would fall.
Demons quickly learned to stay out of her way. The sound of her work-song meant destruction, and a few were secretly glad when they heard it echo out across Cecelyne on her way to Creation to bury some unfortunate city. Inevitably, inexorably, she’d be drawn back home, where she’d destroy more.