Sometimes greedy gambits do work out.
Your typical greedy fiend may wax about their insatiable desire for the material, how satisfaction is the death of their nature and never shall they cease stretching their fingers towards the next shining trophy-
But they know limits.
They have that little bit of normalcy that tells them when it's time to drop something, even if it leaves a taste like curdled milk in their mouths.
Not Xiko.
Xiko grabbed onto something and he did not let go.
Not even when death came knocking at his door.
This celebrity of the Greed Ring was known for being the biggest, most successful human/monster trafficker of Hell itself. Xiko, a mere mid-ranker, yet clever and crafty enough to dethrone nearly everyone in his field of vile work.
Wanted humans and monsters worth owning? In mint condition? With some really rare traits? Leave it to him and his boys, you won't be disappointed.
With great skill and talent comes great danger, but Xiko didn't cower when he started to gain many an enemy, when he could no longer count them, when he spent most of his time hunting them down rather than hunting the poor souls he's supposed to sell. With each visit, he'd return home with a few trophies to remember his victory.
Things were going well.
His empire of fifth kept growing, enough so that it garnered the attention of the very Lord Rinx, a client Xiko both reveres and dreads, due to his extravagant tastes. Why, he ever earned himself a juicy deal with this strange, extremely popular establishment on the surface that constantly bulk-orders humans. The Clergy's Eye or something of the sort, he knows the Icons had been there before.
How impressive is that? Enough for prideful folk to eye him wantonly.
Xiko had the opportunity to grow in rank, to sit at Rinx's table and negotiate starting a little jewelry store in the heart of Greed to keep up appearances and branch out. What luxuries.
Unfortunately, all highs lead to lows.
His health starts deteriorating inexplicably. Xiko begins being unable to move properly without chronic bursts of pain debilitating him from doing much of anything other than lie and wait for the wave of torment to pass. He has no idea where it's coming from. The pain is so great he gets blinded and passes out in some episodes.
The best doctors he can find tell Xiko he developed something terminal. Not quite a cancer, similar, something only demonoids can exhibit.
But what did the name of it matter? His own monumental riches wouldn't save him from certain doom.
One might think Xiko would do some soul searching with the time he had left, as laughable as that sounds for a being as rotten as him.
Not even close.
You don't get this far without being stubborn.
Things can't end as they are. Xiko can't die, he has so much to do and so much to oversee, it's simply not an option. He can't.
In the midst of despair and hopeless solution-seeking, Xiko finds a possible answer to his impossible conundrum inscripted in his most favored trophy, a timeless chalice.
Between its jewels and lovely finishes, the instructions for a ritual sat written in one of the oldest tongues in Hell. Having a historian for a friend sure comes in handy, doesn't it?
Said acquaintance is there to witness it when Xiko grows mad enough to try it, at the hands of demons who perpetuate these ancient practices.
A mummification-like ritual.
Except, to avoid death, Xiko must remove the two organs which the soul is most connected to, the brain and heart.
He knew what he was getting into when he laid on that altar.
He knew that he would suffer physical trauma beyond anything he could ever have experienced in life. He knew he would come out of it looking like a completely different being. That he would no longer be a demon.
And he was ready.
He was ready when they started chanting.
He was ready when his jaw was stretched to absurd proportions.
He was ready when his chest was torn open.
When he danced in that barrier between life and death, looking down at himself while his figure withered and contorted.
Those memories are... Scratchy, to say the least.
Xiko recalls screaming at the top of his exposed lungs and feeling his skin rip from several sides all at once, as if rejecting him. He remembers when his skull was crushed and how he could hear it for a moment. He knows he twisted and shriveled like a bug on that marble.
And that he woke up.
Wrapped like a present.
Dead yet amongst the living.
To continue his work. To remain forever at the top.
So what if he was emaciated now? If he'd never get rid of the massive scar where his figure was torn open, if his eyes now reside inside his bizarre gaping maw and his arms are elongated? Xiko had made it.
And while death was unavoidable, it was not the end.
In fact, it was the beginning of something a lot more amusing for Xiko.
He found his new appearance frightened his competition. Rumors of him being an undead diety spread. No longer featuring a core name or even something as simple as a sigil, Xiko was freed of even more weaknesses.
He made no effort to hide what he had become the next time he was present at Greed's Conqueror's Spoils festival. His mangled, infernal undead form on the spotlight.
Some of them were smart enough to understand what he had turned into, knew to stop pursuing him. For when you take something from a mummy, it cannot rest until it retrieves its possession.
Others came to find that out eventually.
Perhaps the person Xiko feels most sorry for is, not one of his enemies, but you.
You poor thing, still trying to escape him, still trying to lockpick your cages and manipulate his men, trying to make it out at all costs.
You never think twice when you set foot outside his territory.
Unaware that he'll always instinctively know where to find his "stolen" possession.
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