by K R Leikvoll
“Stop. This is the spot.”
I hopped off of Morgan’s back and got to work.
First, the most important thing was to call on my abundant children. I outstretched my hands toward the direction of Zaar and northern Kaza’mae, where most of them dwelt. I thought clearly of the palace, demanding that they return home to guard their Mother and Queen. The husk of Lilith was pale in comparison to my powers. Her three greater demonic children were not a match, nor equivalent to the might of the Infernal Army that existed on Praetis.
I could physically feel when they all began to retreat home as if I could sense the ground vibrating hundreds of miles away beneath their feet. The enemy forces were not close enough to make it before the Infernal Army, and even if they were, demons did not need rest like the living. By the time the Luxians and Evyans arrived, they would face absolute slaughter. I doubted they would even make it to the palace itself. My children were worth ten men apiece.
I could never allow them to win, thus I had to make the ultimate sacrifice.
Duskwraith.
Yes, my home and those dwelling in it would protect us in undeath. After all, there was no higher honor than being called on to serve by the prophet of Naazvaba. I drew a spell circle on the dark dirt with my blood, imbuing each drop with all the power I could spare. I spoke in demonic tongues, calling on Lord Nakarius and War to infuse me with their might. Even my petulant weapon could not refuse a desire so sinister.
Crimson light and shadows swirled around the spell circle while I stood in its center, chanting the demands I had of Heresy. The Void was to receive the most plentiful gift I could spare – the souls of those still dwelling in Duskwraith. They had lived out their usefulness in life.
“Aeterne Inanis.”
I slammed my hand down in the center of the circle. The strongest surge of power I had ever summoned engulfed me, almost too strong to control. The heretics were quick to answer the calls of their protector, feeding me energy from inside the Void itself. The ground cracked – the purple sky grew deep maroon with rain clouds. I was magnetically connected to the earth as it screamed for release. I would not – I would never. I pushed harder, demanding that Duskwraith feed me all it contained.
The screams from the Everglade was the signal my spell was working. The pitch and intensity increased. Roars and fire erupted in the distance as I felt the familiar sensation of bonding in response. The ground itself began to change color and rupture. Even after the living mortals were turned, I still continued. The forests, the animals, all life would submit so I could destroy those light-bound rats. I felt their souls pass through me as if I were a gateway to the Void they were damned to. It was a sensation of sorrow – of utter despair – and it was the most pleasing experience I have had through magic. Their horrid emotions fueled me as much as my own.
When the Luxians and Evyans dared to announce their presence, they would be met with the resistance of a lifetime. Just because fate dictated that Vince would create the Nephilim did not mean I would not try to make his work harder.
My magic did not cease until the last soul was ripped from its body – the last one being a tree near the border of Evya. I would not take their spirits in vain; they would find satisfaction in serving my Gods, just as I did.
“What have you done?”
The spell ended as I was shoved hard out of the circle and off balance.
Massive, black feathered wings towered above me, revealing Vincent staring down at me in fury. I was not remotely fearful – rather, I was relieved to see him awake. He was too late to stop the damage, regardless. The spell seal exploded in a hot ball of flame, channeling into the heavens before the portal was able to close. It hit the sky and cascaded over Azra like a bloody comet.
“The survivors march on us,” I declared with a weak smile after I got back to my feet. “Though they won’t be survivors for much longer.”
“You rotten, evil woman.”
Vince was on me and I did not try to fight. It was no use, though I did not crumble or break in front of him. When he grabbed me by the throat, I held my smile, clutching his grasp weakly. He could not kill me; who was he trying to fool?
“You traitorous, evil man,” I choked out. “Eve will die before you get the answers you seek. And even if you create the Nephilim, I will be there to plant a sword in your spine!”
He let out a yell of fury, trying to crush my trachea, but the moment I truly started to choke, so did he, forcing him to release me. I was not terrified of his punishments anymore. He gave me a sharp kick to the ribs afterward, hard enough to make my world fuzzy. Again, he stumbled, hurting himself in the process.
“They did not have to be sacrificed – Praetis is gone! How many more demons must you summon?”
“As many as it takes, my love,” I replied impassioned. “You rule over an empire of bones and the blood is on your hands. Consider it repayment for rescuing me from the flames of A’roha.”
The Infernal Army took a week to make it to the palace. There were more than I remembered. I had long lost track of how many I turned, especially after sacrificing Duskwraith as well. We all watched them file in; James and Vincent far more somber than Raven and I. I was beginning to understand more and more why my Master was so distraught.
He thought he was to beat me. It was better to keep the living around so he could have worshippers and slaves. It was preferable that the mortals die rather than turn, obviously, as he loathed that I had a full military force of monsters outside of his command. The idea that the entire world believed the demon heretics to be his only added to how agonizing it was for him. All that power, yet he was still powerless in his own way.
We got into a few more scuffles before the war was on our doorstep. The abuse was, truthfully, dreadful, but physical pain no longer plagued me. He did more damage to himself in the process. The same deep scar lines he gave me rested on flesh as well. If it was unbearable for him, I think he would have stopped. Instead, he was ready to beat me for something as simple as breathing too loudly in his presence. His presence that I could not leave, as he forced all of us to stay by his side. James and Raven did nothing to help, and I have never blamed them for that. Vince had such an intolerable level of magical potential emanating off of him, none of us wanted to engage with him.
By the time we were warned of approaching forces, we were all equally ready to begin. The silent fortnight and a half we spent waiting were horrible. The minutes passed agonizingly slow until we were saved from each other’s company. Holly was the one to tell us about the hint of gold on the horizon, and we jumped to our feet collectively. I am positive we all had different reasons, but we were somewhat anxious nonetheless.
Donning my armor was almost hypnagogic. I was numb as I stared at myself in the mirror. How soon would destiny begin to take its course? Was this the last battle of Praetis – the descent to the event horizon? Though my armor had been repaired countless times, it was still as glorious as ever to wear. Once I was dead, I would have no more use for it. I could not take possessions with me to the Void. For some reason, for the first time, the idea made me gloomier than excited. I usually enjoyed spilling blood.
We all met in the center room before we left to finish our Praetis affair. The only person that seemed remotely capable of feeling emotion was Vince. He was almost giddy with a smile plastered on his face while he smoothed out his hair. It was starting to look normal again.
“They are more than foolish for coming here,” he remarked as he adjusted his cloak, weirdly obsessed with his appearance. “James, I want you to accompany me to the front entrance. I expect the Divinus will want to be welcomed into our home. Raven, keep them at bay on the beach… if you can be bothered.” Raven scowled, a mere poke from snapping. Vince did not notice as he had turned his attention to me. “I am not going to waste my time giving you commands. You will do whatever you want regardless, so just go.”
“You know me too well, beloved,” I replied in a provocative t
one. He walked forward to my side and I refused to cower. His hand gripped my face and he kissed me. It was not just the brush of his lips against mine. Instead, it was deep and filled with every bit of twisted love he held for me. Regardless of it being the bond or something real, it mattered not.
All of us went our separate ways. I went to the ramparts with Raven, hand in hand after we were alone. We both knew that could be the last battle, and I knew profoundly well that Vince could gain the weapon – the Nephilim – that very day. When we reached the top, we could see the glowing forms of the mixed forces of the survivors. There were so many I could not begin to count, but I was far from worried. My demons were superior to any mortal warrior.
Raven embraced me, holding my head close to his chest. “Are you ready, Lazarus?” he murmured. “The prophecy of Praetis’ demise is unfolding in front of us.”
“We cannot stop him from creating the Nephilim,” I reminded him carefully. “Do not bother to try. Lord Nakarius wants the weapon intact.” I left his side, slightly worried that I might never see him again.
I went to the Azmordian Grove on the back of Morgan. He smelled the air and snarled – I am sure he was eager to taste blood after a moratorium on the war. Typhlon joined us. His towering demonic form no longer resembled the man he had once been. He was a giant now, with massive black wings, the flesh of hellfire, horns, and tusks. His flaming eyes may have been different, but he was somehow still the same man inside. Not many lesser demons could brag about such a thing. Mortal souls usually died. The heretics must have been gracing us both with their favor.
Gradually, the blur of enemy soldiers grew closer. The Queen Divinus Eve, her sister and my mortal foe Alexandra, and Kirin Maundrell rode at the front. Maundrell had a crown on his head – one I recognized from the Capitol. I laughed, thinking about how absurd it was to worry about such things as close as we were to the end. And to have it be Maundrell? They were clearly desperate.
They paused, less than a league away. Perhaps they thought we were unprepared at first – that they might be able to push straight through to the front of the palace. That was until they caught sight of Typhlon. More of my precious lesser children began to file around me, sprinting and flying after their new foes. Most had not tasted mortal blood in over a year, and it was something I could not contain even if I wished to. I did not have to give them specific orders anyhow. They already knew what they needed to do.
Their lines began to scramble once they were intercepted. The white light of Eve’s magic was retina burning. I had to turn away to save my eyes from needing to heal. I wanted Alexandra the most, but she had to wait; Vince could fuss with the Divinus. Maundrell would be first. It was his time to join us or face Treachery.
They split and ran in different directions as if they had planned for it. Maundrell fled to the west and the Divinus to the east. Alexandra knew ahead of time who she wanted. It was written on her face as she rode. She drew an arrow and aimed for Morgan. As she released it, Typhlon stepped in front of its path, taking it without even a wince. She leapt off of her mount and drew her golden sword.
“Fight me, Lazarus!” she yelled, though she was still cautious of the behemoth before her. “You owe me that much!” Her expression was still tense and revenge-seeking. It was quite a compelling act. Yes, she could have been sincerely distraught over everything she had lost, and I am sure she was. However, we had been through this game of chase before.
It was always the same. They sent her as a distraction, and I would pursue her with fury until I was away from the conflict. Perhaps that might have repeated itself if we were not on the grounds of my home. I was in control of that environment. Everything answered my call.
“Are we really going to talk about debts, Alexandra?” I replied and chuckled at her dismay. “You returned to the death you escaped.” I looked up at Typhlon, who roared with the volume of a dragon, shaking the earth beneath my feet. “She’s yours. Eat her if you wish.”
Kirin Maundrell was trying to infiltrate through the northwest tunnel – the one that ran from Levia’s lair, underneath the Everglade and into the palace – on the opposite side that the assassins chose. I could see it with my demonic sight, though it was distant. The worm had given them an entire layout, but I was no longer surprised by his betrayals. The last thing I wanted was for the Luxian and other various forces to have access to the inside of the castle. It would cause our forces to split, giving an opening for the Divinus.
Typhlon charged forward toward Alexandra, lashing his tail in her direction to knock her off balance. I urged Morgan to return us to the safety of our walls, to Alexandra’s distress. I was not falling for anymore of her tricks. Besides, I hardly thought her a match for the champion of my forces. Little did I know it would be the final time I would see him. Despite that, he died with honor, taking down droves as I would later find out.
As Morgan was bounding back to the palace, I caught sight of James, cutting down the sparse amount of soldiers that had managed to file in. I aided him with a few arrows, to which he did not thank me. He looked up with remorse on his face and shook the blood off of his sword. He was still doing as he was told, despite how much he obviously despised doing so. His motives were continuously a mystery to me.
I entered the palace in the west wing. It was moronic to leave the western tunnel open, but I hardly thought they would use the dragon’s path to get into the castle. We thought collapsing the eastern tunnel would be enough to keep them from using those entrances. I wondered to myself if the Basulian robbers were a way of making us lax in security on the west side.
Kirin Maundrell and a handful of their forces broke down the cellar entrance and poured inside the western library. They thought themselves to be at an advantage, for fifteen men and a greater demon would surely overwhelm me. I was encircled, trapped by the pointed tips of every type of weapon imaginable.
I channeled War, calling on all of its power to aid me. The moment the weapon solidified in my grasp, I engaged them. I summoned demonic power and found it was ready at the snap of my fingers. One that tried to plunge a sword in my gut was beheaded, while I covered another in flame. I worked methodically, taking each one out that dared to strike at me.
While I cut down my foes, I was quick to dodge the incoming spectral swings of Famine. Maundrell was using the blade hesitantly, as one wrong move could harm any of the allies in his path. I was grateful I witnessed Famine’s abilities beforehand, otherwise, I would have been shredded in half. I removed all but one of them besides Maundrell in a matter of minutes. They had come just to die, it seemed.
“Kirin,” the man to his left said, planting a firm grasp on him. “We cannot risk them having all of the Dark Essentia. Go to Alex. Let me handle this.”
“Are you insane?” Maundrell inquired back, with a petrified look on his face.
“My offer is still open,” I interrupted, regaining their attention. “I might even spare your friend as a homecoming gift.” As I looked at them back and forth, I realized they were probably more than friends. They appeared to be kin, like the Emperor’s guardian before. They had the same ashy skin color – the same bright eyes. The only real differences were Kirin was slightly taller and unshaven with long hair. His kin had a beard and much shorter dark hair with a hint of gray.
“We aren’t splitting, Zacharael, enough,” Maundrell said firmly, pointing Famine at me. “And no deal, prophet.”
“You have never experienced true abyss,” I purred. “How long will it take you to befall to madness there? One day? One hour?”
“I don’t care!” He ran at me, slashing Famine through the air. I vaulted out of the way, but Maundrell was already close enough to engage me once I landed. He hit me in the chest with the staff of his weapon before following up with another slash, trying to gut me. It did not hit me, as I stepped backward in time, but I had forgotten the spectral blade’s special ability. I was struck across the stomach by its shadowy counterpart. My dodge had aided me in av
oiding almost all of it, but it still cut into my armor.
His weapon was more magical than physical, I noted, though it was sharper than any blade I had come into contact with. In some ways, I considered Famine to be the anti-War, despite both being a part of the Dark Essentia. Or perhaps it was simply an incredible challenge for me, as magic was forever a clear weakness of mine.
I had to evolve my fighting style on the spot. One, I counted mentally as I parried his next strike, two. I leapt to the side, evading the shadowy blade that swiped at the air and impacted the flooring. The other man, Zacharael, almost stabbed me through the back – I was hardly paying attention to his presence. As Maundrell made his way to us in a full sprint, I dodged around Zacharael’s next swing and kicked him with enough force to send him flying into the wall.
Though I wished to channel the potential of War, I was aware that Maundrell would have more to strike at. My tactics revolved around dodging with very few counterattacks. He may have been at an advantage with Sendrys’ deadly blade, but I had far more demonic power. Every swing pulled on him, as he was starving himself and the Dark Essentia shard. If I could tire him out, he would succumb to the flames of sacrifice eventually.
As I evaded him endlessly, I took brief moments to scan the palace. James was engaged with a creature in the form of a wolf – I assumed he was defending against the Divinus and her Dryad companion. I could not see Raven, but I could sense him to the south with most of my demonic forces. We were collectively doing what we could, except Vincent. He was in the throne room, seated comfortably, waiting for something. I was so frustrated, I nearly lost my head in my distraction. All of that power stored up making him sick, and for what?
An agile strike was aimed to hit my leg faster than I could sidestep, cutting me to the bone. Maundrell tried to close our small gap, only needing to take a single stride. I danced around his attempt to bash me in the face. The slight opening I had was enough to cut him up the chest. War was more than capable of shredding, splitting his chest plate in half and carving into his flesh. He kicked me to get away; it was like being punted by a giant. My bones cracked and I was forced to pause. My lung was quite possibly punctured by one of my ribs, but I hardly had the chance to heal myself.
