Emperor

by Isaac Hooke

  And so Vorgon leaves this world once again. Hopefully for good.

  Corinne was already lunging toward the other trapped Balor.

  Unfortunately, dark threads were entering Denfidal’s body from all sides, giving the demon strength, courtesy of the crystal sword the woman wielded. More monsters fell around Malem as the pale mist took them. No doubt those ghostly white tendrils would come for him, soon, as well.

  The green fire around Denfidal’s body flared, scorching the branches that held it, and the demon broke free before Corinne arrived; she managed to score a hit nonetheless, cutting deep into the Balor’s side.

  Denfidal retreated, screaming. It clumsily knocked her blade away with its flaming halberd.

  Corinne pressed the attack, but then several long tongues wrapped around her blade, pulling it far back: the Stilt Walkers had rushed in to aid their master.

  Denfidal was too weak to maintain the anti-transform debuff apparently, because the fallen Metals around it began reverting to dragon form. They took to the air, and tore into the demon, joining the griffins in their assault, so that Denfidal could not attack the Paragon while her weapon was trapped.

  The Balor swatted at the Metals and griffins frantically. Sometimes, when Denfidal broke away the Metals that had latched onto its shadowy skin, the demon sloughed away portions of its own flesh in the process, ripped away by the talons and jaws of its foe.

  Some Metals swerved to concentrate on the Stilt Walkers, and were joined by the Blue Hornets, who dove to their aid. The Metals bit down on those tongues, trying to sever them.

  The woman in red raised the crystal sword higher.

  More mist erupted from the ground.

  Some of it was directly below Malem.

  Oh no you don’t.

  Malem rushed forward, breaking away from his companions. He hoped to outrun that deadly mist, and his fate.

  By draining all the monsters around her of stamina, the woman had inadvertently cleared a path for Malem, and he was able to approach without issue.

  He still had his own blade in hand. He could impale her with it, but she would not die, not while she wielded that sword.

  But Malem had other plans for her.

  He tossed aside his weapon as he ran, and doffed his backpack. He reached inside, grabbing the item he was looking for, and then let the pack fall away to the ground.

  The woman still had her back to him, her gaze intent on Denfidal beyond.

  He reached her, and promptly snapped the collar around her neck from behind. It was the same collar Wendolin had used to control him. A collar he had saved for a moment just like this.

  Instantly, the blade she held stopped glowing.

  “No,” she whispered.

  He could sense her suddenly, even though he thought she was completely human. He realized it was because of the collar. The entity inside was a monster—a griffin—and since its presence had entered her mind, it seemed Malem could follow in turn, through the door the collar had opened.

  A useful device, then. The key to Breaking humans, and those who otherwise could not be Broken. He had only been expecting to cut her off from whatever magic she used to control the sword. This was an added bonus.

  He wrapped his mind around her.

  “No!” she screamed, pulling frantically at her hair, ripping it out in clumps.

  But the pain didn’t help her, and he tightened his mental tendrils like a vise. Her will had withered beneath the collar, and he was about to Break her, when he sensed something else. In addition to the collar’s foreign presence, there was something else in her head, lurking in the shadows. Something… utterly evil.

  It could only be Denfidal.

  He was expecting this. Of course, Denfidal would have Broken her.

  Malem used the strength granted by all of those he had bound to him, and reached for that presence, ripping it free. The demon offered no resistance at all—the Balor was probably a little distracted by its current predicament…

  Malem flung the presence away from her, and dark mist physically emerged from her body, as if yanked outward by invisible hands, and dissipated, severing Denfidal’s connection to her.

  He wondered vaguely if there was a way to sever his own Breaking to the half monsters he had bound, but he suspected the woman’s link to Denfidal was more like Malem’s connection to true monsters, or animals—a connection that was not permanent, and could be released.

  With Denfidal gone from her mind, Malem Broke her in moments.

  She tried to fight him in her weakened state, but it was no use and she collapsed to the ground, panting.

  “You’re free now,” Malem said.

  “I don’t want to be free,” she said. “I never wanted this.”

  “Point the sword at Denfidal,” Malem commanded. “Take the demon’s stamina.”

  “I can’t wield the sword,” she said. “Not while I wear this collar.”

  “Well I’m not taking it off,” Malem said. He was worried she would no longer be Broken if he did that. He pried the blade from her fingers. It was heavy, unbalanced. Definitely not designed for fighting.

  “How do I use it?” he asked.

  “You can’t,” she said. “Only I can.”

  He tossed the sword back to her. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  He glanced at the Balor.

  Corinne had freed herself from the Stilt Walkers with the help of the Metals, and was attacking Denfidal in full force once more. Despite the perceived ferocity of her attack, she was very dim, and he doubted she would remain in this world for much longer. Some of the Metals and griffins still accosted Denfidal as she fought the creature. Behind her, other Metals and Blue Hornets concentrated on taking down the Stilt Walkers. Only five of the tall monsters were left standing, and they had large, gory chunks missing from all over their bodies.

  He returned his attention to the fight. Corinne pressed the offensive, even though she was fast fading. Mostly because the Balor was done. Without the woman feeding it stamina, Denfidal flagged, succumbing to the wound in its side.

  And then the Paragon struck the killing blow, beheading the Balor before it could recover from its latest swing. Its halberd clattered to the rocks, the fires fading to nothingness.

  The woman gasped when she saw this, and then slumped, curling into a ball.

  “You killed him,” she said. “Why? Why?”

  “He’s not dead,” Malem said. “Only banished. For a very long time.”

  The enemy armies fled, routed, now that the Balors were gone. The surviving Black dragons and gargoyles turned north, rushing past the Stilt Walkers. The mini-Balors, oraks and reptiles joined them, along with the uraks of Vorgon’s army.

  Xaxia and Timlir chased those closest monsters that fled, yelling insults.

  Corrine, fading fast, turned toward him and the survivors of his army.

  “I have closed the doors Vorgon opened in this realm,” Corinne said. “The Balors will not return.”

  “Thank you,” Malem called.

  “No, thank you,” the Paragon told him. “You have helped restore balance to this realm.”

  She dropped the Balor’s blade, which turned dark before it hit the ground, and then the last of her form dissipated, leaving empty air as she returned to her realm.

  He gazed at Denfidal’s corpse, and watched as it disintegrated on the breeze.

  “So, it’s done,” Malem said softly.

  Xaxia and Timlir joined him: apparently, they had grown bored of harrying the fleeing monsters. Goldenthall joined him as well. The man’s eyes had returned to normal.

  “So you collared the little bitch,” Xaxia said. “Does she have a name?”

  Malem glanced at her.

  “I am Aurora,” the woman in red said.

  “Aurora,” Xaxia said. “And what were you before you fell into a Balor’s service?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Denfidal took my memories. I have only ever been his ser
vant. That’s all I’ve known.”

  Xaxia frowned, as if she didn’t believe her. “Interesting.” She glanced at Malem. “Is she human?”

  He nodded.

  “And you Broke her?” the bandit pressed.

  “I did,” he replied.

  She seemed unconvinced. “How?”

  He tapped the collar at Aurora’s neck.

  Xaxia pursed her lips.

  “You look like you’re considering letting the Breaker collar you, too,” Timlir commented.

  The bandit chuckled. “Not a chance.” She glanced at Aurora. “But there is one thing I’m wondering. Why didn’t you attack us beneath the mountain? You could have drained us with that sword of yours at any time, couldn’t you?”

  “I was not there to aid Vorgon’s uraks,” Aurora replied. “Denfidal sent me to destroy the Light Pearl: my master was more afraid of it than you. In fact, he preferred I let you live, so that Vorgon would have something to occupy his time, rather than scheming to undermine the Balor. So, once I completed my task, I stayed only for the amusement, to watch those uraks fall to the lich. Him and I had a nice talk afterwards. He’s actually a really nice man. It’s a pity he tried to convert me into one of his minions, or I might have allowed him to live.”

  “Wait, you killed an undead?” Xaxia said. “How can you kill something that’s already dead?”

  Aurora shrugged mysteriously.

  Gwen landed her Blue nearby, and dismounted.

  She rushed to Malem, and gave him a tight hug. “I’m so glad it’s over. So glad. I thought we were going to lose.”

  He patted her shoulder, not letting her go. “For a while there, so did I.”

  “I was convinced you were going to die,” she said. “I can’t imagine losing you.”

  “Nor I you,” he echoed.

  She finally pulled away from him, and paused to survey the countless dead strewn across the ground. Dragons. Oraks. Men. Eldritch. Night elves. Griffins. The withered shapes of the Seed Stalks towered over the battlefield, with the large Balor blades scattered beneath them.

  “So much death,” the half gobling said. “So much pain. Like my village.” She wrapped her arms around him once more and wept on his shoulder.

  42

  The army made camp not far from the field of battle. Pyres lit the night sky as the dead were burned. The monsters that fought for the Balors would be left in place, their carcasses food for the crows, as per Malem’s orders. However, since most of the enemy oraks couldn’t be distinguished from his own, they, too, would be gathered from the rocky plain and burned.

  Malem resided in his expansive tent, which his orak servants had prepared for him. Everything was in place, his bed, his trunk at its foot, his wash basin.

  Abigail was with him. He had invited her to be the first to join him: he planned to bring every woman among his companions to his bed tonight—those who wanted to come, at least—dedicating one hour to each of them. He would drain stamina from the others as necessary. He had just saved the world, and now it was time to celebrate.

  Abigail sat on the bed, dressed in the red gown with the bodice of gold lace. Malem was washing his face in the wash basin nearby.

  “I’m not sure I want to be part of a fuckfest,” she said.

  Malem stood up, and shrugged. “You’re welcome to leave at any time.”

  “No,” she said. “I need to let off some steam. Today was… intense. I’m just saying, I’d prefer to have you all night.”

  He dried his face. “That wouldn’t be fair to the others now, would it?” He turned toward her.

  “Sure it would,” she said. “They’ll share the pleasure we feel. They don’t need to sleep with you in person.”

  “Xaxia can’t feel that pleasure,” Malem said.

  Abigail shrugged. “Then you can invite her in the morning, after we’re done.”

  Malem smiled, and then opened his belt, resting it, and the scabbard that held Balethorn, onto the trunk at the foot of the bed. Mauritania had reported that the sword hadn’t fought her even once while she wielded it, despite so many dragons around. That pleased Malem.

  He sat on the bed next to Abigail.

  “Are you muting the pleasure from Aurora?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Seems the sensible thing to do. I’m not sure how I feel about her.” She was pretty, true, but he already had a lot of pretty women under his wing. “I’m not even sure if she’ll still remain Broken if I take that collar off.”

  “When do you plan to try?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  He was about to lean forward and kiss her, when something stopped him.

  “Do you see that?” he asked, looking past her.

  “What?” she glanced beside him.

  “The dark there, in the corner of the room, it seems deeper than everywhere else,” he said.

  She squinted. “Seems fine to me. Should we call the guards, to be on the safe side?”

  He stared at the dark, wondering if it was a hidden Eldritch assassin. He sensed nothing. Still, that didn’t mean something wasn’t there.

  Before he could answer her, the darkness he saw lingering in that corner grew, swirling, and darted toward him. Before he could react, it was already flowing inside of him. Abigail’s calm attitude told him she didn’t see it.

  Your Paragon underestimated my power, a voice came in his head. Deep. Malevolent. I can survive the physical loss of my body, and remain in this realm, fully conscious. However, I do require a body as a vessel. You will harbor me while I heal, until I am powerful enough to return. In the meantime, your body, your women, and the army you command, all of them shall be mine.

  Denfidal.

  Banvil was banished to the dark recesses of his mind, unable to withstand the power of the other Balor.

  Why me? Malem asked.

  Because you stole the woman who was to be my vessel.

  Aurora.

  And because you have held Balors in your mind before. It makes the joining easier, for both parties.

  “What’s wrong?” Abigail was saying. “Why won’t you look at me? Should we call the guards?”

  He turned his head to gaze upon her, and she gasped.

  She stood up, stepping back. “Your eyes!”

  Dark mist flowed from his face, no doubt sourced from his eyes.

  He fought against Denfidal. The demon didn’t have Malem completely under control, not yet. Though his body wouldn’t obeyed him, he still had control over his lips.

  “Abigail, you made me a promise once,” Malem said. His voice sounded deeper. Demonic. Not his own.

  Her face paled, and she backed up another pace. “No,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “You promised me, if ever I became the Defiler again, you would slay me,” he told her. “The time has come for you to fulfill this promise.”

  “No,” she said, louder. “I can’t. I won’t.”

  He felt Denfidal clamping down with its will upon his mind. He sensed a rising panic from the demon. Good. That meant when Malem died, Denfidal would, too. Either that, or the demon would at last be banished to the Black Realm.

  He returned his attention to Abigail.

  “If you love me,” he told her. “You will take my sword, and hold it in your hands.”

  She swallowed, shaking her head. A tear streamed down her cheek.

  “Do you love me?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Then take my sword,” he said gently.

  Weeping, she grabbed the blade from where it lay upon the trunk.

  “Draw it,” he told her.

  Mechanically, she obeyed, and let the sheath fall to the floor.

  In her hands, Balethorn did not hum, it did not say a word. Instead, the blade merely waited obediently.

  “Now fulfill your promise,” Malem said.

  Still, she hesitated.

  “I don’t ever want to become the Defiler again,” he told
her. “I prefer to die here, at the hands of someone I love, then to die the slow death of a man trapped inside his own body. Do it. Slay the demon inside me. Kill the Defiler.”

  She touched the blade to his tunic, and wrapped her hands around the hilt.

  “Please,” she said. “Don’t let it be me. Please. Choose someone else.”

  “It has to be you,” Malem said. “There’s no time. You’re the only one strong enough, Abigail. You’re the only one who can carry out this task, and live with the burden afterward. It must be you, and no one else. Now please, I can’t resist for much longer. When Denfidal takes control, the demon will kill you. End this now, Abigail. Let me go. Let my story end.”

  “It can’t end this way,” she said. “It can’t.”

  “Not all stories have a happy ending,” Malem said. “You know this. What you read in books is fake. A pleasant illusion, to let us forget the truth, if only for a moment. Now for the last time, plunge the blade into my flesh. Take the demon’s life. And my own.”

  She hesitated a moment longer.

  Malem felt Denfidal take control entirely.

  Abigail must have seen the sudden change in his expression, the contortion as his face twisted into a caricature of hatred, because, crying, she plunged the blade through his chest.

  43

  Abigail escorted Malem through the ranks of the army. The soldiers had gathered to bid their emperor final farewell. Beside her, his closest companions joined her in carrying the pallet that held his body.

  Those companions had all felt it when his connection to them had severed. They’d all arrived, almost one after the other, to find Abigail collapsed on the ground, weeping before his dead body.

  Ziatrice was convinced she had killed him without reason, no matter how much Abigail pleaded with her that Denfidal had taken him. When Ziatrice produced Wither, Abigail promptly offered the night elf her neck.

  “Take me,” Abigail said. “End this pain.”

  That was when the night elf finally seemed to understand: there was no way Abigail would have willingly killed Malem, not unless something was very wrong.