Deus Necros

Izalith remained in the council chamber long after Hiro’s body had been taken away. Several of the projected members had already withdrawn, their figures dissolving into pale light above the distant seats. Those who remained spoke quietly among themselves, adjusting their plans around a Hero who, less than an hour ago, had been something else entirely.

Hoyo was still beyond the sealed door of the side chamber, working upon himself. Izalith watched the entrance for several seconds before turning toward the one council member who had shown no interest in the surrounding discussions.

The Treacherous Fanged Wolf sat farther down the chamber with one thick arm resting against his chair. The werewolf looked as unpleasant as she remembered: broad-shouldered, covered in old scars, his watchful stare following her approach. He possessed a stillness that occasionally encouraged people to mistake his patience for harmlessness. Few survived long enough to make that mistake twice.

Izalith smiled as she approached. ”Are you certain this new Hero will be enough to continue the Quest of Light and Darkness? You seemed remarkably willing to replace Hiro with him.”

The Treacherous Fanged Wolf snorted. ”He will be more than enough for that little play you demons and your gods insist on repeating. A Hero appears, a Demon King rises, and everyone spends the next few years screaming about it. Kingdoms panic, churches gather armies, and people die until someone is left standing long enough for the survivors to write songs about him.”

”Our gods?” Izalith asked, her tail swaying behind her. ”You make it sound as though we arrange the whole thing ourselves.”

”Yours, theirs, or whoever happens to be pulling the strings this century. I have stopped keeping track.”

She took another step toward him. His clawed fingers shifted upon the armrest, and although he reached for no weapon, Izalith stopped. The warning needed no further explanation.

”You are still so careful,” she said with a laugh. ”We have known each other long enough that you could allow me a closer look.”

”You have seen me before, and knowing you is precisely why I prefer the distance.” His eyes followed her wings as they settled behind her. ”You still enjoy testing boundaries.”

”Only because you have become so much less entertaining. Two hundred years have passed, the gods are choosing their pieces again, and you cannot even pretend to be interested.”

”I have better things to do than watch divine children rearrange the same board and insist the pieces are new. Their quarrel is not mine.” He pointed toward her, then toward the empty space where Hiro had stood earlier. ”Your kind and whatever summoned that idiot can tear the world apart arguing over who deserves to call himself righteous. I have no interest in choosing between you.”

Izalith rested a hand upon her hip. ”You said almost the same thing last time. Two hundred years, and you are still neutral.”

”Because nothing has changed, including the quality of the Heroes.” The werewolf considered that for a moment before smiling. ”Actually, I may be wrong about the last part. They seem to have gotten worse.”

”You truly disliked Hiro,” Izalith said, watching his expression.

”I disliked all of them. Every Hero summoned from the other world eventually develops the same disease.” He counted upon his clawed fingers. ”Arrogance, an obsession with women, and the inexplicable belief that collecting enough of them constitutes character development.”

Izalith covered her mouth as she laughed. The werewolf waited for her to finish, looking distinctly unimpressed by her enjoyment.

”Then comes the confidence,” he continued. ”Not the kind earned by surviving a war or being beaten until you understand exactly how weak you are. They arrive already convinced that the Demon King exists solely so they can eventually kill him.”

”They are Heroes,” Izalith said. ”Believing they can fulfill their purpose is hardly a crime.”

”They are children handed power, and most never grow beyond that. Weakness can be corrected. Believing strength is owed to you is considerably more troublesome.” He glanced toward the side chamber. ”A blessing makes them important, a prophecy makes them untouchable, and being summoned means the world should rearrange itself around their arrival. At least, that is what they seem to think.”

”And eventually they discover otherwise?” Izalith asked.

”Eventually they meet something that does not care. A monster older than the religion worshipping them, a king unwilling to kneel, or a creature their absurd skills cannot charm.” His smile widened. ”Sometimes it is simply someone experienced enough to know that glowing armor does not protect the throat.”

Izalith’s wings shifted as she looked at him. ”You sound remarkably bitter for someone who claims he barely notices them. You killed three members of the last Hero’s party, broke his sword, and told him to crawl home.”

”They were in my way, the sword was poorly made, and he followed the advice. I would call that a successful lesson.”

”You always did have a cruel approach to education.” Her smile changed as she studied him. ”Although I remember a time when you would have had considerably more difficulty teaching it.”

The werewolf’s fingers stopped moving upon the armrest. Izalith noticed and continued pleasantly.

”Before the titles, before people began whispering your name as though speaking it too loudly might summon something, you were very different. Smaller, weaker, and, if my memory serves, quite fond of running away.”

”Izalith,” he said, and the warning in her name briefly quieted the projected figures nearest them.

She held his gaze as a low growl rose from his throat. The Treacherous Fanged Wolf stood slowly, his broad shoulders squaring as he faced her.

”You are old,” he said. ”Older than most of the things wandering this continent. Do not confuse that with immunity.”

”I would have preferred you didn’t mention the first part. A woman hates being told that.”

”You know you are not fully protected inside this domain. Do not mistake my tolerance for an inability to hurt you.”

No aura flared around him, and no spell disturbed the air. Nevertheless, Izalith felt the change. Her tail stopped moving as a weight settled against her, steady enough that she had to resist the urge to step back. Nothing resembling it had existed in the frightened creature she remembered.

She raised both hands. ”I was only teasing. You have changed, and I doubt anyone here would argue otherwise.”

The pressure vanished. The werewolf lowered himself into his chair again, though his expression remained cold.

”You have a dangerous definition of teasing.”

”And you have become very sensitive about your accomplishments.” Izalith lowered her hands and moved along the edge of the table, keeping her distance. ”You did well for yourself, especially after your arrangement with the Gluttonous Death.”

His eyes returned to her immediately. ”That arrangement was my choice. It remains my concern, and you will not meddle in it.”

”I never suggested it was anything else.” She smiled at the way his hand had tightened upon the chair. ”You really do dislike people touching your toys. Speaking of which, how is the little vampire? Is he still looking for you?”

”Van Dijk can look for as long as he wants.”

”A true original vampire hunting a progenitor werewolf across centuries,” Izalith said, clasping her hands together. ”Such devotion. I would almost find it romantic if you were not both so unpleasant.”

The werewolf laughed once, without warmth. ”I could have killed Van Dijk whenever I wanted. Do not turn his persistence into something more impressive than it is.”

”You could have tried,” she corrected. ”That is not quite the same thing, although I doubt you would do either. You keep telling people how easily you could kill him, yet somehow he remains alive.”

The Treacherous Fanged Wolf’s smile thinned. ”You are approaching another boundary.”

”Then I shall admire it from here.” Izalith leaned forward slightly without moving closer. ”I think you would miss him. After all this time, you might even find yourself lonely.”

He looked away. It was neither agreement nor denial, which made her smile considerably harder to endure.

”Van Dijk is irritating,” he said. ”He is persistent, and he has wasted far too much of his life trying to find me. That does not make him dear to me.”

”Perhaps he misses you as well.”

The werewolf turned his stare upon her again. Izalith laughed and finally stepped away, leaving him to mutter something unpleasant in an old tongue.

”I shall leave your tragic little romance alone,” she said as she returned toward the center of the chamber. ”You can call it whatever you prefer when I am gone.”

She stopped near the sealed door and looked toward it. Her amusement faded enough for the werewolf to notice.

”I do hope this one is better,” she said. ”The Demon King has grown impatient. He wanted a Hero worthy of reaching him, not another disappointment.”

”He has had plenty of Heroes. If none satisfied him, that sounds like his problem.”

”They disappointed you as well. You should at least understand his complaint.”