The Forsaken Hero

Fyren faced down Jessia, his infernal body smoldering with anger. The intensity of the fire within him seeped through the cracks and gaps in his scales, casting an ominous, orange glow over the frost-tipped grass.

”If you had succeeded in collaring her,” Fyren growled, his voice flat and filled with chilling certainty, ”I would have hunted you down and burned anything left of your corpse.”

”Don’t worry, I have no intention of touching the Oracle again. If anything, she’s become one of my favorites.” Jessia shrugged, appearing unconcerned, yet there was a slight hesitation in her voice. It was the first time she’d shown such emotion, perhaps aware that the Lord of Ash wasn’t bluffing.

She gave me a wink, and I shuddered, shifting my stance to better hide behind Fable. I knew it wouldn’t make a difference, not when she’d so quickly appeared behind me last time, but having my companion between us eased some of the fear our previous interaction had left me with.

”What do you want?” I finally asked, unable to keep the tremor from my voice. She had burdened us with her presence for too long for simple happenchance. There was no way she didn’t have a purpose.

”Oh, don’t worry, little Oracle,” she purred, her eyes twinkling with amusement. ”I’m not here for you... this time.” She winked at Fyren, adding, ”I have other prey in mind.”

Fyren’s gaze narrowed. ”Speak your part, then.”

”So hasty,” she clucked her tongue. ”But anyway, Luke requested your presence. The capital of the Ingrid Alliance is but a day away, and he wants what you have on their defenses.”

”I’m no dog to come when called,” Fyren growled, his displeasure evident.

Jessia flashed us a smile, her hips swaying as she turned and sauntered away. ”See if I care,” she said dismissively. ”My job’s done.”

I started to relax as she departed, but as her foot landed, she vanished. I froze, fear gripping me, as her presence reappeared behind me. A long, slender finger traced my cheek, sending shivers down my spine. Her playful voice whispered in my ear, her breath hot against my skin.

”Be a dear and come with him,” she purred. ”I’m certain Luke wouldn’t mind.”

Fable growled, coiling protectively around me, forcing Jessia back. She gave me one final flirtatious wink before vanishing, seemingly melting into the shadows.

”Damn woman,” Fyren spat, crossing his arms across his scaled chest.

I shuddered, nodding in agreement. ”How can she be here? She was working with the Circle!”

Everything I knew about Luke told me he wouldn’t allow anyone associated with the slavers to survive, let alone fight beside him. He had to know, didn’t he?

”Jessia does what she pleases,” Fyren muttered. ”She’s always working on one scheme or another, burrowing between factions and sniffing out secrets. I doubt she cares what Luke thinks of her, as long as he tolerates her whims.”

”I just don’t—” I froze, suddenly realizing that the golden aura of my wards no longer shimmered around me. All that remained were sliced ribbons of mana, cut so cleanly I hadn’t even noticed their failure. I pressed a hand to my cheek, the memory of her touch sending a shiver down my spine. She might seem frivolous and whimsical, but it would be a mistake to assume she was harmless. Until I learned a seventh-level personal protective spell, she could touch me whenever she pleased.

Fyren’s tail twitched in annoyance as he considered the situation. ”I suppose it would be prudent for me to join this war meeting,” he conceded, his voice heavy. ”And I believe it would be wise for you to accompany me.”

I hesitated, shaking my head. ”I’d prefer not to,” I admitted, dreading the inevitable discussion of bloodshed and violence. There was no way I could stand listening to the demon’s plan to murder an entire city.

”Your presence is necessary,” he insisted, his tone brooking no argument. ”In fact, until we resolve the instability within your soul, I must insist on accompanying you wherever you venture. While I have faith in your wolf’s protective abilities, the risk of unleashing those... entities... is too dangerous. I can’t leave you alone like that.”

A flicker of defiance sparked within me, but I swiftly extinguished it. Fyren’s unwavering resolve was clear, and further protest would be futile. With a resigned sigh, I dipped my head and followed him, tail dragging behind me.

I didn’t know what to expect from a demon war council, but my sense of dread grew as we approached the pavilion. The demons felt more restless, sensing my unease, seeming to crowd around me even as they shied away from Fyren. The few evolved demons we passed glared at me with undisguised hate in their eyes.

Being the target of hostility wasn’t a new experience, but it had always come from mortals who distrusted my demon blood. I’d already seen several camps of demonkin and cultists around the perimeter of the demon encampment, so shouldn’t the demons see me as an ally? Or... was there a reason, perhaps, why the demonkin were camped separately from the demons?

I heard one, a massive humanoid curse demon made of dripping mud-like shadows, spit something about ”tainted,” which seemed to confirm my latter fear.

The pavilion was large and without walls, letting us see into the heart of the council before we arrived.

A beautifully crafted illusionary map dominated the center, depicting a vast landscape with three-dimensional mountains and tiny trees. I could make out our camp in the center, a thick mass of minuscule black dots, with only the largest demons represented with any sort of distinguishing details. More gatherings or armies of similar scale were dotted around the map, giving an idea of just how massive this swath of land was. Our camp was barely half an inch wide, yet spanned at least a mile in the real world.

A faint black aura highlighted about three-quarters of the visible groups, with the rest colored white. Three of the black armies, including ours, had a rune floating in the air above them. The rune labeling ours was symbolic of curses, leaving the meaning clear. Those other armies must also have apostles in them, and the white could only be Divine forces.

The terrain seemed rough and rugged, much the same as the forested mountains that surrounded us now. Several valleys away, a miniature city posed between two peaks, using them as a natural addition to its intimidating walls. Small forts were erected atop cliffs and mountains around them, acting as sentinels overseeing the city.

The miniature mana cannons atop the walls and forts were hard to miss, tiny as they were on the map. Compared to Brithlite, it was a veritable fortress, though still slightly behind Bluegate City in terms of sheer defensive positions. Not much could beat the high-ground advantage of that particular fortress.

But, if I were being honest, the city didn’t seem that different from the others we’d visited or conquered. While the defenses were powerful against any army, they simply weren’t capable of withstanding high-level individuals. In Enusia’s past, where it was rare for even a single sixth-level warrior to take the field, they would have held any army.

The demon invasion has escalated the power scaling, however, and a single well-placed seventh or eighth-level spell could reduce it all to meaningless rubble. The battle would be decided by whoever ran out of high-level combatants first, not the thousands of weaker soldiers who could only act as cannon fodder.

The individuals present were much more interesting, if less impressive to me, than the magically conjured map dominating the center of the pavilion. Luke stood at the head of the map, his tail flicking back and forth, portraying him deep in thought. My gaze fixed on him for a second, tracing his features, before I looked away, my eyes flicking to the others in the pavilion.

Several other demonkin I didn’t recognize milled around, studying the illusion intently. They all wore mismatched armor and carried weapons strapped to their backs and sides, the magical auras emanating from the gear dull and unrefined compared to their sixth and seventh-level wielders. As Gayron had mentioned, the demonkin were poorly equipped, a stark contrast to the well-provisioned soldiers of the Church.

Only two demons were present. The first was a blade demon, his humanoid form sculpted with a predatory grace similar to Kahlen’s. The other was clearly a curse demon, though unlike the shadowy figures I’d grown accustomed to, this one was distinctly feminine. She was robed in stark white with elegant gold trim, an unsettlingly regal figure. If not for the cruel glint in her eyes and the pair of horns that put any demonkins’ to shame, I might have mistaken her for a high-ranking priestess of the Church. The resemblance was uncanny and sent a shiver down my spine.

My tail stiffened as I looked past the demonkin to the only figure who seemed entirely at ease. Jessia lounged on a simple wooden chair as if it were a throne, one leg kicked casually over the armrest. The pose left her skirt precariously adjusted, showing a near scandalous amount of her thigh. She flashed me a dazzling smile as we entered, one I pointedly ignored, turning to Luke as he noticed us.

”Lord of Ash,” Luke greeted Fyren, his voice surprisingly polite, especially after Jessia’s impolite summons. ”Thank you for heeding my invitation.”

Fyren inclined his head in acknowledgment, letting out a satisfied grunt. Luke’s eyes flickered with surprise as he noticed me lingering behind Fyren, my tail nervously swishing. As our eyes met, a small glimmer of relief in his gaze set my heart aflutter, and I quickly looked away. I couldn’t have failed to notice the excited, if subtle flick of his tail, though he instantly smoothed the emotion over, regaining his composure before anyone could notice.

”Xiviyah,” Luke said, frowning, his voice now carefully neutral. ”I hadn’t heard you’d awakened.”