The demon soldiers nearest him hesitated, heads swiveling towards the illusory threat. Seizing the moment of confusion, Aric gestured frantically at the trapped humans, willing them to understand. Relief flooded through him as comprehension dawned on their faces. They inched along the cliff face, edging towards a narrow crevice barely visible in the rock.
Aric held his breath as the last soldier disappeared into the hidden passage. A mixture of guilt and triumph warred within him. He had saved them, but at what cost to his own precarious position?
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Aric turned, his stomach plummeting as he met the burning gaze of Karthax. The demon general’s massive form loomed over him, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Aric schooled his features into a mask of cool indifference, willing his racing heart to slow. He met Karthax’s stare, refusing to look away even as cold sweat beaded on his brow. The demon’s nostrils flared, as if scenting the air for the stench of betrayal.
An eternity seemed to pass in those few heartbeats. Aric’s fingers twitched, his instincts ready to summon his magic if Karthax made a move, though he knew it wouldn’t answer him. But the hulking demon merely grunted, turning his attention back to the battle at hand.
Aric released a shaky breath, relief washing over him in a dizzying wave.
But his relief was short-lived. Vizra’s renewed assault had worked: the humans were retreating now, and the forces Malekith had called back up the pass now seemed premature in their retreat. A victory for Vizra, albeit a costly one. Although the demons had been pushed back into the mountain clearing they had entered into from the portal, it was with the human defenders’ ranks decimated.
The last echoes of battle faded, leaving an eerie silence in their wake. Aric stood amidst the aftermath, his eyes sweeping over the carnage that painted the mountain pass in shades of crimson and despair. The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of fear.
Demon soldiers raised their voices in triumphant howls, the sound grating against Aric’s ears like rusted blades. Malekith moved through the battlefield, his face a mask of grim determination as he assessed the cost of their victory. Malekith’s eyes were shadowed, his jaw clenched tight as he took in the bodies strewn across the rocky ground—demon and human alike.
Vizra’s voice cut through the din, sharp and self-congratulatory. “Did you see how we crushed their flank?” she crowed, preening before her remaining troops. “They never stood a chance against our might!”
But beneath her bravado, Aric sensed a current of unease. He looked between the demon soldiers, catching fragments of hushed conversations that drifted on the wind.
“. . . could have been avoided,” one demon muttered, his words barely audible.
“. . . Malekith saved us,” another whispered, casting a furtive glance at the demon prince.
“. . . Vizra’s fault we were ambushed . . .” The words slithered through the ranks, a poisonous seed taking root.
Aric’s hands shook as he clenched them at his sides, guilt a leaden weight in his chest. He had played his part in this massacre, had helped orchestrate this “triumph” that felt more like ash in his mouth. The faces of the humans he had saved—and the countless more he couldn’t—haunted him, their accusing eyes boring into his soul.
He watched as Malekith drifted across the blood-soaked ground. In that moment, Aric saw his own turmoil reflected in the demon prince’s eyes—the weight of command, the burden of choices made and lives lost. A silent understanding passed between them, a shared knowledge of the true cost of this victory.
As the demon army began to regroup, preparing for the next phase of their campaign, Aric couldn’t shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted. The seeds of doubt had been planted, promising a harvest of discord within the demon ranks. He only hoped that when the time came, he and Malekith would be ready to reap what they had sown.
The demon armies quickly set to work fortifying the trailhead of the pass where they’d taken the portal in to, establishing a base of operations to strike at Drindal anew once they were able to reestablish the portal and bring the rest of the forces through. Aric did his best to stay out of their way as the tents were raised, gruesome siege weaponry maintained, and felhounds fed with the limbs of the fallen. He wandered the camp’s perimeter, encountering watchful, suspicious glares all the while, but otherwise left in relative peace.
Finally, once the campsite began to die down, Aric slipped into Malekith’s tent, his footsteps muffled by the plush rugs covering the ground. The air inside was thick with the scent of incense and old parchment, a stark contrast to the stench of death that permeated the camp outside.
Malekith stood hunched over a makeshift war table, his lean form casting long shadows in the flickering magelight. Maps and battle reports were strewn across the surface, covered in scrawled notes and hastily drawn symbols. The demon prince’s face was a mask of concentration, his dark eyes scanning the documents with an intensity that seemed to burn through the paper.
Aric hesitated, struck by the weariness etched into Malekith’s features. The victory had taken its toll, leaving behind a palpable unease that hung in the air like a shroud.
“You should be resting,” Aric said softly, breaking the silence.
Malekith’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Aric with startling speed. For a moment, something raw and vulnerable flashed across his face before his usual mask of cool control slid back into place.
“There’s no time for rest,” Malekith replied, his voice low and rough. “Vizra won’t take this setback lightly. We need to be prepared for her next move.”
Aric moved closer, his eyes scanning the maps spread before them. “You think she’ll try to undermine us as we march onward to Drindal proper?”
A humorless smile tugged at Malekith’s lips. “I’d be disappointed if she didn’t. It’s what I would do in her position.”
Malekith’s fingers traced a path along the map, following the route of their planned advance. “She’ll be looking for any weakness, any opportunity to turn this victory against us. We can’t afford to give her one.”
Aric felt a chill run through him, remembering Vizra’s venomous words from earlier. “She suspects me,” he said quietly. “She thinks I’m the key to bringing you down.”
Malekith was silent for a long moment, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the table’s edge. “We’ll need to be more careful,” he said at last. “Vizra’s ambitious, but she’s not foolish. If she openly threatens you, it means she believes she has support.”
Aric nodded, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. “What do we do?”
Malekith’s gaze softened slightly as he looked at Aric. “We do what we’ve been doing. We stay one step ahead. We watch each other’s backs. And we trust no one but ourselves.”
Aric stood rigid as Malekith’s claws traced his jawline, the demon’s touch sending shivers over his flesh. The night’s events bore down on him, the clash of emotions reflected in his stormy gray-blue eyes. Facing his people as their enemy had been agonizing, and he felt their accusing stares crawling over his skin even now.
“It couldn’t have been easy,” Malekith murmured, his voice a low hum as he drew Aric closer. “To see them, to know . . .” He trailed off, his gaze softening with understanding.
Aric’s throat tightened with unshed tears. “I just want to forget,” he rasped, his voice ragged with exhaustion and pent-up emotion. “If only for a little while.”
Malekith’s expression was unreadable, his dark eyes holding a myriad of secrets. “I can help you with that,” he said.
Aric’s breath hitched as Malekith began to undress him, his movements slow and deliberate. The demon’s touch was gentle, nothing like the endless cruelty and savagery of the battlefield. Each caress was a whisper against Aric’s skin, sending shivers of desire through him.
As Malekith kissed the newly exposed skin, Aric closed his eyes, surrendering to the sensations. The demon’s lips were soft and insistent, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He felt himself being gently guided backward, until the backs of his legs hit the edge of the camp bed. With a gentle push, Malekith urged him to sit, and Aric complied, his body boneless with desire.
Malekith continued his slow seduction, undressing Aric with deliberate care. He kissed each inch of exposed skin, his lips and tongue a source of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Aric’s breath quickened, his heart pounding in his chest as he arched into the demon’s touch.
When Aric was completely naked, Malekith paused, taking in the sight of him with dark, smoldering eyes. Then, with a gentle hand, he guided Aric back onto the bed, following him down. Their bodies aligned, skin against skin, and Aric shuddered as he felt the full length of Malekith pressed against him.
