No, there was no going back for him, not now. His only path was forward, to see this through to the end. He had made his choice, and now he would have to live with the consequences, whatever they might be.
Despite the devastation, the town square brimmed with frenzied activity. Demon soldiers swarmed over the wreckage, looting and plundering with savage glee. The town’s residents had fled, their screams echoing in the distance, and some unruly wraiths and implings chased after them, but the commanding demons paid them no mind. They were too caught up in the heady rush of victory, their eyes burning with savage glee as they tore the town apart.
Malekith watched it all with a strained smile on his face, his gaze distant. He sat on a makeshift throne of shattered stone, the mangled body of a human defender at his feet as General Vezera reported to him on their initial assessment of the town. Aric’s stomach turned at the sight, but he forced himself to keep his face blank, to play his part. He was Malekith’s pet human and nothing more. He was only a traitor, as far as the rest of the armies were concerned. He could not betray any other motive.
After permitting this, no one would believe it anyhow.
Aric approached Malekith and Vezera, and Vezera straightened with a nod and a clearing of her throat. “I’ll deliver your orders to my lieutenants and report back,” she said to Malekith, then trotted off to give them space.
Malekith watched Aric with a heavy stare. Aric wanted to believe Malekith felt the same conflict currently ravaging his heart. he wanted it so badly. But how could he be sure?
“Solarian,” Malekith said.
None of the kindness, the concern, the sweet pet names and tender mercies he’d shown him the night before. Was it for the eyes and ears all around them, or only for himself?
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Aric asked, keeping his voice low. “A chance to show your strength, to prove to your people that you are worthy of the crown.”
Malekith flinched, his eyes dark. “Do not presume to know my mind, little mage.”
Aric braced himself, but Malekith made no move to strike him. He only sighed, his shoulders slumping.
“I hoped there would be another way,” Malekith said, so softly that Aric could barely hear him over the chaos. “A path that did not run red with blood. But the demon lords are a fickle lot. They required a show of force, and it is my honor and pleasure as the remaining prince of House Ixion to give it to them.”
Aric followed Malekith’s gaze, taking in the carnage around them. There were bodies everywhere, the streets slick with blood. The demons had taken the town, but at what cost? The human defenders had not gone down against a fight they were ill prepared for without their wards, and their fury still lingered in the air, a bitter taste on the wind.
Aric’s gaze strayed to Vizra, who loped through the streets with a gore-glutted blade, a hungry look in her eyes. She caught Aric’s eye and smirked, a silent promise of pain. She was biding her time, he knew, waiting for the perfect moment to strike at him and Malekith, to show her dominance. And now that she had seen the town’s fall for herself, she would not have to wait long.
As Aric scanned the crowd, he caught sight of clusters of demons huddled together, their voices low and furtive. They cast uneasy glances at Malekith and Vizra, and a shiver of foreboding ran down Aric’s spine. The demon army might have dismantled the first ward station and seized Drindal, but the victory was far from certain for House Ixion. The political fault lines that Malekith had warned him about were already beginning to crack open, and if the demon lords turned on each other now, it would only be a matter of time before the humans saw their chance.
Aric’s mind raced with possibilities, but before he could formulate a plan, a trio of lesser demons approached, their taloned hands laden with plundered food and drink. With a silent exchange, they set the offerings at Aric and Malekith’s feet before retreating, leaving the two of them alone.
A roast pig, its skin glistening with fat, and its head still attached, red eyes staring at them like a curse. A platter of skewered meats, still twitching and oozing as the demon blood magic held them in an uncooked state. A salad of wilted leaves and bitter herbs that did nothing to mask the stink of carnage that hung in the air.
“Please, eat,” Malekith said, with a cruel smile. “I’m told it is a delicacy in your realm.”
Aric’s stomach lurched, and he fought back the taste of bile in his mouth. “I—I’m not hungry.”
Malekith’s eyes flashed, a warning. “I would not want you to forget where your loyalties lie, human.” He waved a hand at the feast before them, but Aric saw behind what he was gesturing toward—the eyes of countless demons, watching them expectantly. “Surely you can find something to sustain you.”
Aric’s mind raced. He couldn’t afford to make any missteps now, not when any chance at salvaging this devastation he’d wrought hung in the balance. But the food before him might as well have been laced with poison, for all he could bring himself to reach for it.
“Apologies, my lord,” Aric said, forcing his voice to stay steady. “I am . . . unaccustomed to such . . . exotic fare.”
He could practically hear his own teeth grinding, but to Aric’s relief, Malekith only chuckled. “A fair point. I suppose our chefs can only offer a pale imitation of true human cuisine. Perhaps one day you will have the chance to show us how to prepare it properly.”
Aric said nothing, his jaw clenched tight, and after a moment, Malekith turned away from him to address his court. The demons looked up from their ravaging, felhounds lifting blood-streaked snouts, winged imps flitting down from their perches on the gables of the town square. General Vezera stood to one side with the lieutenants of House Ixion, while Karthax, streaked in blood and sweat, waited expectantly with Vizra’s guards.
“My friends, my loyal subjects,” Malekith said, his voice ringing out over the crowd. “Today is a day of victory, of triumph for the demon people. We have taken the first step on the long road to the human world’s haert, but there is still much to be done.”
The crowd let out a deafening roar, their voices blending together in a terrifying symphony. Aric’s heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the plaza, the firelight casting long shadows across the broken stonework. He caught sight of human prisoners being dragged forward, their hands bound, and tried to look away, but it was no use.
“Every step we take brings us closer to our goal,” Malekith said. “But we must remain vigilant. The humans are a cunning and tenacious foe, and they will not give up without a fight. So let us show them fully why their defenses are futile. Let us march onward. To Brenville and beyond. To the heart of Astaria!”
More cheering, and Aric felt like he was drowning in it. He couldn’t let himself forget why he was here, why he had made this terrible bargain. He was here to protect the human realm, by any means necessary. Even if it meant playing this deadly game.
But as the feast stretched on, the stench of roasting meat thick in the air, Aric found he could not bring himself to take a single bite. He was losing track of the time, the days melting together in a hazy, sleep-deprived fog. A hand closed around Aric’s wrist, and he flinched, his heart lurching. But it was only Malekith, his face carefully neutral.
Malekith leaned in close, his breath hot against Aric’s ear. “There are human prisoners below,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the raucous celebration. “In cells beneath the square.”
As Malekith spoke, Aric felt a subtle shift in the air around him. The sigils on his wrist bracers, which had been cold and unyielding for so long, seemed to warm ever so slightly. A faint tingle of magic, like a whisper of wind on his skin, brushed against his senses.
Aric’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. Malekith had loosened the magical restrictions, just enough to allow a trickle of power through. The meaning was clear: if Aric could find a way, he was to free those prisoners.
He met Malekith’s gaze, searching for confirmation. Malekith’s face remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something in his dark eyes—a challenge, perhaps, or a test. Aric gave an almost imperceptible nod, his mind already racing with possibilities. Malekith nodded towards the edge of the plaza, and Aric understood.
Aric rose from his seat, and he swayed on unsteady feet as the blood rushed back to his head. Malekith’s fingers tightened around his wrist, steadying him, and for a fleeting instant, Aric allowed himself to imagine a different world. But the moment passed, and Aric forced himself to focus on the task at hand.
Aric headed to the outskirts of the plaza and down a level from the central fountain, where a group of shadow demons stood watch. They nodded to Aric, their eyes glazed as if with some kind of ensorcellment, and Aric slipped into the night, the sounds of the feast fading behind him.
The streets of the town were cloaked in darkness, the only light the sickly green flames that danced in the sconces. Aric tried to move quickly, his senses on high alert. He passed through the town’s outer defenses, and soon he was in the heart of the demon camp, the shadowy forms of the army stretched out around him.
Aric’s skin itched with the urge to cast a spell, but he forced himself to hold back. Finally, he reached a heavily guarded building, and the demons on watch nodded before letting him pass.
Aric’s heart raced as he approached the guarded building. The trickle of magic Malekith had allowed him burned like liquid fire in his veins, unfamiliar and intoxicating. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.
With a subtle flick of his wrist, Aric wove a thread of demonic energy into the air. It coalesced into a faint, shimmering mirage—the ghostly outline of a human figure darting between shadows at the edge of the guards’ vision.
The effect was immediate. The demons’ heads snapped up, nostrils flaring as they caught the scent of illusory prey. Without a word, they abandoned their posts, loping off into the darkness with predatory grace.
