The Forsaken Hero

I was free. The thought was slow and lethargic, rising hesitantly in my mind like the morning sun over the horizon. I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe it, and constantly touched the smooth, pale skin of my chest, running my fingers over the spaces scarlet lines had once occupied. Tears slipped free of my eyes, warm and unnoticed, as reality finally sank in.

But at what cost? The thrills of relief faded as my gaze fell on the slumped corpse before me, and the staff pulsing warmly in my hand. I gripped it tightly, squeezing my eyes shut in transitory anger. Why hadn’t Fate come sooner? Why did Aurle have to die?

But the sparks were short-lived, and I sighed, letting it all out. Aurle hadn’t died. She’d been killed. Her sweet, previous life was stolen by the man I loathed above all others. He was responsible for the last months of unbearable torture and humiliation.

The staff hummed angrily, reflecting my mood. Fate’s divinity flowed into me, strengthening my limbs and allowing me to stagger to my feet. The power, which had felt as endless as an ocean, was starting to dwindle, slowly leaking away. My time was short.

The room was abandoned, filled with corpses and empty cages. I knelt and rested a hand on Aurle’s cheek one last time before closing her eyes and standing.

”Thank you,” I whispered softly. ”You wanted me to live, to be free, and that’s what I’m going to do. But first...”

The staff felt light in my grip and shivered in anticipation as my hand tightened around it. My exhaustion and sorrow could have been crippling, but none of that mattered. The divinity drew me onward, guiding my steps and filling me with a mysterious sense of purpose. It tugged at me like fate itself, and perhaps it was.

Climbing the last stair, I paused, startled, as I came face to face with fifty soldiers. They crowded the mansion, bristling with spears and holding loaded crossbows leveled at my chest. Lord Byron stood in the forefront, holding a magical sword with fourth-circle enchantments.

”Kneel, girl,” he commanded, ”and perhaps I’ll spare your life. You’re trapped and alone, without anyone to turn to. I know you can’t fight, and if you try, I’ll allow every single one of these men to use you before the end.”

A lustful rumble of approval rippled through the small army, and I could feel their eager gazes crawling all over me. I felt vulnerable, naked, as though the dress I wore was clear as glass.

But even as my every instinct screamed for me to run, or to at least shy away, I found myself glaring at them. The world filled with stars again and their secrets were laid bare. The soldiers were second to fourth level. Lord Byron himself was only third, but that wasn’t terribly unexpected. Most noblemen lacked the time for the extensive training it required to grow truly powerful.

I reached for mana, but froze as a painful tremor wracked my body. The fragments of my soul blazed with white-hot fury, soothed only as Fate’s divinity flowed over. I opened my eyes to the lewd leers of the soldiers.

”Even without the slave crest, you’re helpless,” Lord Byron said, easing into a confident swagger. ”Your soul was shattered long ago, and this new, experimental slave crest kept it from ever recovering. After all of these months, not even the Pope himself could muster up enough magic to light a candle. Now, give me the staff.”

I backed away, clutching the staff protectively against my chest. My abilities were functioning full force, but without my mana, I was helpless against the mundane steel of the soldiers.

The staff seemed to react to my apprehensiveness, practically shivering with fury. As the soldier advanced, cold gauntlets groping toward me, the earth began to shake again. A translucent shockwave surged out of the crystal on the top, passing through the soldiers and mansions as though they weren’t there.

Nothing happened for a moment, but then the strands of fate reacted, shivering like a spiderweb beneath a struggling flies. The soldiers paused, hesitating, as black cracks spread throughout the world.

I gasped, my chest tightening, as I recognized the phenomena. It was the same fracturing that happened when a gate broke, and the dimensional walls collapsed. But why was that happening here? What had the staff done that seemed to tear reality itself apart?

A soldier screamed as one of the black cracks snaked through his chest, splitting him apart. It wasn’t a cut, nor was there any blood. His chest simply vanished, and he stared open-mouth as his torso fell into the crack, disappearing armor and all. His lower half stumbled around for a moment, and then fell to the ground. And only then did the blood flow, spurting out of his legs in a gory flow.

The cracks consumed several more soldiers before their progress slowed. I let out a deep sigh of relief as they began to retract, and the weave of fate stabilized itself. The presence of the staff felt much weaker, with almost all of the gathered divinity draining away at once. It was an endless tide of power transcending even that of ninth-circle spells. Just what had it done?

Before anyone could wonder what had happened, the mansion creaked. During the brief seconds of spatial distortion, the cracks had devoured many supports and walls. Dust and debris rained from the ceiling as the upper levels collapsed. Screams floated through the air as servants, slaves, and nobles were buried alive. If not for the sturdy warehouse design of the mansion, the entire thing might have collapsed at once.

”Kill her!” Byron commanded, quickly backing away.

His men glanced at him, dumbfounded, as he turned and ran, escaping the building. They turned back to me, eyes raking over my small, vulnerable form, and then back up at the collapsing roof. It didn’t take long for them to decide what the bigger threat was.

After waiting for them to leave, I followed after, jumping at every shadow, expecting some particularly malicious soldier to jump out at me. But, fortunately, the entire place was abandoned, and I struggled through the clouds of dust to the cobbled courtyard outside.

The entire city was shaken, having been struck by the same dimensional destabilization. Nobles, slaves, and commoners mixed, staring and pointing at the sky.

”Impossible!” Byron whispered.

I froze, finding him only a few dozen feet away, and quickly backed up. But he seemed to have lost interest in me, his attention lost in the sky. Tentatively, I followed his gaze and my tail stiffened in shock. A massive flux of energy swirled above the city, looming over the island, so large it spanned the entire river from bank to bank. A Demon Gate!

It was transient and translucent, almost insubstantial, even, but undoubtedly a Demon Gate. The realization sent shivers down my spine, and I drew on the Eyes of Fate, analyzing it. Judging by the progress of the gate, it was scarcely an hour away from breaking, even closer than the Ice Gate had been. Not only that, but it was far larger too, looming over the island and spanning the entire length of the river from bank to bank.

The sheer size of it was beyond anything I’d heard of before, dwarfing the sixth-level gates by many times. Waves of power emanated from its swarming depths, blasting over the city like a hurricane. The distant screams of the town on either side of the river floated over the seething waters, churned into whirlpools by errant energy.

Strangely, the gate held no infernal mana. The wisps curling from the circle held ordinary mana, following the order the gods set. Demons used infernal energy as a power source to breach the dimensional walls of the world, which left me with a disconcerting sense of uncertainty. Just what was on the other side of that gate?

Pushing away those thoughts, I slipped out of the mansion courtyard. I didn’t know where I was going, just that I had to get away while they were distracted. My crimson hair and demonkin features should have drawn the eye of every man woman and child, but I stumbled across the bridge without so much as a second glance. The majestic power of the gate held them infatuated, and rightly so. The moment it broke, the entire city would be devoured by a demon horde.

The moment I set foot on the other side, a flash of energy snaked out of the gate, smashing into a dockside warehouse below. Fortunately, the mana was clean of corruption, but the ensuing explosion consumed an entire city block. The shockwave swept over me a moment later, accompanied by a deafening blast.

I covered my ears, sheltering against a nearby wall, until the cacophony died down, then continued down the crowded road. I should have been blindly wandering, but the presence of the staff directed my footsteps. It was all I could do to remain conscious and put one foot in front of another. Just holding the staff took all of my strength, and before I knew it, I stumbled into someone.

”S-sorry,” I whispered, rebounding erratically.

”Hero?”

I glanced up, startled awake, at the familiar voice. It was a handsome, middle-aged priest with a warm smile and intelligent eyes. He greeted me as a friend, stirring vague memories, but the last few months of torment left everything feeling blurred.

I tried to apologize and back away, intending to escape before anyone asked dangerous questions, but he caught my wrist.

”Are you alright? You’re so thin, and you’re hurt all over! Are these whip scars?” he cried, squeezing my bony wrist.

I tried to pull away, but his grip was far stronger than what little strength I had left. He must have caught sight of the desperation in my eyes because he quickly relaxed and let me go. After I realized the staff held no ill will toward him, I listened and calmed down, soothed by his gentle words.

”Don’t you remember me?” he asked, ”It’s me, Rodrick.”