The Forsaken Hero

I hesitated at Korra’s declaration, wondering whether I’d heard her correctly. We were in a fierce battle with demons, where she could get hurt or killed, yet she refused the spell that would assure her safety? My senses were still somewhat scrambled so she might have meant something else, and I should still–

”I got this,” Korra’s voice came again, accompanied by a big smile, as sure as if she knew my thoughts.

My tail swished across Fable’s fur, filled with nervous energy. She was strong and confident, of that there was no doubt, but I knew better than to underestimate demons. The fourth-level evolved demon she faced was stronger than the one Fable sent flying, made of large, broadsword-like blades instead of daggers. A single hit from one of its gleaming limbs would cause serious damage, perhaps killing or maiming outright.

Despite the threat, Korra’s lip curled into a smile. The scions, in their mindless lust for power, had abandoned her for me and Fable, leaving her free to focus all her attention on the evolved demon. It wasn’t until her soul blazed with power, sending streams of water mana curling around her forearms, that I noticed how close she was to breaking through to fifth level. Had this been her plan all along?

A sudden scream–this time human–pierced the air. My head whipped over, eyes landing on one of the few homes that remained untouched by the demons. A third-level scion, just powerful enough to resist the allure of my soul, held a bearded man in his grip. The man writhed in pain, clutching feebly at the claw jutting from his chest. Blood ran down his body in thick rivulets, staining his simple white tunic and leather breeches red. A shattered pitchfork lay trampled beneath the scion’s claws.

The demon’s mana flowed into him, and his soul, vibrant moments before, withered like an autumn leaf. For the briefest of moments, he was in pain, but even that soon faded, followed by a numbing hollowness. Each shred of his soul that vanished into the scion’s gaping maw seemed to steal a piece of his personality and emotion, his unique light, until all that remained was a shadow where a man once stood.

I covered my mouth, suppressing a horrified gasp, as a chill crept down my spine and tail. In all my battles with demons, I’d never once fully witnessed this grisly scene, the true purpose of the demonic invasion of Enusia. It was revolting, yet also fascinating, in a sick, twisted way. The demon had literally consumed his soul, transforming it into raw, infernal mana it used to supplement its own strength. I had known it was possible, but seeing it in person...

Its prey dead, the scion turned to the doorway of the home, where a woman watched, frozen in horror. She clasped a child in her arms, a young boy no more than two or three. The demon advanced on them quickly, silver blades dripping in the blood of their loved one.

With a strangled cry, I tore my gaze from the corpse, unable to watch a moment longer. Korra could handle herself for now, she didn’t need me to watch over her, not when there were people to protect. It was the reason we responded in the first place.

”Earth Wall!”

The ground shuddered as several tons of earth and stone erupted from the ground, forming a concave curtain around the demon. My first instinct had been to use a Fire Wall, but the monsters were insane, having proven themselves more than willing to throw themselves through the flames to reach their prey. Urging Fable forward, we leaped forward, clearing the distance in an instant.

Unaware of our approach, the demon crashed headlong into the wall, sending a thin hairline crack up the stone. Rebounding, it shook its head and let out a metallic screech, whipping about to find who had frustrated its hunt. Its blue-gray pupils shrunk as it stared up into Fable’s menacing gaze, the screech dwindling to the barest of whines.

With little ceremony, Fable brought a heavy paw down, crushing the scion as though he were stepping on a bug. The creature gurgled a final shriek as its spine snapped, the light fading from its eyes.

The faint cries of a child echoed behind the wall, but there was no time to check to see if they were alright. In killing the scion, we found ourselves in the middle of the village, again surrounded by demons. They streamed from all directions, drawn to my soul like moths to a flame. Though my vision remained hazy at a distance, I could make out the distorted figures of villagers scrambling from their homes in all directions, fleeing the demons who had them all but cornered a second ago.

As the closest scions lunged forward, Fable spun around, raking his claws in a circle about us. Gleaming trails of starlight swept behind the tips of his claws, swirling out in a circle of glimmering death. Demons split apart like overripe fruit, dismembered by the barest scrape of his massive claws. The lucky ones practically exploded in showers of silver blood, their deaths near instantaneous, but the ones further away ended up dismembered on the ground, drowning in their own fluids.

The attack traveled almost thirty feet before it dissipated. It didn’t spare the structures either, cleanly cleaving through wood and stone as easily as it had demon scale. Demon cries rose again as the damaged structures collapsed, burying many of the survivors in an avalanche of rubble.

”Good work,” I murmured, stroking Fable’s neck. Then, raising my staff, I cast the fourth-circle spell Detect Presence, finding the nearest group of demons. ”Let’s get the rest of these cleaned up.”

Fable threw back his head and howled, setting my heart racing, and bounded forward. His massive size made avoiding the burning buildings difficult, but to someone as powerful as he, something as tame as a mere house fire had little chance of being noticed, much less harmful. Ash and smoke billowed about his feet as he crushed right through it all, paving a trail of destruction in his wake.

The village was fairly large, with perhaps three or four hundred buildings. The demons had all but razed the side we arrived in, but, after clearing several more groups of demons, we found the villagers barricaded in the town square. They were white-faced with panic, their legs shaking, but their faces held fierce resolve. Wagons had been drawn up in front of the roads, the cracks stuffed with barrels, boxes, and anything else that happened to be lying around. Those who could fight carried a wide assortment of weapons, from old heirloom blades to makeshift pitchfork spears. Behind the line, women and children, and those too hurt to stand huddled together, eyes hollow with fear.

Fable’s appearance sent a ripple of screams through the humans. They backed away, hands trembling so badly that their weapons visibly shook.

”Down, Fable,” I called.

He stared hard at the villagers for a moment, wariness seeping through our bond, lips curled in the makings of a snarl. The villagers backed away, abandoning their makeshift wall, desperately trying to maintain some smidgen of a battle line.

”I’ll be fine,” I murmured, stroking his neck. ”I just need to talk to them.”

Reluctantly, Fable lowered himself to the ground, allowing me to slide down his back. It was still higher than I liked, and I landed a bit unsteadily, but with a stabilizing step, I kept my balance. The villagers stared at me, gazes lingering on my tail and horns, eyes wide with fear. Motioning behind my back, I ordered Fable to shrink and approached the wagons.

Wood creaked behind the wall as several villagers drew bows, and I raised my hands soothingly.

”Wait, I’m here to help. I’m an adventurer from Brithlite, and this is my companion, Fable.” I turned, glaring at Fable until he whined and complied with my earlier command. As he shrunk, the ensuing storm of stars earned several gasps from the villagers. ”See?” I asked, turning back to the humans, ”it was just a spell that made him bigger and stronger.”

A grizzled, middle-aged man took a cautious step forward, climbing atop a wagon to get a better look at me. He had short, gray hair and wore a vest of chainmail bound together with worn leather straps. He was one of the few to possess an actual weapon, an old, polished long sword with a simple cross guard. There was a long, bloody cut across his forearm and another on his thigh.

”An adventurer?”

I nodded, still keeping my hands up, conscious of the bows still trained on my chest. ”Yes, from Brithlite. My friend is still fighting one of the evolved demons outside the town, but the rest should be taken care of. Is everyone alright here?”

”You’re a demonkin,” the man practically spat.

I flinched, the words feeling like a slap on the face. It shouldn’t have, it was hardly the first time I’d been disparaged after saving someone, but after the acceptance I found in Heartland, the racial hatred felt fresh and new. It hurt almost as the first time, when I tried to save the villagers from the basilisk’s curse, and even the boy, whose sister I saved, refused to look at me.

”Please, we just want to help. I’m a healer.”

His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me from head to toe before he glanced back inside the wall. He conversed with someone behind the wagons in a voice too low for me to make out, before letting out a long sigh.

”Very well. Hard to complain about a mere filthblood when actual demons are raging around. But that wolf stays outside.”