The Forsaken Hero

The trace currents of Black Mist grew thicker as we drew into the forest. The trees were dark and wired, their leaves drifting to the ground like autumn fall. We crossed a few corpses of Risen slain by Zephyriss’s demons, leaking visible wisps of black mist. It curled toward us, only to fade away again.

”It’s getting worse,” R’lissea said, frowning as a small stream of mist curled around a few trees, drawn to our souls. ”But why isn’t it touching the demons? It’s supposed to be drawn to life energy.”

”It is,” I said, frowning. ”But it’s hard to see with only the visible part, but that man is drawn right to the center of the horde. But then...it gets lost and disperses. Like water running into oil.”

But no matter how we looked, or how many times, it was the same every time. The black mist perked up, like an animal sniffing our scent, but quickly lost interest. It seemed drawn straight to our heart, to R’lissea, Elise, and me, yet never got farther than brushing the weakest scions.

The mystery remained unsolved a few miles later, when we came across the first village. An evolved storm demon, taking the form of an elderly man with wings of black clouds, took us to the edge of a broad swatch of cleared land. Rows of tilled earth cut between stumps too big to remove, and a few run-down farm houses and barns were situated on the edge, opposite the clearing.

A large dog, resembling a mottled brown wolf, staggered between an old, slanted-roof barn and what looked to be the farmhouse, one of its legs rotting to the bone. One of its eyes was a mess of pussy fluids, the other glowing an eery red. Black Mist swirled around it like a cloud of flies, setting my soul on edge.

Zephyriss hovered nearby, sparks dancing between her fingers. Her eyes were fixed on the Risen animal, but she came to the ground at our appearance.

”Your demon said there was a village?” I asked.

She nodded. ”Just beyond, a half mile or so. There’s a few dozen places like this clustered around it.”

”Where did all the people go?” R’lissea asked. She gripped her skirt so tightly her knuckles were white, and deep, anxious lines creased her forehead.

”My scions picked up a trail leading deeper into the woods, toward the border,” she answered.

”Syvlarus can’t be much father, right?” I asked.

She shrugged. ”I’d have thought we crossed the border by now, but there’s been no sign of elves.” She hesitated, then waved toward the farmhouse. ”Living elves, at least.”

My eyes went wide. ”This is an elvish town? It looks...”

”Normal?” R’lissea gave a forced, wry smile. ”I thought the same thing when I first got here. My world always depicted elves as this graceful, enlightened species, but in this world, they’re just like everyone else. Even their longer life spans mean little when anyone can reach a high enough level to survive a few hundred years.”

”We should have been challenged by now,” Fyren said, speaking for the first time. He stared hard at the forest beyond the farmstead, arms folded sternly. ”Either the elves have surrendered their western border, or...”

”The undead took them all,” Zephyriss finished. ”I suspect it’s a mix of the two. The trail we found must have contained the entire population of the region, some several hundred. I have an evolved demon following it from the sky, so we should have our answer within the hour.”

”Aren’t you worried about it getting infected?” I asked, gesturing to the black mist spilling out of the Risen dog.

”Not particularly. The blessing of Fate protects us,” Zephyriss replied.

”What blessing?” I asked sharply.

She glanced at Fyren, who nodded, and said, ”Fire demons are immune to fire, yes? And storm, lightning?”

I nodded impatiently.

”Then fate demons are no exception.”

”But I thought there weren’t any fate demons. Even if I can call Borealis, Fate said he still wasn’t–”

”A full demon?” Fyren finished, raising an eyebrow. ”It’s true, a full assimilation will take years, even with such close proximity, but as you mentioned, you can already call him. The rest of this horde has been with you for a shorter time, but the weaker scions are already evolving new powers. This particular one, we decided to call the Blessing of Fate. It’s not clear what it does, exactly, but it repels the Black Mist, at least.”

”But Xiviyah said it was still drawn to you,” R’lissea said, pursing her lips.

Realization struck me hard, and I turned to her and Elise. ”No, it’s not. It’s drawn to us. The demons are just standing in the way!”

Fyren nodded. ”That’s what I think, too. Whatever this blessing does, it consumes the undead mana itself. It reminds me of your ability, actually.”

Zephyriss’s eyes glittered. ”I’m excited to see how it develops. Can you imagine if an entire horde of demons possessed that kind of strength? We’d be unstoppable!”

Elise groaned, rubbing her head. ”Maybe it was good that demons never got fate in the first place.”

I turned back to Fyren, my scowl slipping as curiosity bubbled up inside me. ”Oh, that reminds me. I was meaning to ask Fate, but never had a chance. If the gods got a unique attribute, did the demons, too?”

Fyren stiffened, his eyes narrowing. His expression loosened in a flash, smoothed into the tranquility he typically wore. The change was so fast I might have imagined it, save for the fact that the burst of intensity had startled me so much my tail trembled long after he regained his composure.

”There is,” he said, perfectly neutral. ”But it hardly bears relevance now. We should focus on breaking through the undead. Zephyriss, would you do the honors of purging this village? We’ve lingered here too long.”

”Finally, some action,” the storm demon said.

She rocketed into the air, releasing a miniature wave of compressed air in her wake. It tousled my hair behind me, but I barely felt the breeze, my gaze fixed on Fyren. A unique emperor, as powerful and enigmatic as fate herself. Just what kind of power might they wield, and what would make Fyren react that way? Had that been...fear? Or...

A series of explosions scattered my thoughts. Lightning rained from the sky, falling amongst the forest ahead of us. Bursts of light and fire rose into the sky, consuming swatches of hidden fields and homes for miles ahead of us. Shockwaves of lightning mana rolled off Adaptive Resistance, reduced to gentle breezes. I was curious to note that a similar phenomenon occurred in the scions closest to the blasts, though the evolved demons were torn and tousled, forced to hunker close to the ground or be thrown away.

A particularly powerful bolt of lightning, bearing the mana of a seventh-level attack, arced into the middle of the farmstead in front of us. The ground bucked beneath us as it landed directly atop the Risen animal and detonated with a thunderous roar. Everything went silent, save for a piercing ringing in my ears, as the world turned white. Starbursts exploded behind my tightly shut eyelids, burning white spots into my vision.

Wincing in pain, I clutched my ears and whispered a healing spell. Life magic flowed across me, soothing my senses. When I could see and hear again, I blinked my eyes open, rubbing away a few tears.

The farm was gone, replaced by a charred crater close to thirty feet deep. Only the far edges of the far, just a few feet from where we stood, remained. The heads of the spring growth sizzled and burned, flattened to the ground like an army had tramped over them. Whatever remained of the buildings had been broken into shards and turned into shrapnel, and now littered the ground for five hundred feet around the crater.

”That’s a lot of lighting,” Elise said in a small voice, huddled against Fable’s back.

R’lissea nodded, looking a tad uncertain herself. ”She’s a demon lord, after all.”

When the last bolt had fallen, Zephyriss streaked back toward us. She came in with a graceful flip, her wings humming with ambient lightning.

”Not a single Risen left,” she said with a self-satisfied smile.

”But the Black Mist is still here,” R’lissea said, frowning at the shattered forest ahead of us.

The forest had been too thick to see more than a few paces ahead before, but the lightning storm had broken the ancient boughs. Smoking craters tore trunks, branches, and undergrowth apart, giving glimpses to more devastated farms and a few clusters of burning homes. Any corpse had been blown apart, but trails of black Mist lingered behind, gradually wafting toward the nearest living things--us.

”Just like before,” I murmured, glancing at Fyren.

He nodded. ”It seems it takes more than raw power to erase it. No wonder the elves surrendered their border. They’re likely as clueless about it as we are.”

As we followed Zephyriss to the mass of flattened forest marking where Zephyriss’s were tracking the departed Rise, treading over the ashes of the elvish village, R’lissea’s gaze lingered. Her mouth firmed in a thin line, and her fists clenched in her lap.

”I’ll find a way,” she whispered fiercely. ”I’ll stop you, Connor. I promise.”