Chapter 18 – Open Ticket

Edward felt like his heart was going to explode from his chest. “How.. far… do you think.. we’ve gone?” he rasped.

“Not .. far enough” replied Bertrum. Grunts of agreement from squad mates around them. They’d been going at a trot since the battle, the bedraggled force nearly ready to collapse. Ahead, there was only a sparse green treeline between hell and freedom. Whatever had happened today made the entire unholy sand grow leagues in diameter.

Edward looked to his friend. “How many men you reckon we lost?” Using a gloved hand, he wiped the blood and sweat that kept clouding his vision.

Bertrum shook his head, eyes locked forward. “Less than fifty left. Too many gone.”

Thirty. Over thirty dead. Edward was just glad he wasn’t one. Looking behind, he saw the two warhorses trotting along in the rear of the column. Commander Ashlan rode on one, eyes hard and gaze level. The other held the limp and shirtless body of Lieutenant Elson Bredford.

“Formation, damn you! We’re soldiers, not a mob.” barked Ashlan. Edward just kept running. One boot in front of the other.

His eyes paused on the man’s chest. The lieutenant’s chest armor had been cut away, displaying a golden medallion firmly fused to his skin. A grotesque bubbling still made a faint fizzling that could be heard over the jingling armor and panting of men.

It’s not burning anymore, but that sure isn’t coming off. For just a moment, the corporal thought he saw black lines coming off that golden and holy medallion. It seemed like the skin around it was… darkening?

The soldier went back to looking ahead before the commander caught him wavering. Spear still held taut.

“Bertrum.. Is that smell..”

“Yeah. It’s stronger. And it shouldn’t be. Not this far from that place.”

One month. This time, Edward promised himself. He would not come back to this place, no matter the reason. Visions of that beautiful plot of farmland drifted in his mind. Only this time, they were tainted with dying men and screaming demons.

Lord Vask stood atop the cobbled gray stone walls of Fort Wynn. Along the northern horizon, he could just make out smoke peeking over The Spines.

“What do you think that is?”

“Not sure.” He shrugged. “What I do know is that smoke isn’t from a skirmish. Something far more happened, and I get the feeling events are about to get interesting.” Rubbing his chin with one armored finger, he turned and began striding along the palisades.

“Then I’m glad you sent that missive.”

“Aye.” he said simply. He had told his second about his decisions in that respect, but the man’s lack of subtlety was making him second-guess doing so.

Either way, that message should have reached South Valdren a week ago on fresh mounts. The Solari know.

Judging by what I’m seeing, I’m starting to wonder if they will bother with Hallen at all. They may just skip right past the fool and see for themselves what lies beyond The Spines.

City Lord Kairon stood next to Vorathrex, both gazing at the much larger graveyard behind the tower. What once was a lonely stone grave was now a budding forest of grim tombs. From behind, a shadow crept from the wall. It cloaked the demon in a comfortable darkness, keeping the cheer of the morning from getting too close.

The general shifted, still appearing off balance. He caught Kairon staring at the stumps along his torso. “They grow back. Takes time.” He paused. “The plane took more than arms from me, fledgeling.”

No elaboration came, and Kairon didn’t press for it. Instead they both stood. They weren’t friends, but neither were they enemies. A typical working relationship, the demon reflected. Just one with scar tissue.

When he felt the moment had passed, he gave his general one last look before heading off. Kairon walked leisurely through his small city.

His population was already back to normal, seeing to morning work detail.

Another wrath imp had spawned this morning. The little monster had enthusiastically joined his nine surviving brethren in training. Kairon did wonder if the new warrior even knew that training was much more tame than usual. Once Vorathrex is back to normal, I think you may find your new city just a bit more… demanding.

He shrugged. Right now, that wasn’t his concern. Nor was it tomorrow’s. If events went to plan, it never would be. Kairon’s firm belief in the enforcement of middle management would see to that.

Before moving on from the wrath district, one last detail stuck in his mind. Each imp had a spear, belt, and dagger. A disjointed pile of more armor and weaponry still sat off to their side. Kairon nodded in satisfaction, tipping his head towards the mountains. If nothing else, I at least ought to thank you for funding my army for me. Though I should warn you. Next time, you might find the cost of making our acquaintance more than you’re willing to stomach.

Several steps later Kairon halted. Well. That’s curious. By the base of the stones demarcating the spawning circle, there were new markings. He was certain those hadn’t been there before.

Approaching the circle, he raised an eyebrow. Someone tried to copy the demonic scripture. The scratches used, even that poor, were impossible to miss. All of them were both angular and deliberate, the hallmark of the harsh language.

Whoever did it did so badly. It’s the wrong stroke order, barely recognizable if you aren’t looking, but the attempt… Well. Kairon had a hunch about which oaf had tried making it. It’s honestly some wonder he could do it, being he just lost two arms and all. I guess he still had four left.

Bureaucratic autonomy at its finest.

In his own mind, Kairon’s two learned demonic symbols still hovered. They released a pulsating, orange light that lit his mindspace. He could feel that together, they were starting to mean something. Kairon was still learning about demonic scripture, but unlike the human alphabet, he felt it was less about appearance and more about intent.

If I just had one more, this goes from a pair to a trio. And three is enough for a sequence. Which means it might actually mean or do something. That thought brought his eyes back to the charred claw on his hand, and the missing one at his foot.

He pulled up his interface, but this time he didn’t even glance at the city readout. Instead Kairon’s gaze fell on the pact with Vorathrex.

The city lord navigated to the final page and read it one more time. A mix of sadness and certainty returned. Using Sovereign Eye, he looked at his general. He still stood by the graves, a conflicted look in his amber eyes.

Kairon closed the pact, and clicked his tongue. Not yet. But the option is still open. An option that carried a steep price, and one that was increasing the more the big demon proved himself an asset to the city. Yet, demonic or human, one rule never changed. The steeper the price, the bigger the prize.

The numbers that greeted the city lord’s speculative mind were still hard to believe. Five weeks ago, Kairon never would have thought the little imps could have helped him build so much.

And, now that the immediate human enemy was dealt with, it was time to expand. His city was a wound on this human world, and he would ensure it spread far as possible before the hosts even realized just what disease they were dealing with. To Kairon, that was the only way he could ensure not only the survival of his beloved imps, but his own demonic hide as well.

Speaking of reflection… Kairon thought back to how much his life had changed. And, more importantly, the skeletons he’d left behind.

The clerk had spent more than fifty cycles processing and fixing other people’s problems. He’d filed their complaints, resolved their tickets, and closed their cases. And if his managers were to be believed, he’d been good at it. Perhaps the best, even.

But this was the first time that a part of his mind truly began to comprehend a piece of advice his old manager had given him. “The real work, Kairon, isn’t in closing cases. It’s in making sure no one opens one up on you.”

Letting his shoulders loosen and claws relax, the city lord finally made one last admission to himself.

Someone was about to open one on me. Several someones, if I had to guess.

He meant to be ready for that too.

On the far southern tip of the main continent, deep in the Solari Heartland, a bishop of the arch deity sat in worship. Soft palms clasped tight, held calm and steady. The warm sun beamed, lavishing the gardens of the Holy Capital in warmth.

In such an environment, it was easier than ever to sink in meditation and prayer.

Prayer that, with no warning, was broken.

“Bishop! Bishop!” The private garden gate was flung open, a familiar young priest striding through. “I’ve just gotten word. Demons have been sighted, north of Valdren and just past The Spines.”

“Good morning to you too, William.” High Bishop Demetri sighed, letting his meditative prayer slip away as he stood.

“Ah,” the boy rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Sorry, father. I just thought you needed to hear this.”

Demetri pursed his lips. “Oh I heard you. Heaven’s boy, half the blessed garden probably did too.”

At this, William’s cheeks went even redder. He was an unofficial member of Demetri’s intelligence network, after all.

The old priest waved. “Come with me.”

The duo walked in silence, robes trailing on the cobbled path. Not a word was spoken until they reached a secluded gazebo in the southernmost corner of the high gardens.

“Sit, and before you start, think carefully. If what you spoke of earlier was true, I may be asked to recount of what you speak,” cautioned Demetri.

William nodded, took a seat opposite to the bishop, and clasped his hands. “What I said was true, your worship. I got word from our agents in South Valdren. We’ve heard… reports. Unholy reports.”

Demetri hummed thoughtfully, his jeweled hand clasping tight. “And what are these reports?”

“Something perilous is happening in North Valdren. And before you ask, yes, it does look like the Hallen boy is involved.”