Page 19

A flicker of black flame dances over my fingers, tracing demonic runes across the boulder. The air crackles with tension. At last, the wards yield, forming a narrow, shimmering gateway that arcs between the gnarled tree and the stone’s surface. Faint wisps of purple-hued mist seep from the portal.

Valentina takes an uneasy step back. “That’s…some kind of dimensional barrier?”

I grunt in acknowledgment. “An extension of chaos magic. Keep close, or you’ll be sliced to ribbons. My fortress doesn’t welcome uninvited guests.”

She glances between me and the flickering portal. Her reluctance to trust me is palpable, but her shoulders square as she steels herself. “Fine. Lead the way.”

I rise, my horns scraping the low branch overhead, and step through the gateway. The wards part around me like a living curtain of darkness. My entire body hums with familiar power as I cross the threshold. Once on the other side, I turn, beckoning Valentina forward. She clenches her fists, steps in behind me, and for a moment, the portal’s edge crackles across her coat, as if uncertain. Then it grants her passage, sealing shut behind us in a rush of murky air.

The fortress realm unfolds before us, a twisted landscape of swirling black skies and jagged peaks. The ground here is solid stone, pockmarked with obsidian spines that protrude like broken teeth. At the heart stands the stronghold itself, a mass of sprawling towers and spires shaped from dark basalt. The structure leans at precarious angles, as if grown rather than built. Faint veins of infernal light streak the walls, reminiscent of my own molten lines.

Valentina inhales sharply, her gaze roving over the architecture. “You built this place?” she whispers, voice laced with something like awe and dread.

I let a small ripple of satisfaction course through me. “I shaped it from chaos magic, binding the basalt to my will after I was first summoned to Protheka. It’s been a sanctuary—one the elves rarely breach, though they suspect its location.”

“Why not just stay here all the time, then? They can’t reach you,” she mutters. “Why roam Vhoig at their beck and call?”

A surge of anger flares in my chest. “Because my contract forces me to appear when they call. This fortress wards off direct attacks, but the binding compels my soul. If I refuse a summons for too long, the contract punishes me.” I cut off, not wanting to elaborate on the agony of that arcane chokehold. “Come. We’ll find shelter inside.”

She follows me along a twisting path of cracked basalt. Smaller spires loom on either side, connected by precarious bridges of stone. A faint glow seeps from runes etched into the walkways, guiding our steps. As we near the fortress gates, a flicker of movement draws my attention. Shadows shift, coalescing into a hunched figure lurking near the wall.

Valentina tenses, hand drifting to the dagger at her belt. “Something’s there.”

I hold out an arm, halting her. The shape steps forward, revealing itself as a lesser demon: a Zonak. Short and squat, no more than four feet tall, with elongated ears and sallow skin that clings to wiry limbs. Its eyes glow yellow in the gloom, and stubby horns poke from a patchy mane of hair. Zonaks aren’t known for brilliance, but they excel at scuttling in shadows.

It bares jagged teeth, letting out a series of clicks and hisses. I snarl in response, the guttural language more a set of growls than words. The creature immediately lowers itself to a crouch, pressing its forehead to the basalt.

Valentina’s eyes widen. “You have servants here?”

I huff, striding past the Zonak. “Minions, more like. Most of them followed me here from the war-torn rifts of Aerasak, or they were drawn to my power. They linger in the fortress, picking over scraps.” I cast a disdainful glance at the cowering demon. “They pose no threat, so long as they remember who rules.”

She adjusts her grip on the dagger. The Zonak scuttles away, satisfied we’re no danger to it or vice versa. “There are more of these…things?”

“Zonaks, Trolvors, a handful of Dazoneth that roam the lower halls. None challenge me. But they might challenge you if they believe you’re unprotected.” My lips curl. “Stay close. Or they’ll pick you apart to see what your entrails taste like.”

Her expression hardens, but I catch the subtle flicker of nerves. She steps closer to me as we approach the fortress gates—massive doors made of black iron, each etched with demonic sigils. My chaos magic pulses, unlocking them with a thunderous groan. We enter a cavernous courtyard flanked by crooked towers.

The courtyard thrums with latent power. A statue stands at its center, it’s a depiction of a monstrous, winged demon with horns curved like scythes. I shaped it ages ago as a warning to intruders. Its expression is locked in perpetual rage. Valentina gives it a wary glance, hugging her arms around her coat.

Beyond the courtyard, the fortress interior awaits. We cross a threshold of swirling runes that fizzle beneath our feet. High arches form a grand corridor leading deeper inside. Along the stone walls, braziers flicker with ghostly flames—lavender and pale blue—casting dancing shadows. The temperature here is mild, not the freezing cold of outside, but there’s a dryness to the air that catches in my throat.

We advance until the corridor opens into a large chamber with a vaulted ceiling. Spiral staircases climb to upper floors on each side, while passages branch off left and right. At the far end, a dais supports a wickedly carved throne, fashioned from black stone and fused bones. My domain’s heart—where I once sat in solitary vigil, plotting how to break my chains.

Valentina’s gaze lingers on the throne, a flash of revulsion crossing her features. She peels her eyes away and turns to me,standing in the center of this echoing hall. Her voice trembles slightly. “You live here all alone?”

“Not alone,” I correct, scanning the shadows. “My lesser demons come and go. But yes, no one shares this space in any meaningful sense. Most fear me.” I stride toward the dais, letting the familiar environment buoy my confidence. The contract’s oppressive weight feels slightly lighter here, amid wards crafted to blunt the King’s remote power.

She crosses her arms, stepping carefully over cracks in the floor. “I see why the elves don’t attack you outright. This place feels…dangerous, even for them.”

I incline my head, acknowledging the compliment. My domain is dangerous. But some part of me itches at her matter-of-fact tone, as if she’s unimpressed by my accomplishments. I quell the flicker of annoyance. She’s a mortal used to survival on her own terms; awe might not come easily to someone who has never had the luxury of feeling safe.

From the corridor on our left, a shape emerges—a lithe Trolvor demon, seven feet tall, its form reminiscent of a lanky reptile with a sinuous tail and angular head crowned with small horns. It stops short at the sight of us, lips peeling back to reveal fangs. Claws rake the stone, generating a screeching sound.

Valentina stiffens. Her hand drifts to the dagger, but I raise a warning hand. “Stand down,” I command the Trolvor. My voice resonates with authority, backed by the fortress wards. The demon’s eyes flicker with primal intelligence. Then it lowers its head in submission, backing into the shadows.

She exhales the breath she’s been holding. “You weren’t exaggerating.”

“Did you think I would? This stronghold houses many forms of demonkind.” My tone is clipped. “Come—I’ll show you where you can rest.”