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He turns his head, and I catch the glint of fangs in the flicker of greenish fire. His face is all harsh angles and lethal grace, crowned by midnight-blue hair bound haphazardly behind those imposing horns. The left horn is jagged and chipped, as though shattered in battle. The right curves back in a menacing arc. I realize with a jolt that I’ve heard rumors of this demon. Malphas, the warlord bound to King Grymlock.

His eyes snap open, revealing glowing crimson irises with slit pupils like a beast’s. That gaze fastens on me instantly, pinning me in place. It’s a stare that speaks of countless battles and an unquenchable hunger.

For a moment, we stand frozen in the silence, demon and human locked in mutual shock. Then the robed elf utters a triumphant laugh. “Demon,” he intones, “we present you this sacrifice in accordance with the ancient pact. Devour her essence, let her blood strengthen the bond.”

My stomach twists. The chanting resumes, a chant of “devour” echoing in my ears. Everything slows to a terrifying hush within me. I’m meant to die here, torn apart by the monster who stands before me. My heart hammers so violently I’m sure it will burst.

Malphas strides closer, eyes roving over my bound form. Something about the predatory gleam in his gaze ignites my own fury. If I’m going to die, I won’t do it cowering. I square my shoulders, raising my chin, refusing to avert my eyes.

He halts just outside the circle. His lips press into a thin line, like he’s weighing an option. The robed elf gestures with impatient fervor, clearly expecting the demon to act. I steel myself, bracing for the blow that will end me.

Except…it doesn’t come. Malphas’s gaze lingers on my face, flickers across the bruises at my jaw, the whip cuts visible through my torn shirt. His nostrils flare as if he’s scenting the air. There’s a flicker in his expression—something that crosses between confusion and curiosity. I suck in a shaky breath, my heart stuttering.

Why isn’t he attacking?

The lead priest steps forward, voice rising angrily. “Consume her,” he insists, flicking a hand. “Fulfill your side of the bargain, demon!”

Malphas’s lips curl back, revealing a line of razor-sharp teeth. But his next words are not a triumphant roar. Instead, he growls in a low, seething tone, “I don’t take orders from you.” The hair on my arms stands upright at the fury lacing that statement. The priest flinches, obviously not expecting defiance.

Murmurs swirl among the robed figures. The soldier who escorted me inches toward the dais, uncertain. Anxiety prickles in the air. My heart leaps at the hint of discord in the chamber. A demon bound to the King shouldn’t be able to refuse. So what is happening?

Malphas steps closer, crossing the threshold of the runic circle. The lines under his feet flicker, sparks dancing around his massive form. I can’t move. The roped binding at my wrists is merciless, and the press of his power is more overwhelming than any blade.

He stops within arm’s reach, towering over me. My neck strains as I tilt my head back. Up close, I see scars ridging the left side of his jaw, faint but distinct. Muscles coil in his arms, partially hidden by an ornate guard strapped to one bicep. Under the dim torchlight, the molten veins across his skin pulse like embers.

A low rumble vibrates in his chest. He lifts a hand, claws glinting, to brush the ropes at my wrists. Something arcs between us, an electric sensation that crackles along my spine. My breath catches when his gaze intensifies, locked on me as though I’m a puzzle he can’t quite solve.

“We gave you an offering,” the priest hisses, voice laced with panic. “You’re bound to accept it. Don’t forget the terms of your contract.”

Malphas’ head turns slightly, his eyes narrowing. A ripple of tension flexes through his immense frame. “I remember every detail,” he says, voice cold. “But I decide how I feed.” His focus returns to me, those pupils dilating. “And I don’t sense fear.”

My throat bobs. Fear churns in my stomach, but raw defiance keeps me from surrendering. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction,” I say, though my voice trembles.

An amused snort escapes him. The corners of his mouth lift in a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. My mind screams that this is madness, that I should beg for my life, but I can’t make myself do it. Something deep within me clenches at the thought of kneeling before him.

He lowers his claws, grazing the rope that binds me. Sparks crackle where his fingertips brush the fiber. Smoke curlsupward, and the cord snaps. My arms fall free, numb and tingling from hours of being bound. Surprise floods me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the robed elves gaping. The soldier who dragged me here grips his sword, unsure whether to rush forward or retreat.

I rub my chafed wrists, adrenaline roaring in my veins. My eyes flick to Malphas, who stands calm and alert, as if challenging anyone to intervene. The priests exchange anxious whispers. Something is off-balance here—he’s not following their script.

Then the robed leader lunges, snatching a ceremonial dagger from his belt. He slices it across his palm, letting blackish blood drip onto the glowing lines at his feet. “I command you—take her soul!” he snarls, apparently trying to invoke the contract’s power. Magic thrums in the chamber, an undercurrent that makes my teeth ache.

Malphas’ wings flare behind him, ragged membranes spreading in a menacing display. A grim chuckle rumbles from his chest. “You think you command me? I’ve grown tired of dancing to your tune.” His next words drip with lethal contempt. “Touch her again, and I’ll ensure you regret it.”

A jolt of confusion and something like cautious hope ripples through me. Why is this demon, presumably in league with the dark elves, protecting me? The question buzzes in my mind, but I can’t afford to dwell on it. The robed priests hiss incantations, their voices rising. The symbol on the dais pulses with renewed brilliance. A wave of force slams into my chest, nearly knocking me off my feet.

Malphas staggers under the assault, his horns dipping. I sense the contract’s magic biting into him like a chain, punishing him for disobedience. His teeth bare in a snarl of pain. The lines of crimson across his skin flare to life, responding to the arcaneonslaught. For a moment, it looks like he might succumb, forced to obey. Panic flutters through me.

But he doesn’t collapse. Instead, a guttural roar bursts from him. Darkness unfurls from his body in roiling tendrils, colliding with the swirling green wards. The impact sends cracks racing through the floor, unleashing bursts of energy that rattle the chamber. The robed elves recoil in alarm, some tumbling backward. Chunks of stone tumble from the ceiling, and the dais splits under the strain.

Seizing the moment, I lunge away from the ritual space, adrenaline lending my legs desperate speed. I sprint behind a column, pressing my back against the cool stone. My eyes dart around, seeking an exit. The soldiers who escorted me are pinned by flying debris, trying to shield themselves. The robed priests scramble, barking orders, but the swirling chaos intensifies.

I peek from behind the column. Malphas stands in the fractured circle, his chest heaving. Arcane fire flickers around him, but it doesn’t consume him. His eyes are entirely black now, no red visible. Shadows coil along his arms, forging living weapons that lash out at the chanting priests. Screams echo as two of them crumple, their robes smoldering from demonic flame.

The leader screeches an incantation, slamming his staff onto the ground. Another pulse of force surges toward Malphas. He braces, black energy flaring as he meets the wave head-on. For a heartbeat, they lock in a stalemate of clashing magic. The floor quakes under the pressure. My stomach churns, and I duck lower, covering my head.

Cracks spiderweb across the ceiling. The entire chamber shudders as if about to collapse. Then Malphas roars again, and the priest’s staff explodes in a burst of greenish sparks. Theshockwave hurls the robed leader across the room. He hits a pillar with a sickening thud and drops, unmoving.

I gape, breath caught in my throat. The rest of the priests scatter or lie unconscious among the rubble. The torches flicker violently, half extinguished. Thick dust clouds the chamber, making it hard to see.