Page 15

MALPHAS

I lead Valentina along a winding path behind an abandoned shrine, deep in the underbelly of Vhoig’s outer wards.

We’ve navigated back alleys and sidestreets all day, dodging the city guard.

Now, as dusk settles in, I sense it’s time to move beyond the metropolis entirely.

Darkness provides cover, and I need to reach my hidden fortress without a legion of elves on our trail.

My decision sets a bristling tension between us.

Valentina’s shoulders stiffen each time I take an unexpected turn.

She walks half a step behind, close enough to sense my body heat yet far enough to watch my every move.

Her posture radiates wariness. I imagine she’s wondering if I’ll slice her open the moment we’re clear of the city.

Truth be told, the question gnaws at me as well.

My instincts are split. I’m tempted to be rid of this mortal nuisance, but something about her presence lingers like a burr in my consciousness.

My contract with the elves grows unstable whenever she’s near, and I’ve never encountered such an anomaly.

If that means I can break free, I won’t cast her aside yet.

I usher her into a tunnel that smells of stale water and moss.

The damp walls glisten under flickering lanterns left behind by smugglers.

Our footsteps echo with hollow finality, the only conversation an uneasy silence.

Eventually, we emerge on the city’s outskirts, near a cracked archway.

The last watchtower of Vhoig looms behind us—its guards likely scanning the horizon, convinced I might still be hiding in the city proper.

“The fortress is outside the dark elves’ domain?” Valentina asks, her voice echoing in the twilight.

I offer a clipped nod. “My realm is well beyond their immediate control. They know it exists but seldom attempt to breach it. The wards there would rend them apart.”

She makes a noncommittal noise, tugging the borrowed coat tighter around her frame.

Her eyes dart to the flat expanse of fields ahead, then the vast swamplands that border Vhoig’s territory.

A hush drapes over the environment—no throngs of people, no clang of forging metal or hum of arcane engines.

Only the soft rustle of wind across sickly reeds.

We press on. With each step, the ground grows soggier, until our boots sink into the bog.

Valentina grimaces as murky water seeps through worn leather.

I sense her disquiet, though she doesn’t complain.

The watery marsh soon shifts into a region of twisting trees with blackened bark.

Their gnarled roots snarl across the muddy ground, forming a natural labyrinth.

Overhead, a few pale stars flicker into visibility, half-obscured by swirling clouds.

“It doesn’t look like any farmland I’ve seen,” she comments, surveying the bleak terrain. “What happened here?”

I spare the area a quick glance, recalling the centuries I’ve wandered these outskirts. “War,” I reply flatly. “The dark elves had a skirmish against orc tribes decades ago. They used blood magic that tainted the soil. Now, nothing wholesome grows here.”

A trace of revulsion crosses her face. Yet she presses forward, nimble steps avoiding the worst of the boggy pits. Her resilience impresses me, most humans would have turned back by now, cursing the miserable trek. Valentina’s jaw sets with stubborn resolve.

Night deepens. I focus on the path, letting my demon senses guide me.

The faint hum of wards in the distance signals the boundary of my stronghold.

My fortress stands on a patch of raised terrain that juts above the swamp, encompassed by illusions and protective runes.

Approaching it is no small feat, even for me.

With Valentina at my side, I must carefully part the wards rather than crashing through them.

One misstep, and the very magic I placed could incinerate her.

Soon, we reach a moss-coated boulder leaning against the trunk of a withered tree. I halt, feeling the wards hiss with recognition. They swirl around me like invisible serpents, seeking to confirm my identity. Valentina looks around warily, uncertain what’s happening.

“What is this?” she asks, stepping closer but keeping a wary distance from the boulder.

I kneel, pressing a clawed hand against the stone.

“A threshold,” I murmur. My molten veins flare with dull light, responding to the fortress’s defenses.

I sense them coil in curiosity at Valentina’s presence.

The wards recoil from the anomaly in her blood, unsure whether to treat her as an intruder or a guest. I grit my teeth, channeling a subtle command to let her pass.

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.