“No! No, this can’t be happening right now!”

The scarred man prodded the orb of blood and mercury that was hovering over the large map, but it didn’t shift, no matter what he did. Slowly the formerly bloody globe was shifting to pure pristine silver, something that should not have been happening. Grimacing in frustration he reached to the side and picked up a long-carved bone. The instrument was weathered by age, the bone well on its way to hardening into stone. It had been carved by a master of the mystic arts, and even as old as it was, it held power.

The new room in which he was working was provided by his host. It was a large chamber, and it had to be so it could accommodate the silken map of Western Europe that had been unrolled across the floor. The map was enormous, easily ten feet on a side, and incredibly detailed, a masterwork. Despite having been made of silk the lines and dots upon it had been dyed in with the most cutting-edge technology and detailed to an almost absurd degree. The cost of producing this map could have easily purchased a luxury car, but as far as the scarred man was concerned it had been money well spent.

Silk, especially silk of the quality and purity used in this map, was an excellent component in the use of magic. The nature of the silken threads was perfect to conduct the etheric powers that he used upon them. Had the map been made from paper or plastic then it would have just shrivelled up and crumbled, even a metal one would have heated up and then melted in fairly short order. This though, a map inscribed upon a medium of organic material of superior quality, could endure the power, resisting damage as a raincoat would water droplets.

All of his tools were like that, the best he could get, purchased with the riches he had gained through the use of his magic. True, he might not be in the same league as his host, but he had invested his earnings in the tools that would grant him more power, and he felt that it had been the correct choice.

Unfortunately, at this precise moment, those tools were not giving him the answer he wanted. Instead, they continued to show him results that he did not want to see.

Again, he waved the carved bone over the map, and the glowing orb hovering over it faded away, only to be replaced by many lines flowing across the map. These were lines he was familiar with, being the natural channels of magical power that now flowed through the land after the gods had returned. He had been mapping them for weeks now, and he was certain that he was the greatest authority on them in the mortal realm. Certainly, some deities would know more than him, but among mortal practitioners, he was sure that none surpassed him.

And at that moment the knowledge he had so painfully and carefully accrued was telling him that things were going to hell, at least as far as he was concerned.

The lines of power had bent, several of them coming together to form a tight knot before continuing on their previous path. The power continued to flow, but that spot, that knot, it was now the site of an enormous concentration of power. What was even worse was that the ambient energy in that area was slowly being purified of the terrestrial elements that were natural parts of the world’s magical forces. The result of this was a slowly growing pool of power that could only be recognized as being of one origin.

Heaven.

Damnation! It had only been a few hours since his efforts had finally closed in and locked onto the position of the target he and his ally had been searching for. Since then his ally had been making the final preparations to the forces they had assembled for the task before them. Given that all indications pointed towards their target having remained in more or less the same area for the entire time since they had slipped from sight, the scarred man and his fellow acolyte had thought that they could take a short time to build their forces and prepare the best operation that they could. The plan had been to launch a surprise assault in the early hours of the morning, shortly before sunrise, in hopes of catching the agent of Heaven off guard. Once the agent was neutralized they’d be able to bring in the demigod with minimal resistance.

This, however, threw those plans into chaos!

“ACOLYTE!”

He shouted the title that his ally insisted he address them by as he dashed out of the room he’d been working in. Technically that title could be applied to both of them, but he acknowledged that his associate was the first to enter their patron’s service, and as such, they held the greater right to the title. He also understood why they insisted on being addressed by that title rather than their name, why they insisted on concealing their features, their voice, even their gender. The scarred mage had little in the way of connections, even before he’d tried to walk the path of magic. Few friends, little family. Even his bank account had been unimpressive, and his property even less so. It had been easy for him to cast it all away so that he could focus on the path he had chosen.

His ally though seemed to possess all that he’d never had, wealth, property, influence and power, and seemed to have possessed them even before stepping upon the path of magic. The secrecy they seemed to constantly wear like a cloak was probably tied to their true life, a life they desperately sought to protect. He didn’t know if it was due to fear that their other life might be ruined if their mastery of magic became known. Maybe they had family that would disapprove, maybe they had obligations to uphold, maybe they wished to avoid a media storm if their identity was uncovered. Or, perhaps, they were simply paranoid, it wasn’t his place to question it, and, in truth, he didn’t really care. The Acolyte was powerful and competent, as long as that remained true he could overlook many eccentricities.

“Acolyte!”

His second shout was less desperate than his first, but that was only because he realized that since his robe-wearing ally was most likely out in the courtyard it was unlikely they’d be able to hear him regardless of how loudly he shouted. Instead, he preserved his breath and wove a quick spell, sending the message to his host.

He didn’t have to wait long, only a few seconds after he sent the message the air before him rippled, and the robed form of his ally stepped out of the shimmer as though from behind a curtain. Even though he had been aware of it being part of their skills the casual display of power still took him aback. Teleportation was one of the most intricate and costly forms of magic he knew of.

He didn’t know what steps they’d taken to gain such power, but he was fairly sure that they weren’t ones that he would have been willing to use himself. Gods, demons, even angels, any number of them could grant a mortal power that would set them years ahead of their fellows, but there was always a price to be paid. He wondered what price his ally had paid for their strength.

“What is it? Has something gone wrong? Has the target moved?”

The questions were asked quickly and precisely, and the scarred man found himself admiring his host’s control.

“No, something has changed though! There is a great accumulation of magical power at the site where the target is, much of it shifting to a Heavenly alignment! My best guess is that they’re either getting ready to awaken the demigod’s divine blood, or they’re going to try to summon another Heavenly agent to their side. Either way, we have a problem, do we not? We have some time, the power is building slowly, but we must act!”

The only reply was a sharp noise of dissatisfaction from within the darkened hood.

It wasn’t hard to understand their frustration, as neither of those scenarios would be desirable. A second agent protecting the demigod would make their task of bringing them to their patron that much more difficult. Even a resurrected soul could be a challenge to work around, and should they summon up a full-blooded angel then it would be at least a magnitude more difficult to deal with, quite possibly flat-out beyond their abilities. Troublesome as that would be, it was still the preferred scenario. Their patron wanted this demigod while they were still mortal before their divine blood had awakened. Though for just what reason the scarred man was uncertain.

The blood of demigods was a powerful magical reagent, so he could only imagine how strong such things as his heart or liver might be. If such were harvested before their divine blood was empowered then they might not be as powerful, but they could possess other qualities that would make them just as valuable. Still, he did not believe his patron would have invested as much time and energy in the capture of this demigod simply for spare parts like a car at a chop shop.

No, but a young and unawakened demigod, one that was guaranteed to be powerful, one that could be educated, trained to be loyal and dedicated to his patron before they gained power, that was another matter. Once loyal they could then be Awakened by a method that would ensure their maximum possible strength. Now, that was a prize that would be worth all the time and resources that were being allocated to this endeavour.

Gods were powerful, far more so than mortals could ever be, but this was the mortal plane, and it was named thus because it was the mortals that it belonged to. For all their power there were some places, secret places, that were denied to the gods. Some laws governed what they could do, equally secret laws. These limitations did not apply to demigods, which was why they could be so valuable to their divine parents.

Whatever the case might be, their failure to deliver their prize was not an outcome either of them wanted. Their patron was not so foolish as to dispose of servants over a single failure, but both he and his host had yet to disappoint them, and neither of them felt eager to begin to do so.

“Are your forces ready? The Maiden of Orleans will not be easy meat.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

At his words, the hooded head of the acolyte nodded emphatically before they reached out and grabbed his shoulder. He only just had enough time to set his spells to wait for him, before he was pulled through another shimmer in the air, only to find himself somewhere totally different.

The hall he found himself in was huge. No, the word ‘huge’ simply didn’t do it the justice it deserved! ‘Massive’ might have been a bit more accurate, but even that wasn’t quite up to describing it. During his travels around Europe, the scarred man had been to the great cathedrals of the middle ages, ancient buildings of wood and stone with great vaulted ceilings that seemed to at once drink up noise and echo it cavernously. In his youth, he had found such places to be intimidating in their solemn grandeur, even as he was awed by them.

This cavern that he now stood in could have held one of those massive old cathedrals all the way up to the bell tower, and still have room to spare. Looking about him almost wildly, the dark-haired mage saw that rather than being a constructed chamber this place seemed to be some sort of natural cave. The walls, the ground, even the high-up ceiling, all of it seemed to be carved from the same dark rock that was common to the region. Was this gargantuan cave hidden in the mountains that framed the back of his host’s castle? He could not see how given that the mountains were not that high.

The massive chamber was well lit, hundreds of brightly glowing magic symbols carved into the walls and roof of the cavern providing ample light. For a moment he wondered just how the acolyte had found the time and equipment to reach such difficult places and carve such complex designs. Then he saw just what the light was illuminating, and all other thoughts fled his mind.

Magic circles were a common term that was used to describe the circular inscriptions that were used in dozens of different mystic arts across the world. Circles were powerful shapes in that they were perfectly equal all the way around, with no points of concentration of weakness. It was this quality that made circles so useful, and that was why they appeared in so many forms of magic.

The ground of this enormous chamber was awash with magical circles, dozens of them. From what he could see each of them was quite intricate, with small only variations popping up from one to another, even though the general design remained the same. What was of even more interest, though, was what the circles appeared to contain.

The scarred man had seen demons before. On assignment from his patron, he’d had interactions with various demonic agents of varying levels of power. The weakest that he’d ever dealt with had been an imp, a demonic spirit barely larger than a toy action figure. That had been nothing to be concerned with, a normal mortal might have reason to fear it, but to one with his power, it was no threat. By contrast, the strongest that he had ever faced had been a greater demon. That had been terrifying since greater demons were the direct servants of the upper demonic nobility. The common currency in the hells was power, and none became significant without it. A greater demon was far beyond him, a peak of might that he might be able to reach in time, but which was decades away at the very earliest. Yes, he knew the feeling of demonic power . . .

So, what was it that he was looking at?

Sitting cross-legged in each of the circles was a . . . figure. That was the only word he could think of to describe what he was seeing. They were made of flesh, and their forms were humanoid in that they had arms and legs, a torso and a head, but they were more like manikins than real living beings. Every one of them was naked, but their forms were smooth, with no trace of hairs, or features, no sign of things like nipples or genitals. Their heads were bald as eggs and even the features of their faces were flat. Their eyes were closed but seemed to be more like slits in their faces, and their mouths were little more than a tear into their flesh that was held closed by their jaws. Even their noses were distorted, flattened as though something had pressed them down. But these were not the only details that were unnerving. Their limbs were a bit off, their forearms a little too long, their feet a bit too large, and their skin a bit too pallid. Each alone would have been odd, but all taken together . . . . Well, these things appeared human in only the roughest sense of the word.

But it was more than just their physical appearance that made his breath catch, it was the aura that they radiated, the unmistakable burn of demonic power.

“What . . . what are they?”

He asked the question in a hushed tone, as though afraid that if he spoke too loudly then he might draw the attention of whatever these creatures were.

“Did you think that my interest in the Golem had sprung out of nowhere?” His robed host asked, their voice tinged with mild amusement. “This was the first art that our patron showed me how to perfect, the creation of true homunculi! Such a . . . flexible art!”

The art that they spoke of was one that the scarred man was familiar with. As with the creation of golems, the art of homunculi creation tried to imitate the divine creation of humanity, using a base substance such as mud or wood. It was taken further though, in that the materials were in one way or another transformed into real flesh. Such beings could be the size of normal people, or they could be tiny misshapen things grown inside large bottles, or they could be massive shambling monsters the size of small giants. The only real limits were the skills of the maker and the limit of the resources they had access to.

Yes, he could see how these would be such creatures, but that didn’t explain the demonic energy that he could feel radiating from them like heat from an oven.

It was strange, they weren’t overwhelmingly powerful, of that he was certain. If he’d had to give them a ranking according to his experience with the powers of hell then he would have placed them as common foot soldiers. Such demonic soldiers were powerful, at least from a mortal’s perspective, able to shrug off mundane weapons and tear their way through buildings with ease. But that power was shallow, a mortal with magic and talent could face one or two on his own and have a chance of victory.

These . . . things, they felt like such demons, about as strong, but the power that radiated from them was . . . more concentrated. Yes, that seemed a bit closer to what he was sensing. Their power was still small, but that small power had somehow felt condensed, distilled.

“I would not get too near to them if I were you.”

The comment from the robed figure came only an instant before the weird slits that were the eyes of the homunculus nearest to him snapped open.

That would have been enough to startle him on its own. But it was what those opened eyes revealed that was enough to make him stumble backwards.

Nothing.

There was nothing.

Those eyes opened up into black pits. There was no hint of anything in there, no organs, no demonic power, not even simple animal intellect, there was just nothing there at all.

Even so, the dark-haired man couldn’t help but feel certain that there was something there that was staring at him, measuring him, evaluating him with cold reason. And that whatever was doing it was hungry.

“What ARE they?”

He didn’t stutter, he didn’t let any of his concern sound in his voice. He was very careful to maintain an iron grip upon just how unsettled he’d been by the creature as he stared at his robe-wearing host.

“In many ways, they are one of my finest achievements,” Came the reply. “I have studied homunculi creation, but wanted something fiercer and stronger. These masterpieces are the result of my efforts.”

‘Masterpieces’? That was not the term that the scarred man would have used to describe what he was seeing. These things felt . . . wrong, that was the only way he could think of to describe them.

“These demon hosts are a great improvement, though their name is somewhat misleading.”

“Demon hosts? Do you mean that you have implanted them with infernal spirits?”

That was a very perilous path to take. The appeal of homunculi was that, if created correctly, they would be loyal and obedient, but possess a measure of initiative and imagination. Mixing that with demons risked what made homunculi valuable. Demons could be reasoned with, but regardless of how submissive or fawning they might appear to be, treachery was in their very soul.

And there were so many, there had to be dozens, possibly even hundreds. To have that many demon hosts, even if they were manufactured bodies, was just insane.

“No, the only intelligence they have is that which I created for them.”

What? That made no sense; he could clearly feel the taint of demonic essence in them.

“They do have demonic energy, but there is no consciousness attached to it, simply raw power. The homunculi simply hold and refine that power, adding to its potency by feeding the little magic their bodies produce into it. The result is a pseudo-demon host, one without an actual demon to contend with. They are stronger, faster and more vicious, but their obedience and loyalty in assured..”

“So . . . you intend to send these creatures after the demigod? Is sending demonic foes against the Maiden of Orleans the best idea? She is a servant of the Heavens, they will be a foe she is well suited to facing.”

The question was valid. There was also the issue as to whether or not they would be suited to the more delicate task of retrieving the demigod. Beings powered by demonic essence sounded like fine attack dogs, but also something more suited to ripping a target apart rather than stealing it away. He didn’t voice his concern though, his ally was already set upon using these creations of theirs. Any questioning on his part would do little to sway them from that choice.

“I know they may not be enough, but then again, I have no intention of sending them on their own.”

At the acolyte’s words, the scarred man suddenly became aware of something moving in the darkness behind them. Spinning around he found himself facing the massive form of the golem that he’d seen his host unpacking only a few days before. The lines of its body were lit by that dull internal glow, giving it an oddly hellish appearance despite its almost holy origins. The construct appeared as though powered by a molten inside, a raging inferno only barely contained by a skin of stone and metal.

“You’re going to send that with them?”

“Indeed,” the robed figure confirmed. “My other creations have the advantage of numbers, but they might lack raw power. This, though, I feel will be far more effective against the saint of France. Divine magic was used in its creation. Holy powers will wash off it like the surf upon a rock.”

Yes, he could see where the use of this construct could be considered ideal in this situation. The golem was well suited to fight against holy foes since it lacked any of the normal corruption or darkness that such powers could strike against. Mindless and soulless as it was, the golem was no more good or evil than a stone that had been thrown. It was powerful though, frighteningly so. He could not get a grasp upon its limits, but he’d have been willing to place a wager upon it had it been matched against even a higher demon from the pit.

Against the reborn Maiden on Orleans . . . well, that would be determined by a multitude of factors. He gave the golem good odds though.

“That could work.” he allowed turning to face his host as he spoke.

“It shall have to, we have no other choices. I don’t know about you, but I do not wish to fight a soul chosen and returned to life by the Lord of the High Heavens.”

He could not disagree with them. He might have gained power, but he had no illusions as to how he would stack up against a resurrected saint, especially upon the soil of her homeland.

“Very well, I shall find where to send them, then assist you in opening the portal, agreed?”

He nodded again, reaching out to his spells to draw the knowledge he needed from them. The location came easily to him, and so did an update of what those spells had observed.

“The accumulation has increased,” he stated, looking from the acolyte to the homunculi and back. “If we wish to take the demigod still unempowered then we have to move quickly, our window of opportunity is closing.”

The robed figure didn’t reply, instead, they raised their hands and began to gather power. The preparations to create a long-distance portal would not be lengthy, not with the measures that were already in place. Soon all the forces they could muster would be dispatched after their target.

He just hoped they would be enough.