I stood alone on the empty landscape. Even the eerie sound of unnatural winds and the deathly wail of the massacred did little to distract me from what Zar'amaris just revealed as she made her grandiose escape. Or as she liked to call it, answering the beckons of her domain. But before her hasty departure, she had made one thing clear. This mission has gotten well beyond a simple defend a pass from incursion assignment. A demon civil war and more importantly, being unwilling embroiled in a war that is not my own, is not what I envisioned. For that is a path I know well. Beside me lay eternal torture that spoke for itself.

Disguising lies or blinding visions of the future, Adjuration had played a defining role -- in attracting the attention of demon realms. Despite my lingering doubt, about the declaration of Zar'amaris, I held little faith to challenge her claim. Adjuration is every bit lethal as she conjectured. Could it be that perhaps, the true fiend, embellished the powers channelled in Adjuration, to her own advantage?

The last fiend that duelled Lyria did speak of twisted tales with carefully contorted meanings. Demons always tend to hide their innermost secrets and virtues to tempt fools. But Zar'amaris claims to be from the Domain of Opprobrium. A realm anchored to the sphere of public humiliation. Their warriors, known for valour among their kind, even commanding respect rivalling the celestial host; for what could be more humiliating than defeating an opponent without any malicious machinations lurking unseen. In that regard, the Domain of Opprobrium is as closely tied to the truth than any other plane, though not by choice.

While Zar'amaris was overly eager for glory, she was also prudent in exercising caution. She seemed somewhat daunted behind her carefully constructed swagger. Any spark of antagonism she held, she kept in check, staying clear of physical altercations during our brief exchange. If anything, this meeting laid bare, everything and ironically nothing about Adjuration. While multiple others may have a variety of opinions, Lyria who is the ultimate authority on the matter is too brazen to extract any completely coherent answer. In this regard, Zar'amaris's admission that the weapon I currently call my own is all I have to hold onto.

So maybe, all things considered, Zar'amaris did slip two things which I presume were intentional. She knew the weapon to be crafted and she was surprised that I was able to wield it. There were hints that remained veiled throughout but the clear message was there for me to digest. Only I can unleash the full potential of Adjuration. The weapon, by whatever arcane means that Lyria wrought its metal, is attuned to me.

And should I survive the titanic ordeal before me, Lyria will have a lot to answer.

What this implicates for her current motivations is unclear. While her tender heart earns for my warmth, what could enthral her to keep secrets from me?

Were there other reasons why Lyria sought solitude?

Was there something terrible and malicious lurking behind her disappearing act centuries ago?

Did some unknown powers or shadowy agents lurking deep beneath, attempt to coerce Lyria because of her gift? Or worse, Was the safety of Delyn threatened to force Lyria?

Deep unsated anger, like a sudden tidal wave threatening to submerge all other emotions in a deluge, rose within me. My heart stuck violently inside my ribs, like a caged feral beast seeking freedom. The skies turned hazy like a blank slate. Only acidic venom pumped through my veins. It screamed with virulent terror calling out for wanton destruction. With all my being I yearned to extract undeniable suffering upon the real source of all these calamities. In the desperation of the moment, all else receded. All other concerns became ignorable. Unaccountable moments passed by slowly, in that bleak eternity of silence that lasted longer than perceptible time. Only benevolent cruelty of a familiar spectre walked across the sundered landscape. Although entirely invisible, voices whispered simultaneously, coaxing my rage into a ravenous beast.

Scorching, burning unbridled outrage engulfed me in a tempestuous aura. Letting out nothing but a shrieking agonised cry, at once the simmering bitterness transformed into flammable explosive fury. My seething rage, condensed and accentuated, mingled with battering pulsations, together giving birth to predatory beasts which snapped at vile dark tendrils attempting to submerge my very being. Yapping ravenous maws against ethereal intangible cords of stygian wisps. Clutching against the overwhelming sense of acrid and sharp -- all-consuming fury, I choked on the burgeoning urge until before my eyes only bright crimson blossomed.

Unheeding my actual state, the relentless beasts stalked the retreating tendrils through the slithering slime. Dispersing viscid gore wide enough to engulf hills and towers. Fiery apparitions jumped forth in fierce gouts of exhilarated rage as they rampaged, destroying all upon contact through violent impact. Only detonating soundless devastation followed in their wake. As the thrumming of a dark melody seeped in, their sheer madness consolidated forming a coherent dance in patterned swirls of pure destruction. Letting myself slowly, I gradually accepted their generous invitation to reign in their raw power.

"Let go of the Tempest, Consort Mother," came the baritone warning from behind the masked helmet of the Knight of Ash and Smoke.

His presence should have surprised me. Made my blood boil. It should have triggered my flight or fight response, but instead, after the stream of encounters with denizens of two different demonic realms, his appearance did very little to offset my emotional veneer. In fact, it was the opposite. The eldritch knight brought to my mind, a certain tranquillity to the infallibility of Adjuration.

Just as with our previous two encounters, a mystical cloud of smoke billowed out from him, almost making him blend in perfectly with the charred surroundings and would have remained undetected had he not bothered to vocalize his presence. He laid siege to my vision with his slow staggering walk accentuating the heavy ebon-flint two-handed sword that he brandished.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Contemplation was too short of a term to describe all that went through in my head. Suffice to say the erratic waves of one ridiculous impossibility after another crashed through me. In the end, only a void of unanswered questions defying any logical clarity survived. Although little reason is known for his motivation for being here; he is definitely aware of something. And as he showed no hesitation in approaching me, I could only surmise that his reasons differ from Zar'amaris or he has an alternative perception of Adjuration.

Even through the layer of ash and his pitch dark helmet, it was evident that his gaze lingered on Adjuration. No. Adjuration held his attention captive.

"A gift," I said. If I were to gain any additional insight, I have to endeavour towards this small talk.

"A gift," he repeated tonelessly through his helmet. A wave of apprehension followed his words like he half-believed and half-questioned. It seems we were both mutually baffled.

"A gift from my wife....my future wife.....It is a gift and a promise." I struggled with words unaware if the concept of matrimony was even familiar to him. My previous conversation with him left me with a distinct impression that concepts that I took for granted were often alien to him.

"A sacred gift?" I expunged those words after a bit of struggle.

A sacred gift? How appropriate! That is one way of putting it. To think that the Adjuration would be regarded akin to an unbreakable covenant by some despicable demon, was sort of exhilarating. Never have I ever imagined that our relationship would be validated by a demon realm.

"Consort Mother, Why do you seek to ruin?" asked the eldritch knight. Even masked by a dark grey billowing cloud of ash and the emotionless armour that he donned as a second skin, there was no hint of malice or mockery in his words.

"Abandoned yet forced, we hide from those like us and from residents of the infinite void," sighed a troubled voice out from the helm. His posture suddenly stiffened to a tenacious warrior pose as he continued, "We are adrift in shifting horizons; hidden from the multitude of those who seem to dominate us but your actions destroy us with every passing instant."

"What actions?" my eyebrows shot skyward at his revelation.

His dark volcanic rock-formed helmet flickered towards the Adjuration and then back to me.

"A calm pond is your inner self. Your emotions are ripples and the sacred gift amplifies those ripples. Providing the force of a tidal wave to each," he explained using his free gauntlet-encased hand to mimic the effect of rising and lowering in a rhythmic beat, not realizing that I could understand his explanation even though I struggled desperately to latch on to his ideas.

He stepped further forward, almost closer, that my breath pushed the swirling cloud of Ash and Smoke. At our proximity, I felt bereft somehow, cut off, confined.

"Did you Sovereign return?" I asked drawing from the memory of our previous conversation.

A low grating laugh spilled from him. Try however I wanted to, I could not pretend to not have heard the derisive mockery. But with the tickling of moments, it became evident that I was not the object of his mockery.

"The Dame of the Demesne is angered," he revealed.

"Is it why you are here? Does she covet Adjuration?" I continued with my barrage of questions.

"The Sovereign knows that The Dame of the Demesne is never in danger from the sacred gift. She would fear neither the sacred gift nor its wielder," he declared.

"Your Sovereign has sent you then?" I circled back to the original conversation.

"You unleashed the Tempest and I came to placate you," he replied. His answers, either knowingly or unknowingly, raised more questions.

"I thought you lacked free will? Do you not exist to serve the commands of your Sovereign and your Dame," I prodded further clinging to the fact that any information is valuable at this point.

"The Dame of the Demesne can only enforce her commands, but the Sovereigns will compel us. They are different," he corrected as if it should even matter to me, "There is a shared path for them. The realm ensures it. No matter the circumstances, the Sovereign is the realm and the realm is the Sovereign. The word of a Sovereign and the realm will bind itself to the oath."

Pausing, he merely shrugged his armoured shoulders which caused me to tilt my head even more with absolute curiosity. The tale he said was tempting. Even interesting to entertain. A demon monarch bound by an oath is a fascinating idea worth of romanticized but it would not offer even a sliver of anything beneficial in my current state.

Instead, a highly sceptical frown marked the centre of my scowl. At this point, I have already focused too much effort on him, without gaining any appreciable knowledge. Besides having far too many fears and enemies, I also felt shattered.

The easier explanation would be a power struggle between a Sovereign and Dame of the Demesne which would explain each side coveting Adjuration to tip the balance in their favour. But his last comment about the realm itself ensuring a shared destiny to them made me abandon the theory.

Almost forcibly restraining myself from further entangling myself with the affairs of their realm, I reminded my other events at play. It was certain that attempting to articulate them, especially from the eldritch knight before me, would be like collecting water through a sieve. With that, the thought scattered away like autumn leaves.

All I know is violence is about to erupt all around me and even with Lyria and her Adjuration by my side, I feel small and insignificant amidst an onslaught of ravenous forces. A scowl pursed my lips just as a flash of light streaked through the thin cobweb cracks on his armour. Soon another streak hit and pulsed through his armour. Then another came. Each creating trails into smoky plumes behind his movement and swelled steadily. His extraplanar form exuded a torrential wave of fear inundating the entirety of the landscape.

"Consort Mother, we must hurry," urged the eldritch knight through the camouflaging cloud, forcing me to acclimatize to the smoke and shadows shrouding us. For the demon, whose perception of time is an illogical construct, the word hurry meant something catastrophic is about to unravel.

"A pact broken! another demon monarch has made the move," he urged.

My hand twitched to the warm hilt of Adjuration. Right now it was the only semblance of comfort. I hated my current predicament which had the wrath of hell after me. I forced my lungs to expel the fumes containing so much anger to rekindle some of my fatigued spirit. Another wave of apprehension coursed through me, perpetually and relentlessly.

"To punish my Sovereign for breaking the pact," he added.

"One more wave of demons," I shrugged still hesitant of the escalating threats, but he barely nodded at my veracity.

"No, a single Prime comes,"

And we both rushed forward.