The warrior in the sabretooth mask extended his hand. His breath caught a little in his throat. It would be easy to use his power against her, to command her to come with him, and she would not be able to resist. It felt wrong, though. He would rather she come willingly. Azvalath almost laughed at himself. Here he was, with six people’s blood on his sword, and he still believed right and wrong existed?

He watched her expression turn from terrified to bewildered, then to pure, animal rage. She glowered and bared her teeth. Azvalath took a step closer. Then her fist flew into his chest with a bang that rivaled a lightning strike.

Pain exploded across his ribs. Azvalath hit the ground so hard he bit his tongue. His mask was knocked askew. A cry tore from his throat. She must have put her power into that punch, he thought. He managed to stand up in time to see the devil-child break off running. Despite the radiating pain in his chest, he pursued her.

He heard his comrade call for him. “Azvalath, no! She’ll kill you!”

Kill him? No way, Azvalath thought. He wanted to laugh at Channei. Maybe that shapeshifter would die, but not him. He was their order’s best, rivaled only by the masters. As he caught up to their target, he used what little breath he had left to shout a command. “Now stop!”

He watched the white-haired girl’s legs freeze up mid-stride. She caught herself on her hands and knees. Her head snapped up to glare at him. Her eyes bulged with terror and rage. He approached with caution, as if she were a wounded predator, knowing she could reach him even if she couldn’t touch him. He had seen this girl wreak havoc with her power to escape him before and knew he could not truly prevent her from doing it again.

He heard Channei’s footsteps behind him. She stumbled through the trees, panting heavily. Her thin blond hair was soaked from the rain. “Kolo,” she said, breathless. “Come with us and we’ll explain everything.”

“Where is Yayaba?” Azvalath asked. “Call for her.”

Channei didn’t listen to him. “I’m sorry I lied to you about who I was, Kolo,” she continued. “But I wasn’t lying when I said you would be safe with me.”

Kolo – that was her name, Azvalath realized. It made her feel more like a human and less like a wild beast to be caught. She pulled her knees in toward her chest and clutched her head in trembling hands. “No,” she said. “No! I won’t go with you!”

“Call for Yaya!” Azvalath insisted again. The rain turned to sleet and pelted him with tiny projectiles of ice. They stung him like hornets.

“Not yet!” Channei snapped at him. She stepped up to Kolo. Kolo threw her arms out to try and push Channei back, but nothing happened. Channei had not one gift but two. In addition to doubling anyone she had seen before, Channei could stop others from using their own power. Azvalath watched her crouch in front of Kolo and pull her into a tight embrace. “Shhh,” she whispered. “Don’t be afraid, Kolo. You’re a strong little devil. What could we possibly do to hurt you?”

Kolo clawed at Channei, likely still trying to use her power. Channei looked up at Azvalath and nodded. He nodded back. He knew what he had to do now.

Azvalath circled around behind Kolo while she was distracted in Channei’s grip. He drew his sword as quietly as possible. His heart raced. He couldn’t believe it was finally happening. They had finally caught the devil-child, and she would finally become one of them.

“By my hand she falls, and by yours may she be lifted. Hear me, Iron God.” Azvalath bowed his head. “In blood and anguish, be reborn.”

When his prayer was finished, he stabbed the devil-child.

Kolo thrashed free of Channei’s grasp and threw her fists out. She missed Channei by barely an inch and hit Azvalath with a punch that broke his ribs. He hit the frozen ground so hard that he saw stars. Then he saw Kolo run away, trailing blood. He forced himself back up and tried to run after her. His vision blurred and he coughed. Channei screamed. “Azvalath, stop!”

“No!” he wheezed. “We’re not going home without her!”

He heard Channei blast her horn for Yayaba, but everything seemed muted. He stumbled on a wet tree root, fell, and remembered nothing else with any clarity.

What he remembered instead were events incoherent and disconnected like a dream. The thunderclap of Yayaba’s enormous wings, the jolt, and the sensation of weightlessness as her claws snatched him up like a hawk. The wind as it bit through his sabretooth mask. Water. Shame. Darkness.

At some point, he heard Yayaba scream. The lightningfisher’s cry startled him back to awareness. She swooped down onto the sprawling temple’s roof and laid his battered body down. Then she let out another howl to alert the masters. As he remembered what had happened, he felt sick to his stomach. How could he have failed like this? Was he not one of Styzia’s best?

He was, he thought. No one could take that away from him. Someday, he would be as strong as the masters. Maybe even stronger. The idea gave him a thrill. He pushed himself up on unsteady arms. Once he was upright, he pulled his mask off. Wet brown hair clung to his forehead. He looked down at his mask and its empty eyes looked back at him. He wasn’t a beast here at Styzia, no. He was Azvalath. Only Azvalath.

An icy wind blew flurries of snow across the roof. The howl of it masked the sound of the old woman’s footsteps as she approached. He glanced over his shoulder and was startled to see her. In the snowy haze, he almost mistook her for Channei in her Nana disguise. But when she knelt and pulled him into her embrace, his confusion melted. “Master Qila.” He smiled and hugged her back. “I’ve missed you.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Welcome home, Azvalath. I’ve missed you too.” She pulled back but kept her hands on his shoulders. Her face was alive with joy. “Dare I ask what happened?”

Azvalath wasn’t sure whether to rage or laugh. Eventually, he laughed, as that was decidedly more enjoyable than raging. It made him cough and then pain exploded through his chest like another blow from the devil-child.

Qila pulled him to his feet and walked with him to the stairs. “Let’s get you thawed out.”

The temple’s warmth welcomed him for the first time in months. At the bottom of the stairs, his other comrades waited to ambush him. Lalek raised her huge arms to wave. “Hey, look who’s alive!”

“Not Channei?” Rizval crossed their arms. “Hmmm.”

“It’s not like that,” Azvalath insisted. “She’s…”

“Probably coming up in the receiving room any minute now,” said Qila. “Why don’t you two go say hello? Don’t rough Azvalath up right now, he’s hurt.”

“Well then go to Master Xigon,” Lalek groaned. “You’re no fun.”

“Don’t mope around, Lalek.” Qila gave her a little shove as they walked past. “You’ll have plenty of time to catch up later.”

Rizval ran off and Lalek followed a second later.

“Anyway, they’ve been doing well. I think Lalek’s a bit sad she didn’t get to come along,” said Qila.

“She wouldn’t have liked it,” Azvalath managed. “She’s always been too friendly for that kind of thing.”

“Ah, but you know how Lalek loves a spin with Yayaba. Rizval is Rizval, still confusing as ever,” said Qila. “And they’re still making art in their little lair. And complaining about Jai-Lag shedding everywhere.”

“Rizval complains about everything, Master.” Azvalath chuckled a bit. “That’s nothing new.”

“It’s also nothing new that cats shed, no matter how big they are or how long their fangs are.” Qila looked down and brushed a stray bit of hair off her tunic. “What is it about cat hair, anyway? It’s stickier.”

Azvalath felt lighter as he listened to Qila. He almost forgot about the pain. Then another thought hit him cold. “Wait, do I actually have to go see Master Xigon?”

“I’d strongly encourage it,” said Qila.

Azvalath tensed up. He knew Xigon wouldn’t be happy with him.

“What’s wrong?” Qila asked.

“Many things,” said Azvalath. As they stepped up to Master Xigon’s study door, he steeled himself for whatever was coming. “Dare I ask how he’s been doing?”

“Ask him yourself.” Qila clapped him on the back. “See you later.”

As she walked away, Azvalath cursed under his breath. Why would she leave him now? She was fully capable of pulling him out of this. He thought about running the other way, but then he saw her look back at him. He took a deep breath and knocked on the other master’s door.

“Come in,” said Xigon. He didn’t even ask who was there.

Azvalath pushed the door open. Xigon sat at his desk with a book that Azvalath had seen him read at least a hundred times. Even in his wheelchair, he was frighteningly tall, and his goggles had a harsh glint to them. “A mild concussion, hypothermia, and three broken ribs.” Xigon could tell all of it with one look. That was among his gentler abilities. “Welcome back, Azvalath. Want to tell me how all that happened?”

“No,” said Azvalath. “I really don’t.”

“Hm.” Xigon smiled. “I’m shocked you’re even walking right now, much less giving me lip.”

Azvalath stumbled and caught himself on the edge of Xigon’s desk.

“Sit down, Azvalath. Your heart rate is spiking.” His tone was of calm concern, but Azvalath somehow couldn’t stand the sound of it. He couldn’t stand any sound. That confused him. He had felt almost fine with Qila a second ago.

“Are you affecting me right now, Master?” he asked.

Xigon looked through his glasses with steady red eyes. “It’s not me, Azvalath, but you. You’re afraid. Why?”

Azvalath felt exposed. “I…I’ve failed, Master. We didn’t catch her.”

“I didn’t expect success would come easily in this endeavor. Not even to you.” Xigon leaned back and put one leg up. “I’m not surprised that you didn’t catch this devil-child. What surprises me is that you’re accepting failure.”

“How else could I see it?” Azvalath asked. “Carried back in shambles, without my target, without anything to show for the past few months.”

“I have to agree with you,” said Xigon. “Though I do think you have something to show for the past few months. Something you’re afraid to show me.”

Azvalath steadied himself and let go of the table. Here goes nothing, he told himself.

“Show me your arm.” said Xigon.

“I…” Azvalath grabbed his sleeve.

Xigon crossed his arms. “Now.”

Azvalath swallowed hard. “Yes, master.”

He extended his arm. Xigon grabbed him by the elbow. His long, spidery fingers pulled Azvalath’s sleeve back to reveal many new marks burned into his skin.

“You’ve been branding for every kill?” Xigon asked. A tiny tinge of venom crept into his voice, though he still sounded calm. “How many do you have to add today?”

“Six,” said Azvalath.

“Unacceptable,” said Xigon.

Azvalath took a sharp breath in. “Unacceptable? You have thousands of scars, Master.” His voice was a snarl.

Xigon listened to him without a flinch. “You’re better than this,” he said. “Or so I would like to think. Don’t prove me wrong.”

“What’s so wrong about destroying our enemies, Master?” Azvalath growled. “I did what I had to, and I don’t regret it. You can’t make me regret it.”.

“Make no mistake, Azvalath. Those people were not our enemies, and you didn’t do what you had to.” Xigon’s goggles glinted with red. “You did what you wanted to. You wanted this mess.”

Azvalath bared his teeth. “You’re a high and mighty hypocrite, Master. You taught me to kill. You reap what you sow.” He swung his fist at Xigon.

Xigon caught his fist effortlessly in one hand. “And who held the sword? I wasn’t there. It was your own decision.”

“It was,” said Azvalath. “And I don’t regret it.”

“I’m not asking you to regret it,” said Xigon. “The problem, Azvalath, is that you revel in the filth. You love every second of it.” Xigon gripped his fist tighter. “Even now, it excites you. You’re joyful from the bottom of your heart.”

“I am not,” Azvalath hissed.

“You are,” said Xigon. “If you truly did what you had to, then so will I.” He put his other hand on Azvalath’s arm. “Be at peace, then.”

With that touch, an intense calm flooded Azvalath’s mind and body. His tensed muscles relaxed. For a split second, he was at peace.

But no amount of calming could have prepared Azvalath for what came next.

There was a sensation like a clawed fist squeezing tight around his heart, then tearing into it. Then it was like molten metal poured into his veins. He collapsed at the foot of his master’s chair and hit the cold floor so hard it stole the rest of his breath.

"Please, no…don’t...” Azvalath begged.

“I’m trying to make this easy,” Xigon’s voice was gentle but cold. “But it seems you’re the one determined to suffer.”

That didn’t make any sense, Azvalath thought. Who ever wanted to suffer? His mind descended into pointless noise as a dark grip seized him. He was entirely convinced it was death.

Which made it all the more confusing when he did eventually resurface.