In the castle's most desolate dungeon depths, a gaunt, sickly man, bound to a chair, let out harrowing screams. Sweat glistened on his bald head, his breaths came fast, and tears streamed down his face. Vomit stained his lap, its stench filling the air. Buren doused him with a bucket of cold water, both to jolt him and to wash away the foul mess. The man's cries grew louder, but Buren seized his ear, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Where did you take the girls, and why?" Buren demanded.

"I've already told you," the man whimpered. "I spoke the truth." Indeed, he had seemed eager to share every detail, but Buren was skeptical. He had interrogated him repeatedly, hoping to catch a discrepancy and then extract the truth through punishment. Yet, the man's story remained consistent.

Buren's grip tightened around the man's bony arm, making him wince. "Don't play games with me!" Buren thundered. "How does a wretch like you transform into such a behemoth?" He recalled carrying the man, wrapped in cloth, back to the castle, feeling the weight on his shoulder diminish with each step. He hadn't anticipated discovering the frail, bald man he'd previously seen at the brothel. They had been one and the same all along.

"I've told you, I'm neither! Spare me, and I'll grant you the same power."

"Begin from the start. Leave nothing out."

The man sighed, preparing to recount a tale he'd already relayed multiple times. "My true name is Balthus. I was sentenced to hang for numerous rapes. However, on the eve of my execution, a daemon visited my dreams, offering salvation and unimaginable power."

"Why choose you?"

"It said it liked my style. That night, it granted me a taste of its power, enabling my escape. Since then, I've been its servant."

"How?"

"I provide it with girls to possess, allowing it to remain in our realm. It requires a new host every few weeks, depending on the body's endurance."

"Why does such a powerful entity need you?"

"To inhabit an unwilling host, a ritual is necessary. The daemon requires a human's consent. Most resist, so it relies on me to either coerce them or perform the ritual if they remain defiant."

"What prevents you from morphing back into that monstrosity and trying your luck with me once more?" Buren inquired.

"The daemon's conditions bind me. To retain my power, I must consume the maidens I've slept with. The strength I gain corresponds directly to the flesh I devour. Think of it as oil fueling a lamp; if I overuse it or delay replenishing, the power wanes, and I revert to this pitiable form."

Buren's skepticism was evident. Such outlandish claims were why he could not believe the man straight away, despite his apparent openness, and instead interrogated him so relentlessly.

"Why would the daemon devise such a system?"

" I didn't understand it at first either," the man admitted, "but I've come to see its cruel logic. This way, I can never truly bond with a woman. If I cherish someone, I'm faced with the torment of either consuming them or abstaining. And I never wanted to hurt those girls I laid with; I just could help myself when I saw them. When the implications became clear, I tried to sever ties with the daemon. But if I neglect to refuel my power, I don't merely revert — I become this wretched, feeble shell, where every minor discomfort feels like excruciating agony. I'm ensnared, with no escape as long as I draw breath."

"Or as long as the daemon exists," Buren countered, the man's voice, filled with regret and desperation, finally persuading him of the truth.

The captive offered a bitter smile. "I'm skeptical that any mortal, even one of your caliber, can vanquish it."

" If what you've told me is true, the daemon resides within a human vessel, which is can certainly be destroyed."

"You'll never breach its defenses, given the sorcery it wields. A mere brush against you, and you'd be undone. Even if you managed to land a blow, there's no predicting the dark enchantments it might have cast upon its host. At the height of my power, post-feast, even my own flesh becomes as impenetrable as steel. And let's not forget its loyal minions, ever eager to lay down their lives in its defense."

Buren extended his metallic hand, causing the man to flinch, anticipating torment. Instead, he felt the cold, unyielding touch of the gauntlet on his shoulder — a gesture that, in its own way, offered a semblance of comfort.

"I've got some tricks of my own, as you've seen. Just tell me what I want to know."

A solitary youth in guard attire stood vigil at the entrance of the guard headquarters. His chin dipped towards his chest, only to jerk back up as he struggled against the weariness of a late-night watch. The guard patrolling the perimeter was equally inattentive, allowing Buren to effortlessly evade him. Scaling the wall, he slipped a steel wire between the window rails, deftly lifting the latch to gain entry. Balthus had provided detailed information on patrol schedules, guard numbers, and various entry points to the building. Thus far, the intelligence had proven invaluable.

Once inside, Buren fastened soft leather pads beneath his boots, a stealth technique he'd acquired during his tenure with the Seekers of the Artifact. This rendered his footsteps nearly silent.

Balthus had indicated that the majority of the guards would be resting in the barracks situated at the opposite end of the compound. Only a solitary watchman would be patrolling the corridors, with another stationed at the jail. The distant footsteps of the patrolling guard posed no threat to Buren. However, the jail guard presented a challenge. Positioned at the end of a corridor, he had a clear view of the jail entrance and all its cell doors.

Entering the jail would be tricky. The hefty steel door was barred from the outside, ensuring that even the guard couldn't exit without assistance. Replacing the bar from the inside was impossible without help. Buren had contemplated enlisting Flynn's aid but had decided against it due to potential complications. Instead, he resolved to act swiftly once inside. If the external guard noticed the bar's removal, he'd undoubtedly raise the alarm. With shifts lasting merely an hour, incapacitating the guard was futile. His successor would only grow more alarmed upon discovering his predecessor's absence.

At the base of the stairs, the jail's entrance door stood adjacent to the guard's desk. A barred aperture in the door allowed guards to converse during shift changes without needing to open the heavy barrier. Peering through, Buren found the guard's usual post vacant, the hallway beyond dimly illuminated by flickering torches. Swiftly and silently, he removed the bar and nudged the door open, the hinges' groan echoing like a trumpet in the pre-dawn stillness.

He tiptoed past the cells, praying the inmates were too drowsy to notice an intruder. Most seemed to have learned the art of survival, huddling in shadowed corners, faces downturned, feigning death. One cell door stood slightly ajar, its key still inserted. From within, muffled whimpers and grunts emanated. Glancing inside, Buren's eyes narrowed in disgust at the sight of the jailer forcing himself upon a young woman, likely detained under some fabricated charge. Swiftly, he snatched the keys and locked the cell, hoping the jailer would remain preoccupied. If freed from her torment, the woman would likely try to run, and that would risk alerting the rest of the guards. Buren couldn't have that.

Locating the cell at the end of the hallway Balthus had described, Buren found it empty. Just as he had been promised there was another keyhole in the stone wall, invisible in the lightless corner unless you knew exactly where to look. Inserting another key from the chain into the aperture, he heard the grinding of stone against stone. Pushing against the wall, a concealed passage unveiled a narrow, darkened stairway.

Dim light and hushed voices beckoned from below. Reaching the base, Buren hid in an alcove, surveying the scene. The passage opened to a subterranean chamber, its domed ceiling dripping with mineral-rich water onto the carved stone floor. Stout candles illuminated intricate blood-drawn symbols on the ground. At the symbol's heart, a girl reclined on a chaise longue. At first glance, Buren mistook her for the farm girl who'd sought her sister, but a closer look revealed her to be Jyhanna, the missing sibling. Behind her, the abducted girl was suspended, bound by her wrists to a statue of a horned daemon. At the foot of the chaise, three guards, including Captain Seldan, lay on mattresses, moaning in pleasure, lost in hedonistic reverie.

Silently, Buren drew a throwing dagger from his bandolier. His interrogation had revealed that the daemon currently possessed Jyhanna. However, there was no known method to free her. With grim determination, he took aim and released the blade, watching it sail with lethal precision towards its target.

The dagger halted mid-air, its trajectory interrupted by an unseen force. The girl languidly turned her gaze upon him, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"You believed the shadows would shield you from me?" Her voice, though soft, carried an eerie undertone, reminiscent of a bear's growl echoing from a pitch-black cavern. "I am a creature of the dark; you are merely a visitor." Suddenly, Buren felt himself lifted, as if gripped by an invisible titan's hand, and was drawn towards the room's center. The men, roused from their stupor, unsheathed their swords. Suspended upside-down, his arms pinned to his sides, Buren felt the sharp edges of the Gauntlet bite into his flesh.

"All your caution, all your cunning," she mused. "Your methods of interrogation are particularly... delightful. Yet, your informant omitted a crucial detail: I share Balthus's senses. I knew of your approach. He's pleaded for mercy, but his pleas fall on deaf ears. I'll abandon him in that dungeon and seek a new thrall."

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Captain Seldan stepped forward, desperation evident in his eyes. "Choose me, Great One. Grant me your power, and this district will be yours."

She regarded him coolly. "You've served adequately. You shall conduct the ritual at the morrow's full moon. Secure my next sacrifice, and I'll fulfill your desire. But first, I want him hacked into pieces."

A cruel smile stretched across Seldan's face. "Immediately." He brandished his sword, approaching Buren like a butcher ready to carve into a calf hanging from a ceiling hook.

Buren, struggling against his invisible bonds, spat out, "You were sworn to protect this district."

Seldan laughed, a sound devoid of warmth. "Protect? These wretched peasants? No one cares for their plight, not even their own kind. Initially, I resented being assigned here, but I soon recognized the benefits of ruling over such helpless souls. It allowed me the freedoms my lineage deserves, to do and take whatever I want from those below me. And that was before Balthus offered an alliance. And to think, had King Devon returned from war, he'd have prosecuted us for exercising our birthright! Thankfully, King Duriel is more understanding, as long as we remain discreet and do his bidding."

Buren's efforts to break free from the unseen force proved futile, only exhausting Buren's strength. The rush of blood to his head, combined with his exertions, made his temples throb. Pausing to catch his breath, he focused intently on his right arm, willing it to move. In this deep concentration, he detected a peculiar sensation: the sixth finger of the gauntlet seemed to sense a subtle vibration in the air. Upon closer inspection, it felt like an ethereal string, resonating silently. When he plucked it, the room echoed with a sound akin to thunder.

The possessed girl jolted upright, her eyes wide with alarm. "Kill him, now!" she commanded.

Seldan hesitated, momentarily distracted by her urgency, but then lunged at Buren with his blade raised. Desperate, Buren tugged sharply at the invisible string. The chamber was filled with a deafening boom, and the force suspending him vanished. He would have plummeted headfirst to the ground, but the swift reflexes of his metal arm saved him, so he landed in a one-armed handstand and dropped gracefully on his feet.

The guards, momentarily stunned by the thunder, rallied and charged. Buren deftly countered their attacks, his gauntlet proving a formidable weapon. He grabbed the first blade in his metal palm as it came, and it splintered in his crushing grip. He hurled the metal shards at the dumbfounded man's face, and the shrapnel tore his head to bits, so a cloud of blood burst from the back of his skull. The second guard raised his sword above his head and brought it down in a cleaving arc, which Buren sidestepped and smashed his metal forearm at the back of his neck. It cracked loudly and the man fell limply to the ground and did not get up. Jon Seldan was the last of the men to reach him, while the daemoness conjured orbs of fire, hurling them with deadly precision. Buren deftly grabbed the captain by the collar and lifted him into the path of the projectiles. They hit him in the back, burning their way through his flesh so flames and burned viscera burst from his mouth and nostrils, his fiery demise instant.

The daemoness's smug expression contorted into one of fury. She unleashed a torrent of fire, which Buren met with his outstretched gauntlet, pushing against the blazing onslaught. When she ceased her fiery barrage, he lunged, attempting to tear her heart out. But she vanished, reappearing beside him and gripping his shoulder. Instead of pain, an overwhelming euphoria washed over him. His every fiber sang with joy, every worry left his mind. Every sensation was one of extreme satisfaction, like he beheld the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, had the most delectable taste on his tongue and so on. His member stood rigid, with more gratification than he had ever known with any woman.

"This is the power I possess," she whispered seductively. "Can you see now why so many are devoted to me? Why choose the flawed love of humans when I can offer you so much more?"

Buren's response was a mere involuntary moan of agreement. But as swiftly as the ecstasy had enveloped him, it was ripped away when their touch ceased. He felt like an outcast child, thrust from the warmth of a mother's embrace into the biting cold of an unforgiving wilderness, reminiscent of the cruel fate meted out to illegitimate children in the North.

"Perhaps I judged too quickly," she mused. "Together, with your strength and my magic, we could reign supreme over this kingdom. We could overthrow the king and the Faith. Even the nightmarish entities haunting your dreams would be powerless against us. All you need to do is take my hand once more." She extended her palm invitingly.

His fingers twitched, drawn to her, still intoxicated by the remnants of the pleasure. But a fleeting thought pierced the haze: "The entities...in my dreams?" He hesitated, fingers hovering just above her hand.

"Don't!" cried the captive girl. "She deceives you! The moment she has no use for you, she'll cast you aside."

"Silence, wretch!" the daemoness thundered.

That outburst was the jolt Buren needed, snapping him back to reality. There was no time for personal pleasure, not as long as he those unimaginable horrors of his dreams still threatened the world. If they were not stopped, the heavenly fantasy she offered would inevitably turn into a nightmare. He retracted his hand, balling it into a fist, and struck the daemoness squarely in the face. She reeled backward, but then halted in mid-air, glaring at him with pure malice.

"Foolish mortal!" she spat. "You think you can defy me? I've glimpsed your very soul. Your supposed love for Azure is tainted by your dark intentions towards her kin. You witnessed a girl's violation and did nothing, all for the sake of your precious plan. You cloak yourself in righteousness, but your actions reveal the monster within. You're no savior. You're not even a dog. You're an insect, emotionlessly going forward as driven by its instincts.

As she raged, a grotesque transformation overtook her. She grew exponentially, dwarfing even Balthus's monstrous form. Spikes erupted from her spine, her skin reddened, and horns spiraled from her brow. The delicate gown that once adorned her was torn asunder, revealing that even her feminine charms increased, breast becoming large and red like the rest of the skin, small spikes circling the areola, thick and coarse hair growing to cover her genitals between muscular thighs. Her once-blue eyes now blazed with a fierce purple, and her lips swelled, glistening with a sanguine hue. Her golden locks darkened to a raven black, cascading wildly over her newly formidable frame.

"You had your chance," she intoned, vanishing only to reappear behind him. But this time, he was prepared. As she materialized, he was already in motion, delivering a powerful backward blow to her midriff. The sound echoed like a sledgehammer meeting an anvil. She skidded back several feet but remained unyielding, barely registering the impact. A feral grin spread across her face, revealing sharp fangs.

With a mere gesture of her forefinger, a blinding beam of energy erupted towards him. He raised his arm in defense, but the force of the blast sent him hurtling into the wall, the breath knocked out of him. His right arm, which had borne the brunt of the assault, glowed a fiery red. It was the first time he had seen it react this way, given its usual imperviousness to heat. As he refocused on his adversary, he noticed the ground where he had stood was now molten, radiating a dim, ominous glow.

"I'm not prepared for this," he thought fleetingly, before pushing the doubt aside. He doubted anything could have truly prepared him for such an adversary. As he lunged forward, the towering daemoness charged to meet him. He deftly evaded her slashing claws, vaulting over her and raking his talons across her back. The sensation was akin to nails scraping a chalkboard, leaving no visible mark. However, near her waist, he felt another of those peculiar, invisible strings. Severing it with his claws, her scream filled the chamber.

She retaliated with a barrage of fire. But he had discerned a pattern. The Gauntlet could deflect attacks that should have bypassed it, like gouts of flame, and it seemed to detect vulnerabilities in her defenses. It was a slim advantage, but it was all he had. He danced around her, locating and severing another string behind her knee and one near her left forearm. Each cut elicited a scream, yet her vigor seemed inexhaustible. He, on the other hand, was rapidly tiring. He could not even be certain what he was doing would have any meaningful effect, but the daemoness' reaction certainly suggested so.

Suddenly, she raised her arms, and huge chunks of stone tore free from the floor and ceiling. With a mere gesture, they hurtled towards him. He twisted, dodged, and somersaulted, narrowly avoiding the lethal barrage. Still, smaller fragments struck him, breaking bones and bruising his flesh.

Before he could regain his balance, she loomed over him, aiming a crushing blow at his head. He raised his arm in a desperate parry. While the Gauntlet held firm, the downward force drove him into the ground, shattering his left shin and slamming him onto his back. As his vision blurred, he saw her massive foot descending, aiming to crush him. With a last-ditch effort, he propelled himself aside using his right arm, the only part of him that was not in pain and drained, narrowly evading her stomp.

He knew time was running out. One misstep, one moment of exhaustion, and she would land the fatal blow.

He rolled onto his stomach and, using the Gauntlet, thrust at the ground to propel himself towards the towering daemoness. Desperately, he raked at her face and neck, searching for a vulnerability, but her skin resisted him as effectively as armor. Before he could retreat, she ensnared him in a vice-like embrace, pressing him against her chest. To his surprise, her bosom felt as unyielding as molten metal contained within supple pouches, even though they appeared soft and buoyant as she moved.

She opened her mouth wide, revealing a long, forked tongue. Drops of her venomous saliva seared his skin on contact. With a savage motion, she sank her teeth into his left shoulder, sucking up his blood and eliciting a scream of agony from him. The captive girl's voice echoed with desperate encouragement, urging him to endure.

His fingers trailed frantically over her form, seeking another of those mysterious strings. Amidst the thick tangle of her hair, he felt the familiar vibration. As darkness threatened to consume his vision, he mustered the last of his strength and yanked at the string. It tore free.

Suddenly, the crushing force around him relented, and he crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. The daemoness convulsed, clutching her head and emitting a piercing scream. Her form began to disintegrate, evaporating into a mist of purple smoke, as if consumed by an invisible flame. With one final, malevolent glare, she hissed, "This isn't the end! I will have my revenge!" As the last wisps of her essence vanished, the girl she had possessed collapsed atop him, her naked body now free from the malevolent entity.

The distant cries of the chained girl eventually brought him back to consciousness. With great effort, given his weakened state and shattered leg, he crawled to the statue and crushed the chains in his grip. The girl, now free, supported him by the armpit. He draped the two girls in cloaks taken from the fallen guards, hoisted the still-unconscious Jyhanna onto his shoulder, and grabbed a particular keepsake he believed would be of use shortly. Together, they made their way up the stairs to the jail level.

The guard he had imprisoned was hurling a tirade of curses, drawing the attention of more guards to the jail. As he and the girls emerged from the shadowy cell, the guards readied their weapons. However, their aggression waned when he presented his grim trophy: the charred and severed head of Captain Jon Seldan. The guards stepped aside, allowing them to pass without further confrontation.

He delivered Jyhanna to her waiting sister. As the tearful reunion unfolded, Jyhanna began to rouse. "What happened?" she murmured, her eyes fluttering open. Her sister's response was a tight, relieved embrace. As he turned to leave, borrowing her broomstick to use as a makeshift crutch, the girl's hand caught his cloak.

"Thank you," she whispered through her tears.

He nodded, avoiding her gaze. Setting some gold coins on a nearby table, he advised, "You should leave this town. This should cover your expenses."

"But we wish to stay," the jubilant sister interjected.

He shook his head. "It's not wise."

"You're a hero," the girl rescued from the brothel declared. "We want to remain by your side, aiding you in any way possible. With the daemon and the guard captain gone, you can reshape this place for the better." She took the gold and pressed it back into his hand.

He stood silhouetted against the doorway, his expression a complex tapestry of regret, sorrow, and determination. "Do as you please," he murmured. "But remember, I advised you to leave." Without another word, he departed, leaving the bewildered girls in his wake.