"Well, what will you do? This is the dungeon, the entire theocracy is, and you see people possessed by demons. Will you destroy everything to save them?"

Shyla watched Lord Walter turn his head and stare at Faux, his companion. Faux goaded him to attack the demons, and if Walter decided to, then Shyla doubted any resistance would stop him. The coup in the northern peninsula was bloodless. His presence, by itself, won. Now Shyla knew why.

"I trust you as far as I can throw you."

Faux frowned at Lord Walter's comment.

Ah, so Faux's not Water's companion. She's an adversary with an aligned path.

"And you?" Shyla raised an eyebrow when Lord Walter addressed her. "What's your deal? Another prostitute throwing herself at me to win some favor?"

"No, not at all."

That was a lie. Pope Althonbright, a possessive man, used explicit instructions to get Lord Walter's attention. That's how much he feared Lord Walter. Shyla matched Prime Minister Asibridel's body type, and Walter performed a coup from their relationship alone. So it stood evident, a miscalculation on available facts, Shyla might use her body to obtain favors. Fortunately, the demon lived long and could see the difference between outrage and lust, sometimes divided by a thin line.

"Are we at risk?" Shyla asked, "I will not deny some of us are demons. The arrangement, however, is not coercive for most."

"Most?" Lord Walter's comment echoed off the nearby stone homes.

Shyla swallowed. "Unfortunately, the one I inhabit is a captured slave from the northern peninsula. She is unwilling."

He stepped forward and snagged Shyla's blouse.

˙ᴉɔo˥ ɟo poɥʇǝW

Seconds later, he released her, and Shyla tumbled onto her rear. The demon realized she was not dead nor forcibly extracted. What happened, Shyla couldn't be sure, but the Black Mage of Eovamund seemed to find his answers.

The sensation of his trespass felt like the moon landed on her. Even the elf's identity felt the superiority and briefly combined strength with the demon to hold out.

"Disgusting," Walter muttered, "What a piece of filth."

"I never once thought I would look upon the visage of such a one," Shyla whispered.

˙ʎlℲ

Shyla, and Faux, sprinted to match Walter's flight speed. He pulled ahead anyway. His form streaked down the orderly streets, a black blur disturbing the wind between drab grey buildings. When the two women caught up to Walter, he already stood before Pope Althonbright's table.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

The pope, welcoming arms wide, said, "Greetings, esteemed hero! We have longed for you to visit. Welcome to the Alune Theocracy, the masters of magic. One such as yourself, the pinnacle of the art, is at home. Please, partake in the numerous delights--"

The word 'delight' caused an electric twitch on Walter's face. After a moment's focus from Walter, like a wolf with a lowered muzzle, Pope Althonbright ceased his prattling. The pope's eyes bulged, his chest heaved, soundlessly, unable to draw in air. Seconds later, he ripped at his collar and clawed at his throat, bloated and distended. The Adam's apple cracked. While he waved back and forth, his complexion shaded darker. Shocking white became the exertion of red, then purple, and finally a suffocating blue. The pope pointed and worked his lips to incant.

"Master of magic, my ass. You choke, and you're useless. You demanded more from your servants in the same situation, hypocrite."

The pope scattered silver plates of exquisite food, wasted on excess for so few guests, and scrambled forward to Walter's boots, to kiss them, to beg for his life. His clawing fingers missed when Walter retreated. It was there, on his hands and knees, Pope Althonbright's eyes glazed over and fell lifeless. Stillness settled on the body.

"How unfortunate," Walter mumbled, "It seems that the pope choked to death on his own self-importance."

Shyla stared, the pope was dead, Walter killed him.

The Black Mage of Eovamund, after a shrug, walked to the pope's place at the table. With each step, his boots echoed in the dining room. Even Faux, his companion-adversary, said nothing. Walter didn't torture him, he didn't threaten him, he didn't demand a tribute. He simply arrived and exterminated the pope. Furiously, for his participation in the heroic qualms, for the reviewed memories in Shyla's mind, yes, but also coldly.

Walter dragged the pope's chair to a window, and it screeched against the hardwood floor the entire way. He sat and propped his ankle over his foot.

"Who's next in line? Are they self-important, too?"

"No, by Alune, they are not," Shyla's words spilled from her mouth, "The next in line is innocent, an infant."

Walter's mouth parted when he looked at her. He smoothed out his shock and returned to looking out the window. "You're in charge then."

"You don't wish to take over?"

Walter remained silent.

"With all due respect, I am not the legitimate ruler here, and there is a process--"

Walter gritted his teeth. "I don't care. I said you're in charge, so that's how it's going to be. Do what you like after I leave, but I do not want to waste my time twiddling my thumbs while you figure it out."

"What is it you want?"

"First, I want you to send a messenger to the Sanctuary and inform, no, command Prime Minister Asibridel to come over. Tell her: I said so. If she makes excuses, tell her I'll drag her out by the hair. I'm tired of the games, hers included. Next, I want you to show me where your dungeon heart is."

"Do you intend to destroy us?" Shyla asked.

"I'll make up my mind then. That's not going to be a problem, is it?"

Walter looked at her, and Shyla shook her head. The answer seemed to be more one of resolution of the inevitable, rather than agreement.

"You realize," Faux said, "You're crossing a point of no return? Maybe you did already. Not that I'm complaining, of course, but it's all so mysterious. Why now? Why not before? Come on now, this is melodramatic for a little lover's spat."

"Shut the fuck up. You have no room to talk, psycho. I have a mission for you, too," Walter said, "Go to Letun and tell Princess Roselynde that Rabecca's slavery is over. Don't tolerate any legal bullshit. They have the king's decree? Tell her it's the hero's decree. Then, find the elf named Nix. She'll probably be at Elin's property waiting for me, and you should know how to find it, stalker. Tell her she has three days to make it up here. After that, return to the Necropolis and tell the Duke of the Rotting Garden to expect me."

"Why the duke?"

"I'm going to raise hell."