The Demons came screaming out from the night, but Jorani stood ready to receive them.

Not entirely by choice mind you, but considering he was one of only three Warriors present clad in full Runic armour, it made sense he ought to contribute when Lady Yan came calling for volunteers. All the Peak Experts and Hidden protectors had already left to help Hongji, which was where Daxian had gone off to some hours back, but now it was time for Jorani and Ral to lend a hand.

Against Demons.

Which was a pretty good indication of how fucked they were.

If he could go back two weeks, he’d slap the shit out of his past self before telling Daxian to shove this Runic armour where the sun don’t shine, but when Jorani’s high-and-mighty half-brother presented him with the priceless gear, he put it on without even thinking. Who wouldn’t? The old bastard was out of commission and Daxian said Gang Shu would want Jorani protected, but he didn’t need convincing. This was Runic armour they were talking about, a full set which fit perfectly now that he’d filled in a little. Noble families had bankrupted themselves paying for one piece of Runic equipment, and Daxian was giving Jorani a full set, so why wouldn’t he take it?

Ral got a set too, which was mighty questionable since it would’ve probably fit Yelu Shi just as well, but Jorani wasn’t about to fuck things up for his best friend. Of course, they would’ve been better served going to battle in proper Bekkie leathers, since everyone expected a full-on Runic Knight to be a real heavy hitter. Over the past few days, he’d basked in the attention and prided himself on the respect and envy so many soldiers sent his way, but now he was paying for his sins. Here he was, first in line out of all the unqualified Martial Warriors holding the last, last line against a massed Demon attack, one which the likes of Hongji, two Exarches, ten Majors, and who knows how many hidden protectors couldn’t keep in check.

Jorani only had his greed and attachment to the material to blame, one of the three poisons according to Monk Happy, and for once, he agreed he would be better off without it. Though still adamant he’d never geld himself and join the Brotherhood, he had to admit that some of their teachings made good sense. All his life, he’d dreamed of being wealthy, and thanks to the bossman’s generous red pockets and lucrative War Bonds, that dream had become reality. Problem was, now that he had thousands of gold to his name, Jorani had no earthly idea what to do with any of it. Bed a fancy courtesan? He thought about it, but after looking into the specifics, he decided against it when he learned that most of the coin didn’t go to the women, but to their whoremonger boss, which didn’t sit right with him. Buy a big house to live in? Even putting aside the fact that he wasn’t one to put down roots, his thousands of gold wasn’t enough for a manor in the Citadel. Purchase art to show off and appreciate? How ridiculous. The only value in art was selling it to idiots who had more coin than good sense. Swaddle himself in silks and jewellery? Why bother? What purpose did swanky threads and flashy baubles serve? To advertise him as a mark to every cut-purse and mugger within a hundred metres, that’s what.

When it came right down to it, the only purpose Jorani had for coin was to fill his belly with good food and good wine, but he didn’t need thousands of gold for that. A lesson learned in the futility of greed, as Monk Happy had put it, for wealth and luxury were fleeting and impermanent. More to the point, by accepting the Runic Armour out of greed, Jorani created karma which had now come back to bite him in the ass. Who better to play bait for the Demons than the man wearing Runic Armour? He had the best odds of survival after all...

Despite standing ready with Spiritual Weapon in hand, the attack landed on Jorani’s chest before he even registered the Demon’s appearance. One moment he had his feet on solid ground, walking backwards at the rear of the Imperial soldiers from Sinuji, and the next he was staring at the night’s sky and wondering why the world had moved so quickly around him. Coming to with a gasp, he sat up and ran his hands over his chest to make sure everything was still in one piece, but despite feeling the cool, unbroken metal beneath his fingers and the rapid-fire pounding in his chest, he wasn’t entirely sure he was still alive.

The pain told him yes, he was, because even though his Runic Armour dampened the Demon’s powerful attack, the impact still managed to bruise his ribs and drive the air out of his lungs. Belatedly producing Panacea to fix his minor injuries, Jorani pushed himself up into a seated position and took in his monstrous foe. The eyes were the first thing he noticed, two dark, ravenous pits of despair, set over-top a formidable set of pearly bared fangs. Lips twisted in unmistakable agony, its sinuous, inhuman tongue writhed about from its open, cavernous mouth, dripping with viscous ooze which hissed and steamed when it hit the grass. Its gnarled head sat atop a bulbous torso covered in pulsing, fluid-filled bulges, a torso which ended abruptly at the waist where a half-dozen armoured, crab-like legs poked out from beneath its prodigious belly. The chitin-covered limbs blurred as it skittered to and fro with harrowing speed, its meaty, flabby arms swinging twin hammer-like pincers instead of hands, pincers which snapped and jabbed at empty air as Mister Rustram danced about the field to distract the beast so Jorani could get up.

Which meant he should probably stop sitting on his ass in a daze, so he embraced the pain and bolted back into the fray. Mister Rustram was too valuable to risk like this, because he was one of the few Warriors around who had Condensed an Aura. They didn’t have enough of those for this final last stand, and if enough of those rare individuals were to fall, then the army would be even more helpless before the Demons’ malignant Aura and not a single one of the fifty-thousand soldiers would make it back to the second line. Circling around to the Demon’s rear, Jorani charged in as quickly as he could before leaping into the air. With his Spiritual Rope coiled about his fist, he raised his hand to deal a mighty blow at the Demon’s exposed back, but then its torso turned at what seemed like an impossible angle. A weighty claw clipped him in mid air and sent him flying away once more, but this time he kept his wits about him. Inwardly cursing as he sailed through the air for the second time tonight, he grit his teeth and rolled with the impact, all the while feeling his body groan in protest with each bump. Head over heels he tumbled, once, twice, five times in total, before finally landing shakily on his feet and finding his bearings once more.

Mister Rustram was still dancing with the Demon, and somehow even fighting back, as several of the Demon’s pustules had burst open to ooze sickly green Ichor down its frame. The injuries did nothing to slow it down as it chased relentlessly after the annoyance, while Pran and Saluk lingered on the outskirts with their massive hammers pointed at the Demon. A fat lot of good those two giants were, which was disappointing since their sheer size and brawn were the sole reasons he stationed himself by them in the first place. With Ral playing bait in his Runic Armour somewhere down the line, Jorani figured the two towering half-bulls would make for decent enough replacements, but they weren’t even holding their hammers ready to swing. Keeping a few choice phrases to himself, he took a deep breath and readied to charge back in when two thunderous explosions stopped him in his tracks. A good thing too, for the Demon went wild with rage, flailing its arms and snapping its claws in a murderous frenzy of movement. Turning towards the bull brothers, the Demon screeched as its tongue reared up like a spear readying to strike, only to open and reveal a fanged maw within the writhing, fleshy protrusion.

Only then did Jorani see the pulsing craters on the Demon’s torso, as if two pustules had exploded and taken a fist-sized chunk of flesh with it. Somehow, Pran and Saluk had hurt it, punching through the Demon’s innate defences and invisible Domain to damage its fatty flesh. While the injury was almost negligible, it was more than nothing, which meant they were Jorani’s best chance to kill it. Moving to intercept the Demon’s charge, he arrived just in time to get swept up by the man-crab’s claws, his arm and Spiritual Weapon caught fast in the Demon’s left claw and his head and helmet caught in the right, all while the fanged tongue repeated stabbed out in search of a gap in Jorani’s armour. Rune-reinforced metal creaked beneath the behemoth’s powerful, vise-like grip and miraculously held firm, but while he felt minimal physical pressure from the squeezing pincers, his neck strained something fierce as the Demon tried its damnedest to put more distance between Jorani’s head and shoulders.

Thankful it was too stupid to twist, Jorani fended off the Demon’s tongue with his free hand and gathered his Chi. Dispatching everything he could spare towards his Spiritual Weapon, he envisioned a layer of sharpened teeth travelling along the outer surface of the rope and biting into the Demon’s chitinous claws. It was just like shaving through a tree with his Spiritual Rope, except this tree was fighting back by trying to squeeze the life out of him. His efforts counted for nothing as the invisible teeth ground themselves flat against a similarly invisible barrier while his neck muscles strained and tore. Feeling his Chi reserves draining fast, he thought fast and acted without thinking, because if he had, he would’ve tried something else. Grabbing the lancing tongue with his free hand, he redirected it up the Demon’s right forearm where it bit deep just below the wrist. By some miracle of the Mother, its tongue somehow pierced through its own innate defences and caused it to release Jorani’s head, giving him a short reprieve from his still-imminent death. Pain shooting through his head and neck, he grabbed the loose end of his Spiritual Rope and slipped a quick noose around the lower part of the Demon’s left claw, the one still clamped around his arm. Pulling hard to tighten the noose, he Honed his weapon and sawed away for all he was worth.

It was do or die now, so this Rope had best get through...

Again, the Mother smiled on Jorani as his weapon bit deep into the Demon’s chitinous plates around the wrist, not enough to injure the Demon, but enough to force its claw open. Ichor gushed out of the wound as Jorani fell back to the earth, where he immediately scrambled away out of the Demon’s path. The only problem was that his weapon was still fastened around the Demon’s claw, which meant Jorani had a choice to make: abandon his weapon and pray he got away, or keep fighting and maybe somehow kill a Demon.

The choice was simple. The Spiritual Rope billowed out as Jorani slipped his arm out from the bundled coil, but his foe was already upon him. Hammering him aside with a powerful right, Jorani’s world shook as he bounced off the dirt at speeds no human should ever experience. That was the downside to Runic armour, because no matter how durable it might be, its greatest flaw was the squishy human inside. Internally bleeding and more than a little concussed, he returned to his senses all too quickly and hated everything about this experience, with waves of crippling pain emanating from what felt like every single part of his body. A broken shoulder was the first injury he identified, solely due to the debilitating agony which shot through his very being as large hands pulled him from the dirt.

“Hold tight, yes?” came the rumbling question, and it repeated itself before Jorani realized it was directed at him. Noting he was being cradled in Pran’s arms, he used his good hand to grab the burly half-bull’s forearm, only for Pran to shake his head. “Not to Pran,” he said, using his chin to point at Jorani’s crippled arm. “To rope.”

Apparently, Jorani hadn’t divested himself of his weapon quickly enough, because the tail end was still resting in his hand. By the Mother it hurt to close his fingers around it, but once it was done, he felt oddly comforted, like a child hiding under a blanket. Nothing had changed, but he felt safer, which was better than nothing right? Nodding at Pran to indicate he’d done as instructed, Jorani opened his mouth to ask why, but the half-bull cut him off while looping the Spiritual Rope a few times around Jorani’s wrist. “Hold tight, very tight. Do not let go, okay?”

Without waiting for a reply, Pran planted Jorani’s feet on the ground and wrapped both arms around him, eliciting a shrill, unmanly noise some might call a scream. This was not solely due to the pain, as immeasurable as it might be, for in a moment of crystalline clarity, Jorani knew what the half-bull had planned, and he knew true despair.

Running backwards with more speed than Jorani thought possible, Pran dragged him kicking and screaming away from the man-crab currently locked in combat with Mister Rustram. Not the worst idea in the world so far, but there was more to it, for Jorani’s Spiritual Rope was still tied to the Demon’s left claw. The rope grew taut and the world turned white as agony lanced through his arm and brain, and he almost passed out. Blinking the spots out of his eyes, he endured the pain in hopes of seeing the Demon laid out flat on its back, but alas, it stood firm with claw raised and legs braced against Jorani’s taut rope, holding Pran in place while fending off Mister Rustram’s rapier.

“I’m coming brother!” Saluk shouted, barrelling towards Jorani with head lowered and arms outstretched. “Brace yourself!”

The half-bull tackled Jorani before he could scream, ‘Stop!’, and the impact introduced him to new heights of previously undiscovered agony. When he came to his senses again, he found himself pressed between two burly half-bulls with the Demon straining to resist their combined efforts, but Jorani was fairly certain his arm would give out long before Pran, Saluk, or the Demon grew tired. He was actually kind of hoping it would, because shortly after his shoulder separated from the socket, he ran out of breath to scream with and couldn’t bring himself to draw another. In fact, he could barely even keep conscious, though why he struggled against sweet oblivion, he couldn’t say. Besides, this was the dumbest plan he’d ever seen, because all the Demon had to do was ignore Mister Rustram and come after them.

Seemingly reading Jorani’s mind, the man-crab hurtled towards them with claws a clacking. The sudden lack of tension sent Pran and Saluk tumbling to the ground, and Jorani went limp with mild relief as the bull brothers rolled past him. Everything still hurt, but at this point, death was preferable, because as Monk Happy often said, “Life is Suffering.”

Of course, this wasn’t exactly what he meant, and Jorani had explained the real meaning to the bossman some months ago, but it was close enough for his current purposes. Why struggle to live through such adversity and hardship? Why continue drifting aimlessly through a life not worth living? There was no point in his continued existence, no goal to pursue or ambition to follow. He was aimless, directionless, purposeless, and no one would care if he died. It would be so easy too, because all he had to do was lie here and do nothing for one, single second, and then the sweet release of death would come claim him.

...

The world stopped as Jorani’s thoughts accelerated to never before seen speeds, his mind struggling to make sense of his situation. These were not his thoughts, but the whispered lies of the Father’s foul minions. Monk Happy had taught Jorani to recognize the signs and guard against their unholy machinations, but the strange thing was, they had no reason to bother. The Spectres were ethereal creatures of lies and deceit, but they always acted with a purpose, whether it be to bring someone low and drive them mad, or to discourage them from acting in a beneficial manner. Why lie to a man who was about to die? Why discourage him when there was nothing he could do to stop the Demon crab-running towards him? Because there was something he could do to stop it? Like what? His arm was broken and wrenched out of the socket, his ribs were bruised and chest compressed, his head was ringing and Chi low, meaning his Runic Armour would soon be nothing more than useless scrap metal, so all he had left was a Spiritual Rope tied around the crab-Demon’s claw and no strength to use it.

Well, at the very least, he could buy Pran and Saluk some time to get away. As stupid as their plan might have been, they meant well, and they were still the only ones around who could hurt the Demons. This meant that despite being unable to actually hurt the Demons, as an Expert of the Empire, Jorani was among the strongest Warriors still here and all that stood between this Demon. The other tens of thousands of soldiers would be helpless before it, men and women without Natal Palaces, Runic Armour, and many even lacking Spiritual Weapons. Jorani had all these tools at his disposal, so it was his job to delay this Demon for as long as possible, because where there was life, there was hope.

This was his purpose, to stand tall against the Father’s foul minions, even if he was helpless to stop them, because in his eyes, that was a life worth living, and a cause worth dying for.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

His pain melted away as he came to his feet, taking hold of the rope with his left hand and leaving his right arm to hang loosely at his side. The Demon was upon him, but it hadn’t expected him to stand, much less move, so its claws hammered into the dirt at Jorani’s feet as he leapt aside from its charging bulk. His Spiritual Rope stilled looped about the Demon’s left claw, Jorani circled around its right, trusting his Runic Armour to protect him from the creature’s snake-like tongue repeatedly striking his face. Flicking his wrist as he passed by, he felt the Mother guide his hand as he weaved his weapon through the Demon’s skittering legs with practised efficiency, looping it around its two back legs before circling around to the other side. Just like before, the Demon pivoted at an impossible angle and tried to smash Jorani with its left claw, but the Spiritual Rope cinched around its legs and pulled them out from underneath it. Taken off balance by its own strength, the monster fell to its knees and wobbled precariously while finding its bearings, giving Jorani ample time to continue binding it with his Spiritual Weapon. There was no way he was strong enough to hold the creature in place, but as it struggled and pulled, it unwittingly helped tighten the tangled net around itself, tying hand to leg, leg to arm, arm to neck, and neck to ankle in an ever increasing complex web of knots.

Stepping back from his work, Jorani stood tall and watched the Demon struggle to find purchase. One front leg on the right and one back leg on the left were still free, as was its entire right arm, but thanks to its oddly-formed physiology, all the Demon could do was balance precariously on one hand and his legs. Any attempt to move would see it fall flat on its face or ass, especially if Jorani gave it a good, firm tug, and were he not utterly exhausted and falling into shock, Jorani supposed he might have even found the whole situation amusing. How many people could say they caught themselves a Demon? Jorani trussed it up like a pig ready for the slaughter, and all they had to do now was wait until a proper butcher came along to dress it. Between this and his performance in the battle earlier tonight, his accomplishments were fit for the dramas, albeit with a heavy dose of artistic liberties.

The Spectres were wrong. Jorani had plenty to live for, because who knew what the future had in store? Even if he had no hope or prospects, he still had friends to rely on and colleagues who depended on him, so he couldn’t give up now. Turning to the awestruck Pran and Saluk, he gestured at the Demon and said, “Why don’t you two make with the thunder and see if ye can’t off this crabby bastard?” Chances were they couldn’t, since even the weakest Demons were hardy, unearthly creatures, but perhaps they were in for a pleasant surprise. Nodding at Mister Rustram, Jorani added, “We’ve got things well in hand here. Seems like yer help might be of use elsewhere.”

Seeing as Mister Rustram outranked him, Jorani had carefully worded it as a suggestion rather than an order, but the moustached swordsman smiled and saluted as if he’d been given one. “Good work, Hangman Jorani. I’ll leave this Demon in your capable hands.”

Twin cracks of thunder sounded and the Demon wailed in apparent pain, sporting two gushing craters on its face and a snarl of murderous rage, but a hard tug of his rope sent it crashing back to the dirt. Muttering in discontent at the displeasing results, Pran and Saluk set to fiddling with their weapons once more as the Demon writhed and wreathed against its bonds, but Jorani was thoroughly impressed. Even most Experts would be hard pressed to injure a Demon, and judging by the intermittent cracks sounding off elsewhere on the battlefield, the bull brothers weren’t the only ones in possession of these miracle weapons. If four tries wasn’t enough to kill the Demon, maybe eight would do the trick, or sixteen, or thirty, or more. Either way, Jorani was happy to stand here and find out, even if it took the rest of the night.

Or until something more dangerous came along and sent him running for the hills. After all, he only had the one Spiritual Rope, which meant he could hardly wrangle up a second Demon, though it would make for a more impressive drama...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Siyar had been in plenty of tight spots before, but he never stuck around to see them through to the end.

That was the key to survival, knowing when to fight, when to run, and when to disappear. This right here was most certainly a time to disappear, but against all logic, he was still here, standing on the open field to take potshots at Demons. Impressive as the spring-coiled mechanism might be, Demons were made of sterner stuff, and a dozen shots to the head had yet to faze Siyar’s chosen target. A strange creature even as Demons went, a stooped, feminine figure with a body of tangled, fibrous matter, Siyar didn’t envy Mister Rustram for being her chosen dance partner, because nimble and tireless as he was, the strange Demon only needed one good hit to end him. It sort of reminded Siyar of a plant maybe, or a strange, waxy mineral, but whatever it was, it didn’t bleed, which really took all the fun out of shooting it.

Reloading his weapon for the umpteenth time, he tried to convince himself that he ought to get gone once more. These were fucking Demons, and all the Imperial Demon Slayers were tied up fighting even more Demons. Make no mistake, these heroes were making a good effort of it. The Ravenous Wolf was bleeding from head to toe while trading blows with a horned lizard thing, and Lady Yan was giving a bipedal goat Demon the run around while hammering it with Wind Blades, but this was a game of cats and mice, and those rarely went well for the mice. The only encouraging sight around was Lady Sumila chasing after her prey with a homicidal grin, a paragon of mice wielding an impossible bladed whip to thrash a heavy-weight rock Demon and a slender bone Demon at the same time. There were whispers of Hangman Jorani subduing his Demon single-handedly which Siyar dismissed, and talk of Ral holding the upper hand against his Demon which Siyar hoped was true, but that was only seven of nine Demons who’d slipped past Hongji’s rearguard contained, and even one was enough to rout the entire army.

Already a good number of would be heroes had fallen to these formidable foes, hoity, toity noble types Siyar wouldn’t mourn. Prospective Demon Slayers were a dime a dozen, but there was good reason why so few ever made the cut. Demons were minions of the Father given flesh, and well-protected against the weapons of man. Even with Chi surging through their Spiritual Weapons, none of the valiant Experts here could do more than scratch their foes. The Ravenous Wolf had the strength of three men, but even his most powerful blows did nothing more than knock the lizard-Demon foe off balance. Lady Sumila was even stronger than the wolf, but aside from her initial attack which saw her launch her spear into the rock Demon’s throat, she too was unable to harm her foes with her deluge of flashy, but ultimately inconsequential attacks, though she had little to no trouble tying her foes in place and even lending a hand to nearby beleaguered allies. Unfortunately, her dazzling whip-chain-staff weapon lacked the heft of a proper polearm, but even if she wielded the heaviest Spiritual Weapon in existence, there was a good chance she couldn’t kill a Demon even if it laid its head on the block and stretched its neck out for the blade.

Big-Eyed Kang had killed a Demon, back when he’d been in the army, and there were plenty in the Syndicate who could’ve vouched for it. A proper Slayer he was, and a right murderous bastard, which meant filling him full of arrows from afar was the smartest thing ‘Hangman’ Jorani ever did. Still, Big-Eye liked to wax on about his adventures in the army and how he was this big-shot Martial Warrior on the path to greatness before he killed his superior officer in a fit of drunken rage. Back then, Siyar rarely paid those tales any mind, but nowadays, he kicked himself for not committing every word to memory. See, Big-Eye wasn’t the best storyteller, because he always got distracted by the details no one ever asked about, but it was those details Siyar now desperately wanted to know. Big Eye talked about how clashing Aura’s felt like a pressure on your mind and soul, or what made it possible to cleave your blade through a Demon. Called it his Domain, he did, said it was like a bodysuit of Chi, an external layer which made him better in every possible way. Not just physically stronger, but able to do more with less and defend himself from impacts and mundane blades. It wasn’t as impressive as a Demon’s innate defences, since Siyar had seen a would-be killer carve Big-Eye from shoulder to ribs with a steel hunting knife over a breakfast table argument. Still useful though, since a lesser Martial Warrior would have died twice over, while Big-Eye was up and drinking again by dinner.

Either way, Siyar wished he’d paid more attention to those boring, droning tales which never seemed to end, because there might have been a useful hint for him to use in this perilous situation. No one here had a Domain, not the Ravenous Wolf, Lady Sumila, or Hangman Jorani. Ral might, but banking on that idiot was dumber than betting against the house in one of fat Bulat’s rigged games. Lady Yan also might, on account of all her Wind Blades, but the nimble goat Demon was shrugging her attacks off with almost no trouble at all, though a few Ichor-oozing gashes proved that she could at least injure it, if not outright kill it.

As for the bossman’s miracle weapons, the Spiritual Guns? Maybe if they had twenty of them firing into one Demon for several minutes, it would show some effect, but despite aiming all his shots at the plant Demon’s face, Siyar knew it was a futile effort. Demons didn’t have organs or weak spots to target, because they weren’t living creatures, and according to Big-Eye, the only way to kill them was to puncture their Domains and let their Internal Energy bleed out into the world. This meant doing massive amounts of physical damage, which in truth, was more of a by-product than anything else since most Martial Warriors couldn’t puncture Domains without puncturing Demon flesh as well. Big-Eyed noted there were Martial Warriors who could shred the metaphysical portion of a Demon apart without affecting its physical frame, like Living Legend Shuai Jiao of the Grasping Vine, but damned if he knew how.

All of which was utterly useless to Siyar, since he had no idea how to ‘Develop’ his Domain. Killing humans was easy, but Demons? There was no equivalent of cutting their throats, or at least not as far as he could tell. So why was he still here? This was the definition of a losing battle, one in which they couldn’t hurt the Enemy, but the Enemy could most certainly kill them. In fact, Lady Sumila aside, it almost felt like the Demons were going out of their way to fight these particular opponents, when they would be better served ignoring these flies and leaving to slaughter helpless Imperial soldiers wholesale.

Helpless soldiers like Siyar, which was a label he didn’t much care for...

So this begged the question: why the hell was he still here? He should’ve legged it the second Lady Yan called for volunteers to fend off a possible Demon attack. If Hongji and every Peak Expert in this fifty-thousand strong army couldn’t hold off the Demons, then they were doomed to the last. If Siyar escaped and brought news of their deaths to his superiors, he doubted he’d even be charged with desertion, and if he was, the bossman would fight tooth and nail to get him back, so... so that’s why Siyar had to stay and fight.

Because the bossman was counting on him.

For more than a decade, Big-Eyed Kang led the Sharktooth Syndicate and Siyar played his part, even rising to the rank of nominal third in the gang thanks to his skills in the field. People feared him then, respected him even, and he took more than his fair cut in the profits, but despite all that, he never cared much for his fellow bandits. Big-Eye’s death was an unfortunate accident, and the same with Light-Fingered Yu, because even though he grew up with those cutthroats and killers, he never counted them among his friends. Things were different now, because the bossman treated Siyar differently, not only trusting him with a Spiritual Weapon, but also inviting him to his weddings to hoist a drink or three. Silva, Birca, and Viyan weren’t a bad sort either, and Jinoe and Ronga were idiots, but they meant well most of the time. Even Ravil wasn’t so bad once Siyar was fairly certain the dark-skinned bastard wasn’t going to gut him in his sleep, but Bulat was still an insufferable twat. Jorani was somewhat bearable now that he stopped bragging all the time, though these days, he was prone to rants about religion and philosophy, and while Ral was an idiot, there was something about him which made it impossible to hate him.

Then there was Kimi, who shared his bed more nights than not, even when they were both too sober and tired to do anything about it. They just laid there together in silence, and damn him if he didn’t come to cherish those moments more than anything else, so he had to fight on for her, to keep her safe as she marched with the other tens of thousands of soldiers too weak to do anything against Demons. Siyar had come a long way from his bandit days, and he was a smuggler no more. He was a soldier of the Empire, but more importantly, he was Falling Rain’s subordinate, and that meant something, so he was in this to the bitter end.

Even though the smart money was on running.

As if to prove him right, a scream rose up in the distance, and several seconds passed before word arrived. “Xue Biquin and Jin ZhiLan are dead,” the breathless runner reported, his fear making him speak louder than he should while reporting to Lady Yan. “Their Demon is loose and headed straight for the troops.”

“I’m on it,” Siyar said, the words coming out before he thought better of it, and then his feet were moving away. His quin was waiting nearby, and he hopped on and rode towards the screams against his better judgment. Lot of that going on tonight, but to his surprise, he found Ravil, Silva, Birca, and Viyan right there with him, riding even faster than he was and flashing taunting smiles as if to say, ‘What? You afraid to die?’.

Siyar was, but he’d be damned if he’d admit it.

“Go in hard and fast,” Ravil said, grinning like a madman while reloading his weapon. “We’ve got your back. I just hope this ain’t another weird one, like that shitty plant thing. Takes all the fun out of shooting when they don’t bleed.”

That put a smile on Siyar’s face, if only because he’d had the same thought earlier, and they rode the rest of the way in silence. The soldiers were scattering from before the Demon, a right spindly skeletal creature with bones of translucent crystal and skin which hung over them like loose cloth. There it stood in the midst of frozen soldiers, slaughtering the helpless warriors with aid from its Demonic Aura, but as they approached, Siyar unleashed his own Aura to counteract it. Big Eye was right, but he never mentioned how the weight was so oppressive it felt like Siyar couldn’t breathe, but he pushed through and charged the Demon with blade drawn. Behind him, Ravil hissed, “I knew it, ye sneaking bastard,” and Siyar belatedly remembered he’d been hiding his strength since before he’d joined up, as not even Big-Eyed Kang knew he had an Aura. Well, too late for regrets now, but it warmed his heart to know Ravil and the others had come along on a hunch, especially since they’d all be dead if their hunch had been wrong. That was a lot of trust to put into a man like Siyar, and he never thought it would mean so much to him.

Rather than thank them, he growled, “What are ye waitin’ for? A written invitation? Shoot the bastard!”

Five shots rang out and struck the Demon head on as it turned towards this new threat. Ravil’s and Siyar’s shots smacked it clean in the face, leaving twin gashes along its forehead and cheek. The rest thudded solidly against the thing’s torso and rang out with an almost pleasant, melodic chime. Opening its mouth in challenge, a high-pitched shriek emanated from its throat and set Siyar’s skin to crawling and ears to ringing, but he ignored the pain and leapt from his mount to do battle with the crystalline bastard. Dodging beneath a wide swing, he circled around and scored three clean hits, his instincts taking over as he gutted the Demon, stabbed its liver, and directed a killing thrust to its spine. Or he would have, if it had those organs and his sword could cut through its hard, translucent flesh, but it was the thought that counted, right?

The Demon’s attention was wholly on Siyar as they fought in close quarters, cognizant that he was the only Warrior with an Aura and that without him, everyone else was helpless. The Aura was so oppressive, like nothing Siyar had felt before, trapping him in an unseen and unfelt blanket of fear and despair, hinting at what would come to pass if his courage should falter, but he had faced far worse with far less. It was like being back in the smuggler’s tunnels in Sanshu, with barely enough room for a skinny, eight year old boy to slip through in complete and utter darkness. The dirt could’ve collapsed atop him at any moment, or he might get snagged onto a rock and stuck to starve to death, but he never gave up then, and he wouldn’t give up now.

Hold the line. That was his purpose here, and Siyar would see this through to the end.

While he fought, Ravil bellowed orders at the surrounding soldiers to make themselves scarce, and they hot-footed out of the area with such speed it made Siyar question why the hell he was doing this to begin with. Certainly not for glory, since that was worth less than shit, and definitely not to save lives, since he would rather eat shit than be a ‘Hero of the Empire’. All his life, he’d kept his head down and made the most with what the Mother gave him, but he supposed now it was time to pay his debts. Better soldiers than Siyar had died beneath his blade, so it was only fair he take up their cause now, when the whole world was going to shit and they needed every blade they could spare.

This Demon was neither fast, nor strong, and Siyar had a remarkably easy time against it, and the most annoying thing was its incessant, high pitched whine. After a minute, the whine went away without warning, and Siyar finally thought he could do this. Even one Demon Slayer was enough to make a difference, especially if they could all hold out long enough for the Slayer to get here, but then the world rolled around Siyar and he found himself stumbling like a drunk on New Years.

His ears weren’t working, and he couldn’t tell up from down or left from right. This happened sometimes, when people fell into one of the Lakes and were fortunate enough to survive, and Siyar finally figured out why the high pitched whine went away. As the blood dribbled out his ears and down his cheeks, he found his bearings and faced the Demon with blade in hand. Its lifeless face broke into a smile as it reached for Siyar’s helpless frame, and all he could do was watch death’s slow approach.

Hopefully, Kimi would find a good man to keep her company, or a better man than Siyar at least. That wasn’t asking for much, was it, Mum?

So close he could see his reflection in the Demon’s glossy skin, Siyar took solace in the fact that even at the end, he kept his cool. There was no fear in his eyes, only resignation, and the determination to take his foe with him.

The Demon’s hand closed about his face as Siyar put everything he had into his swing. He barely even had to aim as his sword sliced across its neck, the target ingrained into his body from tens of thousands of repetitions. He was the sword, and the sword was he, and Siyar would cut this Demon’s throat even if it was the last thing he did.

Pain erupted across his face, neck, and chest, more pain than he’d ever felt before. For long seconds, he waited for the pain to subside and cold nothingness to come claim him, but his torment would not end. Grasping hands grabbed him and pulled him away, while more hands pressed against his tender skin, but Siyar held in his screams to deny his foe the satisfaction. Something cold splashed against him, compounding his agony even further, but it also jolted him back to his senses. Opening his eyes, he found Ravil and the others all leaning over him with empty water-skins and mixed looks of awe and amusement. Ravil moved his mouth, speaking words Siyar couldn’t hear, but he’d learned to read lips a lifetime ago. “Fuck me,” the murderous bastard was saying, “Never ever seen a man get covered head to toe in Ichor and not utter a peep. Even the bossman screams a bit and groans about it for weeks after, but you? You’re a stone-cold killer to the core.”

“Did I kill it?” Siyar asked, more surprised than anyone that he was still alive.

“No need to shout,” Ravil answered, gesturing off to the side. “Ye didn’t kill it, but ye carved it real good, which ought to count as an assist, at least. Best thank the great hero there for saving yer hide though, before he runs off to slaughter some more Demons.”

Turning just in time to catch the Demon’s death throes, Siyar chuckled beneath his breath as the Warrior flourished his twin curved sabres and turned to face him, dressed head to toe in silver and white silk as if attending a banquet rather than striding across the battlefield. No offence to the bossman or anything, but this was what a proper hero of the Empire was supposed to look like, now a man who’d finally crossed over into greatness judging by the ease with which he dispatched his foe. “Warrant Officer Jia Zian,” Siyar called, not sure if he was shouting again. “Appreciate the save. Head west for more of the Demon bastards to kill.”

No need to fret anymore. Reinforcements were here, led by none other than the Twinned Dragon Scion, Lu Jia Zian, a Talent second only to Falling Rain. His presence meant the tides had turned against the Enemy, and so with that, Siyar finally relaxed and let the sweet relief of nothingness finally claim him.

Chapter Meme