Perspective: Seyari

The road had narrowed to the point where the wagons could hardly traverse it long before we entered the town’s secluded valley. The small village we were staying in was idyllic in the way only a small hunting town deep in the mountains could be. We’d traded bucolic countryside for tall pines days ago.

The first snow of winter had yet to weigh down the pines. The morning light had barely burned through the clouds and what shone through the needles was hardly enough to warm the humans.

I was above such petty concerns, though the trip and secrecy surrounding it had cramped my wings in both mind and body. The Inquisition sought to deal with the situation here without making anything public knowledge. I protested that nothing would leave a small town like this, but was told rumors would spread and be harmful to the other small towns in this area where the Church’s presence was thin.

I was certain I could take care of this demon myself. And I wouldn’t need to travel for days on the ground to do so. A lesser demon like what had spawned out here would hardly require me to lift a finger. Though I might leave section of forest scorched, it would grow back and with trees as far as my perfect eyes could see, I doubted the people here would want for game.

Unfortunately, the Inquisition rarely moved outside of secrecy. As such, the caravan was full of useless people and goods to sell the idea that I was an Angel who had come here to bless ground for a new chapel. The town’s small shrine was in a truly dismal state, I supposed. Though I had some small amount of human in me, I certainly wouldn’t accept prayers given at such a location. A new chapel would do the poor folk here some measure of good.

Whether anything came of my blessing was unfortunately not up to me to decide. Those above me spoke Dhias’ will and I listened.

Right now, his will was that I remain in secret to be used as a gesture toward the villagers and ensure cooperation. The demon had slain several of them, but the Inquisition had gotten wind some of the people here may have taken to worshipping the walking blasphemy.

Unfortunately, this required me to ride in a wagon that had been barely upgraded for comfort, as opposed to my normal carriage. Right now, I was stuck in the blasted thing, unable to even get out and stretch my wings.

“Priestess Yothariel, it is time for you to consecrate the chosen site.” A familiar voice called to me from outside the canvas covering.

“Certainly, Brother Mordwell.” I stepped out from the wagon and onto the needle-covered ground.

I was no Priestess, but regardless of how much I wanted to hear my own recent title of ‘Inquisitor’, maintaining our cover was paramount. Unfortunately, this also extended to the heavy priestess robes I now wore. Altered for my wings, they were nonetheless awful to move in; ponderous and restricting.

Still, I was excited for my first proper mission. Even if it was something I could do by myself. Inquisitor training had been a brutal six years, but I had learned much in that time.

Chief among what I learned was how far above humans I was. I had to avoid underestimating them, however. Many, like Inquisitor Theodric Mordwell next to me, knew devastating magic of their own and possessed physical prowess heightened through training and magic beyond what a human could normally achieve. I’d learned the man’s first name during my years of training alongside him, though he always preferred to go by his surname.

As we walked, I took a moment to stretch my wings. Their span was more than three times my height, and the white feathers glowed blindingly in the morning sun.

We approached the town center from the edge where our wagons were camped. Villagers stared in awe at my divine presence. I gave them my best radiant smile as we walked across the small settlement to the proposed chapel site.

A few individuals seemed less than pleased by my appearance, and two in particular moved quickly away behind buildings. Silently, I indicated to Mordwell the ones who had shown anything other than reverence in my presence.

Such an act was frowned upon, but not forbidden, of course. I was an Angel, not Dhias, and was not a figure to be worshipped. The individuals would be questioned by other members, and only properly interrogated if evidence of demon worship was found.

I still did not understand how Ordia allowed its people to stray from Dhias’ guidance in any form. But, provided they did not worship demons or construct pagan ritual sites, there was only so much we could do to reach them. Such was not my responsibility.

Except today. I had to fill that role, which I had been trained for as such events were distressingly common. Without constant guidance, people would stray.

Wordlessly, the two of us reached the chapel site. Ground had been cleared and roughly leveled. I strode forward confidently and performed the rite of blessing as I had learned it. My aura flared and my holy magic flooded the area, leaving a lingering glow that would persist for several days.

“It is done,” I said solemnly.

Truthfully, I was bored. I had hoped the cult or the demon would try something. Nothing around but a cluster of villagers watching from a respectful distance.

The rest of the day flew by in a blur of nothing. I wasn’t allowed to look for the demon, but at least I was given accommodation in a quaint spare room in the village head’s home. The rustic surroundings were much rougher than in Pinewold Abbey, but returning to this part of Ordia was making me nostalgic.

After sunset, I was contacted by an agent and informed that there was, in fact, a cult, and that their hideout had been located. I asked after the demon and was told it was not present, but likely nearby and could be drawn out.

The demon’s presence meant I couldn’t use holy magic strong enough to scare it away. Still, I was excited. I hadn’t trained my martial skills for nothing. Quickly, I was helped into my armor back at the wagon and we were off through the forest.

The cult’s hideout was an old iron mine. The hills were littered with them, and this particular one appeared much more well-fitted than the average. There was evidence of recent activity, and two cultists had already been dealt with, one of whom was dead.

Overriding objections, and with Mordwell’s backing, I took the lead. I strode confidently inside. My wings, even tucked nearly touched the crossbeams. Thankfully, the main shaft was wide enough not to cause issue.

“Heathens!” I called out, radiant voice echoing down the poorly-lit tunnel. “Repent and I shall grant you mercy in Dhias’ name!”

There was no response, though they doubtless heard me. Darkness meant little to my sight, but branching paths meant I had to rely on my hearing as well. Mordwell’s earth magic would keep him apprised of any incoming threats. He would be more than capable of signaling to the other two agents. I turned my focus forward.

Sure enough, an ambush had been set at an old room between shafts. The moment the villagers-turned-cultists attacked an Angel was the moment they sealed their fates.

The first person to reach me was a young man with a wicked looking short blade. I blocked his clumsy, slow swing with my shield, and took his head off with my blade faster than he could react.

There were thirteen other cultists. Of them, one older man in the back let loose a bolt of lightning. My aura sight picked up the demonic taint present in his foul magic.

Conductive as the spell was, I had to dodge rather than block. I managed a twist which would have been impossible for a human, the spell dissipating on the rock behind me. The twist left me open and a poorly swung blade skittered across my breastplate.

I took the wielder’s hand off at the wrist, my magically-enhanced blade singing through the stale air. Leaving the mundanes to Mordwell, I ran for the mage in the rear.

Unlike the others who were dressed in normal clothing and pieces of battered armor, this one was dressed in dark robes and wielding a blackened root as a focus. He had salt and pepper hair and was clean shaven with cold brown eyes. Clearly, this mage was their leader.

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If he needed a focus to cast, he was either drawing power from it, or had little aptitude himself. I sought to close distance regardless. Lightning and metal armor are a bad combination, even if my gambeson would shield me from the worst of it.

To my surprise, he pulled out a faintly glowing, chipped blade when I approached. Catching me off guard, he managed to block my swing. I followed it with a shield bash that sent him reeling, but a crackle of lightning caused me to jump back rather than follow through.

We circled each other. I wondered what could possibly make this man and the others turn from Dhias’ light. The village was remote, but all signs had pointed to a relatively comfortable life for its inhabitants.

“Why have you led the others astray?” I asked earnestly.

The man seemed taken aback I’d spoken to him at all. He should be honored I deigned to, but I wanted to know what made scum like him tick.

He lunged in response. A feint. I batted it aside and fixed him with a stare. Behind me, the battle was tilting in my favor.

“You wouldn’t understand, heaven-spawn,” the cultist leader spat. “Dhias’ light doesn’t reach this dark corner of Varra. Great Claw will grant this village much and more. Great Claw will give us power to transcend humanity!”

He was actually insane. The head cultist barked a laugh and I watched his aura distort, corruption spreading from a source over his heart.

His body warped and fur started to sprout, but before whatever wicked transformation he had started could complete, I pushed a bolt of wind at his dominant shoulder.

Caught off-guard he stumbled. Wreathing my blade in holy light, I drove it home through his heart. Something in the way shattered, leaking demonic magic into the space around us. My aura flared brightly, burning it away.

Hairy and misshapen in his robes, the corrupted man’s body fell.

He had used a demon-tainted item. That was beyond what we had expected to find. Such blasphemous creations were rare and difficult to create.

While we would have annihilated the item with holy magic anyway, I had destroyed it with my attack before we could analyze anything about it. A pity, but not my problem.

Behind me, the melee was drawing to a close, the last of the cultists falling.

Before I could try to retrieve the remains from the body, a deep, unnatural roar sounded from deeper inside the mine. That had to be the demon. Good, I wouldn’t have to wait.

The ground shook faintly, and moments later, a large, horrifying beast turned the corner from further inside the mine and charged at us. The demon was a combination of canine and ursine features. However, they were mixed like two immiscible oils that had been shaken together.

The demonic patchwork opened its misshapen maw, magic gathering at it.

However, the stupid beast had given me plenty of time to prepare my own attack. Before the animate pile of wolf and bear parts could use its foul magic, I fired my own attack, a massive beam of holy light.

The entire mine lit up brighter than daylight for a moment. The beam lanced down the shaft; into the demon’s open maw, through its body, and out the other side.

The demon’s momentum carried its corpse nearly into the room with us. Like most demons, its corporeal body fell apart, leaking demonic mana as it rapidly turned from a recognizable corpse into a pile of bones and meat chunks.

I looked back to Mordwell and the others, a triumphant smile on my face. Truthfully, a spell of that magnitude had left me moderately drained. I didn’t show any of my fatigue, of course.

The two agents stared in barely contained shock. Mordwell simply had a knowing smile on his face, returning my own smile for a job well done.

***

“Demonic items? I didn’t even know those were a thing!” Zarenna asked when I finished this part of my tale.

“You can imagine the Church isn’t exactly going to advertise something like that.” I leaned into my four-armed heater. The night wind was picking up across the desert and the temperature had dropped rapidly.

Just because I could tolerate the cold didn’t mean I wanted to.

“Are, uh, are they always obvious?” my friend asked.

“Oh, yeah. Well, if they’re actually full of demonic mana. Without a source from a demon or a very difficult ritual, they decay quickly back into mundane or non-demonic magical items.”

“Can they be recharged?”

“Yes, they can,” I grimaced, thinking of the parts of my story yet to come.

“Oh, that explains something I think.” Zarenna looked off toward the starry sky in thought and shifted slightly in the sand.

“Something about your past?” I ventured.

“Yeah. Think you might have just given me an answer to a question I had.”

“That’s concerning.” I thought about the extreme dangers of corruption from such items.

“It’s probably fine now. For a given definition of fine.” Zarenna placed a hand over her sternum.

Oh, right. I never stopped being startled at how easy it was to forget Zarenna was a greater demon. Doubtless some sort of artifact was involved with her past, but she was a pure demon, not something corrupted. Plus, demonic mana would just give her a boost, anyway. Can’t corrupt the corrupter.

Though the image of Zarenna corrupting anything was something I couldn’t even really imagine.

“You can tell me later, okay?” I tried throwing my demon friend’s own tactic back at her.

I guessed the item she was thinking of might have been the amulet she mentioned that night outside of Port Princely. I’d wait for her to tell me on her own, though.

“I will, yeah.” She nodded in response.

I gave her a smile in agreement and started the next part of my story.

***

We’d finally cornered Etanza. The demon who killed mother went by Etanza, rather than her true name of Etia’Nazurathun. True names were still poorly understood by the Church. They had power certainly. I knew father’s and could feel a resonance even when I thought the words.

The problem was that the Church didn’t quite understand what they could do. Angels did not offer any answers either. I had no true name personally, held back as I was by my mortal blood.

Ten long years of following her trail of destruction had led us to this long-abandoned fort on the western frontier. During this time, Etanza had spread corruption across much of Ordia, creating demonic artifacts and spawning lesser demons like weeds. We’d been able to gather she was after something that had led her to this mountain. From all of our intel, we had gathered she’d not found it, but was about to move her operation somewhere far to the north.

Which was why we had decided to assault her current lair. Once no more than a redoubt on an ill-used mountain pass to dwarven lands, the location had been expanded through magic and forced labor into a nightmarish, labyrinthine castle.

Mordwell and I had fought tooth and nail alongside a massive contingent of Church forces. The lives of many good people had been sacrificed so that we could reach the final chamber where Etanza was no doubt fully prepared to fight us.

From scattered survivors we’d learned she was freakishly strong, and completely unhinged. Reports stated Etanza was almost certainly a Reaver. Given what she’d fought, I was, for the first time in a long while, afraid. The fact she was a Reaver meant that she’d taken part of mother’s soul. Fury gave me courage.

I kicked the door in. Etanza stood inside, fully armored and armed, and aura aflame. She stood roughly two and a half meters tall, had deep blue skin and the typical horns, tail, and hooves one would expect of a greater demon. Her aura was a shifting, roiling mass of colors and textures. From a central, black mass, the sickening rainbow gained definition all the way out to the fraying edges. Etanza’s aura was massive, beyond anything I had witnessed, and for a moment, the sight gave me pause.

I hadn’t seen a Reaver’s aura before. My moment of hesitation could have cost us everything. Instead, Etanza had spoken to us.

“You’ve come back for me then?” Her voice, surprisingly shook and wavered. Tones and echoes of other voices intermingled with her main timbre, giving it an ethereal quality.

“Yothariel! Snap out of it!” Mordwell interrupted what Etanza had started to say next.

I then realized my hesitation. Fury welled up within me, and with a burst of speed from my wings, I dove at Etanza.

I remember little of the battle, other than that it was long. Rather than destroy parts of her outright, my holy magic seemed to burn off parts of her aura. The Reaver threw all manner of magic at my allies while I fought her in close combat.

As her aura shrank, her hits became less devastating. I spent less of my time healing myself and more time on the offensive. However, her strikes became more and more precise.

Toward the end, after a bad exchange where I had taken one of her wings, Etanza spoke to me.

“Church dog! Do you know for whom you fight?” Etanza whispered through gritted teeth, narrowly blocking a strike that would have taken her head. “You people made me what I am. But you couldn’t control me.”

I didn’t respond to her lies. Instead, I had finally taken advantage of the Reaver demon’s flagging strength. Etanza had started to say something more, but had failed to block my strike. With it, I cut through the front of her neck and whatever words she had wanted to say forever died with her voice. The slash had not been a clean cut, so I remembered hacking several times until her head was finally severed from her neck.

Below her neck, I could see an intricate symbol exposed from under Etanza’s destroyed armor; a massive vortex that spanned her chest and a strange pit in the middle like an old, deep scar.

Immediately, I flew back across the massive room to the others. Only a few were left standing, but there was a chance I could yet save some of my downed comrades. As I landed. I caught the tail end of a conversation an elder Inquisitor was having with Mordwell.

I only heard three words, but while I thought little of them at the time, I never forgot them.

“…too far gone.”

***

Back in the moonlit desert, I slouched against Zarenna’s side. “Somehow, at the time, Mordwell had convinced me they had been talking about how Etanza was unstable and it allowed her to be defeated despite how monstrously strong she was. I had bought it, hook, line and sinker.”

“Was Etanza’s symbol like mine?” Zarenna asked softly.

“Sort of. Yours has a six-pointed starburst and a faded outline of a vortex underneath it. Etanza’s was just a chaotic vortex. Her mark was also much larger.”

“Is that why you thought I was a reaver?”

I nodded.

“What about my gem? Do you think Etanza’s scar was similar? I don’t even think I can scar.” Zarenna pulled her borrowed shirt down enough to expose her mark. She also exposed copious cleavage resulting from the too-tight garment. I tried to keep my eyes on her mark.

“I don’t know,” I responded. “Maybe? You said you got that from some statue, right?”

“Yeah. I wonder if Etanza was rejected or something?”

That explanation seemed to click.

“I think you might be right,” I responded, eyes fixed in place.

“My face is up higher,” Zarenna giggled jokingly. “But you can stare if you want.”

My face flushed scarlet.

“Do you want to continue?” Zarenna asked with genuine concern.

I tore my eyes from her symbol and met her gaze. “Yeah, I do. I can skip how it took me nearly ten more years to realize how I’d been lied to.”