Astaroth was offering to continue in my service, knowing what I planned. There was a lot to be said about the prudence of trusting him, and it would be hard to claim I was disentangling myself from the forces of Bedlam if I kept one of them around. Still, Astaroth had guessed what I was up to and refrained from warning his fellow harbingers about it. That had to count for something.

It was simpler to think of the demons as all being the same, merely an extension of the will of Walter White, each with a custom animal head so you could tell them apart. But stormtroopers were people too, if you ever stopped to ask them.

This demon had protected my family. It had been his job, and any of the other demons would have done the same if I had ordered it. Astaroth, however, had made a meaningful effort, nearly killing himself. Sure, a demon’s essence would survive the death of its body, but what he had done came at a cost to that essence. He’d stretched his abilities to where it strained his soul.

Gastard would have counseled me to take his head now, given that he was offering it freely. Neither Esmelda nor Fladnag would be thrilled about the idea of bringing the peacock back to Mount Doom with us. But one more ally in the coming fight was hard to turn down.

What if he only suspected I was up to something, and was saying all this as a test? The moment I admitted I was planning on betraying the demons, he could act against me. Astaroth had been a part of the hierarchy in Nargul keeping the lillits enslaved. But arguably, that wasn’t too different from what I had been doing so far in working with the demons. I couldn’t fool myself into thinking that laying down the law in one city had fixed everything for the people living there, let alone the rest of the kingdom.

There were evil institutions at work across Dargoth, and as its Dark Lord, I was responsible for them. I didn’t know who they were, but it was a fact that people were suffering and dying under my rule. There was no reason to assume that Astaroth was good at heart, or cared about humanity, but maybe he didn’t have to be my enemy. If he was willing to work against the entity behind the invasion of Plana, that was a big deal.

“Why do you think I’m planning on killing anyone today?” I asked, selecting the buster sword in my inventory, but not yet summoning it. We were both speaking under our breath. Gaap was still close enough to hear a raised voice, and I was grateful for the background noise of the host of

zombies surrounding him.

“I have heard enough to suspect.” Astaroth kept his head bowed, his shoulders relaxed. He truly looked prepared to offer his life. “But it is the quality of your soul that makes me sure. The others have never cared to study humans in too much depth, but I consider myself an expert at reading their auras. Your aspect has shifted over the last few days. Still not aligned with Harmony, but with animosity for Discord. Each time you look at us, your intent becomes more clear. They would have seen it as well, but your recent ascension masked the change.”

“You’re right that I don’t like your kind, but that doesn’t mean I’m planning on killing you. This is an alliance of necessity, and that necessity hasn’t changed.” If this was a test, I didn’t want to admit how spot-on his assessment was. “What do the others think about my attitude?”

“They expect hatred. Even among fellow harbingers, there is little in the way of true camaraderie. Kevin has hated us for centuries, but he never openly rebelled. In their minds, he and you are alike.”

“You’re wrong about me. The mission hasn’t changed.” I raised my visor, uncorked the first potion, and downed it. Potions of Strength were oddly savory, like beef broth, and as its warmth hit my belly, I felt power coursing through my blood. Astaroth didn’t look up, or otherwise react to me drinking, so I drained all of them but Invisibility and stowed the bottles. “We march for Salenus after dark. Let’s get back to the others.”

The phantoms had all descended for the day, but there were still harpies spread above the camp in the steadily brightening sky. Pale sunlight fell across Astaroth’s back, and he shuddered but didn’t burn. He rose without further comment, his avian eyes bright and reflective, and followed me back into the mist.

It had been a while since my initial test of the potions. Even with the curse lowering my attributes, they still put me well above normal. Each time the System had enhanced my body, it had resulted in a period of adjustment. I was already a lot faster and stronger than any human had a right to be, and I had learned not to race ahead of other people, or squeeze things too hard.

The potion of Leaping made me feel like I was on a moonwalk, so it took some care to keep my feet on the ground as we returned to Gaap.

The fog had fully risen, cutting down visibility to a few paces, but Gaap’s presence was unmistakable. He was standing beside his chimera, which had stretched out on the ground to rest for the day. He was no longer making hand signs for the spell, but maintaining the fog required

continuous concentration, and he didn’t acknowledge us as we approached. When I came within a few feet of him, he glared at me.

“I need to focus,” he said. The dark forms of hollow knights were shadows in the surrounding fog, and a troll hooted sleepily not far off. “What do you want?”

“Keep up the good work,” I said. Caliburn was in its sheath, and I was opting for the buster to make use of the added reach. I extended my arm to one side and started the swing in the same instant that I called it into my hand.

Gaap’s eyes widened a fraction, and the blade swept clean through his neck. I continued to turn, bringing it to rest an inch from Astaroth’s face. He had followed a few steps behind me, and he eyed the weapon with interest, but not fear, as Gaap’s body slumped to the ground.

“I am yours to command,” he said, his feathers puffing.

Gaap’s aura burst apart, rushing like a wind, and while most of it dispersed, slipping through the veil and back into Bedlam, a portion flowed into me. The experience was a little like drinking a potion, the sudden rush of essence through my veins, but it put a sour taste in the back of my mouth. Gaap’s spirit was sticky, acidic, and it gave me a queasy feeling as a part of it integrated with my own. The elder sign on the back of my hand grew hot within my gauntlet. Was this what happened every time I killed a demon?

The chimera shot to its feet, lion roaring, lizard hissing, and bit both my shoulders. Its fangs scraped against my pauldrons on both sides, and it tried to press me into the ground. My right leg slid forward as I took its weight and switched to a two-handed grip on the long handle of the buster sword. I pulled with the hand nearest its crossguard and pushed with the other, flipping the blade back and sawing into the monster’s flank. It wasn’t much of a swing, and the sheer size of the weapon made it awkward to maneuver.

Its fangs continued to grind against the orichalcum plates, and it tried to shake me. I twisted, turning my body to get a better angle of attack, but it held on, and we spun a half circle like a pair of incredibly awkward dance partners. The buster sword went back into my inventory, and I pulled the blade from my waist to stab its blue-white point back into the head of the lion. The chimera let me go, one head hanging, and when it lunged again, the edge of my sword swiped under the lizard's jaw. I rocked back as it slammed into me, but it was already dying, so I pushed it aside to face what came next.

The hollows surrounded me, but they weren’t attacking. Astaroth was muttering in the demonic tongue, and they appeared to be listening to him. Dead eyes and fleshless mouths. They absorbed what he had to say, and one of them responded in an unintelligible rasp. Astaroth continued to talk, and one by one, the hollows knelt. They seemed to offer their fealty, but not to me, to the peacock.

I sheathed my sword and pulled one of Fladnag's Roman Candles out of my pack. The other demons would sense Gaap's death soon if they hadn’t already.

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"Hold this," I told Astaroth, "point it up and light it. Then try to call for Malphas and help me take him out."

Astaroth examined the thin wooden cylinder for a moment, and with a flick of his fingers, lit the fuse hanging out of its bottom while I stopped to drink the Invisibility potion. It was sparkly, clear, and tasted like Mountain Dew.

My skin tingled, but nothing else seemed to happen.

“Can you see me?”

Astaroth did a double take, quirking his head to one side.

“Your face is gone,” he said, “and I can’t sense your presence.”

“Sweet.” I snapped my visor back down. As advertised, the potion didn’t affect my equipment, and I’d have to strip if I wanted to be totally invisible. But blinding aetheric sight was a neat perk. Backing away from Astaroth, I loaded Kevin’s crossbow with a Shadowbane arrow and tried to focus on feeling Malphas’s arrival.

My range was too limited. Astaroth's aura was clear beside me, and the surrounding monsters gave me vague impressions. Without Gaap to keep them in line, they were becoming agitated. Fortunately, they were never as active during the day, and the fog meant they weren't immediately presented with the sight of all the tasty humans camped nearby.

The harpies weren't cawing, which meant there wasn't a major response to my actions yet. The firework's fuse burned quickly, and a bolt of burning light leaped up through the fog and out of sight. It wasn't loud, closer to a fizz than a bang, and a few more bolts followed the first as the canister emptied. Gastard and the birds knew what this meant. It was on.

The fog would disperse on its own without a demon to keep it in place, but we had a few minutes before it did.

"Malphas is coming," Astaroth said, barely a shadow in the fog.

The demon dropped down beside Astaroth, and the cloud swirled, revealing the edge of his robes. If I could see him, he could see me, but he wasn’t looking in my direction.

“What is this? Where is he?” He demanded, taking in the scene in an instant. Gaap’s fallen form, the dead chimera.

The crossbow twanged as I pulled the release lever, and the arrow punched into the raven’s back. Instead of lodging there, it passed through him and kept going, thumping into another target I couldn’t see. The Piercing effect was something else. Malphas uttered a pained squawk and launched himself into the air.

Astaroth's hands flashed, and a ball of bright orange flame sped toward the other demon. It missed, but had the side effect of burning a hole in the fog, revealing a wall of zombies shambling toward us. I loaded a second shot.

Harpies cried overhead, giving Malphas a less than friendly greeting. When we'd faced him on the battlefield before, the demon hadn't had any trouble scattering the birds, but the sun was out, and his magic would suffer.

"Clear the air," I shouted. "I need to see."

Astaroth waved his arms, and a curtain of flame unrolled above us. It was short-lived, but it burned away the ceiling of the mist, giving me a relatively unobscured view of what was going on in the air. The hollows rushed to intercept the zombies, and I ignored the ensuing melee, setting my sights on the chaotic swirl of dark wings above me.

Malphas had been mobbed as soon as he left the cover of the fog, but he was far from defenseless. A vortex of wind sprang up around him, keeping the harpies at bay, but they were forcing him to divide his attention, slowing his ascent. My next arrow went off its mark, diverted by the winds, which were further breaking up the fog. Zombies and trolls shrank from the light as their cover retreated. Varghests bucked and barked, bolting for the remaining mists, though the hollows continued to fight off maddened shamblers even as their skin cracked and steamed.

An aggressive harpy fought its way through the whirlwind to claw at Malphas, who ripped off its head with a vicious twist. The other birds were an angry chorus, redoubling their attack. Hoping to reduce the risk of friendly fire, I dropped the crossbow to swing on its tether and summoned my normal bow.

My next arrow rammed into Malphas's thigh, and he spun, shrieking. The winds faltered, and the harpies fell upon him en mass, driving him back down.

"Deal with the monsters!" I ordered Astaroth, tapping my bow to return it to my inventory.

Taking a deep breath, I squatted, then launched myself up toward the sinking demon. As strong as I was, going for a vertical jump in super-heavy armor would not normally have gotten me very far, but the effect of the Potion of Leaping didn't seem to take the extra weight into account.

Almost twenty feet in the air, I got just high enough to grab Malphas's ankle. He was furiously fighting off the birds, a storm of claws, beaks, and wings, as they dove in and out, preventing him from concentrating long enough to cast another spell.

He shrieked at me as I latched on, not bothering to verbalize a curse, but I got the message. His eyes promised murder as I hung on with one arm, using the other to recall the buster blade and drive it into his belly. The sound he made was close to a hiccup, and whatever magic was keeping us aloft gave out.

The harpies broke away as we dropped to the ground. The impact shocked my joints, but it was a short enough distance that Feather Fall kept me from taking damage. The demon tumbled down in front of me, impaled on an oversized sword. His beak clacked, but he couldn't speak.

His hands, their nails like talons, spasmed, unable to achieve the precise movements required as a component of demonic spell-casting. Malphas struggled a moment longer and went still. The passing of his spirit felt like a frigid wind.

Two down, one now officially on the team, that only left Furtur. Killing the horned demon had been Gastard's job, along with freeing the shaman and the orkhan. Once they saw what we were doing, I believed Erdene would cooperate, even if Batu wouldn't. Moans and growls, hoots and shrieks, rose out of the remaining mists. Astaroth was standing with his arms outspread, his bright feathered head bowed and his eyes closed in intense focus as he attempted to corral the horde with his will alone.

It wasn't enough. The monsters that weren't still sheltering in the fog were being burned by the sun, and they were wild.

A troll, wreathed in silver flames, barreled into the support camp. It knocked over a wagon and stomped a soldier to death in the space of a few seconds. People were trying to stop it, but even dying, its rage was more than a match for unenchanted swords and spears.

My boots pounded the soil, sprinting at top speed. A zombie got in my way, and I ran it over. With as much metal and magic as there was fueling my charge, it might as well have tried to intercept a truck. The buster sword was still in Malphas's body, so I drew my blade as I arrived, stepping in front of a frightened-looking man about to get smashed. The troll's fist came down on my head, ringing my helmet like a bell.

I felt my spine compress and probably lost an inch in height right there. The silver flames covering its body felt hot even through the fire resistance of my armor, but I ignored everything, slashing its heavy belly crosswise. My heart bar had appeared, but it was still over half full.

The blue-white edge of my blade separated skin and muscle with ease. Maddened by pain, the troll may not have been aware enough to notice its insides were spilling out. I avoided its next swipe, jumping well out of its range. It charged, but never reached me. Its flesh disintegrated, its body reduced to a collapsing tower of dust and ash as the sun finished its work.

Other monsters were attacking the camp, but they soon came to a similar end. Soldiers were defending the wagons and the civilians that sheltered around them, fending off the burning horse-hounds and zombies as they came. I didn't see Gastard, but the back of the camp where Esmelda and Leto were hiding looked untouched. I headed for the jagged wooden palisade that had sprung up to one side of the wagons, Furtur's work, and harvested my way through the wall.

Gastard was on the other side. A wooden spike jutted from his shoulder, jammed in between his chest and shoulder plates. With his back bowed, he stood over the remains of the stag demon, his father's sword gripped tightly in one hand.

Erdene and Batu were free of their cage. The shaman was crouched beside the demon, praying over the Shadowbane dagger lodged in his chest. Batu was standing with his back to the palisade, and he watched me warily as I entered the confined space.

"Are you alright?" I said, and Gastard straightened. He lifted his visor, his face red and slick with sweat, and he sheathed his sword to accept the healing potion I offered him. His other arm was stiff at his side.

"I can't remove it," he said, nodding at the spike in his shoulder.

He grunted as I ripped it out, his eyes narrowing into slits, and blood poured from the gap in his armor as he threw back the potion. The crystal surface of his chestplate was marred by spiderweb cracks.

Erdene looked up sharply but did not comment, and a moment later, Gastard was flexing his hand experimentally. The blood flow stemmed.

"You're here," he said. "What of the other demons?"

Celaeno alighted on the palisade before I could answer. "One remains," she said. "What would you have us do with him?"

"That's Astaroth," I said. "Leave him alone. He switched sides."

The next thing I knew, Gastard had punched me in the face.