"Pull back!" a helmeted knight shouted into the monsoon from a ways back, hidden behind a trader's wagon. Another knight reached Serkukan too late to hear. A blood-slick claw cut him down.

That red glow stood statuesque amidst the growing storm. Bodies littered the ground around him.

"How many has he taken?" the commander asked again, shifting so that the golden ornaments on his pauldrons dangled visibly.

"At least thirty knights. Lambert counted twenty-six Hunters so far, not including those already attended to by healing mages." The caramel-skinned knight in casvian dress stepped up to his side.

"What about our injured?"

"Our medics are on them."

"They're not pulling back. Why aren't they pulling back?"

"Knights are stubborn."

"HEY!" he shouted as another pack of knights marched out to suffer the same fate. "Five more to the count already…"

He rose slightly from their position, clutched his sheathed claymore in his left hand.

"You're not thinking of fighting?"

"Only thinking. Holy Caloria, what manner of daemon is this?"

A golden-eyed man with pale skin and long, silvery hair approached from behind. "A dragon."

The knight commander pulled his helmet free to stroke the bushy brown mustaches that stood too high and too wide upon his long, wrinkled face. "Lambert,"

"Salvatore. It's time you routed your knights away. This matter is beyond the jurisdiction of our squabbling."

"I concur, but they've forgotten themselves. Did you say a dragon? Not like any I've ever seen…"

He hesitated. "That's because you've never seen a dragon. Not an Etherian dragon."

The woman turned to him. "Etherian?"

"If you're so sure of your own army, why haven't they killed the bastard?" Salvatore huffed.

"They can't. They stopped attacking about as soon as my mages could detect such a being. We're here for… Cedric Castelbre, isn't it?"

"Ehm…" He looked away and could only recall, most recently, being too drunk to stand up straight.

Lambert wandered past their cart and inspected the demon for a long moment.

"Well? What do you see with those special eyes of yours?"

"What's Castelbre's warrant about?"

"Uhh…" Salvatore started.

The woman interjected, "Murder of a Hunter and a few strange deaths surrounding him, though they're unusual enough that it's hard to say he personally murdered them. It's suspected he's traveling with a pack."

"Examples, please."

Salvatore coughed sputum into a fist, watching more knights charge to slaughter.

The girl continued, "Most recently there was a group out in Siln who had their mouths fused shut, and a Hunter dead with a hole in his chest… we didn't have much of a file on Castelbre, but what we did have lacked any mention of magical affinity."

"How did you confirm his involvement?"

"He was nearby the scene of the Hunter's murder just moments before it happened, and our psychics confirmed contact with the other victims. Not to mention…" She procured a document, held it out toward him.

Lambert wandered back and took it. "Ah. Sylvet. So that explains the interest. Very well, the Hunters will take it from here."

"You can't be serious. My men are still dying out there, and—" Salvatore threw himself in front of Lambert.

"And it's their own damn fault. Look at the demon's movements. He's not attacking anybody anymore. He's leaving, don't you see?"

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"So you'll let this pox fall upon another part of Kylinstrom? You'll let this scourge continue on?"

"There's nothing we can do, Salvatore. We've got a group of Hunters on the way from Azar'kara already, and a few hoping to head him off before Freiya. It's a fool's game to intervene before they’re on site."

Salvatore scowled hard.

"Go home. Or to your headquarters, your hall, your barracks. Recount their deaths and hold whatever funerals you'd like. Before tomorrow night, Castelbre, or this Etherian, or whoever is causing this offence will be made to feel the consequences."

Salvatore spat at the ground between them and wandered off.

Lambert attempted to straighten his black and gold uniform, wrinkled by the rain. "Damn knights and their politics…"

The woman cast a curious glance at him then turned back to the demon, now approaching the gates of the city.

He snapped awake. A broken sword dangled from his rain-slick crimson gauntlet. Bodies lay scattered atop the cobbles of the streets. Blood pooled and oozed through the cracks.

“Did I do this?” his voice wavered.

He sucked in his breath. The gate was not much further. Just a few steps. He took the first one. Then one more. And then…

“Stop.” a young man’s voice rasped. “I’m not done with you, yet.”

He glanced back. It’s that knight… Tor? His helmet was shattered open and dented across the top. His armor wore similar dents and wide gashes filled with blood.

That’s the man we met at the tavern.

Serkukan stopped walking.

Stop it. Don’t kill him. We’re leaving.

It was quiet in his mind for that moment alone. The only moment when Serkukan would allow him to take another step of his own volition. The last moment that Cedric would be in control.

“Wait—"

And then he knew it would never be quiet again, as Serkukan spun back around and launched the broken sword like a javelin, piercing through Tor’s head and shattering the steel like a splintering of wood.

“NO!”

His vision blurred and twisted. His mind dispelled reality and fell away into itself.

He collapsed into a shallow dirt valley. His fingers brushed a gentle creek, letting the cool water soothe his wounds.

A dark figure stood above him. A silhouette. Rog.

Cedric’s fingers wrapped tightly around a fist-sized rock as Rog pulled him up by the collar.

“You think this is… ” Rog’s voice blurred and warped. Rog spat at him.

Cedric found that he had begun to laugh without realizing.

The silhouette dropped him onto his back. Cedric looked up around the warriors surrounding the valley, shadows of Hunters and Sylvet beneath the trees, as well as the cultless bandits, all fighting amongst themselves. Fighting over the besieged Castle Nelreign.

He looked to the rock in his hand.

“Planning to strike me with that? Kill me with a rock?” Rog drew his black-hilted scimitar. His voice was clear.

But it was no rock at all. It was a red gemstone. Glowing, shimmering in the light. Whispering to him, a voice breaching his mind.

He muttered something.

Rog raised his scimitar up with the blade aimed for Cedric’s gut. “If those are your last words, I wouldn’t waste them in a mumble.”

“Kill them. Kill them all.”

Rog slammed his sword in a downward thrust.

“Kill them, DO IT NOW!”

And the Relistar complied…

"You're sure about this, Lambert?" she asked.

"Oh, yes." he replied. "This isn't something we could handle. If he's what we believe him to be, there's nothing even our numbers can do. And if Akvum is right, I fear that he may be on his way to prevent an even bigger danger."

Her eyes lingered on Cedric and then the broken Tor. Her eyes became watery. "I don't understand it. Any of it."

He turned towards her with a gentle smile beneath his shimmering eyes, "Then perhaps it's a good opportunity to begin to, Miriam."

*