He was weary, although he shouldn’t be. He had taken over. He was harvesting the life-energy as instructed. His power and influence grew with every passing day. But there were those fluctuations. Minor setbacks in the form of the dead Dark Priests. They weren’t as important as his Knights but he didn’t like the fact that they had been killed so easily.

Something else gnawed at his mind, but he pushed it aside. There was no sense in delving into the doubts that always surfaced as silent whispers every so often.

Rosomil’s frown deepened, and his fingers turning the beads of the worn rosary stopped. The book, from which he had called forth the demon, rested on the lectern right beside his throne on the rostrum. The crimson runes on the yellow pages dancing in swirling patterns. Idle hypnotic motions projecting an aura of patience. Patiences, which was running short on his end.

The demon had told him that he could call it whenever he wanted, but once more it hadn’t answered right away and kept him waiting. Disregarding that, it had left the castle a few times during the last few days, which in itself wasn’t sitting well with him.

“This damnable demon, where is it?”, Rosomil murmured, his face partial hidden from the light of the candles by the shadow of his palm.

“Does something vex you, my Lord?”, asked the Knight right below his throne.

“No”, he replied and looked towards him.

The man, Primus, was one of his chosen Knights, imbued with the demon’s power, he was one among Rosomil’s most valuable assets. Still, he didn’t like the thought of letting him know of his inability to control the demon. Weakness was one of the most important things he knew to keep hidden.

A sudden rush of wings entered the throne room in a whirlwind, and a moment later his demon stood in front of him. This time it had taken the shape of a young man with long black hair and the complexion of a corpse. With a flurry of his crimson cape, it bowed before him.

“I have returned”, it said, and looked up with an unsettling serine smile. “Astatine at your service.”

“Primus! Leave us alone!”, ordered Rosomil. “And make sure we remain undisturbed!”

“As my Lord wishes”, the Knight replied and left.

Rosomil waited until the massive irons doors swung close, causing the flames of the candles to flicker for a heartbeat in the draft.

“Damnable demon”, he addressed the man-shaped demon, whose smile turned into a serious line. “Where have you been, you disloyal hound?”

“In the countryside, admiring your works”, it replied after a moment with a smirk, which turned malicious as it noticed the rosary. “You prove time and time again what formidable a Lord you are. Closing your eyes to minor loses of power, while deeming yourself unstoppable. So very, utterly human of you.”

“Is mockery all you have to offer?”

“Mockery? Does your self-confidence break so easy? Mere words hurting your ego so much?”

“Cease!”, he snarled and added the demon's true name at the end, while he put the wooden beads away.

The demon let out a low growl no human throat should be capable of and stared at Rosomil with glowing red eyes.

“I am your master”, Rosomil continued and stood up. “As such, you don’t get to mock or insult me without consequence.”

Without looking away, he conjured the Tome to his side and read a passage. His voice became more and more amplified with every syllable passing his lips. The stonework of the castle reverberated and dust rained from the ceiling. The demon, on the other hand, hissed and backed away, but before it could run, a spike made of what seemed to be the essence of darkness formed above Rosomil’s head and pierced the demon's chest. Without a sound but hatred in his eyes, the demon’s body turned into the same material as the spike and merged with it.

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Rosomil watched the resulting dark miasma and waited. This hadn’t been the first time he had disciplined the demon. The only two things bothering him were the fact that it became too often of an occurrence the last few days and that he still hated doing it.

“Take shape again!”, he ordered the boiling cloud.

Immediately, it coalesced into the shape of a young woman with flaxen hair. Just its crimson feline eyes betrayed its true nature. The black dress it had chosen to manifest looked indecent, but it covered the demon well enough for Rosomil to remain silent. After all, he was well aware of the trap the demon had prepared by this choice of shape in combination with this clothing, and he would never fall for it.

“Sunila at your service, Master”, the demon said, bowing its head without letting him out of its burning eyes.

“Now, tell me where you’ve been”, Rosomil said and leaned back against his throne, while the Tome floated back to its lectern.

“As Astatine had already revealed, I was in the countryside, enjoying my time.”

“What could a being like you find so intriguing in the world to ignore my calls?”

“Seeking why the power I granted you was wasted, among other things”, Sunila said while using magic to braid her hair.

“Wasted?”, he asked, frowning.

“I told you, I give you my otherworldly power to infuse into whatever or whomever you want in order to fulfil your wishes and orders. But once the vessel breaks, the power will return to me at the cost of my ability to physically manifest in this world. And it did return to me, Rosomil. Three Dark Priests have been lost and the fragments of mine, which have animated them, have returned to me. Although minor, you already lost some of my power, which is why I was able to ignore your summons for some time. While this loss of power isn’t permanent, as the Priest can be recreated, I still need to warn you in accordance with the contract that, should a Knight fall, the loss of power will be permanent.”

Rosomil fell silent. The demon had explained to him its conditions before he agreed to the pact. The words had been clear and direct – not at all what he would’ve expected from such a being.

“Who has killed them?”, he asked Sunila.

To his shock, the demon suddenly stood directly in front of him. Its fierce eyes bearing down into his.

“Perhaps a spectre of your past, master”, it said, and reached its scaled claws towards his face. “Can you think of one?”

“A spectre…”, he repeated, frozen as both the calloused monstrous hands caressed his cheeks.

“Who could it be?”, the demon continued, soft-spoken and closed in on him. “Who could hate you so much, even I felt it as they killed my vessels?”

“Hate…”, he murmured, mesmerised and disturbed by its gaze.

“By killing them”, the demon continued. “You pledged your soul to me, but perhaps… Well, can you guess?”

Unbidden images appeared in his mind. Again he saw his own butcher’s work. Again he felt their blood on his hands.

“Even now, a part of you screams and wails”, the demon murmured against his parted lips. “Even now you regret… Could it be that's the reason behind your hesitation? Behind the rosary in your pocket? How sweet.”

“Cease!”, Rosomil shouted and shoved it off.

The demon danced away from him in a rush of black feathers and golden hair. It stopped in the middle of the room. Its mask of a face showing pride and spiteful amusement, while its arms turned human once more and the black feathered wings became part of the dress.

“You can’t run from what you’ve done, Master”, it remarked. “After all, love sharpens the blade of betrayal, which deepens the wound.”

“Spare your advice for the times I ask you for it”, he replied after calming his breath.

“As you wish, Master”, the demon said and bowed. “Is there something else I can do for you?”

“Yes”, he murmured after a pause. “Take me to the Headquarters of my former Order.”

“The heart yearns, doesn’t it?”

“If you enjoy the spike so much, I can give it to you daily, no, hourly should you desire.”

“Thank you, but I rather decline the offer. So, shall I take you there immediately or at a certain time?”

“Take me there right now”, he replied, after contemplating it for a few moments. “But before we go, you take the shape of a knight.”

“As you command, master”, Sunila replied and shifted.

While the demon did so, Rosomil conjured the Tome to his side and used the incantation the demon had taught him to make the book fuse with his mind. While the process was easy, the feeling of the vast knowledge of the Tome nearly overtook him, but he fought against it and forced it into the back of his mind. Still, the low whispers of the Tome remained within his mind like the gurgling sounds of a brook.

In the meantime, the demon had taken the form of one of his bulky Knights in full armour, with the Divine Lord's insignia on the chest plate. The demon’s face hidden by the darkness of a magical cowl all of Rosomil’s Knights wore. But even before the darkness of the shift could dissipate, the demon stepped towards Rosomil and opened its crimson cape. A second later, black feathered wings exploded from within the shadow and engulfed him.