Rosomil looked at the door to the chapel at the heart of the monastery he once called home. The Order of the Crimson Hand had always been devout to the Lord. For every member, the day had always started at the door of this chapel, way before sunrise. Still, the countless hours spent praying were all just one indistinguishable mass to Rosomil.

The thing currently holding him back was a subliminal fear.

In this chapel, as a form of desecration, he had killed the man who had been like a brother to him for most of his life. To look again upon the spot of this crime felt like a noose tightening around his throat. Despite the memory of the deed being foggy at the best of days, Rosomil remembered the blind frenzy he had felt back then. The whispers of the demon still murmuring into his ears what needed to be done along the instructions of the Tome. A part of him denounced his actions vehemently. Like a constant scream of self-hatred and despair. But he kept telling himself that it had been a necessary sacrifice. That he hadn’t done this monstrous deed for his own gain. In fact, all Rosomil wanted to do was to gain the power to eradicate evil. Even if it meant he had to become what he hated the most. Even if it was necessary to use the forces he hated the most. But, somehow, despite moving in the right direction, he felt emptier.

Discrete, Rosomil looked at his demon. To his surprise, it had taken the female looking dark-haired shape, in which it had first appeared to him. What surprised him even more was the hint of reluctance written on the otherwise serene, pale face. Involuntary, he addressed the creature by its true name.

Immediately it looked at him with its inhuman eyes showing the all too human expression of concern.

“Is there something you wish, master?”, the demon asked, and returned to its usual mischievous smile after a moment.

“No… not yet”, he replied and pushed the door open.

As if wanting him to look again at the place of his greatest sin, a gust of wind pushed him into the dark, echoing chapel. At the same time, he felt some magic barrier vanishing like a soap bubble.

“Someone placed a seal on the entrance”, the demon explained and pulled Rosomil back while turning into the knight. “I’ll scout ahead.”

Like the wind, it moved into the chapel. He looked after it and then looked back, feeling the presence of someone else. Drawing again his sword, he faced Offilo.

The boy, he was tall but looked no older than sixteen, held his own blade loosely in his hand. His other one was covered in blood, as well as his knees. Rosomil was certain he had checked the mangled corpses of his comrades. The child’s expression was between fear, pain, and distrust. Yet, there was also the distinct air of defeat about him.

“I told you to wait back there”, Rosomil told the child. “You made your decision?”

“I-I… I’ve nowhere else to go”, he replied timid.

“Death would remedy that.”

Taken aback by his bluntness, Offilo grew pale.

“But you don’t want to die”, Rosomil concluded.

“Yes”, chocked the boy and closed his eyes as if expecting Rosomil to kill him despite his promise.

“Then throw away your sword, the armour, and the insignias of the Order as it is no more”, he ordered Offilo stern.

That moment, his demon returned, which made the boy back away with a strangled scream. The demon, again in its real form, smiled and moved towards the boy. One clawed and scaled hand outstretched as if it wanted to do the same to him, it did to Rugulf. But instead it just patted his tangled blond hair.

“The air’s clear, master”, it addressed Rosomil a moment later. “But you won’t like what’s in there, or rather what isn’t.”

“Isn’t there?”, he asked, alarmed.

“I’ll guide you but… Do you want the kid to tag along?”

Rosomil looked over to Offilo. The boy was currently throwing away the emblem of the Order along his sword and the armour. Something about it felt off to Rosomil, but he couldn’t quite pin it down. Looking at the demon’s porcelain face for a clue, he couldn’t tell what was going on in its head either. But it, too, watched Offilo intently, almost like a satiated cat watching a mouse.

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“He can come along”, Rosomil finally decided, which earned him a questioning gaze from the demon.

“As you wish”, it remarked, and grabbed Offilo by the back of his dirt stained shirt.

“L-let me go!”, the boy objected, but didn’t fight.

“I want you to stay constantly within my sight”, said the demon and didn’t let go.

“I promise, I don’t mean any harm to any of you!”

“You did say you want to kill my master. I can’t trust you.”

“I promise! I won’t leave your line of sight!”

Suddenly, the demon threw its hand around the boy’s chest and ripped into the shirt. A second later, it produced a knife out of a sheath underneath his clothes.

“So much about not murdering me”, Rosomil remarked dry. “Kill him.”

“No! Please wait!”, the boy shouted with tears in his eyes, as the demon pointed his own knife against his throat.

“Wait”, Rosomil said and stepped towards them.

His demon didn’t kill the boy, but it kept him in its iron-tight grip and stopped the knife an inch from his throat.

“Tell me, runt, did you think of me as a fool?”, he asked Offilo in cold anger and stared in his eyes.

“N-no!”, he replied frantic. “I didn’t mean to kill you with it! You just said I should drop my sword!”

“I didn’t know you had that knife with you. And you didn’t tell me.”

“Please, I-I’m sorry! This knife… I-it’s just an heirloom! The only thing I have left of my family!”

“Give me the knife”, Rosomil ordered the demon.

It immediately gave it to him, hilt first. Once he had taken it, the demon turned its human-looking hand into one of the scaled claws of a bird and placed the huge curved talons against Offilo’s throat. Judging by the green tint the boy’s face took, he had preferred the knife a thousand times over.

Rosomil didn’t concern himself further with the boy and looked at the blade. There was an engraving on it, he immediately recognised. Since he didn’t want Offilo to notice, he forced his face to remain neutral. Still, it offered him enough knowledge to understand why some of the boy's features had seemed familiar.

“I’ll take it for now, for safekeeping”, he told the boy. “I’ll return it to you once you’ve proven your loyalty to me.”

“You play a dangerous game”, the demon murmured.

Rosomil ignored those words but looked into its eyes. For a moment, there seemed to be something soft in them, but before he managed to understand, the demon looked down at Offilo and dropped him.

“T-thank you”, he stammered and scrambled to his feet.

“Don’t thank me just yet”, Rosomil replied and headed towards the chapel.

This whole ordeal had taken more time than he liked but, then again, he wasn’t in such a rush. Especially after what his demon had told him.

Slow, Rosomil pushed the ajar chapel door open and took a deep breath. The air smelled musty. The layers of dust and the cobwebs speaking of the time that had passed. Reluctant, Rosomil followed the path between the ails filled with broken wooden benches. His eyes were locked on the altar at which he had killed his brother. The golden cross was still broken on top, the bible bloodstained and moth-eaten. But, at the front, where at least a pile of bones should’ve rested, was nothing beyond the dried blood on the naked stones.

“Lodwin…”

He almost chocked on this name, his heart dropping to his feet.

Angry, he turned to his demon, who still held Offilo in its iron grip. For a split second, its face showed a strange form of empathy, but the moment it noticed his gaze, a malicious expression overtook it.

“Where is his corpse?”, he asked and stepped towards it.

“Gone”, it said, wry. “Isn’t that apparent, master?”

“Gone to where?!”, Rosomil shouted and pointed his sword at the demon, which made Offilo flinch. “What do you know? You hinted towards him being behind the murders of my servants! You better don’t keep any secrets from me!”

“I just guessed, master”, it replied, unimpressed. “It was just the hatred I had felt through the link. It was very personal and driven. And now, considering what happened to my vessels, the seal I broke at the entrance and the remains of strong magic, that isn’t my own, I am certain. A powerful entity went in here, once we were gone, and took him. The air tastes of a true but flawed resurrection. The magic of divine origin but corrupted at the same time. My guess would be, that this is the work of a fallen angel.”

“By the Lord!”, Offilo gasped and crossed himself, as far as he could with his only free hand.

“What could a fallen angel want with him? And what of our contract?”, Rosomil asked bitter and lowered his blade.

“Our contract stands according to what I told you”, it explained. “I took his life energy as well as the other’s and not their souls. What happened to them was never any concern to me. As for the fallen angel… I could gander another guess.”

“Tell me.”

“While fallen angels are considered demons, they still do God's bidding one way or the other. My guess would be, that the Lord has taken an interest in your actions and sent out a fallen angel to do some dirty work. The only question remaining would be: Does the fallen angel know what he’s doing for whom, or does he think to act on his own?”

“Why should this matter?”

“Oh, it matters quite a lot, master. The answer to this question will determine the likelihood of their success.”

“And you knew about this all along?”

“I already told you! I only knew that someone, with a lot of hatred towards you and a potent magical helper, wielded the sword, which has slain the Dark Priests. I took an educated guess back home, and it seems my suspicions hold true.”

Rosomil wanted to berate the demon, punish it even, but looking into its inhuman eyes gazing at him with some very humanlike softness, he couldn’t. It irritated him as much as it made the last of his anger dissipate for the moment.

“Let’s go into the library and check on the other three”, Rosomil said monotonous and moved past his demon, which still held the trembling Offilo.