The flames were nearly a sentient thing as they consumed the street. They turned the knights into charred husks of molten metal within seconds. Then they licked across the stone, liquefying it and instantly reducing any bits of wood or straw to ash. This was infernal fire, as inescapable as it was brutal.

And I had just stolen a kill from the demon controlling the flames.

Apparently, he found this act objectionable.

The flames swirled over the mages, and then they were upon me. My sword instantly heated up to a temperature that would have melted any mortal blade, but I didn’t even have a chance to drop it before the fire covered my outstretched arms.

Then, I didn’t have the capacity to worry or even think. The agony was overwhelming. My nerves should have been incinerated on contact with the flames, but somehow, I could feel every inch of the burning across my skin.

Were I some sort of hero or tough guy, I might have been able to resist the urge to scream. But I wasn’t. My voice rose as high and loud as any of the demon’s other victims. Even after it broke, I kept trying to scream as my throat filled with blood.

“Pathetic.” The snarl was a shock, both in the way it cut through my thoughts and because I still had thoughts it could cut through. “You steal a soul from me, and this is what you’re reduced to? Just because of pain?”

The voice was insistent. It wouldn’t leave me alone to shrivel up and disappear into my suffering.

“Stop whining, you fool, and get back to work.”

A foot dug into my chest. It forced the breath from my lungs and sent my body rolling away. This was actually a huge help. After all, I didn’t think I had a chest anymore, let alone functional lungs inside of it.

Slowly, like I was waking up from some horrible nightmare, awareness returned to me. My everything was dominated by pain, but at least I could begin to separate myself from the unholy agony and figure out how to function again.

The first sense I focused on was my sight. Again, yay! I still had it! But it was blurry and confusing, at least until I realized I was surrounded by smoke. The gray cloud stung my eyes, made every breath an exercise in futility, and rendered my sense of smell pointless. My hearing was relatively useless too, both because my ears were ringing and because there wasn’t much to hear other than crackling flames and distant screaming.

Then came touch, and oh gods unholy did I regret still having my sense of touch. My nerves were burning, figuratively and literally. Still, this was further proof that I was still alive.

Better, touch was the key to unlocking my ability to move.

My fingers twitched. This sent fresh levels of hell racing through my body, but it meant my hands were operational. I forced myself to search the ground around me until I brushed against something. Gripping it as strongly as I could, I brought it up to my face.

A book.

Not what I was looking for. But I resisted the urge to drop it, my brain sluggishly dragging up the image of the mage I had killed, clutching this book to her chest. I held it in one hand and used the other to resume my search. After a few agonizing moments, my groping fingers closed around the object of my desire: the Legacy soul blade of Lethaniel Hall.

After that, all I had to do was crawl quickly out of the flames. I almost failed. The smoke was cloying, and whatever air I was forcing into my lungs didn’t exactly contain much oxygen. By the time I got far enough away to draw a fresh breath, I was well past ‘woozy’ and nearly into ‘comatose’ territory.

I managed another few yards, then let myself collapse. I couldn’t go any further. It wasn’t a matter of will. My body was simply reduced to a quivering mess. Physical shock battled with mental shock, and I honestly couldn’t tell which was worse.

I had done a lot I wasn’t proud of since being thrown into Hayden’s body. I had also willingly put myself into wildly dangerous situations. Not once, however, had I gotten as close to death as I did in those flames. Not once had I been so completely reliant on the whims of another to spare me because that’s what the demon ultimately did.

That was the only reason I was still alive.

Disgust and resentment swirled inside my chest. I curled up on the ground, pressing my face into the rough stone as I fought against the rising tide of despair.

Never again.

Over and over, I forced the words to ring through my head, drawing my ragged breath into their determined cadence.

Never again am I going to let someone have that much power over me.

I knew I was lying to myself.

I was a human soldier in an army full of demons. By the very definition of my status, plenty of people had power over me. Every last one of my infernal compatriots could squish me out of existence. That was the unavoidable truth.

I ignored it. I gave myself wholly over to my new mantra, letting the words fill me with a desperate strength.

Never again. Never again.

Eventually, I was able to drag myself over to a building and lean against it. Only then was I ready to assess the damage.

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First, because it was both the easiest and the most urgent, I inspected my sword. I had to blink a few times before I believed what I saw. The implement of murder looked untouched. No char marks marred the blade. No melted bits from the heat. I expected to find traces of skin from my palms seared onto the hilt, at least, but… nope. Nothing.

Next, I turned my attention to my hands. They were in much worse condition than the sword. Still, the sheer fact that I had them was a blessing.

How could I even begin to describe my arms? My skin was… well, it mostly wasn’t there. It was all just a mess of red patches that bled into oddly white, spongy flesh and charred black spots, and cooked meat, and…

I collapsed onto my side and emptied my stomach violently. Several times.

I wasn't sure how long the retching and shivering and senseless twitching went on, but I did eventually manage to get away from the mess with only a few flecks sticking to my face and clothes. I almost went right back to it when I noticed how much of what I threw up was blood.

I couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not now.

Assessing the depth of the damage wasn’t working out well for me. Instead, I tried to focus on the breadth. How far across my body did the destruction extend? On that front, I had far better news. Somehow, the demon had controlled the spread of his flames so precisely that only my forearms were ruined.

Granted, it felt wrong to describe any part of this situation as ‘only’, but at least my whole body wasn’t a burned wreck.

On that subject, I was shocked by the fact that my hands were still working. Using them hurt worse than anything short of the Absorption Station, but I could hold things. I could even force my mangled fingers to work with some level of dexterity.

I chalked it up to demonic magic nonsense and just chose to be happy that I wasn’t entirely helpless.

More to distract myself than anything, I turned my attention to one of the two prizes I got out of the mess.

The mage’s book was, like my sword, untouched by the destructive power of the flames. It was a fancy item, glowing with its own inner light. The purple leather binding was embossed with runes and other arcane markings I didn’t recognize. In the center of the cover was a large symbol, but whether it was another rune or a family crest or something else entirely, I couldn’t tell.

I also couldn’t open the damn thing. It was like someone had glued the pages and covers together, making it impossible to use the book as anything other than a paperweight or a brick.

Well, at least I had it. If nothing else, maybe I could sell it.

In an ideal world, I would pick myself up after catching my breath. That I stood up, made my way deeper into the city, and claimed more souls to fuel my glorious destiny or whatever.

I didn’t.

All I managed was to drag myself inside a house. Finding it blessedly empty, I just laid against the wall, right there by the door, desperately hoping for the pain to go away and waiting for some kind of sign that all the slaughter was over and done with.

At least my positioning had some logic to it. I had my sword on my lap, and I had placed myself in such a way that I’d be able to swipe at an intruder’s legs before they would notice me. Hopefully. I knew I needed to deal with any potential combat quickly and decisively. Be it locals or other demonic recruits, if someone came across me in my wretched state and the fight dragged on, I was dead.

Minutes or hours later, as I was starting to slip in and out of consciousness, it finally happened. My brand, somehow still visible on my ruined hand, started burning even worse than the surrounding skin. It filled me with a familiar urgency. Brushing my trembling fingers over it, I received the simple message:

Gather.

That was it. For all I knew, I was heading into more combat with the locals, or perhaps a bloodbath with other recruits. But it wasn’t like I had a choice. I couldn’t disobey the demons. Not yet. Not like this.

I forced myself up, stashed away my weapons, and tried to exude some level of confidence as I walked towards the direction my command was tugging in.

Very quickly, other demon soldiers joined me. Every last one wore a satisfied smile, and some were even happily chatting. They all had a relaxed look about them. It reminded me of people coming home after a long day of work and slipping into their coziest clothes before lazing around in bed.

Except these were murderous monsters, gorged on the slaughtered souls of an entire city.

Human demonic recruits were a far rarer sight. The ones I saw were in bad shape. I didn’t notice many injuries as obvious or devastating as mine, but we all looked despondent and beaten. None of us could compare or compete with the demons, and now we unequivocally knew it.

That begged the question: Why were we there to begin with? And why bother with human recruits at all?

When we arrived at our destination, we found no answers.

Only horror.

Sergeant Wilhelmina was waiting in a large open square. Judging by the smoldering remains of stalls and carts, it was probably once a marketplace. Now our perky commander had filled the center with a mound of dying humans in absolutely wretched states.

The humans were all alive. Their bodies had been pushed to the very edge of what was possible to endure while still being alive. But they were still alive. Demonic sigils were carved into their skin and the unholy runes pulsed in time with their agonized heartbeats.

Demonic and mortal soldiers gathered around the edges of the square. We watched while Sergeant Wilhelmina flitted about the mass of bodies, carving new sigils and muttering in a quiet voice that caused ripples in the air. Gradually, I began to recognize the ritual. The sergeant was performing it a little differently, but the effects were starting to resemble what the general did to Fortress City 12.

Once the last of the troops arrived in the square, the ritual reached a crescendo. The sigils pulsed with a sickening red light. The chanting grew louder and louder, joined by spectral voices.

Then, finally, reality shattered and consumed the arrayed offering. A pulse of power rolled through the city, at once cleansing the streets of destruction and replacing those streets with something new and decidedly demonic.

In the middle of the square, a tall black obelisk materialized, jutting up from the ground into the sky. It immediately began to ripple with purple light. Reality tore itself apart for a second time, and a portal popped into existence right next to the obelisk.

Out of the portal emerged three figures. The general, our commander’s sister, and a demon I found oddly familiar.

Wilhelmina bound over to them, beaming and practically vibrating in place. “Ha! I did it! Told you I would! I was first! The city’s ours now, and —”

The general drove a fist into the side of her face, cutting off her bubbly speech and sending her flying. The sergeant plowed through several demons watching from the sidelines and reduced a human recruit into a shower of meat, blood, and bones.

Before she could stumble back, the general was right beside her. He swept the sergeant’s feet from under her, then brought his foot down on her stomach. The sneer on his face as she screamed was a thing of darkness and absolute rage.

“What. Were. Your. Orders?” The demon growled out the words even as he ground his heel into her chest. “Answer!”

“I— I didn’t—”

“Didn’t! Didn’t what? Think?”

The general released a wordless growl of discontent as he kicked the demoness one last time. Then he pointed at one of the demons under Wilhelmina’s command.

“You!”

The demon stepped forward, shrinking in on himself to the point where he almost looked as small as a human. I recognized him as Sergeant Wilhelmina’s unfortunate aide.

Looming over him, the general spat out a single word.

“Report.”