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While toiling in the gardens, Fear and his devoted sister worked hand in hand, tending to their duties. Their focus was centered on nurturing a precious botanical gem known as Alomora Vernera. This particular plant held a place of rarity, flourishing exclusively in the southern regions. Yet, it possessed a delicate constitution, acutely responsive to the currents of magic that flowed around it. Among the array of fragile enchanted flora, this species held a unique attribute: its growth thrived solely in the presence of negative energies.
In the span of recent days, the plant had undergone a remarkable expansion, its roots extending their reach into the territory of neighboring flora. The unchecked progression of these roots bore the potential to spell demise for the surrounding plants, an outcome not to be taken lightly.
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"Could you please grab the root on that end?" Fear's voice trembled in exhaustion as he wiped sweat from his brow, indicating a thin green root protruding from the earth.
The root, adorned with thorns, demanded cautious handling. Celestie complied, wearing protective gloves to shield herself from potential harm. Such thorn-covered roots were an uncommon sight, often arising from exposure to sinister forces.
With utmost care, Celestie gripped the root as directed. In her other hand, she held a pair of razors, using them to deftly trim away the thorns. Once cleared, she gently placed the root into a waiting pot.
Fear, meanwhile, methodically employed a shovel and brush to dislodge the soil clinging to the plant's roots. This marked his third encounter with this particular plant in a week. As frustration mounted, he resolved that it should either be uprooted or relocated to a more suitable environment.
With precision, they arranged the exposed roots within the fresh pot, then carefully lowered the plant itself from the shovel. Their gloved hands weren't just a precaution against cuts; they shielded against the negative energies the plant exuded, which could induce delirium upon contact with skin.
Despite their caution, a stray thorn fragment went unnoticed and nicked Fear's wrist, penetrating even the protective fabric of his glove. Reacting swiftly, he released the shovel, averting harm to the plant, but a small droplet of blood emerged from the cut.
This was a dire development. Wounds inflicted by dark magic often festered and grew worse. Left untreated, they could invite infections and the infiltration of malevolent energies into the bloodstream.
Heeding the gravity of the situation, Celestie hurried to Fear's side, abandoning her razors by the pot. Concern etched her face as she examined the wound, while Fear remained silent. "It looks deep," she remarked, sensing his frustration.
Perceiving his distress, she attempted reassurance. "Don't worry! We'll find a way to manage this!"
Though rarely fatal, these wounds inflicted excruciating pain and, in rare instances, could drive individuals to madness. Fixated on the seeping blood, Fear's queasiness intensified, rendering him immobile and impassive.
"Snap out of it! You'll be alright!"
Though not entirely versed in its effects, Celestie grasped the gravity of the situation. Fear, however, possessed comprehensive knowledge about plants and their behaviors, thus he knew fully the agony that awaited.
As his consciousness teetered, Celestie, the strong sister, draped his arm over her shoulder and guided him toward the keep.
Outside the keep, guards hastened to their aid. One guard hoisted Fear onto his back, while the other inquired, intrigued. "What wrong with him? I've never seen him like this."
Fear suffered from Hemophobia – the dread of blood. This, compounded by the sinister energies' impact, induced panic and profound nausea.
"He was cut by some stupid plant!" Celestie expressed her frustration.
Losing consciousness, Fear's eyelids drooped. "Stay with us kid," the carrying guard urged, proceeding into the keep.
Underneath the citadel lay a modest infirmary. Hastening, the group descended a staircase leading to the infirmary door, each step deliberate and cautious.
With measured caution, each person descended the steps, navigating them carefully. At the base of the staircase awaited the infirmary's door.
Inside the infirmary, an immaculate white environment greeted them—sterilized and meticulously maintained. Among Fear's responsibilities was upholding the pristine condition of this space.
Together, they gently positioned Fear's form onto a chair-like apparatus, his legs slightly elevated, his head cushioned against a soft support.
"Thank you," he managed to utter, his voice strained.
"Save your strength, kid. You're in good hands," the guard reassured him.
Guiding Fear to the infirmary was a wise choice. Though perhaps not consciously planned, this decision served to thwart the potential spread of external infections.
"Water... I need... Water..." His plea for water was almost a desperate whisper.
Observing her brother's need, Celestie promptly approached the door. "I'll fetch some water for him. Please, keep an eye on him."
The guards exchanged nods, understanding their duty. "Rest assured, we'll watch over him. Hurry," they affirmed.
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Breathless, Celestie stepped into the kitchen, scanning her surroundings desperately for water. Instead, she encountered Arbious. Clad in his customary robes, he stood before the sink, gazing out of the window.
Arbious turned his face gently toward her, his crimson eyes fixating on Celestie. She swallowed hard, avoiding his intense gaze. His voice broke the silence.
"Do you need something?"
"Water, my lord. For my brother," she replied, her voice quivering.
"I see," Arbious responded, shifting his gaze back to the window.
The windows were open, allowing a gust of wind to sweep into the room. In that moment, he exuded an air of grace that felt almost divine.
She navigated her way to the water tank, positioned at the room's far end on a countertop. Though small, these tanks efficiently kept water cool for extended periods.
Passing by Arbious, his attention still drawn beyond the window, he inquired, "Has something occurred?"
Celestie held a mixture of terror and unease toward Arbious. The last thing she desired was to disclose her brother's situation to him. Yet, he was the estate's lord, with authority over all that transpired. He had a right to know, although her memory of cleaning up the priests' remains instilled caution. Arbious was evil to his core, and yet something about him had captured her own heart in some way.
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"It's nothing, my lord," she bowed, her urgency palpable. "My brother is unwell, and I thought to fetch him water."
"Fear is unwell? I find that difficult to believe."
His questions stirred frustration in her; it felt as though he purposely provoked her.
"Yes, my lord, a cold—nothing more."
"A cold? I hadn't realized a mere cold could impede his duties."
Her emotions, stoked by both anger and the need to return to her brother, surged. "He WILL attend to his duties! I assure you!"
A faint smile played on Arbious's lips as he turned toward her. "I see... Well, then there's no cause for concern. That's a relief."
Turning to face her, he gently placed his hand on her head. Trembling with fear beneath his touch, Celestie recognized his intention wasn't harm. "It's reassuring to have someone within this castle upon whom I can rely..."
Words eluded her.
"Go, take the water to your brother. Don't keep him waiting."
With a grateful nod and a sense of urgency, she hastened to the water tank, swiftly filling a glass to the brim. Once her task was done, she exited the room, bowing courteously as she departed.
As the door closed behind her, Arbious's smile vanished.
Beside him materialized an unseen eye, his fingers brushing against it tenderly. It was the watcher he had assigned to Fear.
"Your performance has been commendable. You are no longer of any further use. Return to the void hence you came."
As his words resonated through the empty space, the eye dissolved into minuscule dark particles.
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Within the infernal throne room of the Hellfire Citadel, Alpos awaited, seated on a throne adjacent to the Demon Gods. Beside him stood his aid, Sigfi, and before him stood Morgana and another human.
"Morgana Blackblood, you stand accused of betraying the teachings of the infernal scripture. How do you plead?" Alpos's voice carried a weight of judgment.
To each side of the room, thousands of Imps stood, pikes raised, growling in anger.
"Not guilty," Morgana's reply resounded with defiance.
"The audacity!" Alpos exclaimed. "Your actions have the potential to hinder us, all without consulting higher authority. How do you plead?"
"I fail to see how I have committed any wrongdoing. My actions are in alignment with the authority vested in me."
Demons growled, their infernal cacophony escalating. The courtroom seethed with anger and tension.
As the crowd's anger bore down on her, even Yosef bowed before Alpos, Morgana's frustration erupted as she saw his subservience. She gesticulated fervently, her finger pointing at Alpos in defiance. "While you've lounged on your infernal throne, I've been weakening Octavia! Alpos, tell me, whose side are you truly on? How could you suffer such humiliation at the hands of mere humans?! You, who even allowed democracy to infest hell in Lord Arbious's absence, an outrage!"
Alpos's shortcomings were evident, and the demons' esteem for him had waned. Yet, their disdain for Morgana ran deeper, owing to her sadistic tendencies that sent chills even through the most fearsome demons.
"My actions have no bearing on this trial," Alpos declared, rising from his throne at last. "I bear the authority to govern hell during our lord's absence, and should my rule displease him, I'll willingly take my own life should the need arise!"
As Alpos's words hung in the air, the Demon God materialized, stepping from a portal of burning flames in his human form. All eyes turned to Arbious, naturally. Never before had he assumed human form in hell. Yet, his aura of malevolence and dread seeped into every demon's core. Unquestionably their lord and master, the imps bowed, trembling in fear as Arbious took his rightful seat on the grand throne.
"Enough of this."
His commanding voice reverberated throughout the chamber. All fell silent, all except Morgana, whose eyes sparkled, fixated on Arbious.
"My lord," Morgana began, her voice emboldened, "I acted in accordance with your scripture, surely you must recognize that! Our assault on the town left no civilian survivor. The hero Samille suffered a great defeat due to my efforts. The very hero who has beaten Alpos on multiple occasions this same year. And yet this pretender stalls our advancement. had he not acted her head would have been claimed and displayed before you now. Even without her death, the cult in your name gains prominence, expanding rapidly. Alpos has remained idle for far too long. I implore you to elevate the demon cult to your personal royal army."
Arbious leaned forward, intrigued. His crimson gaze fixed on her. For an instant, she trembled, breaking into a cold sweat, yet admiration and love fluttered in her heart.
"A royal army, their ranks formed of cultists?"
All eyes remained on Morgana and Arbious. The imps seethed at her proposal, but their lord pondered her suggestion.
With her hands gesturing a blend of madness and necessity, she spoke again. "An elite army, not crude imps, but magic-wielding fanatics. They'll infiltrate human ranks, turning their own against them, dismantling them from within."
Arbious's gaze turned to Alpos who remained standing. "What is your stance in all of this?"
"I oppose it!" Alpos exclaimed. "A Demon God should lead demons, not fanatical zealots. Such a path tarnishes our name."
"That may be so, but you cannot overlook the fact that Imps possess close to no magical prowess, they are utterly weak in battle, and with the halt of production of weapons, the Imps are far inferior to the weakest of adventurers."
Morgana stood wordless, sensing Arbious's decision.
"I will consider Morgana's proposal. But let it be known: should you dare challenge my appointed authority so openly once more, do so directly with me, not in this chamber of attention."
This was of course, nothing but a theatrical act for Arbious, he had no interest in Morgana's proposal from the very start, however, since Alpos had grown so weak, perhaps it was time for a change. Never had Arbious considered taking advice from Morgana, yet her words carried true, and her efforts had borne fruit. "Morgana, your successful raid against humans earns commendation. Had Alpos not intervened, you might have slain the accursed Champion of Light, Samille. An unfortunate turn of events, however, had Alpos not intervened, you wouldn't have killed Samille, considering your tendencies to prolong things..."
She chuckled.
"As for you..." he shifted his gaze to Yousef, "I'm surprised by how you discovered the Demon Cult. Yet your adept use of that flawed book warrants recognition. Continue, and I shall grant further power."
Yosef nodded in acknowledgement.
Arbious stood, all eyes upon him.
"I believe that power must always hold the highest place! Failure to amplify our might, our unity, is a direct affront. Alpos, your past failures are not forgotten; don't exceed your capabilities. Abide by my commands, and if you prove deserving, I may welcome you back into the fold. Morgana, take the lead among the demon cultists, assail Octavia's outlying villages. Reduce them to ashes, sparing no life. After Alpos rebuilds his forces, he'll support your assault on Octavia's capital. Our blades shall not waver until every head is severed, displayed on spikes before their citadel, a chilling sight to behold. I have full confidence in your abilities. Let us advance with unwavering assurance, shedding internal strife for strength. Together, the world shall quiver beneath our inexorable fury."
"As for my vision, I foresee a realm where both Imps and Cultists can work together. The cult's formidable magical prowess coupled with the imps' sheer numbers offers remarkable potential. By blending these forces, a true army can be forged—one that even the heavens themselves shall regard with trepidation. This joint force will be under your command, jointly led by both of you. Know this: the sole authority you heed is mine. Is that understood?"
"Yes, my lord."
The affirmation resounded not only from Morgana and Alpos but also from the entirety of the gathered demons.
"Then, with this discord behind us, let us progress. I must return to the human realm, as this has drawn out for far too long. Your directives have been conveyed—follow them."
As his speech reached its conclusion, Arbious vanished, leaving in his wake a trail of black flames that swiftly faded into nothingness.
With his departure, a collective sigh of relief swept through the room. The weight of his presence had taken its toll, leaving everyone drained. Even Morgana, formidable as she was, found herself weakened, her knees buckling slightly. There was something fundamentally altered about Arbious, to the extent that his very existence seemed to leach the mana from the surroundings. His growth in power was evident to all.
Now that Arbious had vanished, the consensus was clear. Morgana had her directives, and without uttering a word to Alpos, she set her sights on the exit. Beside her, Yosef followed, a steadfast companion who had stood beside her through the entire ordeal.
Left alone, Alpos's eyes burned with a renewed determination to shatter the prevailing doubt. His focus shifted to Sigfi, his words resolute. "Summon every Imp within our grasp to initiate the forging of hellfire weaponry. War is on the horizon."
Sigfi's lips curled into a malevolent smile as he nodded, his presence melding with the exiting Imps. As the room emptied, Alpos reclaimed his throne, a tinge of frustration shadowing his gaze.
"How am I to withstand this trial with so little to wield? He bestows upon Morgana a sword while handing me sticks and pebbles. Very well, if it's sticks with which I must vanquish my foes, then sticks I shall wield. I'll make do."