Ori turned the corner and froze, his instincts screaming. Before him, stood Freya, Karanno, and seven others, their fae-like features were each as fantastical and alien to Ori as the next. However, it wasn’t their appearance that set his instincts on edge.
“What’s this?” Ori demanded, tightening his grip on the firm crystalline form of Seraphine’s Beacon. Freya’s concerned, confused gaze mirrored his growing apprehension, while Karanno frowned, his molten golden halo brightening as he turned towards the seven individuals.
A male Satyr Ori didn’t recognise returned his stare with a sneer, then hissed. Suddenly, a hidden dagger, radiating a foul enchantment so potent, Ori’s guts twisted from over ten yards away, plunged into the male fairy in front of him before anyone could react. The victim gasped softly as black veins of necrotic corruption and white foam erupted from the wound.
Ori reacted, casting Lesser Smite, preventing further casualties as the Fallen Satyr’s head and torso bloomed with burning light. Hair, skin and subcutaneous fat sizzled, charred then vapourised.
“Back!” Ori shouted as Aetheric and Astral hands manifested around him, the upsurge of mana causing the air to whine and leaving behind a metallic tang. The others scrambled away, their faces etched with terror and shock. Ignoring their reactions, Ori used Multifocal Casting once more to intensify the strength of Purifying Light.
For a moment, light eliminated every shadow in the portal hall, temporarily blinding everyone in the process. When the spots in their vision faded, the Satyr and fairy were reduced to charred, unrecognisable lumps, and all traces of the necrotic corruption were annihilated.
Ori’s furious gaze bore into the five remaining Fae before him, blue smoke and the smell of burnt flesh saturated the modest subterranean space. Instead of hostility or defiance, he saw fear in eyes that refused to meet his and legs that trembled under the weight of his gaze.
“What’s going on?” Ori shouted, pushing aside the shame he felt as caution, annoyance, and the potential for violence overrode his more civilised instincts.
“I… I wish to be redeemed,” a middle-aged female Cervulpin said, her deer-like antlers, half-broken and abused, tilted towards him as she knelt and lowered her forehead to the ground. “Please, I have children. I… cannot return as I am.”
Ori’s frown deepened as four of the others bowed. A tall male Spriggan Ori recognised looked just as confused before he caught Ori’s questioning gaze and shrugged.
“You do what you promise and I want to see what happens next,” the man said.
“This is mad.” Ori shook his head in bewilderment. “Right. Get up! What did I say about kneeling?” he ordered, gesturing for Freya to move behind him.
Vision of the Progenitor flared, his star-speckled eyes becoming cold torches in the gloom of the hall as he inspected the fae before him. The Spriggan Ori recognised cringed, his green but otherwise human-like face looking out of place on a body craggy, moss-covered bark skin. Wood-like branches or antlers emerged from his head, adding to a height that would have reached six and a half feet without the extra foot and a half of adornment. The Soul Lens and True Sight aspects of Ori's heightened perception pierced through the visible and mundane. As he concentrated, the outlines of the Spriggan's soul were revealed to him. Based on his instincts and experiences so far, Ori was relatively sure that the Spriggan was free from infernal taint or signs of corruption, however, the others were another matter.
Like the fallen Var’drow he had redeemed, the karmic threads and infernal corruption bound and stained their souls. Unlike the deep-seated taint of the Var’drow Warden, Ori saw a shadowy shell of varying thicknesses encasing them. The man beside the Spriggan, an older, still-trembling Sylph, stood with eyes that refused to meet Ori’s gaze. The Sylph was tall and slender, his pale, almost translucent skin shimmering silver, while his wide, wild eyes reflected floral scenes beyond the light of their surroundings. Despite his ethereal form, signs of abuse marred his skin—his legs broken and reset crooked, his ears shredded remnants of what might have once been elven. A faint, almost translucent shell coated his soul.
The middle-aged Cervulpin woman, with greying blue hair beneath her broken antlers, stared at his feet, her hands fidgeting in trepidation. Her face was crisscrossed with scars and weathered by time, while a thick shell of corruption coated her spiritual form. Ori’s gaze then moved to a man whose slight form was crowned by a large, red-capped mushroom that topped his skull, forming a natural sombrero that concealed all but his lower face. The final man’s green, furry ears, shaggy hair, and large, fluffy tail suggested he was a Vulpixin. Like the others, he bore scars, with chunks of fur missing from his tail. His soul was the most corrupted of the group, a near-opaque, miasmic shell coating the light within, the weight of infernal taint pressing upon him, his spirit on the verge of collapse.
“You, come over here,” Ori commanded, pointing at the green-haired fox man. He looked around, catching Karanno’s attention. Ori gave a subtle nod, signalling for Karanno to watch his back. Freya and Reunne’del stood behind him, their curious but watchful gazes a silent comfort. “What’s your name?” Ori asked, turning back to the fox man.
“Andric, my lord.”
Ori silently cursed. “I don’t know what I can do for you or any of you. It’s not… I did it before by accident, to a soul that was free from its body. To do this to the living…”
“I understand. Living or dead, I wish to be free.” Andric said.
“All we can ask is that you try,” The woman added.
Ori looked around, searching their faces for hesitation or doubt, and tried once more to warn them. “You realise this is Soul Crafting on the living? It will bring you unimaginable pain.” In Ori’s mind, he was also counting the likely cost. He had spent tens of millions of peritia wielding his Soul Blade to redeem that Sovereign-ranking demon. Though it was scarcely a per cent of his overall total, he desperately hoped the expenditure of such invaluable resource would be ameliorated as he became more proficient, performed this act on lower-ranking beings or on those with less infernal taint to remove.
Andric’s legs almost buckled under the increased tremors, but just when Ori believed he had reconsidered, the vulpixin’s fists tightened, and his painfully desperate eyes rose to meet Ori’s gaze as he nodded.
“Alright then.” Ori swallowed, frowned, and took a moment to collect his thoughts before retrieving the bladeless dagger from his void storage ring. Peritia surged out of him as he activated the enchantment he had crudely etched during his battle with Korrunt, the first Warden he’d killed, and an invisible blade, perceptible only to Ori’s shining eyes, sprouted from the hilt. Aetheric hands restrained the Vulpixin. Ori exhaled, and then without any fanfare, plunged the dagger into the man’s soul.
The man managed only a hitch before his eyes rolled back in his skull and his body convulsed as if electrocuted. The stench of urine and evacuated bowels flooded Ori’s senses as his Split Mind divided the tasks of observation, planning, and action. As his blade moved, Ori’s quickened perception caught sight of fragments of corrupted soul bleeding away, while tendrils of karmic and infernal bonds were sliced like tendons under a surgeon’s scalpel.
He could feel it working, but at what cost?
----------------------------------------
“Wild spirits,” Freya whispered as Ori focused on stilling the tremors in his hands. The fae he had Soul Crafted, the fae he had redeemed, lay in an unconscious heap. Purifying Light had done an admirable job of clearing the mess, though the memories of screaming, pleading, and writhing individuals likely imprinted themselves on Ori’s soul more deeply than any of the killings or acts of violence he’d committed so far.
Freya sat on his knee, watching the quietly sleeping fae. Besides him, Ruenne’del’s constant gaze upon him remained despite her paler-than-usual countenance. Ori returned her inscrutable gaze wondering just what she was thinking. He was afraid that asking her would either break whatever understanding they had reached so far or lead to an answer he wouldn’t want to hear.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
“Wild spirits indeed,” Gunti, the Spriggan, remarked, his unusual mix of muscle and oak had become less obtrusive over time. Meanwhile, Lysara had gone with Koranno, venturing further out. The celestial took it upon himself to clear their path to the next reaches, with Lysara extending their perception range and aiding with limited communication back to Ori’s group. He had recently found that the range had significantly improved since Ori’s level-up and increased affinity comprehension, now allowing several miles of distance before their two-way telepathic link became unreliable.
“I would rather have died than submit but if I had a way back, a way to cleanse myself of such sins… there’s no telling what lengths I’d have gone to seek it,” Freya said.
Ori sighed, accepting her perspective. It wasn’t just the physical sensations of their pain and torment; in the brief moments when his blade connected with their souls and as peritia streamed out of them, something like a bond formed. It felt natural, either an unavoidable part of the process or an aspect of his nature as the Bondweaver coming into play, creating unexpected connections. Through those tenuous bonds, Ori saw some of what they had done to become tainted.
They had traded small freedoms and comforts in exchange for escalating cruelties against their own kind—a piece of bread for cutting off someone’s toenail, a day’s freedom in exchange for causing a day’s bloody torment to another prisoner. Each of them had lines they wouldn’t cross, things they refused to do no matter what they were offered. But every day, those lines grew fainter or were pushed further back into the realms of depravity.
The fact that they could still say no to something as vile as raping a child, for example, was likely the only reason they were still imprisoned—and perhaps the only reason they could still be redeemed. As Ori carved away the taint from their souls, instead of shying away from the pain, they ran towards it like moths to a flame. The heat was a purification, a penance—a meaningful aspect of the process that gave them a kind of assurance they were truly untethered from the infernal contracts made from petty cruelties.
The memory of their pain weighed heavily on him, but it was the guilt that pressed hardest on Ori’s psyche—the feeling that he had been absurdly lucky not to have gone through any of that. He frequently doubted how long he could have held onto his principles, and whether he would have been brave enough to face his redemption if he had. Alongside the ten million peritia it had cost to be the Redeemer, he wondered just how sustainable this was. In the few minutes of silence in the portal room, he reflected on his recent experiences and the lesson that fate had repeatedly driven home: heroism always comes with a price.
----------------------------------------
The sleeping fae awoke much later. The stoic Redcap man sat silently, deep in contemplation, while the Cervulpin woman, Pen, spoke at Ori with teary eyes and heartfelt gratitude.
“It’s fine,” Ori said, turning towards the enchantments in the portal to their realm, using it as a distraction from his thoughts.
“They will know of you and your deeds, Redeemer. I shall devote my life to spreading your name throughout the Faewylds,” she gushed.
“That’s really not necessary.” Ori demured.
“Such attention may do more harm than good,” Freya added sternly, dampening the woman’s jubilant mood.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologise,” Ori said with a placating smile. “Just get back to your family and take care of your children, and I’ll be happy.”
“Yes, of course,” Pen nodded.
“Gunti, are you sure you don’t want to go with them?” Ori asked, turning to the tall, tree-like Spriggan. “I can’t promise you’ll have another chance to return to your homeland after this run,” he continued, feeling the remaining Mana drain from the array of sources attached to the portal.
“Actually, your friend said it might be that I could hitch a ride with them to the celestial realms. That would be a fair contrast to the infernal prison, I think. Worst comes to worst, I’ll see what this realm—Twilight, is it?—has to offer,” Gunti nodded. “Besides, I’m useful. You, with many hands, should know the value of an extra pair.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” Ori grunted as he shoved the stone brick housing part of the portal’s enchantments back into its slot. It had enough charge for just a minute, so Ori was anxious to get everyone ready before he activated the portal. “Okay, it’s time to go. Are you lot ready? Got all your stuff?” Ori shouted as Mana gathered into the portal.
The four wildly distinctive fae nodded and stood behind Ori as the space above the stone plinth distorted. He could feel Mana swirling and twisting around them before the familiar portal emerged between eye blinks.
“Go, go, go,” Ori urged. They moved hesitantly, words of gratitude lost on their lips as each looked back before stepping through to the other world.
As quickly as it had switched on, the portal deactivated, the drone of the grand enchantment now just an echo, the only evidence that those four had been there.
Ori looked around. Ruenne’del stood nearest to him, while Gunti had perched beside the distant wall, and Freya took her customary position on his shoulder in her Pixie form.
“Right then. I suppose we should catch up with Koranno,” Ori said, sweeping his gaze over his motley companions, his mind now focused on freeing the next cohort of prisoners ahead.
----------------------------------------
“Ori, you should come quickly,” Lysara said through their bond.
Ori’s heart pulsed with adrenaline as he quickened his pace. “What is it?”
“It’s these humans… They’re a little strange,” she answered.
After expecting another battle against a warden, Ori felt somewhat deflated. “What do you mean?” he asked, trying to understand the situation.
“They’re acting unusually. It would be best if you came and saw for yourself.”
----------------------------------------
An hour later, Ori reached Karanno and Lysara’s position, and it didn’t take long for him to understand what Lysara had meant.
Karanno stood, his expression harried and bewildered, as over a hundred men and women pawed at him, weeping and praying. He was encircled, their cries and questions spoken in words the Vision couldn’t comprehend. The presence and space afforded by his large angelic wings were the only things preventing him from being mobbed by the desperate people from Ori’s world.
“Ori, could you, you know, tell your humans to back off?” Karanno all but growled as he sensed Ori’s approach.
“I… yeah, I completely forgot about this,” Ori said as he entered the clearing where the released prisoners had gathered. Some of the humans grew curious, seeing the angel speak, hanging on every unintelligible word as if they were divine commandments handed down by their god—which, for all they knew, might have been the case.
Ori moved towards the group as more of the humans noticed the half-dressed black man who could apparently speak with the angel, the fairy on his shoulder, and the pink-haired Leanan Sidhe beside him.
“Why are they acting so strange?” Karanno asked in a stage whisper as Ori drew near. “I thought there weren’t celestials on your realm?”
“Long story,” Ori sighed, his language naturally switching from Celestial to his mother tongue. “Oi, you lot! Back away from the angel!” Ori shouted, grabbing everyone’s attention.
“You! You can speak with the angel?” a middle-aged woman asked, her eyes shining with expectation, while a younger man started recording, the flashlight on his phone catching Ori’s attention and adding to his headache. Ori caught some of the murmurs—questions about the angel and demons, people demanding to know where they were, why they were taken, if they were alive or dead, if this was the afterlife, and if it was their god or another that truly existed. Most comments centred around the angel, the light of Karanno’s halo dim but no less angelic. Some noticed Ori and the fairies accompanying him, and before long, a babble of questions turned into a chorus of shouts and demands.
Knowing he had to satisfy some of their curiosity while refocusing them on their most pressing concerns, Ori summoned Seraphine's Beacon to his hand and cast Beacon of Restoration. The modest flash of light and sensation of restorative magic interrupted the crowd long enough for Ori to speak.
“Listen up. This is Koranno; he’s an Angel. He’s here to help you get back home.” Ori turned towards the Vision meeting the man’s curious gaze, and spoke in Celestial. “I said you’re trying to get them back home.” Karanno and the others nodded. Ori continued in English, “He needs to go ahead and clear the way of those who brought us here—the demons that stole us from our streets and homes. We need to free everyone trapped down here and prepare to move. It’s not safe to linger, and many dangers surround us, so the quicker you help, the more likely we’ll be able to get you back home.”
“Did you just cast magic?”
“Can you speak Angelic?”
“Are you an angel?”
Ignoring his plea, the torrent of questions resumed, causing Ori to frown. His mind raced as he considered ways to organise and lead this rabble, if only for a short time.
‘Lysara, are you there?’ Ori asked his grounded familiar.
‘Yes, Ori.’
‘I think it’s time to get Old Testament on this rabble. Could you build up a static charge and let off a harmless bolt of thunder in the distance when Karanno uses his magic?’ Ori asked, then turned towards Karanno and shouted over the din, “I need you to look angry, make your halo really shine, and use one of your spells to make you look menacing, but don’t hurt anyone.”
“Sure, fella,” Karanno replied and did just that. Voices died down as a static charge caused everyone’s hair to stand on end. The Vision’s hovering halo turned from a dim gold to a searing white-hot blaze and a single celestial javelin formed in Karanno’s upraised arm. He shouted, “Listen to thine Emissary!” in Celestial before a crack of thunder split the air and echoed through the caves.
There was silence once again as Ori looked towards Koranno, unsure how he managed to impart an almost psychic layer of meaning to the words and wondered if it had worked on the people surrounding them.
“Up! Get up!” Ori shouted as the handful of people falling to their knees and bowing turned into a tide. “You’re in a prison, and this is a prison break. I need you to listen and follow, or you won’t be going home alive. Got it?”