Kevyn had taken lives, his first when he was twelve. One farmer had killed another in a drunken quarrel. Kevyn's father heard the story in silence, then turned to his son and ordered the boy to fetch an axe. A man of few qualms, Lord Titus had watched as his weeping son took the murderer's head, then nodded and left the hall without a word.

There had been many since then but Kevyn had never been so sickened by death as he had been that day. The terror of the chained murderer as he watched the boy approach with doom in hand, the horror and shame gleaming wetly from his eyes. Still, Kevyn had not hesitated: he knew better than to balk while his father watched. He had never hesitated, never questioned the necessity of a death. Today, however, he mourned.

As the armies clashed Kevyn was sickened by those he fought even as he cut them down, telling himself that each kill was a mercy. One, an oldster with only a sharpened pitchfork, had laughed as he thrust his weapon at the commander, and was still laughing when Kevyn's sword found his gut. Another, a woman, assailed him with a disembodied arm, the limb gnawed and her mouth glistening red. Kevyn hacked them down with brutal, efficient swipes of his blade that cost him little and his foes dear, them and a score of others, but each of the dead was quickly replaced by two more.

"How fare you, Sir Kevyn?"

And then there was Matt. Kevyn had caught glimpses of the old warrior fighting, each display that of an artist plying his trade on poor fare. His attacks were minimal, almost negligent. His steel was too fast to follow as it dipped like a brush into the foe, a portrait of crumpled, lifeless bodies left in its wake. The Morseran captain didn't look as though he was fighting for his life: if anything, he looked like a man on a stroll so familiar it was boring.

"I will fare well…" Kevyn felled another lunatic, suddenly mindful of how artless his swordsmanship was. "When this is over, captain."

Mathieu nodded in approval. "We draw near to the beast, Sir Kevyn. Then we shall see."

The demon snarled. Too close, too close. With a pang of something like regret it rose from a half-eaten nest of flesh and contemplated the approaching warriors, a jagged spear of men clad in blood iron. It brooded a moment and then sent a portion of its psyche inward, following the thread of its existence into the nebulous realm where it belonged.

An ache burned in the depths of its mind, some strange agony that grew with every moment. It ignored the pain, trusting that it was simply the frustration of having its revels ended. The demon breached the veil, returning for a moment to its homeland. It rode waves of raw, dark emotion for a moment before calling to lesser brethren, predator spirits that followed it like scavenger fish in the wake of a shark. Loath as it was to share in the meal, these creatures would serve its purpose well.

It returned, mind fully on the battle, and sent all but one of its cousins forth to take what vessels and pleasures they would. The last it held back with another purpose in mind. This lesser spirit railed against its captor, screeching in primitive rage. The demon soothed and then dipped it into the shreds of bone and meat below. The spirit stretched itself into the abundance of mortal flesh and slowly took shape. The demon nodded and then reached into the morass of gore, taking hold of a bloody hilt that eagerly lifted from the broken shapes to fill its hand, keening with hunger. The demon hefted a long, chattering shard of bone, its form not unlike that of a cleaver, and laid into the churning mass of still-living humanity before it, both it and its weapon howling with delight.

Kevyn and Mathieu fell back before the onslaught of a freak that had emerged from the howling masses, a creature that was human in form but growing before their eyes, flesh peeling from its body like the sheddings of a snake. It lashed out as its body molded itself anew, arms splitting into a viper's nest of skinless, bone-tipped fingers. Claws rattled against the old Morseran's breastplate as it struck, scrabbling for purchase before Kevyn swung his blade up and cut the forest of limbs away. More sprouted as the creature bore down on its attacker, tangling him in its embrace and raising a broke-toothed, faceless maw.

Mathieu's blade flicked out, carving the top of the creature's jaw away in a wash of pale fluids. The monster, now nearly the size of a horse, gave a rattling gasp of pain before turning to lunge at the old warrior. Its snare of limbs, however, was still partly tangled in Kevyn's armor. It stumbled, dragging Kevyn from his feet. He rolled to the side, rising to sweep his blade through the snaring thicket of limbs. He dragged himself free, watching in disbelief as the wounds sealed as he watched. Once more the beast turned to him, the puckered flesh of its maimed head still drooling inhuman blood.

His own blades couldn't harm it, but the Morseran's could.

"Matt," he shouted, harrying the beast to draw it forward and expose its flank. "Take it!"

The old soldier spat an order even as he threw his sword at the swelling beast, the blade revolving once before sinking to the hilt in one of its distended, splay-clawed legs. One of the soldiers nearby flung his spear to the captain and Mathieu ran forward, raising the weapon as the beast fell to one knee. He set a foot to the small of its back and vaulted upward, plunging the borrowed weapon into the diseased heart of the creature. It gave a rasping wail before collapsing in a pile of lifeless flesh.

Kevyn blinked and then shook his admiration away. There would be time enough for that later. More of the creatures emerged, some large and lumbering beasts while others were small and quick as diseased lightning. Dead men littered the ground around them, several in Morseran plate.

"Sir!" The old Morseran plucked his sword from the creature's corpse and offered it to him in a momentary lull. Kevyn took it with a nod and pointed at a massive, muscled form shouldering toward them through the press.

Mathieu sighed and raised the spear. "That won't go down easy, if at all. Pass bravely, Kevyn."

Kevyn raised the captain's sword and charged, roaring wordlessly, the old warrior left to follow with a grim smile. The beast went into a lumbering charge of its own, slab-like fists of crusted bone rising to crush them. Time seemed to slow and the commander found himself lost in a single facet of the world around him; not the demon before them or the blade in his hands but in the water at his feet.

Water had pooled everywhere, runoff from the clogged river that formed a moat around the fortress. The water shivered as though on the surface of a drum, drops leaping as it shook. He could feel it now, something that felt like the heartbeat of a frantic god thrumming against the soles of his boots.

A shadow fell across him and he looked up, catching a moment's glimpse of what seemed to be etched stone. There was a sound of colossal impact and the approaching behemoth crumpled, toppling backward and crushing a score of maddened conscripts. A child-sized statue of graven clay crouched in the inert ruin, one arm sunk to the elbow in the creature's chest.

Kevyn stared, childhood stories ringing in his ears as the shape rose with a slow, grinding motion, turning to him and giving a faceless nod before vanishing in a blur.

Golem...

And a voice of dust and memory whispered in his ear.

"My lord Greylance, if you would grant me a moment of your time."

Kevyn turned and found another crafted being standing at his shoulder, this one a strange, skeletal shape of wrought iron and mummified flesh. It bowed, the gesture faintly mocking, and spoke again.

"Cain will buy us time to speak but I must be quick. My name is Belias. I require your assistance, young lord. Will you give it?"

Kevyn looked to the captain but the old soldier had turned his back on the exchange, guarding the commander as he spoke. He needn't have bothered: the golem called Cain formed a blurred wall around them that left crushed flesh and bone wherever a foe drew close.

"You know me?"

"Yes."

"Why are you here?"

"One of our number is responsible for this madness. His ward reached out to us for aid in stopping him, but..." the strange figure turned to the monstrosities around them. "It seems we were too late."

Kevyn frowned. "His ward?"

Belias waved a barbed hand in gesture of dismissal. "Not your concern, my lord. Your concern should be the demon that my kin has unleashed. It grows in strength, not so obviously as these lesser creatures but steadily nonetheless. Should we fail to bring it down now it will soon be beyond anything we can marshal against it."

"What proof can you offer that you are not in league with the demon?"

"None but that Cain has not broken you."

Kevyn bit his lip and nodded. "What would you have of me?"

"I shall require a volunteer."

Kevyn knew little of magic, but something in the creature's tone gave him pause. "A volunteer... a sacrifice."

"Even so, young lord." Belias gave a humorless smile. "And willing."

The old captain stepped forward. "I will−"

"No," Kevyn interrupted. "I will do it. The favored son of a great house. A sacrifice must have weight. Is it not so, homunculus?"

Belias bowed again, this time with something approaching respect.

Kevyn returned the captain's sword and stepped forward. "Then I shall go with you."

The demon bellowed as it swung its weapon, leaving only ragged clots of meat in its wake. One knight little more than a boy, armor ill-fitting his spindly frame, screamed in terror as the weapon descended. The demon's blade stopped a hair's width before the man-child, wailing with thwarted hunger as something blocked its way. The demon looked down, taking a wary step back and snarling at the slight figure of clay before it.

Golem. Bastard Child Of The Wizards. Begone, Before I−

The figure blurred, a sudden pain spearing from the demon’s wrist. It keened as it saw its hand lying like a pale spider in the mud, then swung its great blade one-handed.

The sculpted form didn't bother to dodge. Instead, it simply brought a palm down upon the blade. The demon barked in surprise as its familiar-blade shattered as though made of glass, the spirit inside vanishing with a mad wail. Its shock was instantly replaced with monstrous fury and it lashed out, striking at the golem with the broken hilt.

The blow landed hard, catching the living sculpture in the chest and hurling it like a stone through the air, crushing several mortals unlucky enough to be caught beneath it. The demon advanced on the sprawled figure before it could rise, spiting blasphemous words of power and throwing bonds of fire and shadow from its hands while the golem lay still.

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As its power encircled the golem the demon howled in pain, the words etched into the statue's hide glowing a sullen white at the touch of the demon's will. It was crafted of faith, of holy writ, the demon realized, and the bonds would not hold long. Not long, but long enough.

Bound and helpless, the figure lay straining against the bonds, the first fissures in the demon's will appearing even as it took up the golem in one massive fist and raised it up, intending to dash the hateful thing against the fortress walls...

Nathan strode amidst the ruins of an imagined world and tried to pick a fight he had no clear hope of winning. He shouted insults into the sky, hurled rocks and slammed his fists against the ruins. He got only bruises for his trouble, if bruises had meaning in such a place. Everything he tried felt more foolish than the last.

None of this is real, Nathan reminded himself. It's all in my head. Its head. Whatever.

If it's all in your head then the trick would be to think, wouldn't it?

Feeling silly, Nathan knelt in the ashes and let his mind wander, slowly drifting to rest on his restored hand, He slipped it into the ashes, not knowing why, and was both startled and surprised to find something familiar there. He pulled his guitar free with a faint smile, losing himself for a moment in the feel of the instrument. Something happened then, a tremor on the surface of his mind, as though he was moving while he slept and could feel it amidst the dream. Nathan’s smile widened as he closed his eyes and bent his hands over the strings. He began to play, every fragment of will he could muster folding inward as he focused...

Agony suddenly split the demon's head, a ghost of sensation rising out from the depths of its mind that was hauntingly familiar. The demon dropped the clay figure as its hand spasmed, caught in a sudden intuition that sent fear coursing down its malformed spine.

No...

The golem attacked again, fresh agonies gouging across the demon's hide. The demon roared and gave battle even as a portion of its psyche spiraled toward the hollow places of its spirit, doubt suddenly cracking into its mind.

How Dare You Return.

Nathan continued to play and sing as the demon's voice rumbled though the sky like thunder. He took no notice: his time with Maggie had hardened him against such cheap theatrics. He knelt in the ashes and ignored the voice, eyes shut in concentration.

As the music fell from his lips he knew he could never understand it, could never share or remember it outside this dream of a war for the right to live. There were no words, only intent. Meaning spun out of Nathan's voice as the first wizard to come of age in countless centuries wove a spell from the strands of his music and shaped it into a song of challenge and fire, the act a bright twin to the betrayal that had brought him to this.

Whatever This Denial You Raise, It Will Avail You Naught.

He felt the demon's mind seething against his even as its body did battle, unable to resist the siren call of his summons. It twisted in the imagined skies overhead, a nebulous cloud of shadows, spitting curses of ruin and pain as it coiled to strike.

It Matters Not How You Came Back, Wizard-Wretch. Your Arrogance Will Not Go Unpunished, Nor This Attempt To Take Back What Was Once Yours. You Will Pay For This Insolence. Your Flesh Is Mine, But Now I Shall Taste Of Your Soul And Wear Your Mind, Flense It Apart And...

The demon's voice came to a halt as Nathan opened his eyes, a sea of gray ice and cold fire locked behind his gaze. He set down the guitar, stared up into the writhing gale that was the demon above, and smiled.

"I'm not denying anything," he replied. The ashes shifted under his feet in a slow, roiling spiral, tracing coils of black grit through air as he let his voice come in a cold whisper. “It’s just that I’m not done yet. I’m back for round two, jerk.”

Round Two? How Can You Deny Me, I That Walked In The Time Before Man Could Speak? I, That Cast You From Your Own Flesh? My Kind Does Not Die, Fool. I Shall Run Down Your Soul Like A Beast Of Prey.

Nathan laughed. "Deny? Never. Defy you, though... Defiance, always." And he rose to meet the storm in wordless fury, the world blazing with fire even as darkness fell to meet him. As he struggled against the demon he came to realize just what Jabberwisp had meant. Though the cobbling had deceived he had never lied: Nathan was the demon's equal in raw strength, their power matched almost perfectly in scope. Now, finally understanding what he faced and without the cobbling to undermine his resistance, no longer limited by doubt or the hope that everything would be forgotten in waking, Nathan fought back.

However, the ancient being's power was augmented by countless eons of experience, instinct and cruelty. Nathan was newborn to magic, no more than a flailing infant of prodigious strength. They warred across a barren landscape, two storms colliding in a world that crumbled under the force of their passing, and Nathan felt himself slowly begin to fade.

The demon sank talons of hate and despair into Nathan's psyche whenever he attacked, bore down with honeyed blades of deceit and twisted truth, worrying pieces of Nathan's consciousness away with every moment. There was a desperate frenzy to the attack but Nathan couldn’t understand why: his clumsy attempts to retaliate were evaded or worse, ignored, and the iron-strong barriers of his will lifted whenever he attacked, letting the demon slip past to leave deep, gaping wounds behind. Even as he resisted the first tendrils of doubt slowly took root and, as they grew, Nathan began to falter.

Kevyn watched in awe as the golem thundered an avalanche of blows into the demon. Cain swept through the demon's arms, shattering one, and landed a trio of vicious strikes against the creature's jaw toits face to grisly ruin. The demon snapped long fangs at the golem even as it fell, screeching against Cain's body but not actually harming the golem.

Belias led the commander ever closer to the melee, monster and mortal alike parting before the homunculus as he strode forward. Whenever an enemy approached Kevyn heard the construct whisper in a dry rattle that shivered the air, cowing any who dared face him.

The homunculus stopped on a small rise and beckoned to the commander, and while its back was turned something struck. Kevyn shouted out a warning but Belias was already turning as a small creature, no bigger than a dog but slavering from countless, rasping mouths, leapt for his throat. Belias didn't ward it off. Instead, he lashed out with his skeletal, iron claw. The limb sank into the beast as though it passed through water rather than flesh, erupting from its back amidst a spray of splintered bone and shreds of dark, dripping meat. The two halves twitched and moaned as the homunculus kicked it aside and turned back to Kevyn, wiping its hand clean with a small grimace of distaste.

"Come, young lord. We must begin. Remove your armor and garments and then lie still. You may wish to close your eyes: you will not want to see what follows."

Kevyn approached warily, removing his wargear with the ease of long practice and lying down in the mud. "Kill me quickly, creature, and make it count, or I shall haunt you for eternity."

The homunculus paused. "It will count, child, I promise you that, but it will not be quick." Something like apology might have been hidden in his tone, but Belias' face showed little and less emotion. "You must suffer, and you must bleed. Through blood are gods born, and by blood they are bound. My kindred has summoned a dark god, and dark are the ways to bind it."

Kevyn watched the bladed fingers descend, ignoring the homunculus' advice, and grimaced in silent pain as they carved intricate, looping patterns into his flesh. Blood welled up from a thousand shallow cuts, droplets of crimson fluid rising into the air and forming tendrils of scarlet mist. The homunculus chanted, almost singing as it worked, the unknown words crashing painfully along Kevyn's bones. The stanzas seemed half-familiar, as if they had been sung over his cradle. A ghostly suggestion of chains coalesced from the bloody fog, iron-dark and graven with shapes mirroring those Belias was etching into his skin.

The chains coiled through the air toward the demon and Kevyn heard it shriek in sudden fury. Slowly the homunculus retraced the sigils carved into his body, barbed fingers sinking a fraction deeper as it began the chant anew, and Kevyn began to scream.

The demon howled with insane fury as phantom chains began to wind around its body. The golem was unrelenting, tearing furrows in its hide with every moment. No longer did its raging appetites matter. Somewhere, some foolish wretch was attempting to bind it and let the harrying statue worry it down to nothing. This had gone on long enough, and if the end of its revels was needed to stop such vexations then so be it.

The demon dipped into the well of misery it had caused and set it in motion, weaving intent into the reservoir of mortal agony it had gorged upon before setting it loose with a gesture. To give up such a meal so soon pained the demon even as it felt the first pangs of exhaustion creep upon it.

A shadow descended upon the field, pure unlight that hid the sun away and left only darkness. There. In the distance another wizard-spawn, this one of metal and withered skin, crouching over the unresisting body of a screaming man, carving wards into living flesh and chanting in the tongue of the Enemy, manipulating the skeins of reality with understanding and mastery far beyond that of the demon's pawn. Snarling, it sent a spear of raw force and hate rippling toward them, mortal and monster alike reduced to bloody ash in its wake.

The homunculus turned as the demon's attack thundered toward it, raised a hand, sang a word, and the bolt vanished as though it had never been. The crafted wretch knelt and resumed its work as though the demon was only an inconvenience, the invisible chains winding tighter.

Howling, the demon caught up another bolt in its hands even as it forged ahead, closing with the hateful homunculus, but it had forgotten Cain.

The golem, perhaps miffed at being ignored, ducked under the demon's swaying limbs and sank its arm to the elbow in the place where all creatures, mortal or immortal, care least to be hurt. The demon had no use for such things, had nothing there but flesh and bone, but nonetheless the pain, and more so the insult, was felt.

With a roar the demon whirled, massive talons groping, and this time they found the golem. It felt clay flex and strain even as its flesh crisped at the touch of holy writ, and before the figure could burst free and shatter the creature's hold the demon whispered preternatural strength into its grip, wards of dark resilience and might locking the golem in place. The demon laid its delicate inner hands on the golem's face, muscling through the pain to let its mind fully delve into the substance of this hateful thing. Though tortured by the touch of the statue's soul, it examined the matrix of being that wound the golem together. There, on its brow... the demon gloated in sick triumph, willed sorcerous strength into its lesser limbs and squeezed, savoring the golem's panicked struggles.

With a crack the golem went limp, shattered pieces of clay cutting into the demon's uncaring palms. Howls of anguish rose from the homunculus, the wizard battling in the deeps of its mind, even from the little prisoner the demon held in one talon. It preened as the bonds coalescing around it loosened, basked in their grief, then turned to renew its stalk toward those who would bind it.

Nathan howled in fury as Cain fell, images of the brave golem's passing thrust into his mind by the demon. Nathan felt his will buckle as his enemy took gleeful advantage of the distraction, sinking deep into his psyche and taking hold with sudden, eager weight. The end approached.

Are You Ready, Mortal? Are You Ready To Die?

Nathan gritted phantom teeth and snarled, screaming obscenities as he slowly wore away under the rising tide.

Yes... Yes, You Feel It. Die Like Your Golem, Die Like Your Brother. Die, Wizard.

Give up, Nathan. Some part of him whispered, it's what you do. Give up and rest, you know what comes, just go...

No, Nathan thought. I won’t give up. I don’t. Lies. No. No. "NO!"

Nathan's will snapped into sudden, steely clarity and the demon withdrew in startled shock. Alone for a moment, Nathan stumbled to his knees in the imagined ruins of their war.

"I… Hah, you’re right. I am ready. I’m ready to die like them. On my terms, not yours. I die like Jack.”

And as he spoke his brother’s name he finally understood. His resolve turned inward, spiraling down from the ghostly contours of his mind to crystallize in the raw, pure sensations of his body, standing rigid amidst the fire and shadow of the conflict. Something was digging into the flesh of his palm and he raised it without thinking. The demon plunged down again, a collapsing firmament of utter dark, but Nathan felt his face stretch into a wolfish grin. There was a bell-like tone of perfect, utter silence and white light flared, blazing into being as a searing wall of radiance. The demon dashed against it without finding purchase, howling even as it touched the pure heat of the fire.

NO! How Can You Do This?! You Were Broken! You Were Nothing, A Dying Light! HOW?!

“You don't understand what it is, do you?” Nathan asked. “You only know that it hurts.”

Nathan opened his hand, revealing the bracelet that his brother had crafted for him. The demon howled in anguish as even the sight of it cut deeper than any blade. The cross was not casting the light; it was just a fragment of bronze, a trinket. The faith it symbolized had never been Nathan's; faith held no power in his mind. But the bracelet itself, a tangible piece of his brother and what they’d meant to each other... here, in this place... here, it meant everything.

Nathan raised his hand but it was his smile that lit the darkness. The bracelet vanished, a prism unseen and yet everywhere, taking in the light of Nathan's revelation and casting it back ever brighter and purer.

"Even in the end these three shall abide. And the greatest of these... is love. That's it, isn't it? That's the secret." The demon howled and drew back from the dancing, perfect light.

Nathan spun his will into reality, gathering memories of his brother, Maggie, his friends. He beat those thoughts on the anvil of his will, hammering them into shape. The demon howled as the light coalesced as a shaft of blinding white in Nathan's hands.

Nathan raised the spear and howled his defiance into the empty void, a smile like death's own on his face. "Now come on, you ugly son of a bitch! Come on if you think you're hard enough! Come on! Come on!"

The demon roared in denial and fear but plummeted all the same. Loath to give up life once again after millennia of waiting, it knew no other choice. It fell and Nathan leapt skyward, hurling the spear like a thunderbolt into the heart of the storm. The demon fell on the blade, perhaps believing it could endure such a thing, perhaps choosing death over another age of empty night. The spear split the black knot of will at the heart of its being and Nathan felt the phantom brush of wings as the skies cleared.

Bobby had taken his due.