“The power of the Source flows through all of creation, and it leaves behind an echo that we mages can sense and manipulate. We use it to form our spells. Every mage is specialized in different types of echo, so we all can form different spells. What you can do exactly depends partly on natural aptitude and partly on training. There's a lot you can do with training, more than most mages realize. I, for example, work best with the echo of life. I wasn't interested in becoming a healer, though, and you can see where that led me.” Sven could see no expression on Lucia's face in the flickering light of their campfire.

“But I'm digressing,” Lucia continued her explanation. “You see there is no connection to the Deep so far. The problem the Guild is on about lies somewhere else. The echo is especially strong in living beings, where the power of the Source forms a soul. Of course, that's great because it makes us sentient and all that, but it also changes and corrupts the nature of the power. When living beings die, the energy from their souls is often too different from the purity of the Source and cannot return. At least not immediately.

“At that point, there are two different things that can happen. The soul can remain here in the physical world as an immaterial specter commonly known as a ghost until it naturally dissipates after a couple of years. The other thing that can happen is that the soul descends into the Deep, trying to return to the Source, but failing. There, in a hodgepodge of agony, rage, and despair, similar souls melt together and a new demon is born. If they have enough reason or someone is stupid enough to call them, they can reascend into our world, where they wreak havoc. Most of the time, that happens after a mass casualty event of tormented souls. Or if a reckless mage is too eager for that extra kick of power. They can even become possessed.”

“Like the Black General?” asked Ingrid.

Lucia raised an eyebrow. “You don't believe in the Deep, yet the Guild's propaganda about the Black One? No, I don't think that one was possessed. Possession is not really the problem the Guild makes it out to be. As usual. Only mages weak in mind and body are in danger and the Black General was anything but weak. Some of the Red King's followers might have been, the Deep knows they needed it, but there's no way to be sure. Not that it would matter.”

Sven was fascinated by Lucia's explanation. “So Baal is a trapped demon? “

Lucia turned towards Sven, looking at him for a moment before answering. “No, he's an Infernal.”

Again, both Ingrid and Sven looked at her with confusion. As Lucia did not retract her statement, Ingrid had to ask. “What? What do you mean?”

Lucia nodded as if approving her question. “Yeah, you are quite right to be confused. All the evidence I have gathered so far points me to the conclusion that Baal is the forgotten fourth Dreadlord trapped inside this sword, which is a ridiculously strong artifact in its own right. A friend of mine at the Academy of Westend agrees with that conclusion.”

Ingrid continued to stare at her, disbelieve written plainly on her face. Sven on the other hand eyes the bundle on Lucia's back with a newfound hunger.

“Well, that was that. Don't say I didn't warn you.” She thought for a moment. “Hmmm, I didn't warn you, did I? Well, no time like the present. If you tell anyone, they won't believe you. If they do believe you, they will kill you for the slightest hint at its location.” She turned to Ingrid, who was about to speak. “And no, it cannot be destroyed. You asked that already.”

For a moment they sat in silence. Then Lucia jumped to her feet, looking into the woods. “I know it's bad timing, but it looks like there'll be a practical part to our little lesson as well. A demon is approaching.”

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Ingrid jumped to her feet as well, grasping her sword. Sven tried as well, but lost his balance and fell on his back. “What?” Ingrid asked again.

“The bandits we killed.”

“You killed,” insisted Ingrid.

Lucia rolled her eyes but continued. “It seems the bandits I killed have spawned a demon. That is strange, their death shouldn't have been enough to do that. Only in an area steeped in death and despair would such a thing be possible.”

Ingrid looked at her incredulously “You know we're in the Coldwood, right? I bet this place has seen more death than most battlefields.“

“Hmm, yes. Now that you mention it. Anyway, it's almost here and it's a hunger demon. We'll have to – ”

A gust of wind like putrid breath caught the three of them and swept them off their feet. Sven lost track of Ingrid and saw Lucia being thrown against a nearby tree. She hit it with an ugly crunch, then slit down the trunk, her back bent at an unhealthy angle. She did not get up again.

In the middle of their camp, the night congealed into a writhing shape. Sven gasped as he felt the presence of the demon. It filled him with an insatiable hunger. A desire to consume burning like a fever. The whisper of Baal's promises, ever-present since he'd touched the sword, swelled to a roar. He got up and stumbled in the direction he'd seen the sword fall, blind to the rest of the world. He only had eyes for the perfect black of the blade. Nothing else would do. He needed it.

The cold night had become truly arctic, numbing Sven's limbs. Two green eyes shone out of the boiling darkness fixing him. The darkness flowed into a humanoid shape. Too long, spindly limbs. A head like a skull, green fire shining from its sunken eye sockets. A twitching tongue lolling out of a toothless mouth. Like a mockery of the starving bandits they had killed.

Sven did not notice any of this. He struggled forward, through the grass and rocks. Towards the sword. He heard a clang as his foot caught something on the ground. The sword. Without thinking, he threw himself to the ground, grasping. The sword cut into his ropes, his hands and arms. He only felt the smooth bone hilt, now slick with his blood.

The presence of Baal washed the hunger demon's presence from his mind like the ocean would wash away a pebble. Sven calmed, he looked up taking in his surroundings for the first time since the demon arrived. Lucia was lying on the ground broken, though she was evidently still breathing. He could not see Ingrid and the demon... the demon was approaching him. Sven could not resist. He laughed.

A sword that could imprison an Infernal for centuries should be able to hurt a demon, right? Only one way to find out. He charged the demon, sword raised. The demon reacted immediately, jumping back. It hissed and Sven felt its frustration. Trying to flood his mind, drown his thoughts, but failing. It was wary of what lurked inside his head. Wary of the sword.

But that did not dissuade it. No, nothing could. Another rotten wind caught Sven, throwing him to the ground. The demon advanced, staying just outside his range. He tried to get up, but it was getting more and more difficult. He did not feel the unnatural cold the demon brought, but it was draining his strength, made his movement clumsy and slow. Sven took a step towards the demon. Two. Then his legs gave out from under him. He fell to his knees, a soft smile on his lips. He could hold the demon at bay for a couple more moments until he was too weak to even hold the sword. Then he would die. The thought did not frighten Sven. Not anymore. He was content, maybe more than he'd ever been.

Something moved behind the demon. Lucia was dragging herself towards it. She grabbed the grass and roots of the forest floor and heaved her closer, legs trailing uselessly behind. Sven put all his focus on holding the sword up, distracting the demon. The danger of letting it slip out of his hand had passed because his own blood had frozen it to his hands. The demon would kill him once he lost consciousness anyway. The darkness around Sven's vision grew and his head lolled forward. The last thing he saw before his eyes failed was Lucia, grasping the ankle of the demon, confining its shadowy outline. He felt something around him change. A different presence pressing against his mind. Then piercing wail that seemed way too high-pitched to be audible. Finally, everything went black.