The girl's boots skidded across the mossy forest floor as she came to a halt, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. Her dark hair clung to her sweat-damp face, but she didn't spare time to push it away.
She knelt.
From beneath her cloak, she pulled out a scroll and a small vial of crimson ink. Her hands moved quickly, deftly, drawing a complex sigil on the bark-covered ground—runes circling outward like ripples. The center of the circle pulsed faintly, alive with magic.
She placed the scroll at the heart of the seal and whispered a chant under her breath.
A shimmer passed through the air—and in a flutter of feathers, a bird materialized. Pale white, almost translucent. It cooed softly, took the scroll in its beak, and launched into the sky with a sharp whoosh, vanishing into the canopy above.
"Please," she whispered, voice rough with urgency. "Let Bimbo buy me more time…"
But her plea was shattered by a sudden chill.
A pulse of something ancient—deadly—slithered over her skin. Her eyes widened, instincts kicking in just in time. She leapt to the side, rolling over her shoulder.
A wave of darkness slashed through the space she'd just been in, hissing as it cut through bark and air alike. The force of it singed the ground. She landed in a low crouch, breath stolen by the sheer pressure in the air.
Then she saw him.
Standing at the edge of the clearing, half-veiled by shadow, was a man. Unmoving. Unbothered. His coat hung open over his chest, obsidian fabric trimmed in silver. His dark hair was tousled from the wind, but it did little to soften the sharp, cruel angles of his face.
And his eyes—oh demons, his eyes—Crimson. Cold. Endless.
In one hand, he held nothing but a blackened stick—no blade, no staff. Just a length of twisted, dark wood. But the way it pulsed with magic made her blood freeze.
"I suppose you're another one of them," he said, voice low and slow, like the edge of a blade dragging across stone. "A spy. For the Church?"
She swallowed, spine stiffening. "Yes."
A twitch passed through his mouth. The beginnings of a grin. "You don't look like much. What do you know about the Church?"
She stood to her full height, trying not to tremble. "More than you, maybe."
That grin deepened. Dangerous now. "I know they're a bunch of crusty old men, hiding behind holy robes and empty threats. And clearly, stupid enough to send an amateur to spy on me."
"I'm not an amateur."
"No?" he drawled. "Then maybe you're bait."
Her brows furrowed, but before she could speak again, she asked, "Where's Bimbo?"
He tilted his head.
"Bimbo…" He let the name roll around on his tongue, amused. "If he's the ice mage, then—he's dead. I killed him."
The words struck like a slap. Her eyes lit with anger. "You bastard—!"
She surged forward, arms flaring with light. The trees bent around them as wind screamed in a cyclone around her. She cast a sigil into the air—glyphs burning white—and hurled a spear of raw wind magic toward him.
But he was faster.
Cassius moved like death given form.
He appeared before her in a blink, hand outstretched, catching her wind spell and crushing it with his palm. The shockwave knocked her off balance.
He moved again, and this time, she barely raised a shield before his shadows struck—splintering across her barrier in a spiderweb crack. She leapt backward, retreating, only for tendrils to chase her. A shadow caught her ankle. She screamed as she was yanked mid-air and slammed to the ground.
Cassius stood above her now, grinning wide, his red eyes lit with something twisted. "You're quick," he said. "But not quick enough."
Her chest heaved as she stared up at him, heart pounding. "Wh-who are you?"
"I am Cassius," He leaned down, smile sharp. "The Demon King."
A gasp escaped her lips.
Before she could react, shadows wrapped around her body—cold and strong, locking her limbs. One tendril formed into a jagged blade, pressing against the soft skin of her neck.
His eyes bore into hers. "Tell me what you know. Now."
She clenched her jaw. "Go to hell."
Cassius didn't flinch. He took a slow step forward, then crouched. "I don't need you to talk." He pressed two fingers to her temple. Darkness flooded them both.
*
In Her Mind.
He stood in a haze of memory. Sounds of crying. Hunger. The dark alleys of a broken city. A child—her—running barefoot through the slums, begging for food, dodging hands that reached for her in the dark. Cold nights. Sickness. Survival.
And then—there was light. A robed man. Golden eyes. A hand stretched out to her.
"You have purpose. You will serve the light."
It shifted—memories bleeding into one another. Another chamber. Candlelight. A table. And a voice.
"The child of the devil has been born. A spawn of the demon king. We believe it resides in the Eastern provinces."
"You must find it. Kill it if possible. The Bishop has spoken."
Cassius's heart slammed against his ribs.
But then—resistance.
The vision shattered. She kicked him out of her mind with a scream of force that cracked the air between them. Cassius reeled, blinking as reality reformed. She was panting, but her eyes gleamed. He stepped back, stunned—and then chuckled, low and slow. "Well. That was interesting."
She wiped blood from her lip and stared up at him, hate burning in her gaze.
"We know what you are," she spat. "And the Bishop knows about your child."
Cassius's breath caught.
She smiled, triumphant. "We know you've sired a spawn. Half-human. Half-demon." The grin that twisted her face was cruel. "And we're going to kill it."