Arc 7: Chapter 24: He Who Beheld The Burning
The demon approached the steps of the cathedral. He ignored everyone, moving with a casual lack of hurry or care despite the distant sounds of battle and the armed mob sharing the square with him.
His legs bent back like a beast’s, and ended in taloned feet more like a reptile’s than a mammal. It gave him a strange gait, almost a swagger, and his armor clicked with every step. His gold-embroidered cape swished across the cobblestones, swinging back and forth in a hypnotic motion. A sigil was stitched onto the back of that red train, showing a stylized pair of broken doors surrounded by flames.
The Gatebreaker stopped at the bottom step of Lyda’s Cathedral, his gaze running across its outer walls. He let out a muted laugh and muttered something to himself.
Where had he come from? It didn’t matter. Move. I needed to move, to run… no, that was his power talking. He’d hit us with some kind of wavefront of terror, like a supernaturally potent version of the animal fear any predator uses against smaller prey. I needed to fight. He was a demon, not a god, and he could be slain.
I needed to give the others time to get away.
“Don’t. Move.” Vicar spoke very quietly. “You cannot overcome this foe, Hewer. That creature has supped on the blood of angels. You have no chance against him, not with your powers crippled and your axe broken.”
Someone among the armed pilgrims whimpered. None of them could move. The demon’s power weighed on us like a great weight of water. I could feel it buzzing in the air like flies, making my vision fuzzy, irritating my ears. His aura tasted like rotting meat and rancid blood, the musk of an unclean animal.
I concentrated and with a savage, silent effort I broke the restraining geas. I had to flare my magic to do it, causing golden flames to flicker around my body with an audible growl. It gave me more burn scars, and when done I gasped and stumbled forward, emitting trails of smoke.
The demon turned, probably noticing that I’d freed myself. The muscles of his scarred visage shifted as he raised his brow in a human gesture of mild interest that didn’t belong on that animal face. He had very small eyes, like tiny pinpricks of sickly light set too far apart. They were lopsided, and did not blink.
“Impressive,” the Gorelion said. He had a cultured voice, soft and deep at once with an almost sub-audible growl no human throat could produce. He inhaled deeply. “Ah, I know that smell! You are one of the faerie king’s thralls. Strange… I thought them all accounted for.”
“You…” I had to gasp for breath to get the words out. “You don’t know me? Yith said you wanted to kill me.”
“Yith did?” The lion tilted his head to one side. “Ah, yes! I do know you. I remember you from that day I came through the door into this world. You seemed so distraught at the time, I couldn’t bring myself to end you.”