The Forsaken Hero

Demons swarmed us after we left Korra and Gayron on their own. Fable moved too quickly, trampling through scions and weaker demons, while Verity flitted through the starlight, slaughtering anything that got close.

And then the demons ended, refusing to chase us past a small ridge. The air grew dark and heavy, rife with black rifts in the realm wall. Breathing became difficult, and Verity’s light dimmed as my aura constricted.

"What is this?" Verity asked, returning to us.

I shook my head. I’d seen this before in Demon Gates when heroes exerted too much power, but this was Enusia. Comparing the realm walls to a demon gate was placing paper before stone. What kind of terrible power could separate the fabric of fate, and allow oblivion to bleed into a mortal realm?

We stopped at the edge of a basin. It sloped gradually down for almost a mile before rising again, forming a perfect bowl. The damage to fate was extensive here, and only worsened as it neared the bottom.

"A crater?" Verity whispered, hoarse with awe.

Chills raced down my spine as I realized she was right. This was no natural basin. What was terrifying was how close it was to the size of the crater in Sylvarus, where the arbiter had been slain.

A swirling maelstrom of abyssal black mana dominated the center, billowing like ink in water. Fable took us to the edge, growling with deep vibrations in his chest.

Verity wavered uncertainly. "I don’t like the look of this. I can’t sense anything in there. No mana, no souls, no fate. It’s like a black hole.’

I patted Fable’s neck, and he strode through. The blackness parted around my aura. Fate stabilized, drawing tight together in a bubble that extended a few feet before his snout. But as we passed, the threads unraveled again, returning to nothingness.

A pale white glow shone through the dark, outlining a demonic silhouette wreathed in ashen flames. Across from him was a being blacker than oblivion, made entirely of wisps of darkness. Two glowing red eyes floated in a formless face, without pupils or irises. They turned to us and narrowed.

"What are you doing here?" Fyren asked, his voice a low growl. He had taken his demon form, and now stood close to fifteen feet tall. Heavy scars marred his plated scales, festering with the same energy that clung to the demon lord of death. Something about the way he carried himself felt different, and it scared me. Not afraid, or desperate, just...annoyed.

"What is this?" the demon lord asked, drawing closer. Fyren tensed, but he just seemed curious. "Some kind of ghost? No, not that. Nor an arbiter. Just what are you, silver child?"

Verity stiffened, gripping her sword tightly. "A...remnant?" She glanced back at me, searching, and I shrugged.

"One that remains. Very interesting. And then there is the one that should not be. Just what manner of creature is it? An animal, stricken by the power of a primordial mark, and yet..." The demon lord’s eyes rose slowly, following a line only it could see that drew from Fable to me. "And lastly..."

His voice trailed off, and he drifted closer, his feet no longer touching the ground. The darkness twisted, enveloping him, and a cold voice sounded in my ear.

"You prove a greater mystery than the other two put together."

Fable whirled, leaping back behind Fyren. The demon didn’t follow, hovering with a gentle sway, staring at me quizzically.

"You are no god, though the touch of one lingers o’er you. But a mortal? No, that can’t be. Gods and mortals fear death. You fear it too, and yet, why should you? If it had power over you, it would have claimed you a hundred times over. Yes, I can see it now. One who remains, one who should not be, and one beyond all."

"He’s insane," Verity muttered.

"You believe that because you cannot see," the demon replied. "But I see enough. I see why Rash’alon wants her. And you, Lord of Ash. I see what could have called a being like you from the darkness beyond. Truly, this descent has been most fruitful."

"You have said your piece. Do you wish to resume where we left off?"

The demon made a strange sound. It took me a second to realize it was laughing.

"This world cannot handle more of what we are, Lord of Ash. But I suppose someone like you would welcome that, no? To see it all unravel, to see it come to an end. That is what you live for, no?"

"The only end is a beginning," Fyren said evenly.

"So it is. The death of an old life leads to the birth of a new one. But what beginning is it that you usher to us? What child will be born from the ashes of the dying? I would be there, if you permit it, to see it all. There could be no greater honor than to witness the death of a cycle."

"You would join us? What of the one who holds your mark?" Fyren asked.

Wait, join? I reeled back, squeezing Fable’s fur. Since when? Why?

"That foolish upstart? I owe him for granting me passage to this strange world, but favors only mean something if they’re never paid back, no?"

"Very well. I accept," Fyren said, relaxing his stance.

"Wait, Fyren, you can’t just...what are you doing? How can we trust him?"

"He’s an enemy," Verity agreed.

Fyren’s face made an infernal expression I recognized as amusement. "I could say the same about you, little hero. What once was true need not remain so. And I’m afraid we have little choice, though believe me, I would rather send him back to whatever blasted realm Rash’alon drew him out of. But it is not so simple to slay a demon of death, especially not one of his power. To do so, we would risk destabilizing the area further."

I swallowed hard. Fyren was right, and I knew it. Even if we couldn’t trust this demon, there was something about him, something...unknowable, that set him apart from the other demon lords like Rash’alon or Incinderus. They were almost human, with a different perspective, but I could begin to see why they did what they did. This demon lord of death, on the other hand, felt as depthless as Fyren himself. An enigmatic force rather than a person that could be understood.

"Very well. But only if you accept Fyren’s mark," I said.

Verity made a small, choked sound of surprise. Both Fyren and the demon lord froze, giving each other wary looks.

"That would be...acceptable," the demon said slowly, eyeing Fyren.

"You need not be so wary," Fyren said, folding his arms. The scrape of his claws against his armor caused me to shiver. "I would not impose a primordial mark on you. Though, if you wish to taste of fate for yourself..."

"From you? You would tear my soul apart. How that hasn’t yet happened to the Oracle is beyond me."

"You said it yourself. She is beyond that, sheltered in the hollow of fate’s hand. It has a purpose for her, one we are sworn to accomplish."

"Then I shall swear as well."

The demon touched the ground, the shadows melting off its body like evaporating steam. The horrible, pale-fleshed and lanky body with the vicious claws and too-long arms was terrible to look at. I almost preferred its true form. It knelt anyway, giving me an amused look.

"What are you doing?" Fyren muttered, glaring at him.

"This is how mortals do it, no? I swear my death to your cause, regardless of where it takes us."

"The word of a demon. How reliable," Verity muttered.

The oily mark of Rash’alon suddenly ignited in the monster’s soul, burning away. Fyren replaced it, cold as a dead ember.

"There, satisfied?"

I nodded slowly, letting my consciousness brush against Fyren through the Primordial Mark. It was a shock, and I recoiled, but not before feeling the demon lord through him. His soul radiated a chill that stood opposite the warmth of R’lissea’s light. He carried the snows of winter, wilting flowers, and freshly dug graves. The closest thing I could compare it to was Connor’s aura and Black Mist, but this demon felt right where he had felt wrong.

"So, what shall my first task be as a member of your horde?" The demon lord of death asked.

"Cut the theatrics. It’s your fault we’re in this situation, so do something about it," Fyren said, waving in the direction of High Valley.

The demon’s lips stretched wide, revealing too many jutting pointed teeth. "With pleasure."

It sprouted wings of darkness, and vanished into the mountains. A second later, I felt one of the large packs of demons roving about the crater go dark. Fyren sagged, letting some of his exhaustion show.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"Alive, but this battle has exhausted my strength. And you? When I felt the Fire Hero make his appearance, I could only pray the Apostle reached you in time."

"Thank you for that," I said, lowering my head. "I’m sorry we abandoned you for so long. Thank you for fighting and protecting the others."

He snorted. "I fought for you, Oracle. That more lived because of it is simply happenstance."

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