Snow leaned against the wall with a childish pout, still annoyed at Death’s pretend act to hate all of them. Even from within the cell, he could see the light staining the dungeon walls through the arced windows turn from a peaceful blue to a violent red. He heard the roars of dragons and the cracks of thunder, smiling as he imagined the chaos happening in the streets.

  “Dragons?!” Vera squealed. “There’s fuckin’ dragons in Vatanil right now? Fuck, the Sentinels are gonna rip those little shits apart.”

  “If they’re truly weapons,” said Death. “This bodes well for us. The distraction of the fire-lizards will give Stroke an opportunity to come and free us.”

  “Stroke doesn’t have a God Arm,” Snow reminded. “And the seconds I get out of these chains, I command you to spread your legs and let me kick you in the dick!”

  “Ooo, that’s harsh, isn’t it darling?” Beion chuckled. “A man’s jewels can be easily crushed by a good strike… command it to be two, three, even.”

  “I suggest you take that command back,” Death said. “If we are to be freed, I imagine I’ll be stuck in place. Won’t be good if I must run and I’m trapped in your order.”

  Snow took back her command.

  “Fucking maggots,” Killian growled, sitting on a crate. “I can’t wait for the order to kill all of you parasites.”

  “Shut up dickhead,” Vera yelled. “No one ordered you to speak, did they? Be an obedient lapdog and keep your whore mouth shut!”

  Killian bashed a fist against the godsteel bar, scraping his sword against it with a threatening grin. “I could reach you from here with this blade,” he whispered. “Let out your intestines… one deep cut, all you could do is squirm and beg. Even if a healer was called, the godsteel cell is sealed shut. Only a God Arm can open it now. Say sorry… be a good fox.”

  “Go fuck yourself!” she screamed, calling his bluff. “You were ordered to watch over us, you fuckin’ pussy! You wouldn’t put a finger on us, you coward. You’re scared the Valans will execute you for disobeying them. WOOF, WOOF, WOOF.”

  Killian punched the bars again. “You’ll get what’s coming for you. I hear your pointless chatter. Prince Stroke won’t help you.”

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Snow asked.

  “The prince recently learned of Runaya’s death by my boot,” he smirked. “He’s hiding away in the castle. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were to find his body hanging from a rope.”

  “Fate favours me,” Death said. “I will be free from this cell, and you will stand idle as I leave. I—Snow, can you reach into one of your pockets?”

  “Huh?” Snow tried to reach, but her hands were chained too tight. “No. I can’t.”

  “Demon. Use your feet.”

  “To do what?” Beion asked.

  “That handkerchief. Get it out her pocket and toss it to me.”

  Beion removed one boot awkwardly, grabbing the handkerchief with his toes by stretched his leg the farthest it could reach.

  “What the bloody fuck are you doing?” Killian asked. “Is this an attempt to escape? I’m not impressed.”

  The handkerchief landed at Death’s feet. He gave a smug smile after observing it. “Bianca,” he read on the embroidery. “This is an interesting discovery. How did I not see this?”

  “What do you see?” Snow asked. “Tell us?”

  “Yeah, tell us!” Vera seconded. “Stop making us wait.”

  “Bianca said this was made by Runaya herself, if I remember. Well, this is the same handwriting as those letters… the same as the letter I gave Stroke. Runaya wrote the instructions for her own death ritual.”

  ————————————————————————

  “It’s not true, you know,” Runaya said. She packed a satchel filled with water and food, sealing multiple letters with a seal of red wax. “The things they’ve said about me. The dancing, the kissing, the undressing, the… things they claimed I used my body for. Not even Stroke has seen me bare, and we sleep in the same bed. I am a virgin, and I plan to be until I am married. I am Strokes, and he is mine.” She pulled the curtains of her chambers shut to avoid the view of the Sentinels. Her voice was trembling, as were her hands. “I don’t want to see Mara dead. I want her punished. I won’t get what I want by forcing my voice through Stroke’s at those useless council meetings where that… whore… spreads hideous lies about me. I am not a fighter. I cry during arguments. I’m not strong enough to do this by myself. Stroke would never agree to this. You said you are a man who could help me… will you help me?”

  She sniffled like a frightened bunny at the request, one hand over her booming heart and the other reaching for help. She found a gentle hand in her palm, her fear turning to a smile.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Of course, princess,” Zishang said. “I will always come to the aid of the innocent. But… I must ask, is this truly necessary? If you want me to fight Prince Harren for you, I would, even if it means my death.”

  “Nobody needs to die except him,” she said. “This is the way.”

  “Does Prince Stroke now?”

  “Partially,” she said. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth of what I plan to do. He knows I will go missing, but that is the only thing he knows. I told him not to search for me, and that I want him to convince his brothers with a bargain—kill the Kans for our freedom—Godwin and Harren would never allow that. I see their vicious eyes on what is mine. Prince Stroke is the only thing I’ve ever wanted, and I see what he refuses to see. They will kill him, Zishang, slaughter him for pointless reasons. Godwin is a misguided man, manipulated by Harren and his wench.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tear of an angel. “Killing him is the only way this can end. Monsters kill monsters, I have to become one. I can only ask you to ensure Stroke gets the God Arm from his corpse before I am slaughtered by the others. He can return me to as I am now… and then nobody will challenge him with his power.”

  Zishang took the letters from the desk, holding one marked with a large pentacle. “This will hurt. The pain will be unbearable. They will cut off your limbs, rip out your entrails, cut your throat—you won’t die during any of it. You’ll feel it all.”

  Runaya cried a little, shutting her eyes with a dutiful nod. “I know,” she squeaked. “And gods, I am so scared. But no pain is greater than being away from Stroke. I promise you this is my final choice. I tried to win with knowledge. I had proof that Mara was a bigger whore than any who walks. She sleeps with others while the prince watches. I had testimonies, people willing to speak the truth to the king. I had letters. I made the mistake of showing my hand, and now all of it is gone. I lost it all, and those people were killed. I got those people killed. It’s my turn to take the risk.”

  “It’ll be torture, princess.”

  “I know.” She gave him more letters. “Remember. This one is for Killian. Please leave it on his desk, make it appear to be written by cambions and left in his chambers. If the timing is perfect, he will be in Caron the second I turn into that monster.”

  “What if the cambions aren’t kind towards you?”

  “Stroke had a cambion protector. They will surely be kind to me if I show them kindness… I just hope they won’t abuse the ritual. I only want them to kill Harren, and for Killian to be collateral, as he is terrible too. If they tried to name someone else… I’d try to fight back, pray that Killian has some goodness in his evil heart.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  She bit her thumb and cried some more, calming herself. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t want to think about that.”

  “I just want you to be aware of the risks.”

  “I’m aware. Now please go. I will travel to the place marked in the letters, wait for the cambions to collect me.” She gave Zishang a light hug. “Thank you. You are an honourable man. I hope you will visit us when I leave Vatanil with him. I trust you.”

  “Thank you, princess. I won’t fail you.”

  Zishang travelled far out past Vatanil’s gates and deep into the forest. He strayed away from the normal path on horseback, finding a safe place to follow Runaya’s specific instructions. He constructed a pentacle made of sticks, lighting candles at each point of the star. He placed an offering of flesh, a dead rabbit, in the centre, then cut open the tip of his thumb, allowing blood to drip on the carcass.

  “Demons, hear my call,” he whispered. “Any who will heed my summon—I have a bargain to strike.”

  The sticks melted into the dirt, glowing red. A wound of fire opened in the earth and released the screams of the damned.

  A mighty cambion in black robes emerged, horns of a great stag. “I heed your call, human,” the demon said. “You have the grace of my presence, rat. I am Aleion Flame. Secondborn of Morgudeion the Mauler and Ashlereina Flame. Grandson of Agadeira Flame, the legendary cambion warrior. If your task bores me, I shall leave the human world with your head as restitution.”

  “I come with a task from Runaya Valan, the soon-to-be betrothed of Prince Stroke Valan. Do you know of the prince?”

  “Stroke Valan?” Aleion mused. “Hm. He is the only human I would fight for. The rest can die.”

  Zishang pulled a letter from his satchel. “Then fight for him. I come bearing an order from Princess Runaya. If you would fight for Stroke, you would fight for her.”

  Aleion snatched the letter, sniffing it like a hungry hog. “It does smell of a woman.” He tore open the letter and read it, chuckling. “I accept this task, it sounds fun. Tell me, tiny human, these words of a kidnapping and rape… are they true or for show? Am I raping the princess Stroke Valan intends to marry?”

  “No,” Zishang said firmly. “And I would hope you’re brain is smart enough to figure that part out on your own once we are done here.”

  “How do you expect us to do a death ritual?”

  Zishang handed over the tear of the angel. “I trust you know a demon who has an expertise in the rituals.”

  “My sister,” he snorted. “She likes this shit. She will do it well, she will do it good. What is my payment?”

  “What do you want your payment to be? Gold? Blood? Flesh? I am under the order to give you whatever necessary.”

  “And if I ask for your soul?”

  Zishang didn’t blink. “So be it, then,” he sighed. “Is this your offer? My soul for your service.”

  “Do you fight for Prince Stroke Valan?”

  “I fight for Runaya.”

  Aleion looked at the letter and the tear, grunting. “And who will the target of the death ritual be? Prince Harren? It is not detailed in the letter.”

  Zishang gave him a piece of paper with Harren’s name. “This is so you remember,” he said. “Prince Harren is the only target.”

  “Then that payment suffices. The death of Prince Harren for my service is acceptable… but what do you mean remember, human?”

  The runes on Zishang’s naginata began to glow. “I’ll have to take the memory of our meeting out of your head. You will need to piece together your task when I am gone.”

  “Oh-hoh, puny human can do that?”

  “I can do many things. It only works on those weaker than the will of my weapon.”

  “Ha-hah! Then it shall not work on me!”

  Zishang tapped the tip against Aleion’s forehead. He slumped over, still standing and holding both letter and tear, snoring like a boar.

  “Be safe, Princess Runaya,” Zishang whispered. “Thank you for your trust in me. I will not fail you.”

  He mounted his horse and began to travel back to Vatanil. Once far away, he clicked his fingers, releasing Aleion from the trance.

  “Huh—what? Aleirica! Were you in my—what is this?” He read the letter in his hand and saw the tear of the angel. He then saw the horse leaving with Zishang on, his appearance hidden by a cloak. “I was summoned here, a bargain,” he realised. He then laughed after reading the letter again. “I accept your task, puny human! You took my memory, but you will not take my glory! The Flames shall see this service done well, and you shall fulfil whatever we agreed as a payment for my service!”

  Zishang raised a fist and said nothing. Aleion saw it, snuffing the candles with his foot and returning to Hell through the portal he came from.