Completed Fortune Turned

[Garrod Arlette]

His smile grew, all the wider as she returned his shoulder bump, his expression grew more when he saw her own trouble-making smile, and how she had not denied what he had suggested. In fact, affirmed it. Silly and small as it was, he felt a flutter of wings in his stomach as they made through the garden. He had half the mind to whisk her away, so they could have not but the stars and the flowers for company.

A passing fantasy. Likely spurred on by the thought of skulking and sneakery. Or, maybe just, well. How he felt. There was no need to lie to himself.

When they reached the entrance they were met by the gracious Lord Lambert. Eagerly, the old man, asked of the outcome of the fight, and Garrod slipped up the sword, sheathed as it was, from his sash, and presented to the Lord with a gracious bow.

Lord Lambert took the sword, and fastened it, as Lady Isaure teased him from behind the cover of her fan. Garrod bowed to her in turn, and when he rose up, he could not help but smile at the old pair.

"It was a fine blade, Sir, and it is as my lady says," Garrod said in kind. "Had it not been for such a fine weapon, I may have lost the bout outright," a small bow, earnest and dignified. "Might be , that you could teach me a thing or two, from your old fighting days?" Garrod asked, with an honest smile.

The old wolf laughed a breathy laugh, and nod his head. "Why not, why not, might do my old bones good to pass on some of the wisdom they keep," his eyes narrowed with a knowing, and his smile turned grin as his old frame seemed to still with an ancient strength. "Would be an honor to teach Old Sinns' protégé a thing or two,"

Garrod's eye went wide, and he stood in a stunned silence.

Lady Isaure smiled, and she dabbed at Lambert with her fan, before she raised it to shield herself once more. "Come now, dear, you said you would be nice to the boy,"

The electric edge that seemed to strike Lambert dissipated, and the kindly old man was left there standing once more. A wheezy warm laugh coming from his throat. "Yes, you are right my darling, most right, as always," Lambert's kind blue eyes found Garrod, some steel in them. "Word of advice, young man," he grinned, wolfish. "Heed your wiser's council, and you might live longer for it," he bowed to Garrod. "Lady Delrio," he said and bowed to Lechies before he set toward the garden. "Darling," he said as he hobbled down the steps with his cane clacking against the stone. "Will you join me for a walk?"

"Of course, my dear," Lady Isaure replied, and stared a moment at the younger pair of adventurers, her eyes as wise and knowing as a cat's. "Good luck to you both," she said, and bowed to each in turn before leaving to accompany Lambert.

Garrod blinked, and cleared his throat. "That was Lightning Wolf Lambert," he said in stunned realization. "I..." he turned to watch the old man hobble away. "I didn't know he was a lord,"

 

[Lechies Delrio]

Lechies bowed again to the kind couple as they departed. Her ears were warm.

'Good luck'. Now why would Lady Isaure say that? What did she think they needed luck for?

"Nor did I," she said. Peering curiously at the man in question as he linked his free arm with his wife, Lechies could now see some measure of strength in those old legs that she hadn't noticed before, the confident way Lambert held himself straight even as he relied on his cane for support. "I'd heard of the Lightning Wolf from my colleagues with the Green Dawn, but never did I think to connect that fearsome swordmaster with the lord of the south Reach who runs orphanages with his lady." She hummed in thought. "I suppose it is a rare thing for adventurers to grow old in the first place."

More interestingly, that an adventurer of such fame should also bear a noble title... Lechies had not known of this, otherwise she surely would have used this knowledge in previous--discussions with her mother, about having chosen the occupation that she did, so unlike her peers. A childish part of her almost looked forward to throwing out Lord Lambert's epithet the next time her mother brought up the topic.

"At any rate, we've a mirror to find. You'll need Belephus's help, yes? Where was it you're meant to pick up your equipment?"

 

[Garrod Arlette]

"Orphanages..." Garrod echoed, still watching in aww as the old hero and the woman he shared his life with grew small together in the distance. "He runs orphanages?" some of the wonder faded, and his voice turned flat with a mild disappointment. "All Sinns ever ran was backroom brawls, and illegal gambling rings at the fighting pits," But, there was still a fondness in the quirk of Garrod's lip, his eye finding Lechies once more. "True, that," he said about the getting older, and there was a wistfulness in his eye.

How much longer did either of them have, out in the field. An odd thin to think about, and Lechies reminded him that the day was far from today.

"With the caterers," he said with a half laugh, and turned away from the cool darkness of the garden, and looked into the warm maw of the arched windows, yawning tall over them as the gold-orange light of flames and chandeliers from the inside poured out.

He offered her his arm with a small and honest smile. "Suppose our dance will have to wait," he teased, and lead her through the glass doors and into the warm swell of the party inside.

The music came full into the ear, and the soft roar of the chatter and the gossip was almost overwhelming as Garrod's mind tried to adjust to all the new sounds. They strode easily across the room, as if they both belonged there, instead of only just the one.

"You think ," he started fondly. "Lily is doin alright?" he asked with bashful look in his eye and a rosiness in his cheeks.

A quick tap came on his shoulder, and an abrupt clearing of the throat. Garrod blinked, and turned to find Gideon, standing expectantly in his finery.

"Jarred!" he said with big gesture as his voice dripped with a honeyed poison. "Are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

Garrod stared a moment at Gideon, who was Markus in this moment. The hunter turned socialite cleared his throat, and motioned to Lechies. "Please, excuse my poor manners, master d'Raino, this is my companion, Lechies Delrio,"

Gideon's eyes brightened, and his smile turned more genuine. "Ah! Lechies!" he grinned, catlike. "Yes, yes, Jared has told me much about you, darling, much!" he laughed, only to have the laughter end abruptly as he straightened up, nod, and looked to Garrod. His eyes asked, does she know?

Garrod nod.

"Oh, good, ha! Good!" Gideon said excitedly. "Well, you know where you are going?"

"Caterers,"

"The chef has it," Gideon corrected. "Then, the rest is up to you," Gideon bowed to Lechies. "A pleasure meeting you my dear," he added, and moved off to talk to others once more.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

Lechies shook her head fondly, but took his arm anyway, and they retreated into the warmth of the manor. As they crossed through the crowd, she scanned for familiar heads of red hair, wondering where her brothers had gotten to--mainly, if word of the duel had carried into Allos's ears yet, whether brought there by Detlef or another one of the spectators. She could imagine the look that might cross his face, worry and suspicion and relief all warring for dominance before he managed to reclaim the dignity expected of the eldest Delrio sibling. It was only too bad she wasn't there to see it for herself.

"Lily? As alright as a garr-hound can be, probably," Lechies replied, still searching the crowd. "Her master did seem to love her very much, and-"

Garrod stopped all of a sudden, and the sound of his alias darted across the air. Lechies turned to find someone she did not know, but whom Garrod clearly knew. For a moment she was unsure how to react. It was too late to remove her arm from his, anyway, so she held on, listening quietly as the two men conversed.

Only at the close of the conversation did Lechies realize this man was the accomplice Garrod had mentioned. She cast a more critical eye over him, but he made clear his intention to depart before she could form any real conclusions.

"The same to you, sir," she said automatically. Once he was gone, Lechies turned to Garrod, amused. "Do I want to know what you've said to others about me?" Depending on whether this was before or after their adventure in Garramarisma, the contents of said gossip could be very different. "Ah, never mind. Tell me later." She patted Garrod's arm. "Let's go find the kitchens."

After a moment of observation, they spotted a servant with a stack of empty platters balanced on both arms, and trailed him at a respectable distance through a side archway and down the hall. Even before they reached its end, they could feel the steady encroach of heat as that from flames, and the heady perfume of all sorts of delectable scents. The opposite archway opened out into a grand kitchen as fine as Lechies had ever seen. Bodies in uniform hurried all over, hauling fresh pastries out of the ovens, carting in wine barrels, washing plates and glasses to be sent back out. It was all a hectic affair, yet everyone moved with practiced efficiency. Despite their less than noble reasons for being here, Lechies was once again genuinely impressed by Master Janik's household.

She and Garrod stood to the side of the archway so as not to be in anyone's way, but it was clear at a glance that the two did not belong. They had about fifteen seconds before one of the servants found the courage to approach.

"M'lord, m'lady," she began. Then, as if only just remembering that she was still holding the knife she had been cutting fruit with, set the tool aside and wiped her hands on a towel tucked in at her waist. "Pardon the rudeness, but the kitchens aren't open to guests. Gonna have to ask that you leave."

"Oh, dear. Please forgive us," Lechies said, tone high and polite in a way that was more dangerous than sweet. She was, at the moment, doing her best to channel her mother's energy when the Delrio matriarch was exercising the full weight of her authority. It was a tone that whispered 'Deny me what I'm about to ask at your own peril.' "We know we're overstepping, but it's just that--I must say, Master Janik hosts a most wonderful party. Our household would do well to learn from his example, wouldn't you agree, dear?"

Lechies went on without waiting for Garrod's response "Everyone knows that an orderly household begins and ends with its staff. To that end, we'd love to speak with some of you, have you spill your secrets. Starting with your head chef, perhaps?"

The woman fidgeted, visibly uncomfortable, but after a moment seemed to decide that it was easier to make Lechies's demand someone else's problem.

"Dunno if she's got the time now, but you can ask." She turned to holler across the kitchen. "Katri! Hey, Katri! Someone wants to speak with you!"

 

[Garrod Arlette]

"Well, I mean," he started, and he would have given her his answer. Told her something along the lines of... not much, just, you know, that there was a wizard I'd met on the road. or, how he still laughed sometimes when he thought about those two kids waving him down as he drove the ox cart away, and the sister had called Lechies, his woman. No, maybe not that one. That one was just for him. He was pretty sure he had never shared that one.

Though there was that one time where Gideon had opened a bottle of Vansire Cabernet. He laughed. Elf that he was, he had taken a twisted pleasure in drinking the product. Garrod remembered it had been fine stuff. A crisp dry sweetness, with fruity notes of blackberries and a smooth vanilla finish. Got them plenty warm in the face too.

She squeezed his arm, and brought him back out to the present. To the task at hand. He nod, and followed her stride. She was so sure and steady. And warm beside him. He liked that part most. How they would bump and touch, and neither seemed to mind. No one else seemed to mind either. All too busy with their own little dramas and delights.

Then came the kitchen. A real spectacle of efficiency. Stations that flashed with shimmer of sharpened steel that would make the finest swordsman blush. Garrod stared at it in wide eyed wonder. He was no stranger to a bit of kitchen work. Helped keep prices fair and fairer while finding boarding on the long road between hunts.

But, as soon as one of the cooks came, he remembered himself, cleared his throat and straightened up. Before he could say a single word, Lechies had dived right in. Her tone taking on an inflection he couldn't recall her ever using. Cold and full of the sure authority that came with unbending confidence in ones position. The sort of confidence that took planning and prepping and cunning. Every detail accounted for.

It was kind of scary. It was kind of hot. He cleared his throat. "Yes, dear," he managed to get in, but she was already going on, and he could see how the cook wilted under her gaze.

It was hard not to laugh. This poor cook, caught in their subterfuge. Caught in their sneakery.

The cook hollered for one Katri.

Katri was a tall broad-shouldered woman, with a handsome face and short cropped hair. She looked down at the pair, wholly unimpressed. "Gideon's crew?"

Garrod nod.

Katri grinned. "You tell that pretty boy he still owes me some of that wine of his after this,"

Garrod smirked. "Will do,"

Katri nod, and pointed at a long table, draped over with red table cloth. "Stuff is under there, I'll give you a little distraction so you can grab it and get out of here," she winked at them and then looked to Garrod. "Oh and, make sure its of Elbion Vintage, will ya?"

"Of course," Garrod said with a polite bow. Katri walked away, and Garrod and Lechies made for the table. "That was some damn fine, sneakery, dear," he said with a grin.

Behind them, Katri hollered out to her staff, shouting about how the steak was raw. Something metal clattered against something hard, and she went on a tirade about how this was one of the biggest jobs of their companies history and how... Garrod just kind of stopped listening for a moment, peaked under the table, and saw one of his krieg messers and his gauntlet. He smirked.

"Not my rune-blade but," he said as he fastened the sword belt around his waste. "It'll do," he looked a Belephus a moment. Saw the gleam of its eye, and let out a long breath before he worked the ancient armor on. Felt it seal around the curves of his flesh. Hug him close.

Ah, Garrod, how you play these games with me. The demon whispered sweetly in his mind.

Katri's tirade was nearly done, and Garrod peaked up over the table. "Lets go," he said and hurried off.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

Lechies filed the name 'Gideon' away for later contemplation while Garrod took over negotiations. Katri kindly offered to help cover their escape.

She laughed at his praise. "One does what one must for the mission's sake."

As Katri's voice rose higher, louder, drawing the rest of the kitchen's attention and reminding them all why she was the one in charge, Lechies crouched and tucked the tail of her dress behind her. Garrod swept the tablecloth aside, revealing a sword and a familiar gauntlet.

Lechies exhaled. She had half-expected and half-dreaded finding his greatsword waiting for them under there; she hadn't wanted to consider how they might possibly continue their sneakery with the hilt of that monster poking over Garrod's already tall shoulder. This weapon, with its more reasonable length, was a relief to see. It was not uncommon for noble men to wear a blade even at gatherings like this, as Alonse and Lord Lambert did.

Garrod took hold of the gauntlet, bringing it into the light of the kitchens. Its aura strengthened to her senses, seeping outward, thick as foul mud. Something deep in Lechies's chest seemed to vibrate, as if a shard of her soul acknowledging and resonating with the artifact. Knowing what entity was housed within it, and what was within her, she did not think the idea too far off the mark. Lechies pulled her eyes away from the bone-white surface with some minor effort, and instead glanced over her shoulder.

Katri was firmly in her element, now scolding a different cook for misplacing the lamb sauce.

"Aye, let's," she replied.

They left unnoticed through the archway, but rather than follow the hall back to the ballroom, Lechies took Garrod's arm--the unarmored one--and directed him to turn at the first fork. Several doors lined this hall, all closed; she picked one at random and, sensing no living presence on the other side, put her hand on the knob. It was unlocked, to her pleasant surprise. She quickly ushered Garrod inside before following him in, and closed the door behind her.

Now they stood in what was presumably a study. A writing desk was placed beside a window that looked out over the gardens. Two tall shelves behind it were tucked full of books. A map of Alliria's city streets was spread across the wall opposite, busy with pinned annotations that Lechies didn't care to read right now.

Back to the door, she passed her hand over the knob, magically locking it, then strode over to the window to pull the curtains shut. Moonlight disappeared from the room, plunging them into darkness. Lechies didn't mind; darkness was safer in this moment, and she could tell by Garrod's magic where he was standing. Belephus's heavier signature wrapped around her friend's like a winter cloak.

"This should be good enough. Do you need a werelight?"

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Garrod's eye adjusted to the new darkness they found themselves in once Lechies had pulled close the curtains. He had made his way to the map, his eye taking in the pins. Seeing if they would hint to... anything.

"Werelight sounds good," he said, and blinked his eye shut as he felt the pulse of soft gathering magick.

My my, it's been a while since I have tasted mage. The gauntlet spoke. Always such an interesting flavor.

A cool breath left Garrod's mouth, and he opened his eye to find the room painted in the warm light similar to the one they had shared moons ago.

Come now, Oh Bearer Mine, the demon went on. Do not pretend like your fantasies are so different. Your hungers.

Aflush crept up Garrod's face, and his eye went wide as he gulped, breath suddenly shortened. The demon laughed in his mind.

He shook his head, and moved to the desk, picked up one of the volumes, loosely bound in fine leather. "A journal," he said aloud, and brought it closer to his eye, as he tried to make it out in the glow of the werelight, he thumbed through the pages.

The jewel that did contain Belephus gleamed with the reflection of the werelight. Almost looked please as it eyed Lechies. As if it knew something no one else did. ​

21st day of 9th Month of the Year 370,
​

After the decimation of Elbion many a relic were smuggled out from the ruins, and while I was not able to get the relic I desired, I made away with something most valuable.

Gods, were I a pious man, I would fear for the salvation of my soul yet, what does the afterlife matter if the proud name of Damelin is lost to time? Nothing and little more than the dust that will claim our estate, to be sure.

No, I will not let that happen. And this relic. This being. Lenna assured me it would do the trick. And maybe I am a fool for having hope in her words, but, what other option do I have? ​

​

​

Garrod raised a brow. Is that what... he sounded like?

He turned the page. Read more. "Behind the-" Footsteps at the door, conversation. "Shit," he curse under his breath. He moved quick, put the journal back as the door handle began to move, began to click. The werelight went out. He took hold of Lechies with his left hand, pulled her close and pressed his lips against hers, clumsy and rushed as he leaned back against the desk with a thunk from the press of her body.

The door didn't open.

"Janik, man, what is it?"

Keys jingled.

Garrod blinked. Breath hot, heart racing.

"One moment, Elouise, I must have locked it," keys rattled and chimed.

"Sorry," Garrod said as their lips parted, stung a bit from the rush and bump. The door's lock clicked open.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

At his agreement, Lechies raised a werelight. It was of softer strength than she would normally call, for she was wary of it being seen under the door. Still, there was light enough for them to see by if they didn't mind straining their eyes a little.

Garrod made for the desk, while Lechies went for the map on the wall. It bore the expected labels--each sector's major roads, the main bridges that ran across the strait, important landmarks--but aside from them, there was also a multitude of pins stuck to the parchment with drops of sticky paste. There were some two dozen at a quick count. Each bore a strip of paper, on which had been written what appeared to be a numerical code ("12-157-90") and a calendar date. Most of the dates had passed already, and these were crossed out.

Lechies puzzled over them, for it made more sense to her that one should remove these pins if they were no longer needed, but perhaps their owner wanted to keep a record. She studied their locations for a while, but ultimately could find no pattern that stood out. Some were in residential districts, others in merchant quarters, and one oddly enough in the strait itself, in the middle of open water.

When Garrod spoke up, Lechies turned her head, only to snap her attention back the other way in alarm when footsteps sounded at the door. She hurriedly closed her hand into a fist, dismissing the werelight, and would have made for the door if not for Garrod taking her by the other hand.

'What', she started to mouth.

Then his lips were pressed against hers, and the rest of her was pressed against the rest of him, and he tasted a little bit like the wine they'd been serving, and she could hardly think for the sudden rush of blood through her head-

Voices. One unknown, but the other, she had heard earlier tonight when he had been making introductory speeches. Janik Damelin, host and master of the estate.

Lechies jumped slightly, all distraction flooding away as quickly as if a bucket of water had been upturned above her head. Of all the people who might intercept her and Garrod during their sneakery, it could not be Master Damelin. Not the man most capable of noticing any suspicious activities surrounding his demon mirror and tracking them back to the culprit(s) responsible.

Matters of her personal reputation were somehow a secondary concern.

The telltale rattle of keys in the lock.

"Sorry", Garrod murmured.

A click.

Lechies all but tore herself free from Garrod's hold, and lunged in the direction of the door. She flung out her hand, a purple light flashing briefly in her outstretched palm before an answering light flared over the knob, even as it began to turn.

A purple rune shimmered over the polished handle before dissipating, and the crunch of metal sounded as the knob refused to turn further.

Silence. Terrible silence for two, three beats.

"Now what's the matter?" The woman, annoyed.

"My key has jammed in the lock," Damelin replied. More metallic rattling, as the knob jiggled slightly. "Hm. No, stuck fast. Of all the times..."

"Ha! An ill omen, perhaps?"

"... We shall see. Never mind, there's someplace else we can go. If you would follow me, please, Elouise."

The footsteps retreated. Lechies waited further until she was certain once more than no one was there.

Then she spun on her heel, crossing the study back towards the window. Back towards the desk, where Garrod stood. She licked her lips, a reflex from how nervous she was, and tried not to think about who had just been there.

"We can't get out that way," Lechies said. She nudged a curtain aside and was satisfied to find no one in view. "With how quickly I had to form the spell, I'm afraid I twisted the lock such that I won't be able to reverse it. Not that we'd want to exit through there anyway, given what just happened. Too risky."

She opened the curtains further, allowing some moonlight to pass back through, and ran her fingers along the edges of the window. Lechies muttered angrily under her breath when she found it smooth, no locks or catches. Was this one of those blasted windows that weren't meant to be opened?

"Help me with this, Garrod." Lechies spoke over her shoulder, not looking at him. "Can you force it open without breaking it?"

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Lechies bolt to action, her magicks glowed against the handle and the lock seized up. Garrod could do little more then watch wide eyed as the silence filled the room up.

His miscalculation still warm on his lips, his face still red, even as his heart quickened for an all too different reason now as they stood in the silence.

You lie and lie and lie, Oh Bearer Mine, his demon teased. But we both know the sort of man you are.

His brow knit, and he grit his teeth. His right hand clenched tight, and the demon's jewel gleamed.

The men outside left. One of then, Janik Damelin himself. Garrod let out a long breath, let his hand relax. Remember your wiser's council. The old adventurer's words echoed in his head.

All of this was so swirled up. And he hardly felt like he could think straight. Still, Lechies moved clear headed, on target. He let in a long breath, and let it out again.

Help me with this...

"There is a door behind the bookcase," he said to her, staring at the wall of spines. "Might be, he was coming in to go to the mirror," he added as he walked beside her, studied the frame a moment, tested it. "It wont budge," he assured her, and wanted to look at her, but pulled his eye to the desk instead. He moved to it, picked up the journal, and slipped it into his sash. "We know where the mirror is now," he said, and pointed to the case with the bone-white gauntlet. "Least," he said empty headed as he stepped forward. "In part,"

Belephus' eye gleamed bright. The jewel seemed to squint with glee, fixed within the relic armor.

Garrod felt a pull. He stepped forward, grabbed the spine of a book that read, Oh Mortal Coil by Sarto Anaris. Something clicked, and a portion of the bookshelf slid back into the wall, and hid into a chamber. A dark staircase was there, and a cold draft came up from the spiraling descent.

"There are other exits we can take," he said. "Least, I think I heard that right,"

They would be tempting fate, descending now. For Janik was likely going too. Yet, Garrod moved forward. Down into the depths.

And he could hardly feel the smile of Belephus spread wide within his mind.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

"What? There is?"

A secret door behind the bookcase. Because of course there was. The banality of this revelation had Lechies press her lips together in mild annoyance.

All the same, she acknowledged Garrod's words with a nod and pulled away from the window. Even as he tested the shelves for their movability, Lechies set about searching the walls on either side, hoping for a hidden switch. Or perhaps it was opened by magic?

She missed what Garrod did exactly, but in the next moment there was movement, and Lechies marveled as the entirety of the bookcase slid backwards and into a notch in the wall. The whole mechanism was eerily quiet for how she expected a much louder grinding noise. What lay beyond didn't make her feel any better. Uneven steps led into a darkness surely made deeper by the time of night.

"Right..." she said. Lechies peered down into their next destination with uncertainty, even as she knew it was logically the best place for them to head next. "After you, then, oh mighty warrior."

Her werelight returned to her palm, and she followed after him. As they descended, its slight bobbing motion pulled their shadows to and fro across the too-narrow walls.

With the height drop from one step to the next, Lechies found her gaze level with the back of Garrod's head for once, and she eyed him with worry. There was no levity in his tone now, only the stone seriousness of a mercenary set on his mission. How very different from how he'd been out in the ballroom, in the dueling arena, so full of jests and gentle joy. How very much she missed that version of him.

She brushed her hand across her lips, recalling that recent sensation of heat suffusing her body, as invigorating as the first sip of a freshly brewed cup of tea.

Lechies sighed. "Garrod, I-"

Then the stairs ended their spiraling path, and a square doorway ahead ballooned out into a sizable basement chamber. There were eye-like sigils set at the top of the walls near the ceiling, glowing with a pale, anemic light. After a moment of deliberation, Lechies dismissed her werelight and sent mana out to the sigils. They pulsed in reply, and their glow brightened, enough to illuminate the room.

It was well-furnished. In one corner sat a writing desk, bigger than the one upstairs, with its own accompanying shelf of tomes sat behind. Also there was a stone basin of water, a long workbench laden with tools, more shelves upon which sat jars of what appeared to be an assortment of reagents--crystals, herbs, animal parts. Notes and diagrams on parchment were pinned to one of the walls. A wooden door, closed, waited at the opposite end of the chamber.

And beside it, in the other corner, sat a full-length mirror . Almost innocuous. It was framed in beautifully-wrought gold, supported by claw-feet designs and set with red gemstones that winked under the sigil light.

But that was not what captured Lechies's attention. Along the other wall, the stone was interrupted by a row of vertical iron bars. A cell.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Lechies went for it immediately, almost afraid to find a languishing prisoner--or worse, one's remains--but for a blessing, the alcove behind was empty save for a pile of straw.

"Well, then," she said. She rubbed absently at her arms, gooseflesh present despite her inability to feel cold anymore. "What sort of man keeps a demon mirror in a laboratory dungeon under his manor?"

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Some part of him ached upon hearing her call his name. Wanted to turn and stop. Wanted to see her and say her name in turn.

But the rest of him was arrested by what awaited them at the bottom of the staircase. The chamber, like a dungeon, was a dungeon, turned ritual room. A solemn mirror at its center, no less joyful or lustrous despite its golden frame and sparkling gems.

Daranthii, the demon cooed the name sweetly, like one might at the sight of a long lost lover.

Garrod's eye was large and wide and full of horror. His right hand twitched. Curled. His breath grew short, and his whole spine seemed to curl and arch as he bared his teeth in snarl.

"A ritual chamber," he growled deaf to Lechies question as he stalked forward, hairs at the back of his neck standing on end, his back wide with the swell of wrathful strength.

Go forth, Garrod Mine, go forth and see what this man has done.

He did not look to the regents. Did not look to the artifacts or items. He went to the cell. Grabbed the bars with both hands and tried to open them. They did not budge. Quickly he checked the lock. Nothing. Smacked it with his hand. Grabbed the bars and rattled the irons as he grunt in futile show of anger.

He kicked the cage. Huffed.

Turned his eye to the mirror. Saw the jewels gleam and glint. Almost sad. His eye went wide with a rabid horror and he bared his teeth as if a beast cornered.

He could smell the rituals. Their lingering trace. Blood spilt. Regents burned. He could see them. Could see his own past there between the dancing flickers of a green fire. Hear the knife slit wet across throats. The spill of the blood. The smell of iron.

"How many lives..." He said in a harsh rumble of smoke and fire, staring at the mirror, face twisted as he marched toward its wide reflective maw. "Has this man spent," he stopped before its frosted surface. His teeth bared sharp. "For his miserable vanity?"

 

[Lechies Delrio]

Garrod's reply was not what she had expected. Not so much the words themselves, but the way they were said. As if rage had closed his throat, and they'd barely squeezed out of his mouth from between his teeth.

Lechies turned, surprised, and backed away to make room for him as he approached the cell. There was a terrible purpose in his stride, his face a darkening thundercloud. Unease took root in her stomach, sharpening to outright fear as Garrod attacked the bars.

She had never seen him this furious before. Certainly, in light of the evidence before them, Damelin's activities were suspect in the highest regard, but Lechies didn't think it warranted such an extreme response. Garrod acted as if that cell was personally responsible for every ill fortune in his life.

"Garrod?" She started to reach out, wary, but stopped just short of touching him. "Is there-"

'Is there something you're not telling me?'

He went for the mirror next, shoulders tense with a terrible, restless energy. Lechies quickly followed. His rage was so great now that she did touch him this time, both hands gripping him by the wrist--the armored one this time, because unfortunately, it was closer. She honestly believed he might take a swing at the thing.

"Garrod," she said again, more sharply. Lechies held back a wince at how wrong it felt to be this close to Belephus, warm ichor and oil sliding against her skin, under it, sinking into bone, "Don't do anything rash. Remember, we're here for information. Only information. And we still need to get out without being seen..."

Lechies's eyes darted for the closed door nearby. If there was another exit, it would surely be through there. Did Damelin know they would breach his secret basement so easily? Was he on his way here now? How much time did they still have?

"Calm. Please. Come on."

As she made an attempt to move Garrod farther back from the mirror, if only for her own peace of mind, Lechies glanced at its surface, wondering what about it had inspired such hatred. In doing so, she took in the sight of it in full for the first time.

Her breath caught, ankles locking as her feet suddenly refused to take another step away. Lechies was struck by an odd sense of longing. Desire, almost. Not in the way of lust or greed, but something closer to nostalgia, a sense of loss, bordering on grief. Something that had once belonged to her, but was unfairly, cruelly ripped out of reach, denying her the pleasure of its ownership. She had been denied for so long...

Distantly, Lechies was aware that an outside force was exerting its influence. But the thought took form in her mind only for an instant before it vanished, fragile and fleeting as a bubble on the water.

As if in a trance, she let go of Garrod, moving in front of him to stand before the mirror. It seemed to beckon, the red gems' color so warm as to be alive, whispering unknown words. Or was that just the beat of her own blood, her heart pounding in her ears?

She put her hand flat against the glass.

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Garrod could hear nothing. Feel nothing. Nothing more than the low rumble of dread that stirred in his bones as he looked unto the clouded surface of the demon's mirror. He felt the run of the knife's blade across his neck. A cold whisper of steel The gush of red. The lack of breath. The pump and gush of his blood as he fell forward and cracked against the stone floor.

A pull against his arm. A voice, sharp with fear. Familiar. But not like this. Not so close to him.

He felt all of it again, re-lived there upon the silver trace of the mirror's surface.

His memory. His life almost lost. Then came the fire. Then came the light lost from his left eye. The gnash of teeth. The laughter as a new green eye burned open where his flesh had been given.

Tears ran down the side of his face, his teeth bared.

Calm. Please. Come on.

But he could not move more than the few steps he had stumbled back with her pulls. The few strides she grant him from the pull of the mirror. Lechies.

His eye came shut, and when it opened again it saw her next to him. Arm wrapped around his demonic armor. He felt revulsion at the sight of it. Belephus touching her. He had helped her before with the gauntlet worn. But now.

Jealous? The demon mocked.

But what was more disturbing still was the far gone look in the wizard's eye. The look of want. Of desire. Her face flushed. Not because she wanted. But because her eyes were so full of the mirror. Its promise.

"Lechies," Garrod begged in turn, but she had already touched the cold glass.

A flash of light blinded him.

---

Clouds of silver and clouds of grey, swirled about the space that had swallowed them whole. Dim, yet glittering, dull, yet dazzling. Traces of gold and silver lined the sharp angles and curved shapes that all looked like... something.

A manor in the distance. A bed frame nearby. Fine swords hung upon a rack. Armor plating. A carriage. Horses. All jagged and sharp. Immitations. Things that lacked. Things that shimmered and shined and glowed with luster, all the same. And yet looked dim. Looked - A woman. She looked made of silver, and the false stars in the false sky glittered and danced against her long elegant curves. She sat upon a throne of spent souls. Turned to cold and ugly iron thralls, frozen in their service to her.


"Four come, but two stand," she said in a voice that filled all the space there was around them. A voice that made the swirls and tongues of billowing mists tremble and shake. As if they quivered, wanting to hear more. Wanting to feel. Wanting. "One is known to me," she smiled, poison sweet. "One is sealed," her red eyes, like far distant stars, burned softly in the black night pools of her sclera. "Tell me then... of your desires,"

---

Art by Yang J​

​

 

[Lechies Delrio]

The painful light faded to a landscape more muted and gentle. Dreamy, in the way of something long forgotten. Hanging on by the slightest wisp of memory. Silver and stars and rippling blackness. All the colors of every night sky that had ever spread its wings across the world. Vast and formless. Soothing. The mercy of shade after a march in the sun. Satisfaction akin to the scrape of metal on bone.

It was good. It was familiar. They could stay here. Make a nest out of this place.

Wait, no. This was already someone's home. They were only a guest.

She who ruled this domain looked down on them with a smile. Beautiful, like the comfort of frost. Like the glimmer of precious lights in the sky. But also with wisdom and strength. Blood forever bubbling under talons. A blade wet with proof of triumph.

"Tell me then... of your desires."

A glance in Garrod's direction. Eyes that reflected nothing, an expression carved from bone.

There was only one thing they desired. Only one thing they could remember ever desiring. There must have been more than just this, once. But it had been lifetimes since. Now they could no longer recall that which was not darkness. The enduring silence. Sensation forgotten. Nerves rendered deaf and blind and dumb.

What did they desire? Only-

::Freedom.::

---​

The voice was not Lechies's, though it came from her mouth. It was a touch deeper, cold and delicate, like stepping over the surface of a frozen pond.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, gods.

Deep within the prison of her own body, Lechies cried out, horrified. But her thoughts were far away, and so very, very small.

Upon her monument of victims, the woman's smile widened. One silver hand came to rest below her chin, her gaze amused. She chuckled, the sound slow and sweet like honey.

"Oh, my. I wasn't speaking to you, little bird. I was speaking to you."

Lechies didn't answer, only blinked back, perfectly placid. The woman sighed.

"It seems the energies of this place don't agree with you. Very well, then."

She came away from the back of her throne, now leaning forward in her seat, one knee crossed over the other. The woman extended a hand towards Garrod. One porcelain finger curled, beckoning, the dust of stars trickling away with the motion, fading into the cosmos of her personal domain.

"You, boy. Let me hear your answer."

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Garrod's eye snapped toward Lechies, his jaw clenched tight as the light faded from his eye. As the darkness about them swirled and all he could see was her. The wizard. His companion. The woman for whom his heart so ached.

Yet the voice she spoke with was not her own. The look in her eye, something else. Familiar and different all the same. Something that had always been there, deep in the well of her hazel eyed stare. Something that he had always felt pulled to.

Was it the part of her that understood him? Was it that darkness that he felt so comforted by? For all her magick and light. It was the depth of her stare that always seemed to pull him into her orbit. Her bright smile, her laugh, they were the sparks to the fire. But her eyes. How he saw the world reflected when she looked at him.

Gods, his body ached.

The Tarnished Mistress spoke. Stirred, and Garrod's eye fell to her. Was full of her. Was pulled to her. The motion of her finger, and how it tickled the stars themselves to stir away in sweet swirl.

You, boy. Let me hear your answer.

A pang in his chest, that sent fractures, white hot across his frame. Up and down the rod of his spine. It seared as it spread out. Down into the pit of his stomach. Out to the tips of his fingers and toes. His right hand came tight as the hairs across his neck raised up, electrified.

He stepped forward, marched toward her with wide eye, pregnant with want.

Belephus stirred within him. Spines gently twitched and undulated in the currents of the mirror's space. Like the frills of a fish. Like the antenna of an insect. Ancient as life itself. Sensing. Tasting. Wanting.

A chartreuse flame swirled about the space above his missing eye. Flickered and danced along with a green fire grin. Like half a mask, cracked across the hunter's face. There and not between steps. Between breaths. Between the beats of his heart. It flickered out once more, and failed to spit back to life.

Before the monument of metal wrought misery, Garrod knelt. His head bowed to her as his heart thrummed. Not faster. Deeper. Harder. Painfully in his chest. His right hand opened and shut. Fingers draped in bone-white claws looking like long and hungry teeth. His left hand rested atop his raised knee.

"Release," Garrod said.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

"The same wish, then! How alike you both are. Truly kindred souls. Adorable." She smiled a lazy smile, eyes shining all the more brightly, red against black, blood dipped in ink. "And these are not things out of reach for you. Either of you."

She looked to Lechies, who stood still and silent. Stars twinkled above them, the silver shapes of their surroundings flexing and folding in masterful geometric dance, bouncing off the sapphire of Lechies's borrowed jewelry. A muscle in her jaw moved, the tiniest twitch.

The woman's smile widened. Teeth gleamed the color of pearl, sharp like a shark's. There was the briefest hint of a predator recognizing the struggle of prey.

Then the veil of silk and honey was back, and she reclined again upon her unholy seat. The woman looked down her nose at Garrod, her gaze almost soft to see him bent. "Many deals have I struck. You are not the guest I expected, but I will extend to you the same offer. An exchange made in fairness."

She stroked the arm of her throne, fingers gliding over the iron-smooth skull. Then the rest of her followed, and the woman lay herself down against that featureless face, caressing it tenderly as she rested her chin in the bend of her arm.

"What I desire... is company. It gets so very lonely in my domain. Ease my sorrows, and I will grant you a favor." She held up a finger. "One life, one favor." Another finger raised. "Two lives, two favors. You understand." The fingers came down, and she returned to her lazy stroking. "Do this well, and perhaps we will discuss what other deals can be struck... What desires I can fulfill for you."

Her tone teased, but her stare was heavy with knowing as it settled on the top of Garrod's head.

To the side of him, Lechies managed a sound, the quietest rush of air from between her lips. Sweat beaded at her hairline.

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Kindred souls.

Which souls.

Freedom. Release.

She had said four. His ears had heard four. Garrod's eye went to look at Lechies, who stood beside him, voice choked, breath ragged. Sealed.

She did not feel cold. And she knew much of the demonic. Wizard that she was, he thought little of it.

She never killed. Even when their lives were on the line, it was his blade that took the lives. His steal that brought the swift end.

"Lechies... you," his voice caught in his throat, whisps of his breath stirred the trails of mist and stars like smoke that signaled a fire.

His flesh-made heart panged. Though the pulse that caused the hurt nailed through his right arm. His eye widened. His gaze looked to the jewel. Saw it wide and bright and happy. The fingers of his right hand splayed out, as if the demon in he armor used his bones to show his smile. His joints popped, and his ligaments there beneath the bone of knuckle and the flesh of palm seemed to spread to the point of tearing.

Let me see her, Garrod Mine, let me FEEL her! Belephus cried out, and the demonic hand flexed with tense fingered strength. Shot out, claws almost snatching Lechies like a viper might a mouse, before Garrod twist his body away, quick, and fell to the ground, hard against his left side and shoulder.

Daranthii only watched with amused smile, her long sinewy frame flexed and stretched, ever so, as she moved like a cat atop her perch.

Garrod grunt and growled as he gripped tight his right shoulder with his left hand, and he winced as he sucked breath through his teeth. His arm, in Belephus, twitched and thrashed as if it had a mind of its own. The armor of the gauntlet, its spines and spikes long, fanned and waved with excitement.

Greedy, greey, GARROD. The demon growled, and the hand turned on him. Dug its clawed fingertips into the flesh of his chest, over his heart, with a thump. He felt the spike of pain as the sharp, teethlike nails punched in, and raked down. Blood welled under claw as the fine black fabric shred open.

Five roses, laid there in his flesh, bound together in a seal, like a coat of arms. Each of its own color. The golden rose proud at the center, the blue and red next to each side, and the white and black, at the furthest edges. His blood ran hot across the tattoo. And Belephus tapped expectantly upon the bones of his ribcage.

You think, Oh Bearer Mine, that the college wizard won't spend your life to meet her ends?! the demon laughed. You heard the Mirror's Lady, fool boy. Four. Four before her. You and I. She and hers... oh how the demon laughed.

Garrod pant desperate breath, sweat running down his face, his eye looked to Lechies, unsure as the bone-white hand went on, tap tap taping its sharp fingers against his chest.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

How had it come to this?

This whole situation was an absolute nightmare. Sucked into a demon's domain, her own demon pushing itself to the fore--and now, Garrod was aware of her secret. She could read it in his eyes--the disbelief, the betrayal. The shocking realization that she had gladly accepted knowledge of his greatest shame and weakness, while giving nothing back as proof of her good faith. The conduct of a charlatan. A snake wearing a friend's smile.

It had never been her intention to lie to Garrod forever. One day, some day, when the time was right--or, when she could no longer bear the guilt--she would have told him. Of course she would have told him. But now it was too late. By consequence of her own actions--or rather, inaction--the privilege of trust was no longer hers to share.

Claws rushed past her neck. Lechies wanted to jump away, could perceive the signal racing from brain to legs, a frantic command--except she no longer had a brain nor legs to do these things. Lechies herself was formless, bereft of any physicality whatsoever, only a ball of loosely tethered thoughts floating in void. Her senses, her muscles, every beat of her heart--they belonged to another, now. To the presence that she had taken for granted for far too long.

Lechies had known the seal's power was fading, but she didn't think it had eroded enough for the demon to steal quite this much control. She thought she could almost accept her own helplessness if the demon seemed at all interested in their combined self-preservation. But when Garrod had lunged, it hadn't moved, only stood there, watching. Had events proceeded differently, their shared neck would surely be broken.

Or perhaps... It couldn't control her body? That one word it had uttered using her mouth... Freedom. Even that one word seemed to have taken tremendous effort. It hadn't moved or spoken again since then. Did the demon struggle even now to pilot its vessel? Did the seal still hold, after all?

If you can hear me, Lechies began, unsure.

When she was younger, when the tattoo on her chest was yet fresh and aching, she had tried to communicate with her new benefactor. She had tried for months. But no matter what she said, whether out loud or internally, there was never a response from the demon. Only silence. In time she would come to believe that perhaps the ritual had put the demon to sleep, or else so firmly restricted its power that no dialogue could ever hope to pass between them.

The demon had never answered her before. But she needed it to, now.

Lechies gathered what shreds of willpower she still possessed, and pushed outward with what little of herself still remained.

If you can hear me, you need to let me back out. Please. If you're not going to defend yourself, or you can't defend yourself, you need to let me do it.

Silence.

Let. Me. Out. You'll die otherwise. We'll both die! Is that what you want?

Silence.

Please, listen. Please. You can't fight Garrod. You can't accept that woman's offer. To trade a life for a desire--we can't kill him. We literally can't kill him. You know this. Even if we somehow managed it, the geas would destroy us anyway. This won't win you the freedom you so dearly want.

Silence. Then-

Where Lechies had been able to catch glimpses of what was happening around her despite her diminished state--fragments of sound and color, facsimiles of sensation brushing against phantom nerves to form a crude patchwork of information--all of that suddenly disappeared. She was left unmoored in darkness, swamped in a nothingness so absolute that the ashes of her selfhood were helpless to do anything except scatter further before its crushing weight. Oh, she thought, consciousness fading, I've failed.

Then she blinked nonexistent eyes. The darkness receded, and Garrod was before her--before their shared body, bleeding, and the wounds in his chest were nothing compared to the hurt in how he looked at them.

Silence, still. But there was a question in the silence this time. An unspoken one, but she heard its desperation and fear all the same.

The demon had finally answered.

... I'm sorry. I didn't know this was your reality. That all these long years, you've lived in a nightmare of nothingness. Of course you don't want to return to that. No one, demon or otherwise, deserves to exist like that. But I promise you, I will change it. I can't--we probably can't separate. But I'll find a way to grant you a little more freedom. You know this isn't a lie. You and I are one; there's nothing I can hide from you.

Silence.

So, please. I can help you, but you must let me go back. Let me defend us.

Silence echoed one last time. Then came a voice. A low, quiet sound. Snowfall. Crackling ice.

::... Then the deal... is struck...::

---​

Lechies snapped back to awareness, in her own body, with a heaving gasp like she had just emerged from the depths of a freezing lake. The return of--of everything all at once was a shock. The ends of her own fingers and toes felt alien, never mind the other sensations flooding into her overwhelmed mind, as if a burst dam--the ground solid beneath her feet; fabric stuck to her skin with sweat; the iron stench of Garrod's blood.

Garrod.

Lechies snapped her head in his direction. Saw his terrible injury, wrought by his own hand. Pain and uncertainty warred on his face.

She would address that later. First, she had to stop him from further hurting himself.

Arcane arrays were difficult to form without the aid of a focus, but not impossible. Lechies thrust out an arm, teeth gritted as she spooled as much of her power as she could. Twin lights of gold flared, one in her palm, the other beside Garrod on the ground, to his right. As the light solidified into familiar runes, from the pool beside Garrod erupted a singular shining rope. It flew for Belephus, seeking to wrap around the gauntlet and yank it off Garrod's chest, pull the arm down to the ground.

 

[Garrod Arlette]

With his left arm, Garrod braced against the digging claws of his right. The needle like teeth at the end of the gauntlet's fingertips. The sickly pale white of the armor's finely sculpted plate. Like the bones of something ancient. Long and lost. The carapace of a thing that once roamed freely. Furious to be so bound to a mortal shell. Meager and weak as this man beneath him now.

Belephus, trapped in the jewel as he was, still dug the tips of his claws into Garrod's flesh. Still kneaded the wet, ichorous, wounds he had so greedily and hungrily dug in.

For if his Bearer did not listen. He would have to make him listen. And pain. Pain had a way of opening one's eye.

Do not pretend like this feeling is new to you, Dear Garrod Mine, the demon said so sweetly. Time and time again, when the fates turned sour, and you had not but blade and bone, whose claws did you feed with your own blood, hmm?

The white hand flexed its strength, and its claws curled and hooked deeper into the hunter's flesh. More rose red welled fat drops beneath the talon's press, and spilled across muscled flesh. Seeped into black cloth. Warm. Familiar.

He watched the blood bleed into white. And Belephus grew stronger.

Still, Garrod resisted. Pushed his own hand back as best he could. But the demon's jewel but twinkled bright.

You have fed me. And kept me. Safe. Secret. As I have kept you, Garrod Mine. Sweet Bearer of both our weights. his words were sweet. A sick comfort. And when the horrors you faced were too great. What did I ever do? But burn your nightmares away.

Gods, he but wanted rest. Wanted. Warm fires and shared smiles.

But all there was here were sharp teeth and green flames.

Lechies moved, and his eye snapped to her, wide as she stared down at him.

She moves, now, Garrod! She will strike! And come the bright light of her magicks, the golden bind of rope he had seen her bind her foes with, time and time again. It lashed around his demon hand's wrist. Pulled tight and away with a wrench that trailed blood in droplet arc.

Darinthii bit her lip, black pool eyes wide with anticipation, as her red drop gaze watched with joyed anticipation. "Now..." she said sweetly, as she shifted forward with want. "Don't disappoint me,"

Something inside of him cracked. His green eye saw not and his whole head filled with a manic and excitable laughter.

Garrod screamed. And the green flame mask crackled and hissed and swirled to life. A blaze that flashed before his missing eye. Like jagged scar that ripped through the mantle of the demonic reality. The bone white armor of his gauntlet split open, like a spider broken loose from its chitinous shell, new growth sprouted rampantly across the hunter's frame.

Ribbons of red and white and opal shimmered and burned across Garrod like a second skin. Muffled his agonized shout in a spin that turned to jagged and spiny helm. Raw and pulsing, alive, oil slick plates hardened around the Hunter, encased him in what looked like a living exoskeleton.

With its left arm, the demon arm grasped the ribbon of light, and tore at it with hard yank. In a swirl of smoke, the hulk of bone and oil slick iron stood. Sparks of green swirled about its joints. Embers fading to white and ash trailed from the newly minted frame.

In its helm, a green eye burned bright across the jagged lines of the left plane of its face. Not but a black slit there across the right.

"Lechies," came hollowed voice, multichord, echoing, tight with pleasure. "How we've longed for this," it said, as it raised jagged claw. The white jewel, still there and gleaming upon its forearm.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

A crack; a pop. In her mind's eye, Lechies beheld the violent death of a great oak tree, its trunk snapped to splinters, flames raging in its branches even as it collapsed to the earth. Something mighty and strong, once promising safety and peace beneath its boughs, now felled. And from the ashes rose a most terrifying beast.

"Garrod?"

Lechies's voice broke on his name. She already knew it wasn't him, of course. His magick, his presence--it was completely swallowed up in the writhing, vile muck that was Belephus's aura. Barely there, so weak she felt it could wink out at any moment. Despair shoved ice down her spine, threatening to put tears in her eyes.

The woman on the ghastly throne hummed. "The little bird is back in their cage, and the cat is released from his. Oh, how fun." She laughed, and the stars in the false sky overhead twinkled their agreement. "Which of you will be my payment?"

Lechies had no reply for her. She couldn't even say that this was the woman's fault. It was Lechies's, and the truth of it devastated her. She was the one who had touched the mirror, who had let her secret be exposed, who had goaded Garrod into this... this...

A push came from within. The sensation was cold, though not painful, but crisp and bracing, like a mountain's breath passing down the throat to fill one's lungs with renewed vigilance. Lechies felt this manifestation of her demon's will, of their expectation, and she remembered.

She had made a deal with her benefactor. A promise. In exchange for the privilege of her body, Lechies must defend them both.

Her hands flexed, empty. No foci. That one golden rope had already required a worrying amount of effort; she sorely missed her staff, but there had been no reason to think she would need to bring a weapon to a party. If she was to prevail in the coming contest, it would not be in a head-to-head clash.

So she turned. Lechies fled as fast as her feet would carry her, into the twisted mess of the woman's domain, into the collection of broken buildings and approximations of various treasures that belonged here and not-here. Surely, surely there would be something she could use.

 

[Garrod Arlette]

She ran, and the armor but shook with a rattling laughter, its clutches flexed wider, as if to grab for the feeling of fear it so hoped to capture.

"Run, yes, run," the voice came wicked and sharp with its harsh dissonance. Like metal scraped against metal, and hammered against bone. "Let us hear your heart pound against your bones," the voice said hungry, and the flame green eye tracked the wizard as she flit betwixt the things of faded gold and glitter.

It set to motion. Sudden as it burst forward with windswept agility and flame-pushed dash. Fins and spines bent with the force, to let the armor better cut through the air, and here and there upon its frame, gills seemed to spit out tongues of fire and streams of wind that howled and sizzled and hissed with a hungry drive for speed.

It came to stop all at once, as spurred heels dug into the black glass floor, scraped and scratched to screeching halt as the starry mist swirled and spread and burned away from the aura of the armor's malignant heat.

With claws hung at its side, it looked like a beast about to pounce as it loomed over the wizard, the jagged details of its chitinous visage like long dagger teeth, splayed in half grin.

One swipe, then two, reaching, and raking. Almost playful. "Come, come! Don't you want to hold us?" the armor laughed. "Save him?!" the laugh grew harsher. The swipes more reckless, more forceful.

It bulled forward. Crashed against a gilded horse that shattered into glassy pieces that sparkled and shimmered and scattered across the floor like so many pieces of fallen night.

---

Within the armor, Garrod slept. His name, heard in an echo amidst the crackle and roar of countless flames. His body was but an ember. But fuel. Ignited. Consumed. His mind. His soul, there amidst the blazing whispers of countless tongues of green. Ravenous for more.

Come the shatter of demon glass. The breaking of Daranthii's possession, and Garrod's eye came open. Lost amidst the swell of all he felt, all that yearned and all that burned, he stared out, wide eyed at what he saw.

"Belephus!" he shout.

---

The armor recoiled. Groaned. Raked its head with its own claws. Bent forward in groan and rumbling roar. It Laughed. "Now you speak to me," it hissed in harsh metal hurt, and its eye came up to find the Wizard once more. "Now he speaks to me!" it said with bitter laughing bark, and brandished its claws anew. "How much will he say, I wonder," stalked toward her. Growled and hissed. "When I tear you limb from limb?!"

It launched forward with wild swipe, silver mist billowing behind its green-flame dash, blind with a raging want.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

Lechies willed herself to ignore the taunts, the cruel jeers, and focus solely on her flight. Her shoes were thankfully not tall in the heel but they also weren't really meant for running. Weren't meant for fleeing for one's life. When she nearly rolled an ankle in the act of turning a corner, she finally had to pause, one hand braced on a pile of what looked like baby carriages, to shuck her shoes and throw them aside.

The ground was oddly neutral in temperature, neither cold nor warm against her bare feet, and flawlessly smooth without being slippery. It simply was. A floor. Lechies wiggled her toes against it, nervous energy racing electric in her blood.

What now?

The screeching thumps, the splintering metal, the howling flames--they were drawing nearer. Lechies held her breath, tracing the trajectory of Belephus's miasmic aura, and concluded that he would be upon her in-

She dove away from the baby carriages as he burst into view. A fell wind rushed at her back, its heat oppressive, spurring her to move. Move.

Belephus was fast. She wasn't sure how the first swipe missed her, or the second. But the third caught her in the back of the shoulder, ripping cloth and flesh with ease. Lechies shut a cry behind her teeth. The pain seared deep, causing muscle to seize. She stumbled in the act of ducking. Claws raked a horrific note in the metal construct above her head, and she pushed against the ground for distance, for the mercy of a little more breathing room.

She suspected Belephus could be faster if he wanted, could end her immediately, but the chase was too much fun. A cat toying with a mouse. A child toying with an insect before tearing off wings, legs, antenna.

Brass and wood exploded, debris spilling across the floor, impossible to avoid. Lechies's bare foot landed on a shattered hoof, and though it didn't cut her, she did fall, hitting the ground hard enough to rattle her brain in her skull. Her shoulder screamed, and she whimpered quietly as she fought to stand, distantly aware that impact had knocked her hair loose from its bun.

Half-risen onto her knees now, Lechies looked around wildly as she clutched at her wound. Why hadn't Belephus killed her yet?

She saw then that he had stopped, and her eyes went wide. Garrod. He's still in there. Hope flickered dangerously in her heart. She stood, cautiously watching the struggle.

But the reprieve didn't last. Belephus hissed and lunged, newly vengeful. Lechies brought her hand away from her shoulder and slapped it to the object behind her. A thick segment of wall, a plane of dark brick jutting diagonally from the ground, rubble growing from it like a tumor. When she pulled her arm away, a purple rune flared from a bloody handprint. The magick sang as it spread. Cracks spiderwebbed across the wall's surface, brick collapsing into sand in their wake.

The rest of the wall groaned, no longer supported, tilting further until gravity yanked it fully down, into the path of Belephus's charge.

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Hotter and hotter, higher and higher, did the fires of demon's desires burn.

What was Belephus' want to rend and rip and tear, and what was Garrod's own want to grab and hold and take.

He could not say.

Daranthii laughed. A sweet titter of a thing that fell like raindrop amidst the burning star of Garrod's soul. "Run and fight, and fight and run, two and two, one to one," her eyes were wide, as her gilded things shattered. The carriages, the horse. The wall. The silver demon of the mirror bit her white petal lips, and leaned forward, fingers curled and tight with excitement.

Skating across the polished mirror floor, Belephus could hardly come to stop when Lechies raised her glowing blood streaked palm up. The demon's eye a swirl that burned bright and mad and green with envy, the long jagged teeth that snaggled about the maw of its helm, glinted with malevolent menace. All while Garrod howled at the sight, at the feeling of being so trapped within the chitin plates. His right eye opened, and the demon's dreamlike dash tripped. Mortal weight, and mortal mind unable to channel the flow of power, of fire and wind and magick with any natural command.

A stuttered step. A tumble, a fall. A scrape of metal-hard bone, jagged and sharp, screeched across the ground with sparks and motes of wild green flame.

The wall cracked. Buckled under its own weight and crashed forward. Crashed onto the armor in cacophonous crescendo.

Daranthii smiled wide, flung herself back against her throne of thralls and laughed a laugh so sweet it sounded and tasted and felt like honey sweet strawberries in spring. Her laugh grew quiet, and she gripped the iron colored scalp of a skull with her wide splayed fingers, another with the pads of her toes. She rocked forward, biting her bottom lip as she watched wide eyed. "My, my... still, not one of four calls for more," she tut her tongue, teasing. Each pop of sound, a pull of strings.

The pile of rubble shift. Stirred. Fell away. The armor rose again. Head pulled back. Frame jagged and spiney and sharp. Pale as bone. Oil slick. One of its clawed hands red with Lechies' blood. Its frame rose and fell with ragged breath, and the green flame eye was gone. It stood in breath rasped silence.

---

Within the armor, Garrod stood amidst a sea of green flame. His eye wide as he stood before himself. Only twisted. Hands like claws. Teeth like knives. Skin with spines and plates tearing through in scales and planes. Where he was brown and gold of skin, it was ashen pale, like storm clouds, silver in morning's light. Both strong armed and wide backed, both but beings caught in the burn.

"Ah," the twisted and turned Garrod said. "How I have longed for this, Oh Garrod Mine," the strange visage that he knew was his rumbled, like fire and smoke.

"Belephus," the hunter uttered, calm.

Belephus laughed, a cruel and throaty thing, hunched forward some. Smiled jagged and sharp. "Yours truly," his demon bowed, with clawed hand over heart.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

Lechies dashed away, letting the natural consequence of a tumbling wall play out behind her. Brick became rubble became dust with a terrific noise, clouds billowing outward to fold around Lechies. The domain's star-dappled sky turned into a hazy canvas that stung her eyes and caught in her throat. She buried her face into her arm to cough, once again clutching at her shoulder wound, and staggered out of the dust.

Her other hand tensed, light pooling in her palm even as her body protested the idea of further spellwork, of having to shape and direct more magic without a focus to ease the burden. A faint numbness buzzed at the tips of her fingers, at the edges of her mind. Pulse a little too quick in her chest. Either spell fatigue or blood loss, or both.

But she had to push on. That little trick back there wouldn't have stopped Belephus. Surely not. Slowed down, perhaps. She could only hope. A desperate tactic to delay a demon's rage, to buy time while she worked out how to stoke the flicker that Garrod's soul had become, bring him back out of that awful armor.

As the air around her cleared, Lechies spun around to watch the rest of the dust settle. Debris shifted in the haze, and a pale silhouette rose from the broken mess she'd caused.

There was no further mocking, however, nor any taunting howls. Barely any movement at all, in fact. Lechies stared, wary, but as the seconds dragged by, and Belephus still didn't resume his attack, she began to wonder. The magic in her hand went loose, and she took a tentative step forward.

It was then that she realized the green flame within the helmet was missing. Belephus's hungry, suffocating gaze was absent. And... and she could feel Garrod's aura again. A warmth akin to a candle's, somewhat weak, still at the risk of sputtering out, but with a glow soothing enough that she dearly wished to cup it in her hands.

"Garrod," Lechies breathed. Hope curled a painful fist around her heart. "Garrod?"

Lechies dared to close the distance between them further, stepping with care through the rubble, and wincing when she failed to avoid any shards of brick. There was blood mixed with the dust on her bare feet by the time she had gotten close enough to touch. And touch him she did, spreading her hand across the bony expanse of his chestplate, over his heart.

 

[Garrod Arlette]

"What do I even say to you?"

"That I don't already know?"

The Hunter grit his teeth. felt his hand grip tight. Not but flesh and bone, where so oft there was steel and armor. Useless here. Where but soul and fiend met. Flames fanning high and wide and flickering hungrily with their strange green dance.

The Demon grinned wide. "Oh my oh my, did I strike a nerve?"

"You want out?"

A Sharp and cruel laugh. "Out, yes," came the jagged smile, like broken glass and dagger blades. "Yes, I want out, my boy, my hunter, my dear, sweet, Bearer." Flames licked around the devil's lips, swirled about the gaps in his teeth, his claw like finger's flexed, their points like stiletto blades as they clinked, clutched before him and come to touch. " I want out so bad that I can taste it," a gnash of razor edged teeth and a beastial grind to the grin.

"But you can't, can you?"

Belephus laughed. "I can, as I am now, I can for a while, here and there, whenever your mind slips. Dear Garrod Mine."

The scent of iron came with Garrod's breath. The taste of it. Familiar. He looked down, and saw his wounded chest. Where the claws had raked fresh red across his flesh. Red smiles wept. A pain all too familiar to him, as he watched his blood trail across his crest.

"You go on, deny it, lie about it. Hide it," the voice of Belephus spoke. "I saved you," the rage bled out of the demon's voice. "And I save you, time and time again,"

Heavier came the smell of iron. Familiar too. If not more tender and raw. Where scars were earned, together. Bloody and excited. "You are right," Garrod said, as he looked down at his scarred right hand. The hand that so oft wore the relic.

Belephus narrowed his knowing eye, grin still wide.

A voice. Familiar and more familiar. Memories of warmth and light and fear and rage. Of a dance and a fight and a mirror hat winked with sad and rubied want. A warm line traced along his chest, and brought his eye down, as more warmth pooled beneath his feet, and the smell of iron seemed to drown the heat of fire.

"I'll give you my arm," he said, his eye full as it looked on at Lechies, who held so dearly to his terrible form.

The sharp toothed grin grew wider, and the green flame went out.

---

Beneath Lechies hand, the armor felt alive. Beating and pulsing, faintly at first, but quicker. Clearer. Through the black shadow of the visor, a green eye did open upon the right. The glint of life there in, wet and tender and shimmering. The armor moved, its arms come up around the wizard. And as it moved, its shell crumbled and cracked and split away like an old and molted husk.

Tattered and bleeding, Garrod stood whence the armor did. The relic gauntlet gone, though the flesh of Garrod's right shone with a cold and pale gleam as he wrapped his fingers around Lechies, and held her close.

His voice caught in his throat. "Lechies," came the ragged quaver of his breath, and held her close as tears ran down his face and he sobbed through his warm-rain smile. He curled into her, rubbed his face against hers. glad and desperate to hold her safe all the same.