XXXVI.

XXXVI.

Ciana remained as still as possible, while Heskel worked the fine brush across her naked skin. When the young Master, Jakob, had informed her what they required for the ritual, she had thought herself moments from being abused by a yet-another sadistic mind.

But, and it was odd for her to admit, given that she was in the centre of Jakobs laboratorium and surrounded by nightmarish living creations of bone-and-flesh, they were being very gentle towards her, in a way that comforted her fragile spirit.

It had been many years since someone last cared for her in a way that did not obviously benefit them. Even her own kind, Elphin with similar sob-stories, had not treated her thisway.

Without turning her head, so that Heskels pen would not be disturbed, she asked the Fleshcrafter,

Are you certain this will work?

Jakob, who was working on the concentric rings and strange symbols that covered the floor they had cleared for the purpose of this ritual, answered a simple, No.

What happens if it does not work? she wondered, dreading the answer. She knew enough about Demonological rituals to know that a wrathful punishment was incurred by those who invoked a flawed ritual, as well as by the participants, unwilling more often than not, who took part.

Safety measures have been taken, fret not.

Worry not, you are safe, the Brute concurred.

You have become very talkative of late, Jakob remarked.

Heskel continued the precise linework over Cianas abdomen, and only replied with an obstinate grunt. She supressed a shiver as he ran the fine hairs of the pen across her flank and up the small of her back, before connecting the unseen drawing there to a ring around the root of her soul-wing. As always, her wing floated on some unseen wind that was felt by nobody else.

How do you two know each other, she asked, trying to stop her body from trembling as traumatic memories flooded the front of her mind. Despite all this time, she did not react well to her bare skin being touched. Even something so gentle as a brush

Heskel is my Lifeward, gifted to me by Grandfather.

Lifeward? She had never heard the word before. Like a surrogate parent?

Heskel grunted in what might be considered amusement.

She has a point, Jakob remarked.

A child follows its parent, not the other way.

I would follow you, if that was your desire, he remarked sincerely. The candid way the pair spoke to one another was a type of bond that Ciana ached to possess.

Heskels brush froze, before lifting from her naked skin, allowing her to release the tension in her body somewhat. She angled her head to view the Brutes masked face. The way he stared intently at the young man made her body ache only more.

Truthful?

Jakob paused his careful work as well and looked up from where he knelt on the wooden floor. Would I lie to you? Is that my way? Grandfather may have thought you nothing more than a serf, but you are capable of being his successor, but, alas, he is too short-sighted to view you in such a way.

A harsh and guttural staccato emerged from the massive figure. Ciana had never heard a laugh like Heskels before, but she found she rather enjoyed its genuine mirth.

What have you done with Jakob?

The young man looked quite taken aback by the reply, peeling his mask off and gazing with deep concern at his companion.

Heskel was that was that a joke?

Tress tugged abruptly on the reins of her thoroughbred Cloudvale Charger. The muscular beast dug its hooves into the gravel road, creating deep furrows in its wake. Her two nine-man squads of Guardsmen slowed their own mounts in response, and as one they dismounted and followed the Major to the gate of the fortified village.

Given that their mounts were bred for stamina and the strain of a sustained charge, the party had no need to find respite within the stone walls of this place, unlike the caravaners whose burdens were great and beasts often malnourished and mistreated.

Major, one of his subordinates began.

What is it, Arn?

Were we not travelling to Rooskeld? Why have we stopped here?

Have you hunted a Daemon before, Arn?

No, maam. But we all have experience hunting demons, and our orders

Then, shut your mouth, Arn. In the field, the orders of your leading officer are law!

Yes maam! he obeyed and performed the double-handed Eagle Salute.

Tress turned to the men who had been observing the exchange. It was not an easy position for a woman, having to win the confidence of hard-headed men, many of whom had many years on her both in the Guard and the Adventurers Guild. However, she knew that to be flexible when challenged, was to invite only more of its kind.

Listen up, you lot!

Each and every Royal Guard snapped to attention at the tone of her voice.

I was gifted my rank as a badge of my ingenuity and outside-the-box-thinking, not because I can beat each and every one of you in a duel. I will extend the same question that I asked Arn to you lot: have any of you hunted a Daemon before!?

Only one hand was raised. It belonged to a man who had once been a renowned Silver-Badge in the Guild, before joining the Guard. If not for his rigid thinking and the fact that he tended to defer all decisions to everyone else, he would have made a great First Lieutenant or Captain.

A tremor washed over the room, but Ciana remained stone-still, even as the air became charged and full of infinite potential, even as the dried dark blood set alight in a pure aquamarine glow that singed her body with its heartless cold.

Then, abruptly, a voice answered back to Jakobs call.

A child of mine she is not, though half the blood of my progeny doth run within her. I shall return to her a half of the gift my children are owed. Rejoice in my benevolence. Adulate me in song. Do not forget the service I have done for your sake. Your payment to me is yet to come, Jakob of the Mortal Realm.

The light vanished and the blood, which covered Cianas body and the floor, crumbled into dust, like thousand-year-old paint.

She was about to ask the genuinely-shaken Jakob, who still knelt by her feet, if the ritual was successful, but then she felt it. A surge of potential filling a bowl within her that she only now realised had been empty all her life. It was power, undiluted and fully-and-truly hers. A power she deserved.

Even when she thought the metamorphosis complete, the power kept entering her. A fever haze flowed through her body, flushing her pale-grey skin, and her back burnt like a blossoming wound dug by crude tools.

Jakob looked up and took in her transformation. Awe filled his eyes.

It seemed foolish now, but he had not realised the implications of the ritual until after he had invoked it and received a reply. Grandfather was surely mad for having come up with it in the first place, because, the Entity that was invoked was none other than the Proudful Saint himself. It was a bargaining plea to a Higher Being, whose existence bordered the threshold between Demon and Great One. A Being whose summoning, if indeed possible, would permanently alter the figment of reality and warp the minds of all within. Even now, he felt the burn of the Saints gaze upon him, as though he was forever marked.

He was greatly troubled by the fact that the rituals Toll was now expected of him, despite Jakob having assumed a Toll was unneeded, given that nothing was summoned or invoked in the true sense of the word, but rather a plea was made to right a wrong. He wondered just what sort of renumeration the Proud Saint, first of his kind, would require of him. Such a being, like the Great Ones Above that he mimicked, tended to think in the grand scheme of the future, so the repayment was sure to be something that would cause profound ripples, which would benefit the Saint hundreds or thousands of years hence.

Jakob was still staring at the result of his injudicious plea. Ciana had remained physically unchanged, but her aura was different, and her wing, that manifested fragment of her soul, had grown into a two-metre-long paper-thin appendage that now ran all the way down to her feet, glimmering and glowing.

He got to his feet unsteadily and backed away a few steps, so that he stood side-by-side with Heskel. They were both witnessing the true form of an Elphin, the realised desire of their Mentor and Creator. Though her slender pale skin and seemingly-underdeveloped figure belied the strength that now resided within her, they both had enough experience with demons to pick up the tangible change in the room. The massive wing was the only visible change, but then, the wing represented her soul, so its transformation was a given.

How do you feel? Jakob asked, still trying to clear the echoes of the Proud Saint from the depths of his mind.

Ciana looked down herself, lifting her fingers and studying herself. It took an amusing couple of minutes before she noticed her wing in surprise. Then she answered, I feel strong. Stronger than ever. It is as if I have knowledge that I have not learnt.

Such as?

It sounds weird, but I looked at one of the books lying on your table over there. I understand what it says, but I have never seen those letters before.

Jakob followed her pointing claw. You now understand Necroscript? Fascinating. What else?

My breathing is different, I think?

Heskel then asked, Have you found Magic?

Ciana looked at her right hand for a moment, lifted it in front of her and pinched the air, dragging her hand down in a straight line. In her pinched grip was a bizarre vibrating fragment of sound.

Jakob looked to Heskel for an answer, and the Wight tilted his head down ever-so-slightly.

The Aural Onslaught.

Is that whose magic she now possesses?? Jakob muttered, reverently. It was a rare thing, but, given that Great Ones were the Primogenitors of Demonkind, a few of their kind, generally the strongest of them, possessed powers belonging to the Great Ones aligned with their Vice. In the case of Pride Demons, the Proud Saint included, their Primogenitor was The Keening, a formless figure that represented sound, vibration, tectonic quakes, hearing, and manipulation.

Is that bad? Ciana asked concerned, waving the blade of vibration before her experimentally.

Strong.

You have been gifted a tremendous power, Jakob concurred. With a blade of sound and vibration, you can cut through anything and cause devastating damage to anyone around you, if you attune the sound of your blade to the right signal.

Despite their assurances, she suddenly seemed terrified of her new power, and started shaking her hand to make the barely-perceptible blade disappear. In doing so, she accidentally cut straight through one of the tables they had moved for the ritual. The wood was carved through with so sharp a blade that the two halves came away with a perfectly-smooth cut.

How do I make it vanish!? she asked in panic.

Jakob chuckled at the sight of so tremendous a power in the hands of so careful a creature. Imagine yourself releasing your grip of the blade, while simultaneously relaxing your fingers. It might work, at least if its similar to other spells of the same kind.

Though it took her a few tries, Ciana eventually managed to make the blade disappear.

I dont think I should use this power, she said. It seems more likely to hurt me or you.

Power is meant to be used, Jakob scolded her. Do not forsake the gift you were given, for to do so is to spit in the face of your progenitor.

Heskel nodded. I will teach you control.

Good idea, Jakob concurred. Once she has learnt to control it, we will finalise our plan to acquire the Branch.

The Wight cast him a warning glance. He knew the unsaid challenge, so Jakob continued, That is, Ciana, if you would be interested in helping us with our Grand Undertaking.

The Elphin looked up from her hand and locked eyes with Jakob.

I will follow you wherever you go. I owe you more than I can ever repay for this.

Jakob nodded and Heskel grunted something that seemed almost merry, though he was sure he had simply misinterpreted the nonverbal answer.

Also, I will make you some fitting attire. Having you walk around like that will only invite trouble.

Ciana only laughed in reply.