Chapter 34

Wil collapsed to one knee, out of breath, his body wracked with agony.

They had fought for nearly an hour, trading blows across the breadth and width of Aachen. So intense was their fighting that most of the Fiends had retreated from the city rather than become caught in the conflict.

The Armored Warrior was an implacable foe, with unending strength and stamina. His mana was as wide and deep as an ocean. Wil had mistakenly thought he was merely at Rank 20, a demigod, but he now realized that it was a handicap he had given himself, containing his true power in his small frame, while a monster lurked beneath.

Wil had thrown everything he had against him, every spell, every summon, hacking away at his enemy’s thick armor and protective magic, but nothing harmed him. He had leveled the ruins of Aachen in his attempts, but the Elder Dragon was seemingly invincible.

He spat out a mouthful of blood, coughing harshly as more splattered onto the hard packed ground of a former market square. The stalls and buildings were gone, destroyed in the fighting, but most of the cobblestones remained.

Looking down, Wil assessed the damage to his body. His left arm was mangled, dangling uselessly from a shoulder crushed to a near pulp. His opponent’s mace had clipped him as he tried to avoid it, trading an injury to his shoulder to keep his head intact.

Wil’s white Ursine cloak was long gone, ripped from him by the Armored Warrior while they grappled, his precious item stomped underfoot and buried somewhere in the ruins. His Elven Armor had proven itself capable of resisting the crushing strength of the Warrior’s grip, but it was rendered near useless under repeated blows of his fists.

There had been a point where his sword had been locked against the mace, barely deflecting it, when the Warrior simply punched him in the chest. The hard leather and chainmail, imbued with Elvish magic capable of resisting demons, held for the first strike, crumbled at the second, and shattered under the third.

Ripping away the dangling and useless chest piece of the Elvish Chain, Wil struggled to catch his breath. He had nothing left, no spells to hurl against him, or strength to so much as lift his sword. He couldn’t even flee, he had gambled his remaining mana hoping to pierce the creature’s armor with a Tier 9 spell, ‘Blade of Destruction’, leaving him no room for retreat.

The spell was capable of leveling a city, and which had in fact destroyed what remained of Aachen. The Armored Warrior, an Elder Dragon masquerading as human, had simply shrugged it off!

A wet gurgle emerged from Wil’s throat, another bubble of blood coating his lips. Not bothering to wipe it away, it would only return, he felt the ground shake with his opponent’s footfalls.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The footsteps matched his own heartbeat, each step a drum, announcing his impeding doom. The portal remained, a yawning opening, horrors lurking beyond, that pushed to reach them, to consume and destroy. The black moon leaked tar like a sieve, drips carrying new devils and fiends landing each moment it remained open, flooding Illyria with death.

He had failed. The knowledge burned, hurting him far worse than anything physical. Astrid, Annabelle Quentin, Serena…he had let them all down. Brookmoor would fall, as would Illyria. The world would die, and he was powerless to stop it.

Laughter reached his ears, maniacal and unending. The Dragon was losing its mind, the infection raging through its body. Whatever willpower it had to resist was slowly being eroded, the same as Desire and the others before it.

Even a creature with the power of a god was helpless against its corrupting influence.

Wil had learned something important, in his final moments. He had thought the infection connected to Mammon, or the other Archdevils. And it was, in a way. The Dragon had confirmed it. The infection was a connection to the others, a piece of whatever dwelled beyond the Aether, brought here by Mammon the Betrayer.

The Armoured Warrior enjoyed talking while he fought, every blow and swing of his mace punctuated by his wild laughter and endless prattle.

But it was ‘The Dark that Waits’ who was the source. The infection was here, in their realm, just as it was in tens of thousands of others. As it was in present in the Archdevils, those few that remained.

Wil looked up, staring at the portal, ignoring the laughter.

The Others, beyond the Aether, a single drop of their essence, capable of destroying worlds. Their whispers driving even the archdevils to madness and a desire to serve them.

He had been a fool to think he could stop this.

Wil closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of the Armored Warrior before him, with his midnight black armor and blazing red eyes. He didn’t want to see it anymore, didn’t want to struggle.

Instead, his thoughts brought him back to the past, and a meeting with someone he had loved years before.

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A week before

Wil watched from his restaurant table as April entered the venue, trailing a group of young men and women, a handsome man on her arm.

His heart clenched as he saw her, recognizing her immediately, despite the near decade that had passed. She had always been beautiful, both inside and out, but she was even more lovely than he remembered.

Quickly calming his emotions, he broke eye contact with her group before they caught him staring. He was here to follow his sister, reconnecting with an old flame would be a sure-fire way to blow his cover and draw attention to himself.

Forcing himself to focus on his sister, he tried to ignore April. Draining another cup of tea, he called to the waiter, using the opportunity to sneak another glance at his former fiancé.

‘She looks happy.’ Wil thought to himself, as peals of laughter reached his table from their group. One of the young men was telling a story, waving his hands enthusiastically to a captive audience. Whatever it was about, April began to blush deeply, burying her face in her hands.

‘If only things could have gone differently.’ He thought, just as his sister finished her meal and stood, the third prince joining her. Following them out of the restaurant, Wil’s final image of April was of a blissfully happy young woman, enjoying the company of her friends.

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“Wil!” A voice called out as he was walking down the street. Far ahead of him, Tabitha and the Third Prince were riding a carriage, returning to the Brookmoor Manor.

At hearing his name shouted by a familiar voice, his blood ran cold, and a tenseness seized his stomach. Turning slowly, letting the carriage out of his sight, he found April standing behind him, her arms folded across her chest.

“How did you know it was me?” Wil asked, looking down at his outfit. He was wearing a bland but noble looking coat and pants, both black. Leaving his armor and Ursine cloak behind, and his hair hanging down low over his face, he didn’t expect anyone to identify him.

“Please. I could recognize you anywhere. No one in this world knows you as well as I do. It will take more than a plain coat and a simple glamour to deceive me, Wil. Is that all you have to say to me? Gone for nine years, without a word, and you try to hide from me? Were you spying on me, trying to see if I’ve moved on?” April asked, walking closer to him.

“No, not you. Tabitha.” Wil said, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of Tabitha’s departing carriage. April quirked an eyebrow at him, waiting for more information.

“I wasn’t hiding, at least not from you. I’m only here to help Markus with something, and then I’m gone. I didn’t want to involve you in it, or…reopen old wounds.” Wil finished, his face grim.

“The last I had heard, you were missing in Lund. What could bring you all the way back here, with Markus and Tabitha? What has she done now?” April asked, concern on her face. For a moment, she dropped her icy expression, reminding Wil of the woman he once knew.