‘Selina, I’m thankful for you.’

  ‘As I am for you, Elyna.’

  They strode deeper into the forest one nimble step at a time, the sun’s light casting rays through gaps in the trees, giving an insight into the multicoloured spectrum of the auric field. Invisible to the naked eye without an indivisible source of illumination. Benevolent reticence. The journey back to Osela would serve as a vision into the knowledge accumulated along the way, the seeking of truth, and coming to terms with all they had done. In some ways, there was a growing sense among the assassins that the adventure had just begun. There were people unknown to them at present who required their expertise, islands to explore that held their own narratives and hidden histories. What they had learnt was that human beings were held far more to history and systematic authority than they believed. Questions asked and answers discerned.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Archdemons meld into whatever

  take without restraint

  lie without care

  broken laws and codes

  devour the essence of life

  Archdemon Mazan

  Two black pillars with indistinct markings stood nineteen paces apart, twelve feet tall. Durable poles of wrought iron formed a fence line on either side of the pillars. With a thick fog disrupting visibility, the environment had a shadowy allure.

  ‘Shall we?’ Evangeline said, her yellow eyes piercing through the fog.

  ‘Ladies first.’

  ‘Oh, what a gentleman.’

  ‘You’ve misread me. I don’t know the way.’

  ‘Why do you have to ruin it?’

  ‘Comes with the territory,’ Lachlann smirked, his glowing eyes watching as Evangeline let out a dramatic sigh before taking off into the fog.

  He followed, listening to the subtle steps of her feet. The sound of blustering wind grew louder and louder, lacking the forceful gusts one would expect from such noise. Eventually, the fog cleared, and the sound ceased. He stood beside her, overlooking pockets and groups of architecturally designed structures, grey smoke rising in sporadic places. The formations were difficult to comprehend in Lachlann’s mind, as if staring at open-plan roofs guarded with small walls decorated with statues, ornaments, and lit braziers. The buildings were clay-coloured; everything else remained hidden. Layers of smoke and debris provided a blanket effect.

  ‘Is this Al’Zhuu?’ Lachlann asked.

  ‘It is. Walk with me.’

  Dark grey flagstones formed the path beneath their feet, the outlines glowing with a luminous green, the classical demonic colour to which Lachlann could attest, for it mirrored the glow of his eyes and claymore. The path dropped steeply, into the depths of Al’Zhuu, until they stood staring down a wide street, brown buildings on either side, carved-out windows, circular and rectangular, appearing black hollow indentations, creating the mystery of what and who resided in all these rooms. Evangeline began walking forward as black-hooded figures stood on either side, more and more appearing and grouping together. People with yellow, green, and red eyes stared intensely while whispering. He continued to follow Evangeline, who took no notice, continuing forward as he moved his eyes from side to side, mindful of his flanks while listening for potential footfall from behind him. The wide street curved gradually to the right. Green and black coloured tapestries bearing the symbols of Tyrorian Runic hung from the buildings. The atmosphere was tense, which, from a demonic perspective, was relaxed. It appeared to him that the robed figures were observing him with curiosity rather than contempt. A small single-file bridge with a black iron railing on each side caught his attention. As he crossed, she stared down at the fel energy that ran through Al’Zhuu, the demon equivalent of a canal. Dark and light greens mixed, a hot steam let out from the bubbles that popped as he crossed, fel energy splashing onto the buildings that followed the canal down to the right, leaving a burning residue in its wake. Evangeline appeared in no mood to give Lachlann a history lesson or tour, her step appearing to speed up as they found themselves in a crowded area. Everyone wore robes, faces hidden, glowing eyes observing and intrigued by the Demonslayer’s presence.

  In such close quarters, he felt a thread of fear; no doubt his escapades and defeat of Archdemon Mazan had shaken Al’Zhuu. But his perception shifted quickly from that thought, concluding that the freeing of the Sertushador had caused untold chaos and anxiety.

  Why?

  Lachlann did not know.

  He had questions he wanted to reflect upon and pose to Evangeline, but he held his silence, trusting that the answers would come to him when they needed to. Amongst the robed demons were stalls, black and brown rugs bearing, bottled liquids and body parts, while further along were black inscribed knives with glowing enchantments alongside gleaming silver knuckle dusters fixed with needles and spikes. The street opened further, the floor bearing the glowing flagstones, which made sense given the abundance of fel energy beneath Al’Zhuu. A circular courtyard held a massive stone gargoyle in the centre, with energy seeping from its fanged mouth into a pool surrounding it like a moat. Its eyes were glowing green, giving the illusion it was alive, its arched wings shooting up from behind, massive bones supporting the webbed wings, tiny pieces like a blurring mosaic. Beyond the gargoyle was a black palace infused with fel energy, the energy appearing to flow from beneath in an upward motion. Compared to the other buildings, it was three times as big, towering over them.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘Az’anyaruu, the archdemon conclave.’

  ‘Is your master expecting guests?’

  ‘He knows you're here.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He can smell you,’ Evangeline smirked.

  ‘I take it that's his way of saying hello?’

  ‘Ask him yourself.’

  ‘It could be impolite.’

  ‘You never had manners before.’

  He rolled his eyes, saying nothing, expressionless.

  They approached the heavy-duty black iron doors, twenty paces wide and thirty paces tall. Evangeline got close to the door, giving it a push. Lachlann was surprised to see the door budge as a slit opened up and the pair slipped through, the door slamming with force behind them.

  Inside, the walls were dark as channels of fel energy flowed at either side. Evangeline walked with quickness in her step. The walls were bare, but as he squinted his eyes, he could see scratches and markings all over the walls as though a caged beast had pried free and wreaked havoc upon the archdemon abode of Az’anyaruu. Perhaps it was a decorative style common amongst the demons; he would have to pose the question at a later date. They continued towards a grand staircase as the balconies arched round on either side, made entirely out of wrought iron, either painted black or burnt to a cinder, difficult to tell given the melted appearance of the bannister and bars in between.

  At the top of the stairs, she went left as he trailed behind, turning to face an open-plan room. The floors were black and chipped, a decadent marble with debris scattered everywhere. In the centre, an old, jaded-looking man sat on what appeared to be an altar, with short grey hair, sunken yellow eyes, dressed in a velvet black shirt with silver buttons and black, worn trousers. The man sat hunched over on the altar, his legs and feet off the ground. Debris cracked beneath Lachlann’s feet, slowing his pace, his eyes fixed on the man.

  The man coughed in a hoarse voice. ‘Evangeline… you brought the Demonslayer?’

  ‘Yes, Father. He must learn of us,’ Evangeline replied. ‘Be civil. I wish to introduce you.’

  Lachlann raised his brow at an unexpected discovery.

  ‘This is my father, Archdemon Arazah. He oversees Al’Zhuu.’

  ‘Arazah, I’m glad to put a face to the mystery master.’

  Arazah snorted. ‘I’ve heard a mixture of things about you. But I won’t hold it against you. My daughter believes we should hash things out.’

  ‘Because I killed Mazan?’

  ‘That was your destiny. No one can become Demonslayer without having killed another demon. We demons have no loyalty, but we do our best to keep things civil, lest all hell break loose down here.’

  ‘You knew I would kill Mazan?’

  ‘A test, amongst other things. See, Mazan was influential in your life since you were a baby, intrusive thoughts and subtle deceptions, building you piece by piece into a ruthless soul. Every trauma pushed you towards destiny,’ Arazah hacked out a cough before continuing, ‘We had to be sure you could serve Al’Zhuu…’

  ‘I answer to no one,’ Lachlann declared.

  ‘You would do well to quell your pride and allow me to finish my words. You realise your path differs from mortals, a distance grows, and they have allies that want you dead. And as you are aware, the Council of Naldenveer will return.’

  ‘Wait, how do you…’

  ‘As we speak, they are passing through the Dorojiem.’

  ‘The Dorojiem?’

  ‘When the spirits of the council were slain, they returned to where they were bound, the Dorojiem.’

  ‘That doesn’t…’

  ‘Something shifts between places, creeping shadows amassing before and beyond the eye.’

  ‘Rahool,’ Lachlann asserted.

  Arazah leaned forward. ‘Who?’

  ‘The council has been dealing with a deity named Rahool. It’s connected to their tombstone formation in Dejero-Obitus,’ Lachlann paused. ‘What is Dorojiem?’

  Arazah withdrew into himself, saying nothing as silence crept through the room, clinging to each of them. Lachlann looked over towards Evangeline, who stared back but said nothing.

  ‘I need answers!’ Lachlann shouted.

  Arazah looked him up and down, remaining composed. ‘The Dorojiem is the spiritual hold of the demon spirit. The Council of Naldenveer should never have gone to the Dorojiem, for they are mortals, not born of demon blood… A cult of hyper-intelligent and dedicated men who found loopholes, making pacts in order to further their objectives.’

  ‘You know of their deals and pacts yet do not understand who is behind them?’

  ‘No. Every interpretation of life comes back to the expression of not knowing, reaching a crossroads or dead end. Thus, Rahool’s legend is that of a mysterious puppeteer, watching from afar as ignorant minds attempt to grapple with finite grains of sand.’

  ‘Then what about the Sertushador?’

  Arazah took a deep breath, wiping his forehead before cleaning his palm on his trousers. ‘A threat to Al’Zhuu and Tyrora, who knows what misguided vengeance they will seek. I do not know how old they are and how they came to be.’

  ‘How did Alzar imprison them?’

  ‘I don’t think he could have imprisoned them by force; he must have set a trap beyond the Gate of Shaldorahuran, luring them with something of importance. This is hypothetical; I do not know this for a fact.’

  ‘What is Shaldorahuran?’

  ‘A chamber.’

  Lachlann gritted his teeth. ‘Do either of you find it odd how we lack answers at every turn? Stuck in a reactive place.’

  ‘I understand your anger, but not everything makes sense,’ Evangeline answered.

  Arazah leaned forward. ‘We don’t even know how addled we are. Lachlann, you came here expecting a plethora of insight as though those born in Al’Zhuu were prophets. We seek answers just as much as you… as the gates, realms, and world continue to unfold, we are witnesses, nothing else.’

  ‘Before I slew Mazan, there was a black, obsidian object I destroyed. I touched it, communicating with it. I saw horrific things, but the image still haunts me. A shadowy figure towered over Mazan, three times his height, barking commands at him. I thought that individual was you, Arazah. Unless my eyes deceive me.’

  Evangeline glanced towards Arazah, her lips pursed together. The mental image he had placed into each of their minds was a concerning one.

  No one said anything.

  Lachlann continued his questioning. ‘And Evangeline, I found it odd how you appeared to mourn the death of Mazan, yet I was destined to slay him and claim the Claymore of Shaldorahuran.’

  Evangeline met his eyes; a sly smirk painted across her unblemished face. ‘Oh, you do probe, don’t you? I played my part—a subtle manipulation. Father and I had to make sure you would not go on a crazed rampage; it was imperative for your development not to murder the archdemons.’

  ‘Then perhaps you shouldn’t have hoarded the souls?’

  ‘You live by Magus Salvatore’s words. Did you ever consider that the souls were being kept from darker forces? And yes, we fed on the souls, extracting resources from them. We’re demons; that’s what we do! Fear, anguish, and anger give us sustenance. Fuelling our passion,’ Evangeline asserted. ‘We initiated you every step of the way, gave you power beyond the mortal’s comprehension, allowing you to access gates at the lochs, all by design, priming you to step into your power. Lachlann, you credit the mortals of the Braemuir Brotherhood for your power, yet all along, my father, Mazan, and I shaped your path. Your allegiance is to us, not just the Brotherhood!’ Evangeline stared Lachlann down, a wave of power trapped between each other’s gazes.

  ‘I—’

  ‘You came here seeking truth, and I have given it to you. Do not microanalyse those who have sacrificed in your favour.’

  He kept silent, a slight unease manifesting within at learning of the active involvement of the archdemons in his life. And he had to admit, it made sense. Years of strange occurrences, incredible feats of strength and endurance had made his brothers look distinctly average in comparison. And while comparison could lead one down a dark path, upon reflection, the influence of the archdemons had been there from the beginning. How had the Brotherhood failed to sense it? But conversely, had the knights sensed it?

  It would explain an awful lot.

  ‘I hadn’t comprehended the extent of your involvement. I have difficulty trusting, burnt too many times.’

  Evangeline nodded before looking at her father. ‘I do not know the towering figure who stood over Mazan in your vision. It’s a troubling image. Mazan was no saint; he had an insatiable greed, beyond a simple demonic thirst, but archdemons are disloyal; it’s supremacy for power that ensnares us. Your distrust is not misplaced, for it can save your life. But sometimes we have to enter murky waters, converse with serpents, and see others as trustworthy in order to move our experience forward.’

  ‘Could the shadowy figure be Rahool?’ Lachlann enquired.

  ‘It’s speculative. For we do not know. I sense our answers will come to us sooner rather than later. Worlds are in flux,’ Arazah declared, standing up from the altar, his legs trembling and unsteady.

  Evangeline rushed to his side. ‘Father?’

  ‘I must return to my quarters. I need rest, that’s all.’

  She put her arm around Arazah, assisting him as Lachlann fell in on the other side, stabilising the frail demon who felt withered, his bones deficient and muscles weak. They walked slowly, over towards the left, towards a black doorway that blended into the wall near the melted bannisters. Lachlann held Arazah up as Evangeline opened the door. A raised black platform sat in the middle of the room, with green-coloured pillows and duvets on top. He helped Arazah onto the bed, who winced and groaned. Lachlann could feel Arazah’s power fading as he rolled straight onto his side, without saying a word. Evangeline motioned with her hand as he followed her out of the room. She shut the door, turning to Lachlann, who stood within touching distance. She stared into his eyes, looking him up and down as she leaned in. He pulled her close, his hands firm on her back, meeting her soft lips for a few seconds before he pulled back, gazing into her eyes before engaging again. Evangeline’s arms cradled around his neck as she craned her neck up towards him, embracing the moment the previously built tension had led to. He pulled back as they shared a euphoric and ecstasy-laced gaze, smiling as she bit her lip before he took her by the hand, leading her somewhere private.

  Evangeline placed her hand on Lachlann’s muscular chest. A wispy energy passed through the room, and the black curtain rippled at the far side of the dark room. A brazier dimly lit by a few blazing coals sat to the left of where the pair lay. Lachlann stared towards the sunken roof with his hands behind his head, brooding.

  ‘Do you ever switch off?’ Evangeline asked.

  ‘Seldomly.’ Lachlann grinned, glancing towards her, who rested her head near his chest. ‘That’s an ironic question from you, considering what you revealed earlier.’

  Evangeline smiled, her dilating yellow eyes, seductive and immersive, chasms of insight passing between her eyes and his. The pair felt a closeness, an eternal knotting, the depths of each of their spirits submerging and integrating, communicating in hidden ways.

  ‘Is your father alright?’ Lachlann asked.

  ‘Just needs more rest these days… our bodies break eventually.’

  Lachlann decided not to pursue the conversation further, sensing an anxiousness which hadn’t been his intention. Curiosity had a way of ruffling feathers, even if well-intentioned. He turned onto his side before getting up, placing his calloused feet on the cold, broken floor.

  ‘Leaving so soon?’ Evangeline enquired. She scrambled across the bed, placing her feet on the floor. As he put his arm over her shoulder, she nestled in closer.

  ‘I need to figure all this out… I must be missing something. What about Mathos? What do you know about him?’

  Evangeline pulled away from Lachlann. ‘Not a lot. He’s an ascendant; he’s been around for a while.’

  ‘Was he mortal?’

  ‘I believe so connected to the League of Seltookra.’ Evangeline stood up, facing Lachlann, her feminine features unbelievably distracting as he tried to focus, failing miserably as she continued, ‘Did he know of the Sertushador?’

  ‘He did. But tell me, how do you know he’s connected to Seltookra?’

  ‘I don’t know; I heard it somewhere before.’