Page 26 of Trial By Fire

Time seemed to slow as the rift expanded. Aric watched in horrified fascination as it sliced through the demonic forces like a scythe through wheat. Stone walls crumbled, steel armor warped and melted, and flesh . . . flesh twisted in ways that defied comprehension.

“Fall back!” Vizra’s panicked cry cut through the chaos. “Retreat! We can’t?—”

Her words were cut short as the rift engulfed her position. Aric caught a glimpse of her honey-colored skin contorting, her golden eyes wide with terror, before she vanished into nothingness.

Demons screamed, their bodies contorting with gruesome abruptness. Limbs elongated impossibly, faces melted like wax, and some simply ceased to exist, leaving behind nothing but echoing howls of agony.

The air grew thick with the stench of ozone and corrupted magic. Aric choked with every breath, his eyes watering as he witnessed the carnage unfolding before him. For the first time since his capture, he felt a perverse gratitude for the bonds that cut him off from his magic. The thought of what such unstable energy might do to his own powers sent a chill down his spine.

As he watched the destruction unfold, a sickening realization dawned on him. The Silver Order, his own people, must have been truly desperate to deploy the weapon in such an unfinished state. Its wild, unpredictable nature posed nearly as great a threat to the human forces as it did to the demons.

The rift pulsed and writhed, a hungry, ravenous beast that seemed to devour everything in its path. Aric’s gaze darted frantically between the fleeing demons and the terrified humansoldiers, knowing that at any moment, the weapon’s fury could turn on its creators.

He held his breath, his entire body tense as a bowstring. This, he realized, could be the moment when both sides finally understood the true cost of their war. The air crackled with potential energy, both magical and emotional, as demons and humans alike stared into the face of annihilation.

The rift pulsed again, growing ever larger, and Aric braced himself for what might come next.

Then the battle descended even further into utter mayhem.

Hidden human forces emerged from concealed positions, raining arrows and spells upon the disorganized demons. Vizra’s forces, at the forefront of the assault, bore the brunt of the ambush. She fought furiously, her honey-skinned form a blur as her daggers flashed in the morning light, but her troops were falling rapidly around her.

Malekith watched from a distance, his face an impassive mask. Aric hoped it hid his inner satisfaction at seeing his rival’s forces decimated.

“Fall back!” Vizra’s cry echoed across the battlefield as she cut down a human paladin with a vicious backhand. “We’re overrun!”

The human town’s defenders regrouped, the survivors of the initial demon assault falling back to their barricades and trenches. The demons hesitated, uncertain, their overconfidence shattered by the sudden reversal of fortunes. And yet even as the rifts devoured clusters of demonic soldiers, Aric could only watch in mute horror as a human guardsman, too, was rent apart by the lingering magical detritus.

“Lord Malekith!” Vizra’s voice was a raw, animalistic snarl as she fought her way towards him, her war steed carving a bloody path through the demon ranks. “Order the retreat! We are lost here!”

Malekith’s gaze locked with Aric’s, a silent command passing between them, before he turned his attention back to Vizra. His posture was straight, his movements unhurried as he dismounted and approached her. “Fall back. All forces, retreat.”

His voice, though raised only enough to carry, seemed to echo across the battlefield. The demons hesitated, looking to their commanders for guidance, and then the first ranks began to turn and flee.

“Withdraw! Fall back to Drindal, now!”

Vizra’s face was a mask of fury as she met Malekith’s gaze, a look that promised retribution, and then she was turning, her steed leaping over the churned-up earth as she fled towards the foothills.

The demons, shattered and bloodied, streamed past Aric, their wounded cries filling the air. Malekith’s soldiers, for their part, moved with grim efficiency, falling back in tight formations, protecting their flanks and covering the retreat of the rest of the army. The human defenders, wisely, did not pursue. They had inflicted heavy casualties on the demon forces, but they were in no shape to give chase.

Not as the magical mayhem they’d wrought on the battlefield threatened them just as savagely.

As the last of the demon army regrouped at their camp halfway between Drindal and Brenville, Malekith stalked towards Vizra, his face an unreadable mask. “A word. Now.”

She dismounted, her movements jerky with rage, and bowed stiffly, her eyes never leaving the ground.

Malekith’s voice, though pitched for Vizra’s ears only, carried across the camp in the sudden silence that fell over the demonsoldiers. “You were so certain of the humans’ weakness, of your own strength. And yet, you led the vanguard straight into a trap of your own making. The very thing you accused me of plotting.”

Vizra’s lip curled back, her fangs bared, but she said nothing.

“The humans were ready for us, yes. But your overconfidence, your bloodlust, blinded you to the warning signs that were there to see. You gave them the opening they needed to turn the tide against us. Fortunately, I was able to salvage the situation, but the cost of your folly is steep.”

“I . . . I am sorry, my lord,” Vizra said, her voice a strangled whisper.

“Sorry will not be enough to appease the Sovereign,” Malekith said. “You have failed him, and he will not look kindly upon that failure.”

Vizra’s eyes widened in horror, the full weight of her mistake crashing down on her. “My lord, please?—”

“The fate of your household now rests in the hands of the Sovereign. I can only hope he will show you more mercy than the humans showed usorthemselves.”

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