Page 2 of Sundered By Fate

The distant toll of bells pricked through the buzz of Thornhaven's market square, and Aric's heart jolted to a sudden stop.

A scream shattered the air, high and ragged as glass.

Aric whirled just as a wave of panic swept through the crowd—a tide that yanked townsfolk from the stalls like flotsam, tearing them away in all directions. Some rushed for the gates, others ducked into alleyways, and still more staggered into the nearest sheltering shadow.

All of them, doing anything to get away.

A squad of armed guards sprinted towards the gate Aric had entered by—young men and women in motley armor, brandishing swords and spears with determined desperation.

"Protect Thornhaven!" one of them shouted, and Aric's stomach dropped at the raw fear in her voice. "Defend the wards!"

Aric froze as they hurtled past him, caught in a paralysis of dread and helplessness. There was nothing he could do here. Nothing but blend into the crowd of fleeing townsfolk and pray?—

Then he caught sight of it. The silhouette rising from beyond the gate—dark as smoke, its red eyes blazing.

Aric's limbs moved before he made a conscious decision to follow the guards—before he remembered that this was the world he'd sacrificed everything to protect.

He knew what needed to be done. How many times had he fought these creatures? He knew their strength, their weaknesses, the dread and hatred they commanded wherever they went. He could save this town—and prove that all he had endured had been worth it.

But all that stopped in his throat as if he'd been seized by some ghastly spell, one he couldn't bring himself to break. There were more guards now—struggling for weapons, struggling for breath—and they ran straight towards danger with grim resolution painted across their faces. Surely they didn't need him. Surely they didn't want him back.

The clamorous echoes crashed over Aric—iron tolling; blade against shield—but beneath it all came another sound—a voice in Aric's mind, ringing like a bell struck too hard:

Demonfire and vengeance; love against desolation?—

He shuddered fiercely enough to send pain flaring in his tender wrists from his bones upwards?—

"Please," came the shout of another guard. Yet all his senses screamed at him now: "A warband! They're coming! We can't hold back the tide alone!"

Aric's pulse thudded in his ears with such a clamor—drowned out by that terrible cry; sucked dry until all left was aching emptiness—that it took him several heartbeats longer than it should've done before he realized:

Not just guards' cries filled this air but demonic ones—the spectral howl of mournful wraiths?—

There were too many warriors here now gathered under Thornhaven's shadowy shroud; yet nowhere near enough if even their strongest defenses weren't enough anymore?—

He couldn't let them face this alone—not after everything.

Aric's decision came with the force of a battering ram, slamming into his chest and knocking the air from his lungs.

It felt good. It felt too good, and that terrified him.

His magic flared to life inside him, a rush of magic that sang in his veins and roared in his ears. After so long—far too long—trapped in the demon realms, shackled by restraints designed to keep him weak and pliant, the freedom was almost overwhelming. His body strained to contain it, his muscles taut and trembling as if he'd been dipped in liquid lightning.

He couldn't control it all, couldn't harness it yet; but he could focus it enough for this moment—to let the flames dance around him like the stars he'd missed so much; to let their searing heat burn away his doubt.

The townsfolk cried out in alarm as shadows coalesced around Aric's hands, black as pitch against his tawny skin. Some fell to their knees, others staggered back, and still more gawked at him with open fear—but he couldn't spare them a thought now. His entire world narrowed to the demons approaching Thornhaven's gates, their eyes glowing like ember coals from the depths of the hells.

With a fierce gesture, Aric slammed his hands together—and then thrust them out before him.

The magic tore from him with a noise like breaking glass; but there was no time for self-recrimination now—not while he still remembered how to shape it. Tendrils of shadow lashed out from his fingers to weave into a barrier, slamming into place between the demons and the guards who'd been charging toward them. For an instant, there was nothing; only Aric'sown labored breathing, filling his ears with rushing static as he struggled against the siren's call of magic?—

Then everything snapped back into place, colors brighter and sounds sharper than ever before.

Aric threw himself into the fray, a wild grin stretching his cheeks as his magic roared through him like wildfire. He danced between the guards and townsfolk, weaving between their ranks with effortless speed and grace. Each movement was a carefully choreographed spell, drawing in the power from the ley lines beneath them all before releasing it in a furious burst.

Golden fire sprang from Aric's hands, consuming demons with their hungry flames without so much as singeing the cloth of the humans' clothing. Aric heard gasps and cries of alarm at the sight—but he had no time to reassure them. The wave of demonic energy pounding against his barrier was all that mattered now. He had to hold it, had to drive these creatures back and protect Thornhaven's people.

The demons surged forward again, and Aric called upon his magic with a roar, sending a pulse of energy out that rippled through the air like a shockwave. He raised one arm high, golden flames dancing along his forearm as he chanted an incantation—a mixture of human words and guttural demonic syllables he'd learned from Malekith.

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