Page 90 of Fated to Monsters

Does he think that we are friends now that we’ve come to a truce? It wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen, although I cannot overlook that he murdered my sweet Dash on two separate occasions. I may be in my forgiving era, but that isn’t easily forgotten.

Wes eyes me like he’s trying to decide if I’m injured, and I do everything in my power to convince him otherwise. He doesn’t need to know that my head throbs and my vision keeps blurring in and out of focus. He’d try to heal me, to convince me to return to Arthlia. Both options that I refuse to take. His strength as a hellhound is better served fighting to protect those that remain than absorbing my ailments. Not to mention, when he whispered those words to me earlier, there was no positive effect the way his healing power usually works. Typically, I feel better within seconds, but then, I felt nothing. And returning to Arthlia would be giving up on Prania completely. The amount of time it would take for me to properly recover would grant Parla the ability to eradicate the rest of the demon population.

This is our only shot and I won’t waste it.

The solider stumbles, his hands darting out in front to steady himself.

I reach for him all too late.

He goes down hard with a thud. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t make another sound. Not a wisp of air filling his lungs, not a single heartbeat thudding in his chest.

He is simplydead.

"What the fuck?" I crouch next to him, grip his shoulders, and turn him face up.

Dash grabs my elbow and pulls me to my feet. “He’s gone,” he says with such a gentle tone.

“We must go,” the wendigo tells us. “We’re losing time.”

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” I mutter despite knowing damn well that I have no understanding of how magic works. What was I thinking in blasting him with my power? It may have broken the compulsion, but it killed him in the process.

How are we going to win this war with minimal casualties if I can’t stop Parla’s mind control? Her soldiers don’t deserve to die just because they’re held captive by her mind tricks.

20

Wren

We make it to where the rest of the demons are hiding. An old, dilapidated building similar to the one where Wes and I first met.

The wendigo was not lying. There are not many survivors, at least that are able-bodied and willing to show up to fight.

I stand in front of them, a lump forming in my throat as they look at me with rage-filled stares. I'm not entirely sure if it's from the marker signaling them to kill me blaring off my neck, or the fact that Parla has done nothing but make their lives completely miserable.

Miserable doesn’t even cut it.

She’s threatened by their very existence; she hates them so much that she vowed to kill every last one of them despite not truly knowing any of them. I’m the first to admit that the stigma associated with being a demon is nothing but a harmful stereotype that serves only one person. How can someone hate something they don’t even understand? But how can I blame her when I did the very same thing?

I blamed the demons for the death of my parents and took that same oath to rid our realm of the demons and their bringers.

“Is it true?” one of the smaller demons calls out from the front of the crowd. “You came from Arthlia?”

“I did.” I nod and look her straight in the eyes. “We all did.” I glance over at Wes and Dash, who stand supportively at my side. Inhaling, I scan the crowd and raise my voice. “After the bombing at Rockbridge, we were able to flee and seek refuge in Arthlia. I, personally, spoke to Balial, who told me that Prania was sealed off to prevent Parla from escaping. It was not her that created the border like she has led us to believe, yet the angels and demons who collectively decided this was for the greater good. One realm as opposed to her wreaking havoc on all of them. Until she is eliminated, none of us are safe. It doesn’t matter if you have a spec of demonic blood in your veins, nothing protects you from her wrath. Anyone who opposes her is as good as dead, and those on her side, she sees them only as disposable pawns.”

Wes places his hand on my lower back, almost like he could sense I needed the support.

“Today”—I stand taller with his touch still on me—“that tyranny ends.”

The crowd claps their hands, their energy fueling me despite my already weakened state.

“Today—”I repeat—“we take back what is ours.”

They roar louder.

“Today, we will kill Parla.”

A collective bellow sounds this otherwise quiet and abandoned section of Prania.

“Think that will be loud enough?” I turn to the wendigo as the few dozen demons cheer and go wild.

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