Fate of the Marked

Corrupted Priest

Hastira's glowing eyes flicked over the group, her molten gaze lingering on each of us in turn. Her jagged grin widened, as if she found our mere existence amusing.

"Oh, hello there," she said, her voice a smooth melody laced with malice. "You really shouldn't wander around in the darkness. It's dangerous, you know?" She tilted her head slightly, her grin never fading.

The chains coiled lazily around her, sliding and snapping as though alive, scraping faintly against the bloodied deck. The sound sent a chill down my spine, though I gripped my staff tightly to mask my unease.

"Do you always introduce yourself like this?" Rowan asked, his voice steady but his grip firm on his lance.

Hastira's molten gaze shifted to him, her grin twisting into something more predatory. "Do you always interrupt a lady's entrance? Such rudeness. I'd expect more from you, dwarf."

Rowan didn't flinch, his stance unwavering. Torran, standing beside him, muttered something under his breath, his expression dark.

Meanwhile, I struggled to calm my racing thoughts. Her presence was suffocating, her aura of malice clinging to the air like a storm about to break. I had no idea what she was capable of yet, but every instinct screamed that this was no ordinary demon.

Still, I'd fought fast creatures before—vicious, nimble predators that struck like lightning. If she was anything like those, I had strategies that might work. A shield spell to block her attacks, maybe even an area freeze spell to slow her down. If I could restrict her movements, I could—

My thoughts were cut off as Hastira spoke again, her voice dripping with mockery. "Oh, don't look so tense. I don't bite... much."

She laughed, and the sound grated against my nerves like nails on stone. The chains slithered around her in response, snapping faintly at the air.

Eryon gripped his axes tightly, his jaw clenched as Moara cawed nervously from the shadows. Susan stood rigid, her eyes locked on Hastira, her expression unreadable but her hand twitching slightly, as if she were suppressing the urge to act.

Hastira noticed. She tilted her head again, her molten gaze narrowing. "And you... you look familiar."

Susan's breath hitched, and I saw her fists tighten at her sides.

"Who are you?" Rowan demanded, stepping slightly forward, his lance pointed steadily in her direction.

Hastira's grin widened impossibly further, her jagged teeth gleaming in the magical light. "Oh, I've gone by many names, but since you asked so nicely... Hastira will do."

The tension snapped like a brittle string. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught one of the elven crew edging forward, his sword drawn. Others shifted beside him, their movements hesitant yet determined.

"No—" I started to say, but the warning died in my throat.

In less than a heartbeat, their heads were gone. I didn't even see Hastira move. One moment, she was standing amidst the gore of Issathel, her molten eyes watching us with amusement. The next, her foot was pressed down on the chest of one of the fallen elves, her glowing chains coiling languidly around her like serpents.

"That," she said, her voice low and venomous, "was not nice."

Her grin twisted into something darker as she straightened. Then she moved.

The massacre began.

It wasn't just her speed—it was the sheer impossibility of her movements. One moment she was in front of us, the next she was a blur, her chains slicing through the air with horrifying precision. Each strike was lethally efficient. A flick of her wrist, and another elf fell, blood spraying across the deck. A blur of motion, and two more were gone before their bodies could hit the floor.