Shattered Line

Chapter 30: Underworld

Isla cursed Nirvana. The damn witch had dropped her in a city center.

Correction, the middle of a city of Demons. Their sinister gazes and glares flared her instincts. After all, they knew. Even with her hood, her skin exposed her unnatural deviation. She was pale. She had blue eyes. Both warned the Demons of her presence. Yeah, she was in danger.

Isla inched off the stone bench, her movements natural and composed. She glanced right at several cloaked figures weaving through the crowd. Dark and menacing, what a great indicator. Time to go.

She headed left, slipping through the crowd.

Her hands tugged her hood lower, tucking stray locks beneath the hold. She had no choice but to blend in. Yet, the difficulty increased with the cloaked figures hunting her tail.

Isla glanced backward, a steady stream of residents maintained the gap between them. This could work. In a heartbeat, she exuded aura from multiple points, creating a thin veil around herself. She held the aura, waiting to enact the spell. The energy buzzed, desperate for release. Patience, she had one chance.

She picked the next alley. With a sharp turn, she rounded the corner. Isla executed her spell, letting the aura overtake her. She checked her state, moving a hand before her face. A silverish hue covered her body, her cloak of invisibility, hiding her from all senses.

Her gaze combed the straight alley, latching onto a nook halfway. A perfect spot to sit and wait. She sprinted, reaching the cut-out and squeezed in, her back snug against the hot sandstone.

The cloaked figures reached the alleyway entrance, but their walk transformed into a sprint at the disappearance of their prey. They passed her position, growls rumbling from their throats.

A speckle of falling ash singed her hand and she flinched. The smell turned a head, the fat-nosed man sniffing the air. He stared at her location, but whirled around, chasing his missing comrades.

She breathed deep, settling her heart rate. With her hand, she waved the aura free, removing the magic. Again, she focused but fed a different spell. The aura enveloped her body and she imagined the visual changes. She dyed her unique hair to midnight, lensed her striking eyes to blood and tanned her skin.

The magic established a hold, the soothing chill a relief against the hot putrid fumes invading the air. Nothing stifled the nose-wrinkling sulfur smell. No wonder she avoided the Chaos Realm. Sweat already matted her back, drenching her cloak. How long had it been? Right, ten minutes.

Still, the meager spell should impair the senses of weaker Demons. The less aura, the better. Demons could not use aura. She exchanged a larger risk for a smaller one. But what were the chances a High Noble was parading around these parts? With her luck, she felt high.

A hilarious outcome considering how many centuries the question of race evaded her. Insanity had failed to manipulate her towards a suicide mission. No matter what life, dying still was painful and no one likes pain.

With the burden of identity now lessened, Isla moved back to the crowded streets. She eavesdropped, the street conversations cluttering the sound stream. The Human language rolled off their tongues, cut-glass and formal. Her stride synchronized with a pair, the distance short but acceptable.

"The Counsel is miffed, their anger grows. The restrictions have strengthened and the Lessers are restless, completely unmanageable," commented the left Noble, his long burgundy hair swaying.

The other leaned close, his cloak concealing his frame. "A sign that time nears. His Excellency must awaken from slumber. Without cooperation from the clans, the disorder will only advance. They choose to battle for dominance amongst themselves and submit to the Gods, the fools."