The Warlord

Chapter 38: Ansel

I emerge from within the cliff, quickly sealing up the tunnels I created to get outside. Above me, the stars glisten in all their glory; the night air is still and quiet, settling around me and the grass field sprawled ahead. The Top Order did not place any guards at the bottom of the cliff, arrogant in the fact that no one has powers like them. Except for me. They are still clueless about my true allegiances, and after staying holed up in their little lair for two nights after my mother's "attack", tonight is finally the night. If they decide to check on me, all they will see is a carefully crafted illusion of me peacefully sleeping. But in reality, I will be fulfilling the most crucial part of my mission, and finally, I will get rid of the Top Order once and for all.

Casting another layer of cloaking magic upon me just to be safe, I dart through the grass, leaving no trails. Once I am out of the guards' line of sight, I undo the spell. This grassy area surrounds the left side of the palace, but also expands outwards towards the edge of the island that Heaven rests on. The edge is too far away, but there are ravines and crevices here and there that might be useful. I leap away from the palace and the cliff, heading into the seemingly endless spread of grass. Casting a simple enhancement spell, I suddenly become a thousand times lighter, my body moving and curving with the wind. I reach one of the first landmarks in no time, and up ahead, more stick out. Peering down this particular crevice, I see nothing but darkness. It will do.

I leap down, a rush of cold air chilling my skin and making my cloak flap upwards. In the dim light of the stars and the moon, I make out the bottom as it comes hurtling towards me. I land in a crouch, poised and ready for any sudden attack. Though Heaven is very secure and safe, forgotten beasts are said to roam on the outskirts, away from the center of cities and villages. Outskirts such as these parts. And in this pitch-blackness, who knows what sort of creature I might cross paths with.

But for now, everything seems to be clear. The crevice is also deep enough and dark enough to conceal what I am about to do. Slowly and carefully, I unfurl the pouch wrapped around my waist and pull out a stick of Infernal Red, the chalk used for unholy rituals. It prickles my fingers, and I can feel its devilishness trying to seep into my skin, but since I have become a Lord, the bits of Hell running through my veins keep me from succumbing to Corruption. I sketch out the basic pentagram, then I start to add layers and layers of runes, as well as smaller pentagrams around and on top of it. This demon will be a tricky one to summon, but it has what I need, and I can keep it in control. The risk is worth it.

I put away the Infernal Red and take out a small vial of goat's blood, dribbling it onto the pentagram and staining my fingers with it. My hands are shaking as I tuck everything away and stand before the pentagram. I raise my arms to the stars and begin to chant, the words that I have carefully memorized now spiraling out of my mouth.

It is an old and strange demon language, and it hurts my tongue to say it, but when the deed is done, I step back and let my arms fall to my side. The air instantly starts to heat up, and the goat's blood shrivels up and dries. In contrast, the marks with the Infernal Red start to bleed and spread, as if they are painfully melting into the earth. A taste of strong, pungent vinegar fills the air, and a plume of smoke billows up. The air rumbles; a deep, bone-shaking sound. As the demon writhes in pain, pulled into existence from my summons, I back away, a hand covering my eyes as the smoke grows bigger and bigger. One moment, the heat and pressure seem to make my world explode. The next, everything dies down, vanishing as quickly as they came. The cold creeps back, along with the dim light of the stars.

When I lower my hand, the pentagram is nothing more than a mess of black soot and stains. And floating in front of me, in all of its Hellish glory, is the demon. Its red, leathery skin is pulled back tight in some places, and wrinkled in others. When it opens its mouth to bare its teeth, a serpentine tongue and huge, gleaming fangs greet me. It stands hunched over, muscular enough on the top half, but completely goat on the bottom half. This is a Vorac, a type of demon infamous for bloodthirstiness on the battlefield, but also for preying on the hopes and dreams of the weak-willed. Though they are the demons of Gluttony, they are quite witty and shrewd. I will need to be careful if I am to get what I need.