The Warlord

Chapter 45: Ansel

It is always the same, every time I enter this cursed realm. The demons of despair try to cling to my robes, try to pull me into the darkness with them. It is only when I bare my sword of steel and fire at them that they back off, slinking back to whatever hole they came from. Then Varlock's ghastly attendants swarm around me, their bodies such a light shade of green that they might as well be gray. With their withered fingers and sunken mouths, they point at me and ask me what my business is.

"I am Ansel, daughter of Varlock, princess of this realm. Now bring me to him, peasants." They disgust me; undead husks of life that Varlock stuffed souls into. Despicable.

They place their revolting hands on my skin and yank me across Hell with their own sort of strange magic. When we reappear, when the red mist and dark, ruby rock stop whirling together, I take a step towards Varlock. He is standing at the edge of the cliff that his attendants brought me too, surveying whatever is below. I wave the attendants away, and they hiss before disappearing with the sound of flapping wings.

I approach Varlock, throwing on my hood, shrouding my face in darkness. He does not acknowledge my presence, does not give me a glance, he simply speaks in his deep, booming voice.

"Look below, Ansel. Look at the beauty of this realm, and look at its ugliness."

"Yes, Father." I follow his gaze down and see a large mass of writhing demons, squirming by each other, off to do whatever they do in this hellhole.

"Such a wealth of magic, and yet it resides in repulsive spawns," he sneers.

"What is the next step in our plan, Father?" I ask, dragging the subject into the conversation with me.

"Our next step?" He muses. "Our next step?" His voice hardens, and the hair on my neck stands on end. "My dear, dear Ansel." He chuckles softly, sadly.

No. He can't know. He can't possibly know. I start to back away, start to reach for my sword hilt. I bump into something, and by the touch it appears that Varlock's attendants have returned. They are blocking my path, trapping me with a monster.

"You dare use that word, Ansel? After I trusted you? After I shared the power I had with you?" He is thundering now, storming towards me like a swell of gray clouds.

I push against the attendants, slice them down, leap over their bloody and oozing remains. A few try to claw at me, scratching my face, my arms, my hands. I break through them, running now, racing through the air and stomping down on the ground hard.

"Not so fast, Ansel." He reappears in front of me, brow furrowed with hate, the fires of Hell gleaming in his dark eyes.

I cut to the right and leap off the side of the mountain, free-falling for a few seconds before digging my sword into the hard rock inches away from my face. I jerk and slide to a halt, taking a glance below, calculating if I can survive the fall. Then I see Varlock leaping down, ready to break me apart with his magic.

I let go.

The demons below me screech when I land on top of them, squashing them into a mess of tangled limbs. My legs burn as I dash away, weaving through the masses, shoving demons aside. Varlock apparently has not followed me down, but I will not take any chances. I need to get out of this realm before it is too late.

I snatch the robe of a shrieking, squealing demon and simultaneously discard my own. Then I cloak my magic around me, making myself less noticeable, more like a shadow than a Lord. I make my way through the still-panicking demons, finally reaching the fringes of the crowd and darting away.

There is a maze of twisting pillars and ancient, demonic ruins near here; I have made it my own little hideout, my escape from Varlock. I become a fleeting figure, a no-faced woman in a forgetful dream as I try and hide. The nearest portal is millions of miles away, too far for me to reach in one day's worth of travel. Varlock picked his meeting place with intent. For now, my best chance is to hide out here, to avoid him and then flee when I get the chance.