Exousia - The Patron Saints of the Damned -Book II

Brennan heard the scream that sounded impossibly familiar. Immediately, he felt as if the world had closed in around him. His breath felt like it was trapped in a small pocket just in front of his face, and he became uncomfortably hot. Sweat poured from all over his body, especially his armpits, and a hazy red color began to infect his vision. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out, one of the flat stones that he’d collected.

The surrounding forest had become darker, even with the sun steadily rising overhead. He looked for any threatening shape or shadow that he might be able to hit with the rock. Then he heard a snap, turned, and pulled the stone back to pitch it like a baseball.

“Stop!” Marshal shouted and lifted his hands to shield himself.

Brennan froze mid-throw.

It was just Marshal … just Marshal.

Brennan felt dizzy. He heard another crack, this time in the woods. He turned and slung the rock with all his strength. It struck a tree and pieces of bark flew from where it hit. But he missed whatever had moved.

A figure rose from the shadows and reached towards him like a claw. It stretched over an impossible distance, the bulk of it remaining hidden in the shadows of the forest. Only the eyes that glimmered in the unnatural dark were visible in the trees.

Brennan gasped, pointed at the figure, and turned his face away. Before his mind even made the decision, his legs launched him in the opposite direction. But his body was stopped, and he was unable to move. Arms wrapped around him and dragged him to the ground, hard enough that he felt the impact in his bones.

“There’s nothing there!” David shouted, grabbing his wrists tightly and forcing him to stop flailing. He then repeated what he’d said, emphasizing every word slowly. “There’s. Nothing. There!”

This seemed to wake Brennan from the nightmare that had overtaken his mind. He gradually found his ability to breathe and calmed down. He looked back at where he’d seen the shadow, but it was gone … vanished. He didn’t understand what was happening. Did the kidnapper do this—drug them, make them hallucinate so they’d become crazy too? Maybe all of this was psychological torment meant to break their minds. Or poison! Poison vapors in the forest, making them all crazy.

The more possibilities that Brennan considered, the more extreme and elaborate they became. He felt his heart begin to race so fast that it caused a sharp pain in his chest. His breathing became quicker, and the air felt too hot and heavy to suck in. Then there was a loud cracking sound, and he felt a burning sensation across his face.

“Snap out of it,” Jodie said, looking at him with a tear-stained and dirty face.

Brennan touched his face and winced, realizing he’d been slapped.

“He had to do it. You were muttering to yourself and …” David pointed at his own arms and wrists where there were fingernail marks, small cuts, and small trickles of blood. “We were worried what you might do. Are you alright?”

Brennan nodded, trying to regain control of his fear. He was still scared, and now he was angry. He wanted to remind himself that his friends were helping him. Had he run blindly into the woods … the thought was too frightening to imagine. Still, it took him a long time to realize that he really wasn’t angry with them. “Sorry,” he whispered hoarsely.

Jodie extended a hand to both Brennan and David, and then lifted both of them to their feet.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” David said, wincing while he wiped the blood off his arms, using the sides of his shirt. “This place is messed up, and none of us are thinking right.”

“And … I didn’t want to slap you,” Jodie added. His tone sounded sincere, if heavy. And none of his usual carefree nature could be seen in his eyes.

“Was any of it real?” Brennan asked. “The shadows? The voices?”

None of his friends responded; they just looked at the ground.

“The eyes?”

This made several of his friends shudder or shift; so, they had at least seen the eyes. This was an important detail, especially since the woods were now getting enough sunlight that they should have been able to see anything that had been so close. It had to be an illusion. At least, Brennan desperately wanted to believe that it was an illusion. Then there was the scream. Maybe if what he’d seen had been a trick, then what he’d thought he’d heard was one too. It was all just something in the woods trying to break his mind.

“I saw wolves,” Ted said, walking over to them. He brought his eyebrows together as he tried to piece the situation together.

“Not wolves … not in Alabama,” Jodie replied, with a shake of his head.

Ted nodded and said, “Maybe they were dogs or coyotes or something. We’re probably just freaking out over being left in the woods. With the whole Woodcutter thing, all our imaginations must be going haywire. We might be seeing three little pigs, next. Which, I’ll admit, would be nice because I’m famished and would kill for some bacon.”

Brennan and a few others managed a smile at this.

David chuckled and replied, “So long as you don’t start thinking that one of us looks like bacon, that sort of delusion is fine with me.”

Their conversation stopped abruptly when they heard something approaching. There were voices—two voices. The first was the girl with the scar. The second … no. It had to be some accomplice or unsuspecting victim. Anybody but her.

Brennan looked at his friends, wishing that they would tell him that he was hallucinating again, that his sister wasn’t in these woods. He even hoped, for the briefest second, that someone would slap him a second time.

However, his friends looked just as confused and scared as what he felt. Except for Sam … his eyes were bigger than anybody else’s. His face was red, and his eyes shifted. His hands had gone rigid, like claws that he used to scratch the insides of his folded arms. The skin there was inflamed, his body was shaking, and his lips were moving. It was the first time he had reacted to anything since he’d gone quiet.

“What did you do?” Brennan thought. He felt anger fill him; he took rapid breaths that made him feel dizzy and imagined himself slapping his friend in the face over and over. Before he could do anything of the sort, however, he saw his sister emerge from the trees.

Megan looked away from the girl with the scar and saw them in their state of panic, terror, and desperation. Her face became alert as her pupils dilated and her eyes widened in alarm. She lifted a gun–the one that their dad kept hidden in the van.

“It’s her!” Billy shouted so loudly that his voice echoed. “She’s the one who kidnapped us. She’s the Woodcutter!”

Realization hit Megan with violent suddenness. The speed with which she moved made Brennan think that she had already suspected something and rehearsed precisely what she would do. She pointed the barrel of the gun at the girl with the scar. She shouted, “Don’t move! I’ll shoot, I swear to God!”

“Put the gun down,” David said. “There’s something else out here!”

“I said don’t move!” Megan shouted; she wasn’t listening.

The girl with the scar stepped towards her, seeming entirely unconcerned with the weapon being aimed at her.

Megan pulled the trigger. Click. She stood still—locked in the same position as before—as if still waiting for the shot to fire and end the climactic moment. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and it took her a moment to open them again.

The girl with the scar walked to her, plucked the gun from her hand, and tossed it into the grass. Then she turned to them and said, “We’re being followed and have to leave. Now.” With her staff in hand, she began to walk at a quick pace.

Megan momentarily turned around to look at the gun, and then toward the path she’d come from. But the way she looked at that path was with fear … like she knew that she couldn’t go back.

Brennan was unsure whether he desperately wanted or really didn’t want to know what she had seen up there. But he couldn’t ask. His body had gone rigid and all he could do was tremble.

-O-

Dufaii let his body change back into its demon form as he stepped into the small pool of water that was his exit from Hell. It rose up quickly past his knees, waist, shoulders, and head; then he was completely immersed in the blackness. Submerged, he looked at the many yellow, white, and orange points that lined the darkness like stars. Each was a potential exit, a body of water somewhere in the world. As he swam, he considered which star he would exit through.

Long ago, he and Ammon had calculated a ratio between the expanse of a perimeter, given water sources to travel through, and the number of soldiers on patrol. With it, they could create a portal that placed them as close to an objective as possible, with the minimal likelihood of being seen by patrols that waited in ambush outside lakes, rivers, ponds, and the like. Of course, such calculations had required the study of countless terrain types, climates, and so on, as well as rigorous mapping. But Ammon had also thought it necessary in case they were to ever go to war with the loyalists.

For now, Dufaii had used the measurement to get to Exousia. He had only a rough idea of how many enemy soldiers would be patrolling the woods, which was a problem. If he transported himself too close, he’d be seen, have to fight, and give away any element of surprise that he might have had. Too far away and he wouldn’t reach her in time.

He chose to err on the side of transporting himself too far away, reasoning that there might be no way to recover if he were immediately ambushed. With the decision made, he propelled himself towards a specific light with his sword drawn. He cut through the surface of the water and flew upward.

Then, Dufaii was back in the physical realm. He could feel it by the warmth of the morning sun that had risen into the sky, the cool breeze gently moving over the small fishing lake he had flown from, and the presence of humidity in the air. His skin felt refreshed by both sources of moisture, reminding him of the lifeless nature of the prison.

For a moment, Dufaii wondered about the nature of the plague afflicting demons. Perhaps something like this was inevitable after all the time they’d spent imprisoned. He remembered the words of the demons who had attacked him. A plague which forced them to birth madness from their own bodies. Dufaii shuddered. He felt a weighted sense of empathy and pain on their behalf. If not for his status, he would be down there and perhaps just as eager to enroll in any possible attempt to escape. Unfortunately, there was no time to really stop and meditate on these difficult questions, so he put it out of mind as he glided to the shore.

Once Dufaii landed, he again took the shape of the gray wolf and fell into a sprint. While the form wasn’t strictly natural to this biome, he knew that the unassuming and relatively natural visage would not draw too much attention from humans, loyalists, or demons. It was relatively new to him, but he found that it also gave him a tremendous advantage in speed and stealth. Additionally, it did not carry the disadvantage of making his form fragile, as with the bone structure of a cheetah or other faster animals. Of course, he had not been the first to take this form.

Ammon had been the first, changing his form into a much larger albino wolf that had occasionally appeared in the woods. That wolf had been nearly impossible to chase down in the wooded forests, or by flight above them for the canopies that hid what was within. Learning the form had been the only way to gain a similar tactical advantage.

Of course, terrain was not the only reason for Ammon’s creation of the shape. There was a motif that he had in mind. Along with the location and the things that he’d said, it seemed designed to foster a theatrical scene. Like he was trying to recreate the fable that he’d once read to the child in the crib, to put her into a particular frame of mind.

Yes, this was doubtlessly all a narrative playing out in Ammon’s mind. Exousia, in this elaborate scenario, would be the heroic and brutal Woodcutter. Ammon would take the role of the evil wolf. Neither character symbol was entirely true to their natures … but nothing about their places in the Challenge was. This was all about creating an illusion–an illusion seventeen years in the making.

The question was why Ammon would want to set this particular stage. Why would he want his opponent to see herself as the hero? Ironically, this was an archetype that Exousia had always fought against becoming. She’d demonstrated her distaste for that role through brutal and callous behavior. In fact, her role as the Creator’s Champion had always been a bitter point of resentment. She saw herself fully as a demon and despised Heaven as much as the rest of them. She hadn’t even tried to change the serial killer narrative that humans had made for her. She’d embraced it, seeming to find comfort in her own personal demonization.

Another reason that Dufaii had taken the form of a wolf was to help neutralize the dramatic power of the stage. He had used it interchangeably with his other shapes for the past five years. He didn’t know if it was the best idea, but he hoped that it would work.

Exousia needed every advantage she could get. Though powerful, she was still a physical being. She required sleep, food, breath, and could not survive the trauma that the semi-physical nature of a demonic form could. She was also young, without the advantage of millennia to strengthen her emotional and intellectual fortitude.

On the other hand, Exousia had the power of human magic. It was dangerous for how it compromised her emotions, thoughts, and will. But she had studied its use intensely over the years, learning to use it sparingly and with practiced control. It was this power which had made her as dangerous to any demon as they were to her.

Dufaii thought back to all he had taught, everything that might come into play during the challenge. He double-checked every memory for any possible flaw he could have left in his student.

Oddly, there was only one which his mind seemed to fixate on …

It had been only a few years before, when Dufaii stood in a field that was surrounded by trees on every side. His thirteen-year-old apprentice stood in front of him, with her brown hair tied with a leather cord over her head to match her teacher. She slashed and stabbed, utilizing as much skill as a day of sword training and several years of other forms of combat could allow. Dirt and sweat covered her face, and she carried an intense expression.

Exousia lunged and swung at his knees.

Dufaii lifted his right foot and stepped on the end of the sword, forcing it to the ground and tossing his apprentice to the ground along with it. He helped her to stand as he lectured, “You’re doing fine. Just remember, don’t hold onto the weapon if it will compromise your position.”

Exousia sighed in frustration, nodded at the instruction, and then picked up the weapon to prepare for another attack. She side-stepped, bit her lower lip, and swung from mid-range with a strike at his head.

Dufaii tilted his head just enough to remove it from harm’s way, caught the weapon, and pulled.

There was a moment of hesitation in Exousia’s release of the blade, but only enough for the pulling motion to launch her into a leap. She landed close, crouched, and sent an elbow-strike to his knee. Had she actually meant to use the strike as a real attack, it might have broken cartilage.

Dufaii nodded in approval and said, “Better.”

Exousia nodded and formed the beginnings of a smile, releasing a flicker of happiness through her eyes. But she quickly corrected herself and forced this into a cold and emotionless stare. It seemed perhaps harsh, overly self-critical, or too stoic for someone who was barely a teenager. It was unfair and even unhealthy … but the horrible truth was that she would soon have to fight an enemy who could detect any thought that floated on the edge of one’s mind. Even small shows of emotion were not safe on such a battlefield.

Exousia didn’t make the mistake again in the hours that she practiced. And she continued until she was too tired to keep going. By that point, she was covered in dirt from all the jumping and rolling. It was clear from her red face that she was short of breath. But instead of panting, she sat on the ground, with her legs crossed beneath, and forced her breath to remain under her control.

“You’re progressing,” Dufaii said, placing his sword in its leather sheath. He then sat in the grass, cross-legged, with her and asked, “Have you put thought into the creation of a soul weapon?”

Exousia did not respond—her face remained cold. Her lack of response meant that something was wrong.

Dufaii attempted to make his voice sound reassuring, and said, “There was never a high likelihood that you would be able to craft a soul weapon, just like you cannot much shift the appearance of your body beyond hiding it. It requires a devoted amount of energy from a demon’s soul and poses a risk of madness should that piece ever be lost. To not have such a liability is no-”

Exousia extended her right hand, palm up, and furrowed her brow. The veins in her arm darkened visibly until a small dark cloud began to seep from her skin and coil around her arm. This coil made its way from her sleeve, past her elbow. It then concentrated in a black liquid that floated and collected over her palm. Once all of it gathered into a floating sphere, it became polished and solid. It looked like an obsidian obelisk the size of a fist, and remained suspended in the air.

“It’s the most I can manage to create,” Exousia said and closed her fist so that the obelisk again became a stream of vapor that drew into her skin. For the briefest instant, her eyes softened and revealed sadness. There was a thought as well … a pained awareness that she was not fully a demon.

Dufaii began to speak and then cut himself off. To say something would reveal that he had read his student’s thoughts. This would make the problem far worse, as she would perceive this as yet another personal failure. Instead, Dufaii recalled what he’d learned in child development texts–that it was important to help make a child’s problems more manageable and then help them come up with a healthy solution.

In this care, Exousia needed help coping with her humanity. However, this had to be done indirectly and with care, so that she would not perceive the guidance as additional judgment to add to her own.

After thinking for a moment, Dufaii nodded in overt approval and said, “That’s perfect! With that much energy at your disposal, you will be able to make a dagger—or perhaps something more tactical. Ideal for any assassin. Take your time and consider what tool will best compliment your skills, particularly considering your aptitude in close-range combat.”

Exousia nodded, her face turning from a cold stare to a wrinkled and thoughtful look. She seemed to accept the reframing of her handicap into a challenge. And this seemed to trigger a new idea in her. “I’ve discovered something else—another human magic from the last tome Kueng brought me.”

Dufaii did not react to his initial instinct to wince. Exousia had not told him much about her experiences in Heaven. It had been Kueng who told him … upon returning the broken pocket knife. Exousia’s secrecy in the matter and the messenger demon’s severity had both been … unexpected. Stranger yet was learning that the Archangel Raphael had been the one behind the idea of magic. Then …. finding out that Ammon had taken her to kill a god and learn even its own magic. Of course, Dufaii would have never permitted any of it. It had all been far too dangerous. But he had no intention of shaming his child for making the best choices she could in the face of impossible situations. And he could even admit to a bit of … relief at the amount of power she had gained from the experiences.

So while Dufaii was afraid for Exousia in her exploration of magic, he knew better than to discourage her. It was better to supervise and provide guidance if she was going to continue learning something like this. Furthermore, the power could prove useful to the Challenge … and to helping Exousia to accept what she was. So, after bracing himself, Dufaii said, “Show me.”

Exousia shuffled her legs more neatly beneath him and straightened her back. She began to whisper demon words of feeling, creating a mantra to replicate particular emotions endured by humans of old. These emotions were not the sad or pained sort that she had recited in other magics, however. There was a darkness to them … a feeling of madness and wrath. This wasn’t a human magic at all, rather, it was a magic of the elder god.

For a few moments, there was no reaction. Then the noon sky darkened, and crows began to perch on all the trees around them. A few let out caws and all watched intently.

Exousia whispered, “I can see us … everything they see and smell and taste, I can too.” But there was something wrong … both with her and the birds.

Dufaii understood the gist of this new magic almost immediately. There was a gluttonous desire for raw power reflected in the eyes of these animals … and in those of the girl who controlled them.

Then, the spell suddenly broke, sending confused birds flying and hopping away casually. It took Exousia a moment, but she was eventually able to calm her own ravenous smile and the dark energy within herself. Then she just looked fatigued.

The Dufaii of five years later in the form of a wolf found himself dwelling on that memory of Exousia’s training all those years ago. As he ran through a cornfield and tried to concentrate on the point of it all.

The potential vulnerabilities in Exousia had been clear and twofold in the memory. There was the magic, of course. But there was something from the conversation … the emotions she projected upon creating that obelisk. Exousia had a profound desire for a sense of belonging. Neither the human nor the demon elements of his soul would help him to fight this weakness. Both species shared a reliance on community and numbers. But … how could others be used against her if she was currently fighting alone?

Dufaii’s thoughts were interrupted by a whooshing sound of wings above him and a presence that had managed to sneak up on him. Oddly, the surprise did not seem intentional, like an ambush. And the thing now following him did not project any threatening energy or make any sort of violent gesture. In fact, there was a distinct lack of aggression in its movements. In fact … the creature’s aura seemed somewhat unfamiliar. Demon … but also … something else.

“Run little wolfy, run, run, and don’t eat the grapes. Little doggies choke on grapes,” the creature above him said.

Dufaii knew that he shouldn’t stop to see what was following him, so long as it wasn’t attacking. He couldn’t afford the delay, and the situation was not odd enough to have merited his attention. There were many unusual creatures which still roamed the Earth, including ones that were too insane to stay hidden from other magical presences. So he kept running and did not bother to check where it was.

Dufaii’s refusal to stop didn’t seem to matter to the creature. It continued to follow him from above, easily matching his speed. “Don’t slow down! They are chasing us. Well, you are chasing them, and they are chasing us. So maybe you are chasing us! But if we are running together, then we are chasing ourselves. And by the Lightbringer, we will catch them!”

Somehow, the creature sounded both confused and sure of itself at the same time, even though what it was saying was mostly nonsense. Yet, the level of insanity in the creature and the fact that it could match his speed was unnerving. “Come, Wolfy! We’ll get that bad sheep that was chasing us.”

Dufaii now wondered if there was actually something chasing them. If there were demons on his trail, he needed to take them out quickly. He slowed to a stop and sensed the being fall from the sky to join him. This allowed him to see what it was.

The creature was a demon, smaller than most humans. But this demon was a grotesque sight, covered from head to toe in wounds and scars. Its body was mutilated to a degree that shouldn’t have been possible, due to the demon ability to heal. And its skin seemed to be composed of several types, colors, and textures—almost like a flesh-quilt. These were not the only gruesome aspects of its appearance, however. Barbed wire was embedded in its skin, weaving in and out of its flesh. Its eyelids had been cut off, so the black spheres had a milky layer over them that dripped down and stained its leather cheeks, giving the impression that it was eternally crying. Sores covered its shredded skin, and many of its bones looked like they were broken and sagging. Blood and infectious ooze trailed onto the ground wherever it walked.

Dufaii recognized this creature by reputation alone.

This was a Seer—a demon tormented to the point of insanity. A revolution had taken place and failed about ten thousand years ago when two-hundred demons had attempted to escape Hell. Maybe they could have succeeded, given more time and help. But they had been scared that either someone would betray them or that a mass-exodus would fail like it had before.

A particularly cruel incarnation of the Lightbringer had stopped them single-handedly. As punishment, it used them as experiments to test the extremes to which a demon’s soul could be pushed. One of the discoveries was a point of torture which unlocked hidden power within demons. The problem was that the subjects were too far gone, by that point, to ever use those powers with any amount of purpose.

This event led to another revolt … which also failed with its own horrific repercussions. After that, Hades had led demon-kind on an expedition far deeper into the prison. They founded a city, far from the Lightbringer, who they now feared and hated. But, of course, there was no undoing what had happened to the unfortunate demon souls that the Lightbringer had hidden away.

Dufaii shook his head in pity and disgust. Then he sensed a rapidly approaching presence. He turned and saw a female demon drop from the sky. It seemed that they truly had been chased. The demon was armed with a black spear and light armor that revealed lean and defined muscle in her arms and legs. Her shape was something similar to her original angelic appearance. Her features were plain and rugged—a sort of dust-colored skin, black eyes, and brown hair that was cut short for efficiency. Tattoos and minor scarring covered her face. As the scars could have quickly been healed, she either created this look to create the illusion of strength or else had endured much and wished to keep it all memorialized in her appearance. With an edge to her voice that matched her fearsome look, she said, “Bring it to me, now.”

Dufaii shifted into his demonic form and approached her slowly and placed a hand on his sword

The Seer, small and pathetic, walked beside him and gave him a look that communicated innocence and genuine fear. “Don’t let the bad woman take me back. She doesn’t give any grapes in the dungeon.”

“Are you with Ammon?” Dufaii asked, ready to attack.

“I am the Warden and have no interest in your feud,” the demon replied, with a shake of her head. “I oversee the Lightbringer’s prison and its convicts.”

The Seer took a step backward.

“So hand over the little beast, Dufaii,” said the Warden. “Even an earth-dweller like you should know how dangerous it is.”

Dufaii felt anger bubble up within him, and he lowered his forehead so that his expression became a threatening glare. “Says you, a demon cooped up in your little prison where you take delight in the torture of the weak and pitiful creatures who break our laws in desperation. Even a sadist like you should know that I don’t take orders from traitors against our own kind.”

The Seer beamed hopefully.

“He told me your resolve had been compromised,” the Warden said and gave a glare that said he wasn’t worth her time. “Clearly you took too much of the humanity you ripped it out of that pathetic little creature you raised. I would never have imagined that the Godkiller would be reduced to this.”

Dufaii could feel the heat of her breath as she snorted disdainfully.

The Warden brushed past him and bumped his shoulder with enough strength to have staggered or knocked down most other demons. She reached down to grab the trembling creature.

Dufaii pulled his sword from its sheath and, with a twitch of his body, propelled the pommel into her spine. There were several loud cracking sounds of shattering bones.

The Warden froze and gasped for several seconds, as her face contorted in pain. She collapsed to the ground, struck her head against a rock, and then didn’t move. It seemed like she was lifeless, but she would wake before too long.

The Seer hobbled close to look at its fallen foe, a look of awe on its face. Much like elephants that were shackled at a young age to make them feel powerless and easier to command as adults, this creature had been brainwashed to think it was weak. The idea that it was any sort of threat to the well-being of demons would have been laughable were it not so cruel and plainly self-serving.

Dufaii nearly turned to leave when he saw movement in the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he kicked the unconscious Warden hard enough to send her rolling under a large tree. Then he grabbed the smaller demon, put his hand around its mouth, and leaped under that same tree. He pointed towards the movement.

The Seer nodded its head with interest. It gave a thumbs-up, made more gruesome by the broken state of its thumbs and its hanging thumb-nails.

Together, they watched as a dozen forms in light armor flew in formation overhead. Their gold feathered wings were all uniform, and they moved with complete unison. These were loyalists … and not just the guard. Most likely scouts or some special operations unit. But there was no reason for either of those units to be present, especially not so far from where the Challenge was taking place. Any sort of guard meant to monitor it should have been wearing heavy battle armor. Additionally, twelve units were not nearly enough to stand a chance against a coordinated demon attack. On the other hand … it was more than enough to take out one high-profile demon target.

Dufaii knew there was little chance that he would be able to take them alone if he was that target. So, like with the water, he played it safe and waited for them to pass. Once they were gone, he looked at the small demon and said, “Go … and don’t let anyone see you unless you want the Warden hunting you down. That means humans, demons, or angels, understood?”

The Seer nodded eagerly, giving another thumbs-up. “We’ll be like green grapes on a vine.”

Dufaii shifted back into that of a giant gray wolf.

The Seer leaped up and down excitedly. “I will not forget this, Wolfy! I will get nice doggie treats for you! Bones and gizzards.”

Dufaii took off—forward into the forest, across roads, and over hills. As he ran, he considered what had been said before the arrival of the loyalists. The Warden was the third demon to bring up his being compromised. They all seemed to think he was as far gone as his Ammon … perhaps even more so for having actually raised a human. Could it be that he really was, in fact, compromised?

No … that wasn’t possible.

But as Dufaii continued to run, the idea continued to gnaw at him. His thoughts became more scattered that they’d been in a long time.