288: Well of Despair (Patreon)

The few Malik had mentioned were a four-armed red demon Vir was unfamiliar with… And the red demon who’d tried to assassinate him during their combat exam the other day. The very same demon Vir had shut down.

“You’re sure you’re not just trying to hoist him off to me?” Vir asked, an eyebrow pointedly raised.

“You have to admit, he is quite the capable warrior. You saw that for yourself,” Malik replied, deftly avoiding Vir’s question.

Vir had chatted with Malik about their history together, and it seemed their bad blood ran deep. To where Vir suspected some cosmic force had to be responsible for their continuous unfortunate encounters.

The two had been childhood acquaintances, much in the same way Vir and Camas were. One might’ve guessed that it was Malik who was the bullied party, but that would’ve been wrong. It was, in fact, the bigger, more muscular demon who was the victim.

“We all mature as we age. I truly regret what I did to him during our childhood, you know?” Malik said, hanging his head.

“And then his wife left him to be with you,” Vir said, unamused. “Surely you could have seen this coming?”

“It was her choice!” Malik replied. “And all the rites were properly performed. We prayed to the gods to bless our marriage. We did nothing wrong! He just… doesn’t see it that way.”

The world flashed white and thunder cracked from nearby, prompting the two to flinch. The lightning was an ever-present danger this close to the Boundary, but between ash Beasts and lightning, Vir considered the natural danger the lesser of the two.

“I suppose,” Vir said, letting out a long breath, having wisely decided that this was a Prana Swarm lair best left untouched. “Having him along will be of great help. He seems to be reasonable around everyone who isn’t you, at least. And I won’t have to worry about you being stabbed in your sleep while I’m gone.”

“That too,” Malik said sheepishly, no doubt understanding that Vir had known the real reason all along.

After hammering out a few more details, Vir dismissed his logistical officer and headed for the opposite end of camp. There was one other he wished to bring along. One demon whose participation might very well determine their fates, and who’d deftly eluded him until now.

As he searched, Vir’s mind filled with the dilemma of the captured Chitran guards. The issue had been weighing heavily on his mind, and he was honestly at a loss.

If the prisoners killed them—something Vir was loath to do—then returning to Garrison Atnu would be all but impossible. Balagra was right on that point. A group of demons returning from the lost Chitran City with their collars broken and captors missing would only result in everyone’s summary execution. It’d be far too suspicious.

If he let the guards go, however, they’d undoubtedly deliver Vir and Balagra’s heads on a platter the moment they returned.

For now, Vir deferred that difficult problem, as it would be something of a luxury if they all lived long enough to worry about that. Right now, he had far larger issues. Issues that forced him to delegate the troops’ training to the injured Balagra, despite Vir’s immense reluctance to do so.

The rations the prisoners had would only last two or three more days. Perhaps slightly longer if Malik successfully collected and rationed it, but either way, time was of the essence and they had none to lose. Vir didn’t envy the demon’s job, and had thanked Badrak more than once for the luck that landed such a capable and talented ally into his lap.

Vir finally arrived at the spot he’d last sighted his final recruit, only to find no one there.

So I wasn’t imagining things. He really is avoiding me.

That was alright. Vir Blinked away, reappearing right next to his target.

“You really don’t want to have anything to do with me, do you?” Vir asked, causing the scrawny kothi to yelp and jump away in fright. To his credit, he managed not to fall flat on his butt in panic… But only barely.

“N-nothing like that!” the kothi stammered. As far as Chitran went, he was on the smaller side, and not only because he was malnourished. The demon boasted neither the physique nor the confidence Vir would expect from a warrior, and if he was honest, he didn’t know if this particular demon had anything to offer. Even if Vir was correct about his character.

That doubt evaporated the moment he saw the kothi’s Chitran bloodline tattoos.

“Relax,” Vir said. “I’m not here to hurt you. Just… why are you running away from me? Have I wronged you in some way?”

The kothi stood up, dusting off his robe. “I’m Chitran,” he said. His voice was higher-pitched than Vir had expected.

Ah. Of course…

Vir fought the impulse to pinch his nose. “Look,” he said. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have issues with the Chitran. I imagine every Gargan does. But you need to understand that this does not mean I hate all kothis.”

The skittish demon gave Vir a look of extreme suspicion. “But… You’re a rebel.”

“Yes. I did say as much. And yes. I am working to overthrow the Chitrans. I am not, however, trying to eradicate them, as they’ve tried so hard to do to the Gargans. I don’t even know you. How could I have anything against you?”

“You may not hate me, but did it occur to you that I might hate you? You’re Gargan.”

Vir shrugged. “Maybe you do, but I doubt that. Call it a hunch. Besides, I think we’ll have ample opportunity to learn more about that in the near future. When you come with me to Praya Parul.”

“P-Praya Parul?” The kothi stiffened visibly, taking a half-step back. “Surely there are more suitable warriors?” he said, glancing nervously around. “I can’t fight, you know?”

“There are, and I know.” Vir said. “But I need someone to tend the Ash’va that will haul our gear. That’s you.”

The kothi looked around, and finding no one he could foist the responsibility to, finally gave up. He hung his head and nodded.

“As you wish.”

— —

Vir set out with little fanfare, pausing only to announce his departure to the troops in hopes of procuring the weapons and armor they’d need to survive. He’d initially wanted to sneak away without making a scene, but Balagra had convinced that their leader stealing away would demoralize the troops to the point of no return.

Vir was glad he’d listened. Rather than despair, many of the demons felt a sense of renewed vigor. That, if Vir succeeded in his mission, they’d have proof to bring back to the Chitran. Valuable spoils of war that might just allow them to be pardoned.

Given the dire supply situation, Vir took only the bare minimum for a three-day trip. They could stretch that if need be, but Vir was loath to take any more food and water than they absolutely had to. The prisoners would have a hard enough time as it was.

Riding alongside Vir was the kothi Gunin and Malik’s lifelong enemy, Lagen. While they were odd company for such a mission, Vir had plans for them both, and he hoped to use this outing to advance that plan several steps. What’s more, they both boasted strong tattoos, even if only Lagen considered himself a warrior. Their powers would be crucial for defending themselves and their beasts of burden.

Lashed behind them were three more Ash’va—taken from the supply beasts and those the Chitran guards had ridden. They’d need every ounce of their hauling capacity if they wanted to bring back enough gear to outfit two hundred people.

“So, about Praya Parul…” Gunin said, breaking the weighty silence that weighed upon the group. “Has anyone been there?”

“If any of us have, it’d be you. That was your clan’s city, after all,” Lagen replied curtly. “So? Have you?”

“Not personally, no. Though, my father told me enough stories that I certainly feel like I have,” the Chitran replied. “I admit I’m a little excited to see it after all this time. Even despite the danger.”

“Then by all means, please regale us with stories of your wonderful city,” Lagen said, making no effort to hide his distaste for the kothi.

“I’d hardly call it that,” Gunin said softly. “Praya Parul was an unsafe place decades before my people fled it. Many of our clan perished manning the walls. Defending the city against unending Ash Beast assaults.”

“You were hardly the only ones who lost good demons to the Ash. Still doesn’t give you the right to annihilate another clan,” Lagen said.

“No. No, I suppose it doesn’t,” Gunin replied, earning a look of surprise—and derision—from the red demon.

Vir remained silent. Cirayus had said that the Chits had felt the effects of the encroaching Ash the most. That they spent an inordinate amount of resources—more than any other clan—defending their vast border, even as it was slowly eroded away.

Just like Matali.

Vir knew all too well the sort of desperation and hopelessness such a slow, inevitable destruction could have on a people. It didn’t excuse what the Chits did. It certainly didn’t excuse Asuman’s mistreatment of the Gargans in Samar Patag. It did, however, shed some light on how Garga’s downfall came to be, and Vir couldn’t help but wonder if things might’ve been different had his mother and father paid more attention to the Chitrans before events came to a head.

When the first opportunistic Ash Beast swooped in on the convoy, Gunin and Lagen had nearly soiled their pants.

When Vir drove them away for the dozenth, they barely even fazed his companions anymore.

“Never thought I’d look at one of those Ashen terrors with pity,” Lagen muttered under his breath.

“On that, we agree,” Gunin replied, nodding vigorously.

They’d both kept their voices low, to avoid being overheard by their leader. Unbeknownst to them, said leader possessed hearing far above those of any ordinary demon. Vir allowed a small smile to creep onto his face, which, of course, went unseen by either.

Vir’s good mood was swiftly vanquished when the soot-blackened ruins of Praya Parul’s walls came into view.

“What is this feeling?” Lagen said from behind him, shuddering.

“Death,” Vir replied. He didn’t need Prana Vision to inform him of the death trap that lurked within those walls.

The shrieking wails did plenty of that already.