He drifted down the stairs, contemplating the new events. That girl had been recruited at the age of five. She had been trained painfully hard every single day, knowing full well the inevitable results for failure. In fact, her final test of loyalty was simply to take the lives of her long-forgotten family—surely not a test of skill, but merely to prove her unwavering allegiance. Even though she had not seen them in many years at that point, the test was still valid. Only the coldest person could take the lives of blood relatives, regardless of their relationship. She’d done it without blinking. Her soul was black as coal. She’d been ready, but had somehow failed. In combat, no less! She was a blades master who had no equal! How is this possible?
Onwards drifted the demon though his fortress across shiny black marble until he arrived at the chamber where his pet humans resided. So docile and domesticated, they could hardly be called humans anymore. Their moaning was constant, but intensified as he entered the chamber. It was hard to tell if they were afraid one of their own would be taken away, or happy because it was feeding time. The primitive groaning always sounded the same.
It was time for them to prove their worth, but preparations needed to be made first. He roamed past the cages as bony arms eagerly reached through the bars. He ignored them as usual and continued on to the witch’s chamber. He’d never cared much for the little troll—she was human, for one thing. However, she was unfortunately very important to him, now more than ever. Her powers and abilities were...unique.
This was why she never showed the proper respect, deserving of a God! She was perfectly aware of her importance to the demon. As physically powerful as Dragot was, his prowess with summoning and practicing general forms of elemental magic was... limited. He needed the imp to complete his plan.
Besides, as much as he didn’t like dealing with her, it seemed a far better idea than reporting to Krytoes that their prized assassin had been bested by another mortal. I still can’t believe it! But it was time to move on with the real plan. Luckily, the first part did not need to involve Krytoes. This one demanded a different sort of demon—the whole reason these cattle had been kept alive in the first place.
He barged through the door as the old hag spared him a glance. She remained seated in her lush hand-crafted chair. With thick white cushions embroidered with tiny colorful flowers strung together by bright green vines, the fine oak chair seemed oddly out of place, given the drab, gloomy surroundings. An old wooden table with the finish long worn away graced the center of the room.
On the table’s center sat a pearl-like sphere held in place by a golden stand in the shape of a human hand. In the corner of the room lay an old mattress heaved onto the floor with a single dingy yellow pillow. A worn-out blue blanket full of holes lay in a messy pile at its base. There was no art of any kind to help cover the dull green walls, where old paint seemed to peel from every spot.
Addel sat back as she stared with her one good eye. That amused smile seemed to always cross her face whenever she knew Dragot was in a bad mood. It was like looking at a wild animal behind bars, knowing no matter how much you teased it, it could never hurt you. She seemed to relish it. “Remove that smile or I’ll remove it for you, witch,” he said in a smooth voice that seemed at odds with his cold stare. She knew she was pushing it now, but couldn’t fight it. Her smile grew larger.
Knowing she was now playing with fire, Addel recovered as quickly as she could. Her smile seemed at odds with her grayish skin and wild stringy white hair. “To what do I owe this great honor?” she said, trying to stand up out of the chair but clearly having great difficulty. When she finally pulled herself up, aided by two hands pushing hard off the wooden table, she bent her already hunched body farther in a ridiculous-looking bow.
Dragot took several deep breaths as he leaned his full weight hard against the wall. “Witch,” he said in a menacing hiss before composing himself, “Addel. You will aid me in a matter that requires your attention. It seems our little spy failed at the simple task assigned to her.” No doubt the witch was already aware of this little setback—yet another thing about her that got on his nerves—but she pretended to look shocked anyway. “We will proceed with my original plan. The time is now, and we’ve already wasted enough of it!”
Bent over the way she was, combined with the look of dread in her eye, she looked quite feeble for the first time. She knew where this was going. She had known for decades what his mad plan was—at least, as much as he shared with her anyway, but not the why of it. It seemed she was about to find that out as well. It was Dragot’s turn to smile as he uttered the words that she had dreaded for so long, they hardly registered now. “Summon the puppeteers!”