She's not dead is she? I take a blind step forward toward where I saw Pink fall – the dust thick and blinding. Dust? Couldn't I just…? I wave my hand and a huge blast of air explodes on top of me – rapidly displacing everything higher than two feet off the ground. Leaving me standing in a knee deep screen of quickly clearing dirt.

The scene revealed is not pretty, to my left nothing remains of Captain Nox. Perhaps he somehow managed to run away …but I don't think so. To my right Pink lies in a large spattering of her own blood – a weak nimbus of her own mana surrounding her. She's dead – her brain just doesn't know it yet – that is my judgment after a moment of observation.

A frown unconsciously creases my brow. The blast of holy energy cored her like an apple, removing all sorts of integral components as it passed through her chest – above the neckline of her low-cut dress – but that might still have been in the “survivable” range. What's killed her is that the holy energy has not dissipated with the blast of light – it's still racing through her body, fighting down her attempts at self-repair. A complex bit of magic, for it to linger so.

She was young, for a demon, thus her defenses were easily penetrated. The toughness of a demon's body is largely tied to the years they have lived, certain techniques can accelerate the process somewhat – but nothing beats out the weight of years. For Pink, who was only a bit past her fiftieth winter – most of her apparent strength was actually due to her status as my Chosen, twice blessed and Named. Attacked from afar, without time to make use of the massive mana at her fingertips, the result is perhaps obvious. Not quick, she has strength enough to prolong the process somewhat, but obvious.

Looking down at her I'm assaulted by an intense feeling of deja vu. She is not the first demon to die bearing my banner. Not the hundredth, or even the thousandth. Like candles all around me, they all – slowly or quickly – are snuffed out in the end. But Demon Lords need not care. Demon Lords need only press ever onwards. And there is much yet to do. Thinking so I raise my gaze – to the sky above me.

An uncomfortable feeling is roiling in my chest, a desire to take this a bit seriously infecting my reason. Absurd. Demon Lords do not let emotions affect their judgment. And they certainly do not take action on behalf of fallen serfs. Corpses litter my path, how many lives have been laid down to pave the road I've walked for all these years? One more is nothing.

The slab of stone slowly appearing through the clouds is one of those shining examples of the pinnacle of magical might the Celestials so impressed the world with – ten thousand years ago. This one looks much the same as the ones in my memory, though I can only see the bottom of it right now – lines upon lines of intricate Rune Formation's glowing a harsh white visible on most every inch of its underbelly. A half dozen orbiting islands follow it as it moves, glowing with that same white light.

Representative of a truly humongous expenditure of magical power – considering the slab of stone is easily a mile from end to end. Built to support a city, it needs to be at least that size. Which makes its presence here curious, you do not fight battles with cities, that just needlessly exposes your citizens to risk. Maybe the Celestial mastery of magic has increased by leaps and bounds since the last time I encountered them – and that is not a city, but rather some massive magical weapon platform.

Or maybe the doves are just fools.

Fools or not, they can certainly make an entrance. Having the clouds break open above you – revealing that massive engine of magical might – can only be demoralizing for those that would stand against it.

The floating city stops descending, perhaps a mile off the ground – a distance that would insulate it from harm against most any magician I've met since I've awoke and a bit more besides. Heh. It seems I am being severely underestimated. As I watch about a dozen tiny flecks dislodge themselves from the floating city and begin a rapid approach – resolving into the forms of beautiful winged humans, Celestials.

Well, ten Celestials – and four humans. A man and three women. All of the assembled creatures have magical capacity that pushes them up and slightly above that 'slightly notable' category I was using yesterday – any one of these beings is stronger than Pink just judging by the raw mana they exude.

They are flying in a loose formation, a hundred yards or so horizontally and maybe thirty vertically away from my little section of ruined road. Not a distance at which one might have a conversation. And if any doubts might have remained in my mind of their intentions the steady accumulation of holy energy surrounding them clears them away.

The doves line themselves up smoothly, all shining silver armor and brandished swords crackling with holy energy. Golden Runes snap into existence surrounding the ten – who have arranged themselves into a rough cone shape, with nine of them spread into an arc behind an angry looking Celestial woman in a suit of golden scale armor that terminates in a plated skirt of the kind doves seem to favor. Her pretty face under its curtain of blonde hair marred and twisted by her apparent rage, as she rapidly recites an incantation – emerald eyes fixed on me all the while.

The humans meanwhile have landed on the ground – not having wings to sustain their flight. The man in the center of their formation – wearing a leather vest over a bare and muscular chest, wielding a sword in his right hand and a spear in his left – approaches confidently, the women spreading out and following behind him. The woman farthest from me is wearing a robe and holding a black staff. The one on the left is the most heavily armored of the group, with heavy plate armor, a brutal looking mace, and a massive tower shield. The one on the right isn't even human – her pointed ears and lithe build suggest an elf, but who can say – her clothes seem to be of light cloth and she carries no obvious weapon.

The doves have nearly completed their magic as the human group closes to about fifty yards. I can practically see the holy energy swirling through the air, being drawn out to power the Formation they've created. I can see that a part of that Formation is forming a conduit of sorts – between the doves in front of me and the massive floating city in the distance – feeding them power that they might work grander magic. A curious stratagem, unlike what I might expect from the doves, who always tended to favor massed fire from many individuals in the past.

I consider what to do. Obviously, I've known a confrontation is an inevitability. Though I'd been hopeful it was still somewhat distant. Something of a fumble to not have devised a plan more complex than “Let Pink handle it” in hindsight. It would be good if I could avert further pointless fighting – maybe if I just take a hit or two, impress upon them the foolishness of their quest… My eyes sweep across the assembled doves, all slightly strong specimens – or maybe I should take this opportunity to replace a recently lost servant?

I muse on that for a moment. It's not a terrible idea. Except the small issue that they'd probably rather die – lunatics that they are. That's my experience thus far with the doves, no need to expect anything different here.

Seeing the assembled strength – massive compared to the humans of Shadfer – I feel that killing these people would have negative consequences. For the world at large, these creatures lined up before me are probably very important existences. I might have to just chase them off and suffer their impudence. Because if I start killing them – it might be hard to stop.

My hand is glowing again, that familiar pulsing green, and my eyes are drawn once more down to the blooming rose. It is an elegant bit of spellwork – made all the more impressive by the canvas it's carved upon – my father's handiwork. He had a great love for elegance, for finesse and it's reflected in the Rune Formation's he created, all those years ago. For instance, I would never bother creating a barrier that deflects an attack – let the fools break their weapons on your flesh and despair at their powerlessness! – but Father had an appreciation for that sort of subtle magic.

An appreciation he carved into me, physically – if nothing else.

Which is why, when the Celestial woman with her burning emerald eyes finishes her incantation and levels her sword at me – causing hundreds of portals of energy to form in the air all around her and her fellows, disgorging lines of white fire in my direction as they snap into being – the tide of flame parts. The strange attack – some seeming mimicry of the proper massed fire that comprises “Celestial Artillery” – meets my barrier and is split in twain. A portion of it dispersed harmlessly – save to the lives and livelihoods of the farmers – into the farmland west of the city. The rest bathing the eastern portion of Shadfer in a sea of holy fire.

I can't help but turn to admire the doves' most recent handiwork. I'm still but fifty feet from the front gate so I can hear the screams of the dead and the dying – already rising over the suddenly much shorter eastern wall of Shadfer. The attack was not hindered at all as it ripped through the outskirt of the city, blasting straight through one stone wall and out the other – leveling everything higher than maybe eight feet off the ground. Roaring white flames burning briefly before being swallowed by more typical – but no less deadly – flames of the red variety. A massive column of smoke materializes before my eyes – obscuring everything from view.

An unpleasant tingle runs up my spine.

A strange feeling of magical feedback rushes through me – informing of an attack completely absorbed. Causing me to turn back and find that the humans have closed to a range where their weapons might be effective. Well – as effective as they can be, I think with a smirk, as the spear rushing towards me stops dead in the air two feet from my face. The woman with the tower shield is having similar difficulties – unable to penetrate my magical barrier despite her relatively high level of strength. As expected of the “slightly above slightly notable humans” – the wall is insurmountable.

The woman with the staff raises it in my direction, unleashing and crackling three-pronged bolt of lightning – resulting in a sudden stink of ozone and little else. The attack absorbed. The final woman …begins to sing? She opens her mouth and launches into a slow song, some sort of weak mana embedded into her voice. How odd. I ignore it completely.

The handsome human man – his features rough and chiseled, his body heavily muscled – is attacking without restraint, unperturbed by the ineffectiveness of his attacks. His brown eyes move with frantic energy, scanning every inch of me as he twists and whirls – launching his sword and spear forward a dozen times in half as many seconds. Interestingly a good portion of his attacks are infused with a significant quantity of holy energy – whether as a result of his weapons or his own talent is unclear.

At this level they aren't even worth killing. So I opt for a bit of diplomacy.

“I've pledged to 'cease all hostile actions against Shadfer and her citizenry', so could you clarify for me if you qualify as such?” I ask.

The man does not respond, instead, the pace and weight of his blows continues to increase. More holy energy infused with each subsequent attack. His party no longer bothering with any offensive magic – focusing their efforts on increasing the strength of the man. A strange nimbus of mana swirling around him as a result of the singing elf, his weapons glowing slightly with the robed woman's magic. He is indeed getting a bit stronger, taking a single small step toward the peak. But there are miles yet to go.

“Is this the best use of your time human? Your countrymen are burning.” Covering my mouth with the back of my hand I hide my smile, my wings flaring behind me. I don't bother to hide my contempt for these weaklings.

Behind me, I can still hear a chorus of screams and sobs – rising with the smoke as Shadfer burns. That finally elicits a reaction. The man straightens a bit – his weapons still held at ready, pointed at me.

“My name is Mattis Ironside. Rue that you must face me in battle because today monster – you die.” His voice is low and gravelly, brown eyes filled with iron determination as he steps forward again.

...save her...

I flinch a bit. What the hell? Dismissing the out of place thought I refocus my attention on the man, who has restarted his frenzied attacks in earnest.

“That is exceedingly unli-” I get halfway through my retort when the man vanishes from in front of me. No. When I vanish from in front of the man. Looking down at my arm, the rose has gone dark – the barrier pierced – and one of the five vines that are tangled down my arms has also gone dark, its magic expended.

Huh? How? The human couldn't have destroyed my barrier even if he hacked away at it for the rest of his puny life! Thinking so I spin on my feet, wings lifting my body a half-inch off the ground to increase my mobility. And there – about ten feet from me – stand the humans, looking slightly surprised. Only for a moment though – then their eyes find me and they quickly move to rejoin the battle. What the hell? I've pieced it together I think – my barrier was pierced and sensing danger my Rune Tattoos displaced me – the only mystery is what pierced the barrier and where the “danger” is.

As I'm thinking the scenery changes again, now I'm high in the air – facing the Celestial formation. Mana is once again swirling and condensing around them – but they're not any sort of threat right now. What? I look down and a second vine has gone dark, confirming that I've evaded danger yet again. This time I react better though – blasting myself higher into the air and executing a tight spin, giving me a full view of the entire battlefield and finally spotting my mystery assailant.

Another dove. Her armor shines a brilliant silver under a blue tabard – unlike any other dove on the field. She moves with preternatural grace, smoothly withdrawing her extended blade – extended into the empty air as if to run someone through – the movement is captivating. In my life, I've seen all manner of idiots with swords but this one… this one is something unique. I sense that in the first moment I lay eyes on her.

As soon as the thin blade disappears back into the sheath at her hip and she regains her stance – she immediately turns and looks directly at me, in spite of the supposedly random nature of defensive displacement magic. As with all doves, her face is unnaturally beautiful – perfect and unblemished – and surprisingly devoid of emotion. The distance between us exceeds a hundred yards of almost entirely vertical space but despite that she lowers her body into what is obviously a combat stance – one hand gripping the hilt of her recently re-sheathed sword.

Martial arts have never been my forte – I was rather extensively drilled in my youth but as I've grown older I've not spent any time at all with the martial disciplines, more important things to do in my dreams – but she is clearly expert. No, that human man was clearly expert – this is something else entirely. Something more.

She disappears. Too fast for my eyes to track. In the instant before contact – I don't even have time to snap a finger – so I just will a wall of force into existence. It materializes and I hear a faint hiss and pop as it is dismantled nearly instantaneously – and I am once again displaced into an unfamiliar patch of sky.

Stupid. I knew the barrier wouldn't hold! She just cut through my rose did she not? It was just reflex. I whirl again – trying to get my bearings for the third time in a minute. Confusion melting away into annoyance, as a flood of my mana wraps itself around me – a shield to be a penetrated but also a sword I might wield. And I spot the woman in blue almost instantly – hovering barely fifteen feet away. Our eyes meet. And she once again initiates her almost ritualistic re-sheathing and resetting of her stance.

Her face is expressionless, yet her precise movements somehow radiate contempt. Taking the time to oh-so-carefully reset her stance.

“Today, the Demon Goddess dies.” She speaks, and her voice is soft and clear. Like a bell in the wind as it makes its absurd proclamation. “This is the end.”

And she is upon me again with that thin, oddly curved, and highly magical blade leaping forward from its sheath with impossible speed. I can track her movements this time – my eyesight not improving, just adjusting to the sudden hugely increased demand – as she leaps into her strange but somehow mesmerizing attack. A thing of impossible beauty and grace, bearing down on me like Death itself.

She has no mana signature. None. No prickly icky holy energy feeling. No warm comforting demonic energy. Not even boring unaspected mana. I realize it even as the scene dissolves and I once again find myself displaced.

As I turn my body in the now familiar twirl, searching out the woman in blue, I consider this new information. With no mana signature, she becomes much harder for my senses to track. More importantly, with no mana signature – she should have no method of piercing my barriers. No methods I know of at least. Which makes her a dangerous unknown. My eyes settle on her again – about fifty yards between us this time.

And I decide to compromise. Surely the world will be able to survive the loss of one annoying blue dove?

...you...must...save her...

I ignore the intrusive thought, focusing on the woman in blue – who has once again sheathed her sword and is settling into her stance. I don't bother drawing my Runes, just willing a dozen xinth and retas characters onto the empty canvas that is the sky around me – sharpen and harden respectively – and launch a dozen cutting blades of wind down at her. My overflowing mana refilling the Runes as soon as each blade is loosed – I release another blade volley a half second later. Eight volleys before she can even react.

Despite the rain of projectiles the woman in blue is unflustered as she launches into her fifth attack. Charging into the hail of death uncaring, her wings push her to incredible speed – straight up at me. I can feel my lips curling into a smile. That is a mistake. My eyes are wide and tracking her movements nearly perfectly now as she comes. She is fast but that is all. And any fool will tell you, no matter how fast you may be – you cannot dodge the rain.

“Multerras.” I speak the Word aloud – it means multiply, and multiply they do. The hundred or so blades explosively multiplying into thousands. Tens of thousands. The patch of sky with the blue dove in the center suddenly turned into a whirlwind of invisible death.

Realizing – too late – her predicament, the blue dove spins in the air and breaks off her attack, using her shining silver sword to carve a path before her. Trying to cut her way past hundreds of deadly blades. Her movements are expert, sensing and avoiding danger, desperately dodging and weaving through the air – cutting apart the wind with her sword when there is no other option.

Despite her ability, she is being wounded, a thousand tiny cuts from attacks she could not avoid – or attacks unable to be completely dispersed with her sword. Even as her expert senses inform her of which path will lead to receiving the “minimum” amount of damage – all that “minimum” is adding up. Just as she reaches the edge of the effect of the spell – a huge chunk of stone dislodges itself from the ground and is launched up at her at a speed that beggars belief. Her instant agile evasion puts her in the path of another blade of wind I launched with the stone – neatly separating her left wing from her body.

Through all of that her expressionless mask does not break, even as she sprays blood from her lost wing – only the briefest grimace of pain flickers across her face.

“Mattis!” Her bell-like voice rings out once more.

Ah. I forgot about the wingless fools on the ground there for a moment. Not like it matters, what can they possibly do?

“On it!” That gravelly voice returns.

Her body is curving through the air in a graceful arc – her remaining wing somewhat able to direct her movement – towards me. As I smugly watch the de-winged Celestial falling a platform of holy energy, about ten feet long, suddenly appears in the air and she lands on it easily. She rolls over it and with an inscrutable motion somehow manages to re-sheath her sword and regain her odd stance – seemingly mid-roll – and as she regains her feet she instantly launches herself up at me.

I snort. So persistent. But I've learned from the last time she tried this – a minute ago or so.

I don't bother raising an arm or speaking a Word, no time, instead I just will the effects of the displacement Rune onto her. She disappears. This time because of my magic, rather than her incomprehensible speed. At the same time the unstructured spell runs wild – and the entire formation of Celestials, and the humans on the ground, all also disappear. Scattered about at random by the uncaring hand of my magic.

Well. Most of the Celestials. The one in the golden armor – the keystone of their formation – remains holy energy swelling to an ominous crescendo in the air around her; channeled by dozens of Holy Runes that still hang suspended in the air despite the absence of their casters. Crackling power on the brink of release. She was protected from my spell by something, maybe her magical equipment, maybe one of the defensive spells hanging in the air around her – I'd wager the former if asked to guess since the rest of the formation was not protected. Not that it matters.

My mana sense paints an odd picture – the woman linked by her magic to the Holy Runes behind her, which are in turn still linked to their creators – though those people have been scattered to the four winds, displaced, as much as a mile away – and also linked by the flow of mana to that massive floating city. The spell apparently designed with contributions from distant mana sources in mind – which explains why it hasn't instantly dissipated outside of the presence of its creators. For a moment it teeters on the brink, the edges of the magic growing blurry and ill-defined without the control of the Celestial mages – an inch from simply collapsing in on itself.

Then the woman in gold reasserts her control. Maintaining the entire ten-person magical formation single-handedly and displaying an impressive control of magic. Her face is tightly drawn in concentration as she glares at me – directly in her line of fire, unfortunately, the series of rapid displacements have only brought me more or less back to where I started, though about a hundred feet off the ground now and a bit closer to the woman in gold.

Actually… I flick my eyes behind me and confirm – Shadfer is still right there. A bit bruised – smoke covering perhaps a third of the city – but more or less intact. If the Celestial woman sees that – or remembers what happened the last time she tried launching a grand magical barrage at me, her face gives no indication.

I am the only thing reflected in her pretty green eyes. Her face has slowly twisted into one I am intimately familiar with – the face you make when faced with something you loathe with every fiber of your being. And I am once again awash with that feeling of deja vu – how many times have I been stared down by this face? Celestials with their preternatural beauty and nearly ageless bodies all look so alike – down to the expressions they make when faced with the things they hate and fear.

As that thought crosses my mind my temper cools. Reminded of the pointlessness of it all, my desire to fight withers in my breast. The beautiful Celestial's face is twisted in hatred and whole her body radiates her contempt, her desire to destroy, as she speaks. But I don't hear her – her face has overlapped in my mind with the faces of a thousand other self-righteous doves who have all died at my hand – what use have I for her words? As she what – spews her righteous indignity? Declares the correctness of her path? Her desire to prevail? None of it matters.

In this world only one thing matters.

A thousand pinpricks of light appear in the air around the Celestial – her magic released at last. As the huge burst of holy energy is released – my own mana roiling and rising around me to match – a few things happen. First, in a world suddenly awash with the prickly and unpleasant feeling of holy energy a small burst of that old and familiar warmth – demonic energy – tingles at the edge of my senses.

Second, I realize – belatedly – my dire and possibly lethal mistake. I act quickly – despite knowing that it's probably too late – Runes snapping into existence around me that can deliver my most powerful offensive magic, a proper magical spell; not the half playful single Rune “spells” I've been using so far. A massive barrier to absorb the fool dove's attack rising in front of me as an afterthought.

And thir-

YOU HAVE TO SAVE HER!