The thing was a monstrous beast in its hideous un-life, and it was monstrous still in its twitching death. Its body was like a bubbling liquid, churning like some repulsive thing of oily grime, its depthless surface popping and crackling nevertheless as it became warped by scorching heat. Coiling tendrils of burning shadow crawled towards the sky, trailing behind them ash and smoke in voluminous clouds that shrouded the very sky. Their acrid stench was cloying, burning the lungs as it clung to the air. As the shadow burned by demonfire, it writhed incessantly, countless fingers and too-many limbs all crawling desperately, searching for some independent escape. That shapeless, amorphous thing cried out silently with a hundred gaping maws, their black fangs turning to char under that greedy flame. The entire scene was silent save for the crackling of the fire, the sound a popping staccato as more and more of the shadowfiend was rendered ash and burnt remains.

The air was thick with smoke, a smog that obscured the vision until hardly ten paces could be seen in front. Yet Willem could see those that were closest to him still, could see the king panting hard as it fell to the ground kneeling. Such a massive flame had been taxing on the demon, even with the other two of its kin that had been sacrificed for fuel. Willem could feel the tingling of sensation returning to his extremities, the nerves haven rendered numb from that black mist. The pricking of needles filled the length of his arm, some semblance of heat and strength slowly returning to the frozen limb. He had been rendered utterly immobile merely be being close to that black mist, that seemed to sap all heat and life out of the air around it. Even though the shadow had not sought after him in any effect, he had been swept away in its tide like some hapless fool, drowning in the storm sent towards his neighbor.

Such a terrifying aura had left him still and motionless, even though the shadow had not even passed closer than five paces to him. The king, by comparison, had been close enough to touch the shadow’s surface with a claw—he could only imagine the bone-chilling cold that the demon must have felt. He could only imagine the primal fear that froze muscle and bone, fear that the king had blasted aside with a conflagration of molten flame. Even still, he could feel that heat on his face, so hot that it blistered his skin, so bright that it blinded him for over ten heartbeats. Such was the strength of magic, and not for the first time he found himself yearning to be able to control the gift that coursed through his blood.

Slowly, Willem could feel motion returning to his limbs, the muscles straining, the joints creaked as they fought to move. Yet his body was swift to scream in protest, steam and smoke coiling off the surface of his skin. His grey hide was far thicker than human skin; it was the only thing saving him from hideous blisters filled with steam from boiling blood. Such proximity to the conjured fire had not left him unscarred however, blood oozed from his eyes and nostrils, the membranes wet and nearly seared shut by the flame. Even blinking was an awful pain, the muscles twitching awkwardly and protesting with sharp needles of pain.

As he dragged in a shuddering breath, his lungs found themselves filled with soot and ash, the still-dying shadow proving poisonous even in its corpse. That cloud of black char blinded the eyes and burned the skin, and he coughed madly to clear the mess from his throat. Blood and ash were metallic and bitter in his mouth, the taste abhorrent and distasteful. Even if he could not see them, he could hear the grunts and coughs of the other demons as well as they fought to breathe, their bodies no better than his in the midst of all this debris.

Wiping away at his burning eyes, he suddenly found his gaze being drawn to something above the twitching, burning tendrils of black shadow. Even higher than the pluming columns of smoke, his eyes saw a shimmering silhouette falling—plummeting—towards the earth. Its motion attracted his attention, as did its fleeting, almost transient appearance. Swiftly, he recalled that strange figure atop the gargantuan shadow, indistinct in the distance. Its features were unclear as it fell, its speed and the obscuring fog proving too great a deterrent. Yet he could not suppress the nervousness feeling in his heart, that it seemed all-too familiar to him.

Faster and faster the thing fell, flickering in and out of view through the hazy fog, before finally landing on the earth—in the earth. There was no force as it struck the ground, no resistance from stone and ice. That fleshless shape seemed to plummet through the very ground with an impossible speed, burying itself a hand above the waist before it finally seemed to catch itself with a desperate grip. It had landed in the middle of that frozen river, the swirling columns of ice now beginning to thaw from the raw heat of the fire. Rivulets of water flowed slowly, lending to the surface of the river a bewildering glimmer underneath the sun. Half buried in the ice, that spectral figure slowly raised its head.

Willem felt his breath catch in his throat, the hot air burning the flesh, but he did not care. Realization dawned upon him slowly, stealing away all strength from his limbs as surprise and shock stole away his breath. “Kat…” he whispered, not daring to trust what he saw before him with his own eyes. A host of questions suddenly swarmed him, an inundation that swept away prior thought. It could not be, he knew, and yet what he saw was there in spite of it all.

She was a ghost, was perhaps the most apt form of description. Her body was without flesh nor material, utterly incorporeal as it sank below the ice. Her outline was made of glimmering white, seeming to ravel and unravel with every erratic heartbeat almost in some strange pulse. The edges of her form were fuzzy and indistinct, frequently flickering or even disappearing altogether. On occasion there would be a brief spark, black as night, that danced across her body maliciously before suddenly winking out.

She wore a legionary tunic, or perhaps, the memory of one. There was no adornments on that plain fabric; she looked much as she had the first time that they had met, at the Gates. Her feet wore thick boots, even if their features were indistinct. Her hands ended with coarse leather gloves, the fingertips hazy like a dream. Her hair was still cropped short, her attire as if she were still serving in the legions, still pretending to be a man.

The only thing that was different about her was her face. There had never been anything particularly outstanding about her before; she could neither be described as ugly nor beautiful. Her expression was neither prone to pleasure nor anger. She could only have been described in the past as plain. Yet there was a sunken despondency to her features now, as if she had been drained of essence and life from the inside. Her cheekbones were pronounced and protruding, her skin pallid as snow with her spectral form. Her eyes were dark-rimmed, shadow falling across them and hiding their former brilliance.

Yet, as if every other heartbeat, her face would suddenly flicker and shift in form. There would be a massive scar running along her cheek, swallowing the left side of her face in what seemed to resemble a massive bite mark. The flesh would turn rotten and pulpy, weeping clear fluid as if in the midst of decay, and she would clutch at her throat with warped hands. Perhaps strangest of all would be her mouth, suddenly covered with black stitches that sewed her lips shut. It was an utterly macabre spectacle, a grisly and unsettling appearance that would come into clarity for three heartbeats at a time before disappearing in its transience.

Willem found himself unable to speak, utterly enraptured by the horrific appearance of what he had once called his friend, his throat hoarse and his mouth unwilling to respond. He could only watch as that specter slowly pulled up on the ice, hauling herself up until she was standing on the frozen river. Kat was staggering, as if wounded or merely fatigued. Black sparks continued to dance across her skin, her appearance growing more and more unstable as her outline began to unravel even further. The process was fast enough to be noticed by the eyes, her form falling away in chunks and pieces. Her arm was beginning to disappear, crackling black lightning running along the ice as her decay furthered. In a sudden motion, she threw her head back, baring that smooth throat—the skin suddenly flickering to reveal an iron chain around her neck that swiftly disappeared.

None of the other demons seemed to have noticed her thus far, for there was no noise from her actions. The thick smoke obscured her actions further, and the king seemed to weary to have possibly noticed. Willem felt a sudden panic surge up inside of him, his gaze flying around until he realized that only Kha seemed to have noticed her. The white demon stared blankly ahead with those slitted pupils, its expression unreadable. He wanted to scream at them all, to warn them of something, anything, but his body failed him. Any noise merely escaped his mouth as a rattling hiss, lost amidst the popping and crackling of the burning shadow on the riverbank.

The air around them suddenly seemed to fall in temperature, the previous warmth of the fire all of a sudden dissipating from their skin. A sudden sensation of death swelled up inside of him, his instincts screaming at him to run. Yet his body was unresponsive, the sudden chill sapping what pathetic strength remained from his limbs. He wanted to shout, to scream for the others’ attention, yet his throat failed him—his weary chest hardly had the strength to drag in a breath.

He could only as that ghost-like Kat slowly lowered her head, her grisly visage focused madly on empty sky. One of her hands began to rise, no longer covered with a glove but instead ending with a set of withered claws. The limb itself was thin and wasting away, seemingly only skin stretched taut over a length of bone. Those tapered claws were almost stick-like, opening large enough to cover his face. Along her wrist, black shadow suddenly coiled. It danced with the black sparks, writhing faster and faster before suddenly running up her arm.

She opened her mouth painfully, the stitches snapping inaudibly with strips of skin and flesh. As Kat pulled in a breath, that black smoke entered her mouth, the air suddenly dropping colder still, as if her breath had swallowed all warmth as well. The rest of the demons abruptly let out confused barks, utterly oblivious to their peril. For a brief moment, there was nothing but tense anticipation as he watched, as he waited. He was utterly incapable of moving, despite the danger that he could feel looming over him.

He was unable to anything as that specter let out a keening wail, a noise so profoundly abhorrent that it seemed to shatter the world around him. His vision seemed to warp, seemed to crack as he felt that scream wrap around him. Black mist surged out with it, suffusing through the air in a tidal wave that gradually dissipated as it spread across the riverbank. Cold fire swallowed his body, his muscles frozen and his skin swiftly covered with a layer of hoarfrost. Steam hissed and crackled off his frostbitten body, his arm crackling with black sparks.

All across that riverbank, the entirety of the demons had been turned into little more than sculptures of ice, utterly incapable of movement beyond a simple, pained awareness.