Shouts of his name roused Willem from his sleep. Exhaustion from the previous day’s efforts had long since left him weary, and he longed to ignore them in favor of slumber. Yet amidst their voices he made out the low-pitched growls of demons, and he knew that he could rest no longer.

With a tired grunt and an irritated snarl, Willem sat up from the dirt and grass that he had been sleeping on. Around him were piles of pebbles, the rocks discarded as he grew frustrated in his attempts at magic. He was getting better at controlling the mahji, it was true, but it was a slow and laborious process that left him strained both mentally and physically. His practices had gone on well into the night, and he groaned inwardly as he realized how early it was: the sun had just barely managed to creep up past the horizon.

Standing up with a huff, he patted the grass off his hide before looking around, seeing Kha gesturing for him to follow. The lizard-demon seemed irritated—at least, as far as Willem could tell. It was always hard to read Kha’s mood. Willem followed him off to the crest of the bluff where several leather tents had been erected to overlook the Capital. That castle still stood stubbornly, although Joy seemed to make no move to capture it in any urgency. Willem, for his own part, still did not truly see the point of capturing the humans; they could not possibly fight with swords and arrows against the skal.

Nevertheless, the two demons joined the group that had gathered atop the bluff, apparently the last to arrive. Looking around, Willem made out the faces of several other Swords—the generals and leaders in the various legions that were assembled here. Joy nodded as they arrived.

“I have told you all why we fight, even if you do not believe it.” Joy spoke first, his gravelly voice full of authority as he snarled. “Your men will need new fangs for fighting skal, if they are to do more than die beside my demons. Fire kills the shadows, this much we know.”

He suddenly gestured for them to see something by his side. Lifting it up into the light, he revealed what appeared to be a sheathed legion short sword. The scabbard was a simple affair of leather, the hilt and blade no longer than a man’s forearm. It was a weapon used for stabbing through the rigid shield formations in legion combat. Yet when Joy unsheathed the blade, something else entirely caught Willem’s attention.

Running down the length of that shining steel blade were a series of runes, carved into the spine of the blade and glowing a deep purple. From what Kha had told him, Willem could partially understand them to be invocations of fire. Indeed, as Joy gently lifted the blade and gave a hiss of intent, the entire blade was suddenly wreathed in a brilliant orange flame. The runes glimmered and shifting, magic crackling as they merged into a spell of fire.

It was as if the steel had been covered in oil, such did that fire cling. Nor did it appear to be affected by wind, always burning with the same intensity as Joy slashed it through the air. As he buried the short sword into the dirt. The fire spread to the grasses with the same hunger as any ordinary flame, and several of the Swords hurriedly backed away with a mixture of fear and awe. His demonstration complete, Joy merely left the blade in the dirt. The runes, now devoid of intent, stopped glowing and settled once more along the side of the blade.

“This is your new claw.” Joy growled out in the silence as the others watched. They seemed stunned, stiff and unmoving as their faces glistened with sweat. “You have seen the demons, yes? With their runeclaws and runescales? These are much the same.”

“Your men are but flesh and bone, weak and feeble. We will surround them with armor and magic so that they may fight.” he declared, looking over at Kha. The demon nodded and disappeared into one of the tents, coming out a moment later with a legion shield. The massive bulwark of wood and plated metal was similarly covered with runes, the carvings running down the front sides right next to the metal studs. With a shake and a grunt of intent, the shield suddenly lit aflame, tongues of yellow dancing off the wood.

“H-how many of these do you have?” Mors suddenly asked, being the first to shake himself free of the shock. “Can we modify existing armaments, or will we need to forge new ones entirely?”

Kha spoke with a hiss, turning off the shield as he did so. “Your blades can be changed… we need only magic and time… “ He turned to face Willem, those horizontal pupils focusing on him. “This is your task, pup… “

Willem started for a moment, his mind racing as he recalled just how many soldiers there were. Thousands of men, each with blade and shield—the carving itself would take time, let alone imbuement with magic. How could he alone possibly do it?

As if reading his mind, Kha merely smiled. “You still need training… have faith…” The demon traced the runes slowly. “Remember these signs… you have learned them… shak, res, san… you know them… “

Slowly, Willem gritted his teeth. Aye, he had learned the signs. They were not even the most difficult of runes, only three strokes. Yet it was not the difficulty of a single carving that worried him—it was the sheer number. It had taken the both of them weeks to finish all the runecarvings for the demons when they had been in the Outlands. How long would it take him to finish these for thousands of soldiers?

Yet before he could protest, he looked around and saw the expressions of wonder in those men’s eyes. It was a new thing to him, a sensation he had never known on the streets of Mea Vatal. Willem had grown up a beggar, a leper, an outcast and a street rat. Wonder was something shown to the rich, not to him. Hope was something for stories and fables, and yet he saw hope in Mors’ eyes when he had seen the flaming sword. His mouth suddenly went dry as he found himself unable to complain, not wanting to see those expressions suddenly turn sour with all-too-familiar disappointment.

“Aye, I’ll do it.” he decided. Willem could only sigh and nod, knowing that he would not be able to convince them otherwise in any case. It seemed that his days would be growing more busy with practice.

“Another problem.” Mors spoke up, piquing the interest of Joy and Kha. “We will need supplies if you want to march all the way to Malifor. It’s at least a month on the Kingsroad, and we won’t be able to press much from the people living near the road.”

Joy and Kha looked at each other for a moment before shaking their heads. “We won’t be going by Kingsroad.” Joy growled out, although he did not elaborate further when Mors asked.

“Surely we will still need food then, in Malifor? A thousand men eats through the stores like mice in winter.” he pressed on. “We can send out the demons. They do nothing but mill about on the hills, wrestling and growing lazy. There are only plains nearby, but to the south there are forests with more game. Send out your demons to gather supplies there.” he suggested.

Joy paused to consider the notion, turning to face Kha. “You will do this.” he commanded, and the demon paused for only a moment before nodding in assent.

“It is a day to travel there,” Mors continued, “and we’ll need more than just meat. Berries, fruits, whatever plants you can find to supplement a war diet. The southern Heartlands should have plenty. Talk to Agus for sacks and salt to bring with you; we should have some left over.”

The two nodded and there was a brief pause. “If that is it,” Joy spoke, “then have your men prepare to turn over their swords and shields for runecarving. That is all.” Those simple words seemed entirely unreasonable to Willem—after all, who could ever convince their men to turn over their weapons in the company of demons? Yet, to his surprise, the other Swords merely nodded in agreement and prepared to leave. Just how had he won them over so quickly?

As the others left, Willem could not help but stare at Joy’s back, that lupine figure standing straighter now than it ever had when he had been hunting or fighting. Curious, how quickly he’s taken to leading. The demon had grown up alone—these very armies were more people than he had met in his life, and yet he ruled them like a born king. Just how much of an influence had Mors and Kha had on him, that the warmonger felt so comfortable in command?