“And of this, you are certain?” Joy growled out as he walked, hurrying up his pace. The wind blowed cold and brisk against his fur as he strode, his heart pumping with energy. The excitement of the speech—the wildness that hung in the air afterwards—it was all electrifying.

“Of course… my god Ajah would not speak false…” Kha whispered as he followed. Joy did not wish to admit it, but the demon still unnerved him somewhat. There was an alienness to his behavior—was it his posture? His speech? He was uncertain. Yet nevertheless, Joy found himself on edge whenever around him, some primal instinct that he had grown to learn not to ignore.

“Meshira… The dark god’s arbiter hides… in the city of sand…” he continued, his voice taking on a fevered, passionate tone as he continued. There was a fanaticism that gripped Kha whenever Joy brought up this point. “We must march to Meshira… we must steal Faith away from the throne… before he can bring Atal’s wrath upon us all…”

Joy snorted at this, a part of him still not believing in gods and their wrath. Perhaps he simply did not wish it to be true—what was a mortal to do, after all, in the face of a god? Strength was the first virtue that he had learned, starting from his very birth in the Outlands. Power was how he justified life. Yet his power was miniscule, was nothing compared to that of a god.

Aye, he decided after feeling the hairs on the nape of his neck. This is fear. It was a curious sensation that flooded his body at the thought, as he imagined the sky growing dark and the sun being snuffed out. He imagined the raw power of a god, as if all the euphoria of channeling mahji had been increased by an order of magnitudes. Joy imagined himself drowning in sensation and pain, every nerve in his body firing madly, every muscle and tendon burning aflame.

He could not imagine what a god would look like. He doubted he would even have the will to open his eyes and look, should he be in a god’s presence.

“A crow-cursed god,” he swore as he rubbed his temples, trying to scrape the sensation of weakness out of his thoughts. It was an awful feeling, and yet it clung to him like oil. “And you want us to open a waypath directly on his temple.”

Kha shook his head. “No, we cannot merely waypath directly to Meshira… it is too far, and the mahji necessary… is proportional to the distance traveled…” he hissed, before letting out a small hiccuping chirp that Joy realized was a laugh. “Should you attempt to bring… the entire legion… you would be no more than a… husk…”

“You remember the waypath… from the Outlands to the Yearning… and that was only a hundred people… at half the distance…” Kha hissed. It was true—and both Joy and Kha had been channeling the mahji needed for that. Even still, Joy had felt drained to the point of collapse after they had arrived on the riverbank.

Joy growled, admitting the notion. He was born from the imprint of Andahiel, one of the oldest and strongest Shai’mon of the ages past. As a result, he had always been gifted with an inordinately large pool of mahji; it was rare for him to ever run out. And yet, casting a spell on thousands of people would require more than even he had.

And a waypath is cheaper than a waygate, some part of him whispered, and he chuckled inwardly at the bitter taste of irony. The only sacrifice is that we will not have a way back. Yet that was not truly a sacrifice at all—none of them would be able to leave Malifor, after all. Joy had no illusions about trying to challenge a god; he was not nearly so naive or prideful to think that he would survive the ordeal. He merely hoped that he could tear out the bastard’s heart before he died.

“We know this; you discussed it earlier.” Joy snarled, feeling a nipping irritation suddenly bite at him. Guilt? He hated these new feelings that came with leading his pack, with commanding these legions. “Is the—the fuel ready, then?”

Kha blinked those slitted eyes slowly, pausing for a moment before nodding. “Aye, but there was… a problem…” he admitted. “The Oa’kul pup… Willem… he noticed the wagon…”

Joy started in surprise, more of that biting guilt nipping at his heart. “What? You said that you had compelled him before not to—”

Kha snapped in irritation, his thin jaws biting the air. “Aye, but I underestimated… his fellow strength in the mind… he perceived it again…” The demon paused again before nodding his head slowly. “It was my mistake… my apologies…”

“Then what did you do?” Joy asked.

Kha opened his mouth as if to say something, only to stop and amend his thoughts. “I dominated his mind… not enough to mindshackle… just to sleep and forget…” he spoke.

“And you’re certain that he will not remember what is in the wagon?” Joy demanded.

“Yes… my lord…”

Joy sighed, shaking his head tiredly. That biting guilt would not go away, no matter how fast he strode, and he suddenly looked up to realize that he was wandering aimlessly. They were by the fields, however, and he made his way over to the demons that were gathered there.

Since the horses had died, there had been no way to transport the supplies that they needed—food, waster, armor—and all the things that humans were too weak to carry, yet still demanded. Instead, they had reworked some of the old horse harnesses to make them fit some of the demons, in most cases adding additional leather to make them larger. Joy watched as three soldiers gingerly approached a particularly broad-shouldered demon, cautiously buckling in the straps while avoiding the irritated jaws.

There were more of these demons as well—a whole line of them lined down beside the supply wagons. It had been a effort to convince them, the first time that many of them had tried to resist his orders. Few of them had wanted to play the servile beast to weak humans, but it had been a necessary. While his demons might be able to, Joy doubted that the legions would be able to march after a week without food, let alone fight.

“And the soldiers are ready?” he asked Kha, turning to face the legions that were drilling under the bluff. The soldiers had taken to their new swords rather well—at least, those that had them. They did not have the time to give each man a runeblade, so only the legionaries in the frontline were given one. The rest drilled with practice sets.

After all, they can simply take them from the dead after the first battle, Joy reminded himself. The men were practicing formations, standing gingerly apart to avoid burning neighbors as their swords spouting gouts of fire with each slash.

“Aye… as much as they will be…” Kha replied, the tone of his voice clearly wishing they had more time. “Ajah tells me that we must go now… before his brother is fully able to stir…”

The soldiers are ready. The demons are impatient. We have enough supplies—assuming that we’ll be losing most of our men. Joy went down the list, lost in thought as the air was punctuated with the screech of steel and the crackle of fire.

“Ah yes,” he suddenly remembered. “And the madman, did you able to convince him otherwise?” he asked. What was his name been? Jhossa. The fool had seen too much—instability in the runes, prone to unexpected detonation. So what if a few soldiers overheated their blades? They would merely take a few more skal with them before they died.

“Yes, I was able to… advise him… I sent him after the Mother… perhaps we will find ourselves a pleasant surprise… when he dies…” Kha murmured.

“Good.” Joy replied, gesturing for the other demon to get back to work. There was always a few more things to check, a few loose ends to tie shut before they dived into the dark god’s maw.

We’re at the brink now, Sister. Joy turned his gaze upwards, closed his Mind’s Eye and feeling the pulsing earth around him. I do not wish to do this without you, but I must.

I’ll see you soon.