This was unexpected, that much Nathaniel was sure of. To an outside observer, the fight between Irene and the witch was not impressive at all. A lot of snarling, hissing and pompous statements. The two women resembling wild beasts too afraid to make the first step, waiting for the other to take the initiative. However, even he could tell that there was more going on which was hidden to the eyes of normal people. After all, one was a Hunter and the other a witch of significant power. But that was just it, they were both exceptional in their own right. There was no chance the fight between them would last for long. Such was the case with combat between skilled individual. Everything was settled in a matter of seconds and few exchanged blows. Still, the fact that Irene was dead shook him to the core.

The Witch Hunter was unstable and was the origin for almost all of his problems as of late, but she was a bloody Witch Hunter. Even if it was but for a moment, he had seen how powerful she was, when Irene left the Silent Knight’s mansion. Logic dictated that she had to win and survive. He pushed himself up, as he watched Zan walk slowly towards Irene, only to fall back down when a sharp pain spread through his left leg. A quick glance was enough to reveal that the debris from the ruined building had open the skin of his calf. Nothing too serious, at least for now. The former sailor bit through the pain and unsteadily stood up, thanking the spirits that the limb was not broken. Nathaniel had missed the wound because of the support the Marshal’s sturdy arm had provided, but without it, it dawned on the young man that his potential escape from Esthergrad would be difficult in the extreme.

“Damn it!” Nathaniel cursed as soon as the thought registered in his head. He was not the only one who had to escape this gutted carcass of a city. Calypso was trapped somewhere underneath the ruined wall. “She must be alive! She has to be!” He grunted, as he franticly moved through the pile of bricks and splintered wooden beams.

The young Witch Hunter had to be somewhere around here; Nathaniel was sure of it. The former soldier could not bear it if she was dead. It was his fault. All of this was his fault and saving her was his only chance of redemption. At least one, he had to save at least one. If he stopped and thought about it, Nathaniel could not explain, why or when Calypso had become so important to him. By all accounts, she was a stranger. What did he know about her? Nothing. All he had done was watch her sleep for a few days. Admiring her beauty, the flawless outline of her firm youthful body beneath the bedsheets…

“Get a hold of yourself, man,” Nathaniel murmured through clenched teeth. “You are acting like a creep.”

Although a good distraction, such thoughts were not helping his current situation. There was too much smoke and dust, for him to be able to spot anything. He was sure the young Witch Hunter was supposed to be somewhere around here, and his next step confirmed his suspicions. The brick under his foot shifted and Nathaniel lost his balance for a moment, but it was enough for his boot to step on something soft. His gut tightened as he dared to look down just to see Calypso’s limp body.

“Please, please, please,” the youth repeated over and over again as he removed the debris from her. With shaking hands, he lift the girl and pressed her closer to his chest into a gentle embrace. Tears clouded his vision, yet he could make out her ruined face clearly. “I’m sorry…”

Guilt, the likes of which he had not known, wrecked his soul. It was all his fault. Nathaniel was to blame for her wounds. He was to blame for all this death and destruction. The young man was at fault for making everything worse. If only he had stopped to think and refused Helen’s offer, none of this would have happened. Calypso would not be dead in his hands, Esthergrad would not be a charnel house, but most of all, Paul would be by his side, when he needed the Ranger the most. Suddenly, Nathaniel realised that he was repeating the same thoughts in his head, only racking up the dark emotions trapped inside of him. And with that clarity came the realisation that Calypso was not dead. The young Hunter was still breathing.

At least one. He was going to save at least one person. Picking the girl up, he made his way towards the statue-like Zan. The Marshal loomed over the body of Irene, waiting, or rather expecting something, the former sailor noticed. A minute passed with neither of them moving. They stood there, watching the witch’s carcass burn under the unnatural flames that had consumed it. Another minute and Nathaniel noticed that the sounds of carnage had stopped. Esthergrad resembled a tomb now, which was only fitting after everything that happened. Yet another missed passed, and at this point, Nathaniel was starting to worry that some of the numerous monsters and beast that roamed the streets would be upon them at any moment. He darted a quick glance in Lord Tetradon’s direction, to see the man’s face as unmoved as before. However, there was concern in his eyes this time.

It was strange to see the Marshal’s face slowly shift into a worried grimace. With a measured push of his boot, he nudged Irene’s corpse, as if he was expecting her to lash out at him. What was stranger, Nathaniel noted, was his complete lack of interest in the dead witch. By now, the sailor was putting two and two together, and come to the conclusion that this was the leader of the covenant that attacked Esthergrad. It was the only explanation why they were not beset by monsters and witches on all sides. He was about to comment that they should get moving and find a safe place to recuperate from their injuries when the unthinkable happened.

Zan dropped to his knees and embraced the dead Irene. For the first time since the heroic man had taken his oath of silence, he broke it.

“No…” It was a single word, but it carried so much emotion. Disbelief, regret, fear, anger, and so much more, it shook Nathaniel to his core.

“Lord Tetradon,” the young man placed a reassuring hand on the giant of a man’s shoulder, “she’s dead… We have to…” The boy stopped in order to get a better hold of Calypso with his other arm.

“No… No, no, no, no… NO!” Zan’s hoarse voice rumbled like thunder in his chest as he struck the bloody earth with his mighty fists. “You cannot be dead! You always come back!”

“Marshal?” There were so many questions Nathaniel wished to ask but now was not the time. Carefully he placed the unconscious Witch Hunter on the ground and kneeled next to Zan. “Lady Navina is no more. We should really get moving. We can take her body with us to bury in the Wilds.” He added in a hurry.

“No,” The leader of the Silent Knights looked at him with anger in his eyes and sadness on his lips, “she is alive. I know she is… This is not the first time I’ve seen her die.” Zan looked at the woman and with some reverence lift her head with one large hand. “Please wake up,” he planted a kiss on her mud-stained forehead, “please, open your eyes.”

“My Lord, remember your oath,” Nathaniel had to find something with which to pull back the man from the edge of the abyss he was standing on.

“Oaths be damned!” Zan snapped at him. “I became a Silent Knight because of her. Because I hated her and wanted to hurt her…” A stifled sob found its way in his words. “Sabrina and I, despite everything Irene did and all the harsh words, we never stopped thinking of her as our mother…”

Nathaniel felt as if his jaw dropped to his feet. Not even in his wildest imagination could he have come up with something which could even closer to the truth. Putting aside the question of how old Lady Navina was, she was the mother of Lord Zan Tetradon. A Witch Hunter was the one who had given birth to one, if not the most famous and well-known heroes of the Silent Knights. A name known across the sea; a name spoken with respect in every household. The implications of such a truth seeing the light of day were immeasurable. This single confession was enough to send Nathaniel’s head spinning. No, he had to focus. There was still danger lurking about. Everything else could wait.

Through no small amount of willpower, the young man found the strength in his arms to place Calypso over his shoulder and reached for Irene’s great sword. “I won’t pretend to understand, but you can greave later. With or without you, I am getting out of Esthergrad…”

“Don’t touch that!” Zan’s warning came a moment too late. Nathaniel’s hand wrapped around the weapon’s handle and he felt his fingers becoming numb, accompanied by an odd shocking sensation running through his entire arm. “It is cursed. Hmm… You are not dead.”

Both men stared at each other with interest and distrust. Too many questions and too many secrets stood between them and neither knew where to start from. Nathaniel looked around, hoping to see if one of the other Silent Knights was going to intervene in the exchange. They were all dead. Struck down by the wild spells the witch had flung towards Irene Navina, most likely. Thinking of any other explanations, was something the former sailor desperately avoided.

“Lad, your words hold wisdom,” the Marshal pushed himself up and swooped the Witch Hunters body with one of his arms, “now is not the right time.” Without saying anything else, the large man moved with purpose through the ruined streets.

Letting out the breath he had been holding, Nathaniel adjusted the girl over his shoulder. He would find the answers to all his questions sooner or later, but for that to happen, he had to keep his skin intact. Issuing a string of curses and some inventive insults, the young man followed after the Silent Knight.

No matter how hard she tried, Amberly could not calm down the mad beating of her heart. She had stood face to face with death and somehow managed to stay alive. Screw the covenant of the Raven’s Wing, there was no chance she was turning back. Witches with decades more experience had perished like insects and Amberly had no illusion about her place. She was the lowest of the low when it came to witchcraft. Her trusted companion was gone, replaced by the insidious thing worming its way into her soul. The only hope she had was to traverse the Wilds and reach Nightingale’s Retreat.

If the rumours were true, there was an old secluded covenant there, whose members had somehow managed to stay alive after the culling of the region a few years ago. For anyone to be able to slip through the Witch Hunters’ web of death and destruction, they had to be cunning beyond measure.

“Craven harlots, who worship their own weakness!” Her new companion hissed inside her head. Its voice brought with only pain and made the young witch physically wince. This new demon felt like nails being scraped against an open wound.

“Name yourself, fiend!” Amberly had to take control over it, otherwise, she risked becoming the thing’s puppet. But for that to happen, she needed to know the demon’s name.

“Foolish girl, I am spawn of Arkwar Luur the Devourer, Protector of the Jagged Throne!” The thing roared and bit its poisoned fangs in her soul. “You cannot cage me with your power, even if you learn my name.”

“Our contract holds no worth unless you tell me your name.” As expected, despite its words of grandeur, her new companion was not willing to put itself in a disadvantageous position. Too bad, Amberly was not going to show it any mercy in this battle of wills. There was no chance she was going to waste her new chance at life.

“Think what you wish, appetiser. But know this, you have been warned. Learn my name and there will be no going back to the comfortable ignorance you have enjoyed.” It sounded satisfied. Was this some sort of a trap? Had she willingly damned herself without realising it? “Know my name and cower, witch. I am Eda Nave, and I have come to consume everything you are. Such was the offer you made.”

False bravado, Amberly thought to herself. The power of a contract is absolute. As long as she did not violate the rules, the demon could not hurt her. And after what happened, the young witch found a renewed interest in life. However, there were a few questions that bothered her. The main one was this Arkwar Luur who her new companion and that demon, back in Esthergrad, spoke of. It was not one of the infernal lords and she had never heard of a greater demon with such a name.

Nonetheless, proper ritual had to be observed. Amberly stopped her mad dash through the Wilds, trying in vain to calm her breathing. She had kept a pace that would have killed her days ago, no wonder she was winded. Actually, being only winded only proved how terrified she was. Come to think of it, the young witch had no idea where she was… No, focus, she chastised herself. Now was not the time. Finish the contract first, think later.

“Eda Nave, I am bound to you as you are to me, until the time of my death,” Amberly spoke with conviction, keeping her voice steady.

“Ha!” The demon barked in her head. “Foolish morsel, you have already surrendered to me willingly, so that you may escape the clutches of that traitor Margo!”

Something felt wrong. The familiar sensation of being bound by chains was absent. Nor could she feel the burning of the new mark on her body. Demons were not known for their honesty, but was it possible that this one was being honest with her? It was not outside the realm of possibilities, and this frightened Amberly. She needed more information regarding her new companion and the last thing he or was it she, the young witch was yet to determine, said caught her attention.

“You know of the matron of the Raven’s Wing?” She dared to ask while looking at her surroundings trying to figure out where exactly she was.

“Know of her? Ha! Don’t make me laugh, child!” A sound, gruesome and exciting at the same time, resonated in her skull. “I’ve seen the depths of her treachery with my own eyes. It is most fitting that my new host should have suffered at the whore’s hands.”

Good, at least this one was more talkative than her previous companion. “Your old host?” Amberly asked with her most naïve voice. For now, it was better the demon thinks of her as an idiot, before it had the time to peel the mental barriers protecting her innermost thoughts.

“The stories I could tell!” She felt a hundred insects crawl under her skin, as the thing bellowed. “Alas, should I divulge such knowledge without permission, not even Arkwar Luur will be able to save me from Letum Mors’ wrath. The lord of the Jagged Throne may have scorned Alice; however, he is most fond of his favourite toy.”

That name again. She had heard Margo mention it as well. The young witch had to think of a way to find out more. But asking directly was not an option. Being too curious about the secrets of the infernal lords was detrimental to one’s health. Wait, Letum Mors, the lord of the Jagged Thorne, that was what the creature had said. Too preoccupied with her thoughts, Amberly did not see the root protruding from the ground. Her ankle caught on the dried wood and she found herself plunging face-first in a puddle of the foulest water she had ever had the misfortune of tasting.

“A thousand curses on this infernal bog!” She yelled as she spat the disgusting liquid, trying not to gag. “I knew it! You are nothing but a lying worm!” The girl screamed, directing her anger at Eda Nave. “The infernal realm is ruled by the five lords…”

“Oh! And you, a mortal, know more about my home than me?” The demon’s laugh was as grotesque as the images it conjured in her mind. “Yet another of Margo’s many treacheries. No wonder she prefers lord Asmodai Val’s nightmares.”

Amberly clutched her chest, as excruciating pain pierced her. She felt the soft skin between her breasts melt like hot wax as her new companion’s mark was branded on her flesh. There was supposed to be pain or discomfort, but this was way beyond what could be considered normal. Despite her current state, the young witch realised this was a dissonance. The gap between her power and the demon’s was too vast. Without support from a covenant, she would be consumed within hours.

“It is time you learned your place, appetiser.” She felt the thing salivate as it purred in her head. “The Seed of Chaos summoned me for a reason. I can see this now. Do not fear, I will not devour you, yet.” Amberly collapsed to her knees as the pain in her chest increased ten times.

“You are my shell in this world of flesh and bone.” Eda Nave bit a chunk from her soul, its saliva burning what remained like acid. “You serve lord Letum Mors, the fallen prince, the origin of evil. And you, my tasty treat, will remind this worthless world of the horrible promises he has to offer. That foolish whore, Margo, tried to erase him from memory. No more will the ruler of the Jagged Throne stand idle. This world will know of the long war again.”

As sudden as it had appeared the pain stopped. “You offered everything and I have completed my obligations to you. From now on, you will obey me, and you will do it well. I have already devoured your memories and hidden desires. I know you, better than you know yourself. And my dear meat-suit, you are stronger than you think.”

Margo shrieked as her consciousness returned. Sacrificing most of her power to create the homunculus puppet had proven to be a wise decision. The witch spat the lumps of coagulated blood choking her throat and took a deep breath. The scent of various narcotics and opiates, filling the basilica’s inner sanctum, washed over her like a calming balm.

Carefully and with no small amount of trepidation, she explored the area where Arthur’s cursed blade had wounded the puppet. Margo winced as her fingers touched the split skin. There was no longer any doubt about it. This Irene, this God Slayer, or however she liked to call herself, was Alice. No other could have inflicted damage to her true body when killing her construct. To think that her mentor was alive in this day and age was a travesty of justice. It had taken Margo years to plan and execute her plans, but she was sure she had killed the damned bitch. So, Alice the Immortal was not just some fancy title Arthur and that accursed beast Kruger had come up with…

“Zaar!” Margo barked as panic washed over her. That cursed great sword was no joking matter. Little was known about how Alice had obtained it, but the leader of the Raven’s Wing had learned enough to know it was a weapon forged in the infernal realm itself. Because of this, the wound inflicted on her astral projection carried over to her real body, even if greatly reduced. “Zaar! Answer me, damn you!”

Nothing. Only silence. Margo stood from the padded chair, emotion she had not felt in centuries assaulting her, as she did so. A single glance at her shadow was enough to confirm that the demon was gone. How long had it been since the witch had seen her real shadow and not the entities which resided within it? Long enough, for her to feel discomfort. Her emotions had to wait There were other things to be prioritised. Too many things actually, and the list was only growing.

“Get a hold of yourself, Margo,” she whispered, falling into a mediative trance. “You are not some lost novice. You are the Raven, the chosen champion of the infernal lords.”

That was it. She had to put her thoughts in order. It was not the first time she had faced Alice and it would not be the last. Examining the memories of the fight between them, all the fights, it was obvious her teacher was not in her best form. If she had been, there would be nothing left of the damned town. Although the same could be said about Margo. She had underestimated the situation, because of how weak the covenants were in this day and age. At least this time, she did not have to worry about her two bodyguards.

However, finding a way to protect herself against Arthur von Krass’ blade was tricky. There was no telling what manner of cruel and absurd curses and hexes were placed on it over the centuries. The vampire was a notorious warlock in his own right, back when he was alive, trapping a voracious primordial entity within his weapon. That was before Alice had engraved the esoteric runes on it. Half of the damned things made no sense at all and the other half contradicted each other.

“Calm down, Margo!” The witch exhaled and corrected her breathing, regaining control of her emotions. If that bitch had made them, they were something basic, something an initiate could do. That was it! Alice had an aversion to making complex spells and incantations, passing her knowledge to others of similar simple mind and ambition. All Margo had to do, was find one of the whore’s notebooks. And the witch had a very good idea where to look first. But before that, she needed a substitute for Zaar. There was no way she was leaving this room without a powerful demon or too residing in her shadow.