“We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.”

― Oscar Wilde

Jera sped her steps to get in front of Lieseleta as they reached the end of the dark corridor. The gloom was soon overwhelmed by the light falling in through an arched gateway leading outside. The doors were fully open, and a cold wind blew in their faces. Somewhere outside, commands could be heard and the rattle of armor.

The cowled phantom gliding behind them accelerated, and darkness was pulled toward the pale hands shining a pale white.

As they exited the building entering a large courtyard, Jera nodded at the two soldiers standing guard to each side. After looking around, she gestured for Lieseleta to follow, and both walked fully into the sunlight.

Jera suddenly grabbed the golden-haired queen and pulled her into the courtyard and away from the door.

“What do...?!” Lieseleta could barely get out half of a question as the stone above the door shifted, and bulged grey-colored limbs suddenly came into focus around a flat elongated body the color and texture of the stone beneath. Several circular orifices opened, and a foul breath gusted at them. The being was nearly a dozen meters in length and perfectly camouflaged. The ‘shell’ had been pressed flat against the masonry while some magic or other hid its bulk.

With an insectoid wriggle and a twist, the thing let go of its footholds, only anchored in the upper parts of its segmented body, and shot toward Lieseleta. Jera invoked a force shield by slamming both arms together in front of her while crossing her wrists.

With a crunching noise, the mixture between a centipede and a cockroach met the shield, and Jera was hurled backward, hitting Lieseleta just as the latter was trying to cast a spell of her own. The two soldiers standing at the entrance meanwhile toppled over, and two thin tendrils snapped back into the insectoid horror.

Letting go of the wall, the mass of the creature buried Jera under its bulk Liseleta’s eyes widened as she saw several mouthlike orifices try to bite and devour her while the knight desperately held on to her shield.

Grabbing a hairpin, she spoke a command word and hurled the implement at the beast, and with a surge of light magic, the needle shot forward, piercing the thick grey carapace that was steadily adapting to the snow-mush on the ground, leaving a hole nearly as big as a large fist that leaked dark ichor.

Screeching with a piercing whine, the creature turned and twisted like a worm caught on a hot stovetop pressing Jera further into the ground and eliciting a pained groan.

With a folding motion that seemed impossible, the flat elongated body snapped forward, and the rearmost part shot at the queen, and two swordlike pincers growing out of the carapace snapped shut around Lieseleta.

White light burst from several pendants placed at vulnerable portions of her anatomy and kept her from being cut in two.

With a flicker of shadows, a cowled figure rose from the snow and touched the creature near the center with a nearly caressing motion.

“There, there.” A malicious whisper floated in the air, and the shouts of alarm drifted further and further away as even the snow suddenly lost its luster, and everything was distant as if seen through a layer of water. “Can’t have that now, can we?” Dark tendrils latched onto dark grey chitin and spread into the creature, which began to keen in a high-pitched tone before suddenly being yanked back into the darkness of the castle corridor.

Within seconds the surroundings were empty again, save for Lieseleta, Jera, and the two fallen soldiers.

“That was twice.” With that, the cowled figure faded and vanished.

Alyssa gazed at the sky, and the sun had passed its zenith for some time as she heard the murmur of voices coming from down the road. And it did not sound like any of her friends.

Tensing, she raised herself a bit astounded at how deep she had sunk in the snowdrift. Thin ice broke as she moved, as some warmth left in her clothes had at last managed to melt a bit.

“They should have long since come back!” A slightly hoarse male voice.

“I told them it was too dangerous. The undead have to suffice.” A female voice, perhaps middle-aged at most.

“They are gross and stupid. The only thing they are proficient in is as targets and to induce fear.” An aged voice with very precise and somehow condescending diction.

“Morale is important.” The hoarse voice sounded defensive.

“At least Jonathan seems to be alright. Look, there is smoke coming from his home.” The female voice tried for a bright and optimistic tone but fell short.

“Means he is a coward or a traitor or both. Where are the rest? Where is the demon?! We need the power of blood magic to properly fashion the spawn. Bah. Imbeciles.” The condescending voice got even sharper.

With a soft sigh, Alyssa laid back down and concentrated on the undead nearby. Gripping their feeble minds, she steered them closer, their dark magic flickering under the onslaught of the sun.

“Did you hear that?” The hoarse voice sounded alarmed.

“What…!” The question turned into a scream before the scrape of steel signaled a drawn blade.

“Drat!” The derisive voice became cautious before incanting a spell.

Clenching her hands into fists, she fed more void magic through her bond, the jewel flickering to dark life. Cautiously she raised herself and pushed a bit of snow to the side, getting a glimpse of the fighting.

A group of five stood back to back on a snowed-in but trampled road overshadowed by large chestnut trees leaning toward each other, nearly forming a tunnel. Without leaves, the whole was nevertheless brightly lit. Stumbling corpses moved even more stiffly as some of the flesh had frozen and converged on the small group. A woman was fighting off several flesh fiends with a short sword while showing a good amount of skill, but she was losing to the woodlike texture of the corpses, not even managing to cut them properly. She had dark blonde hair bound into a ponytail with a dark green cloak over a light chain mail. A leather bandolier crossed her breast festooned with several pouches, a short bow, and a quiver was hanging on her back, hindering her movements slightly.

Then there were two men with the appearance of soldiers from the Nordmark household troops cutting at the undead in perfect silence. Their hacking movements seemed nearly mechanical, and it did not take Alyssa long to see the core of void energy enlivening them in a pretty lackluster simile of life.

The other two men were one older mage with a traditional staff covered in runes and wearing a dark red cloak over a black robe stitched with warding symbols and a younger man who might be an assistant or apprentice even as he was probably in the late twenties. As she saw the mage launch several brilliant orbs of fire that seemed to be infused with light magic at the undead, destroying several, the apprentice coughed violently and then formed a fire bolt of his own but without much in the way of finesse.

Now the armored undead from the deeper crypts came into play, and Alyssa felt the power flooding her veins. The circlet around her head lit up as runes activated, and her mind regained a bit of clarity that she had gradually lost without noticing.

The mage stumbled back and pushed the apprentice toward the dead noble he was fighting, and with a nasty crunch, the longsword broke the arm the younger man had raised to protect his head.

Seeing the pain in his eyes, Alyssa rapidly lost the last bit of pleasure she had drawn from the scene. Hearing the door opening in the grave keeper's house behind her, she struggled to her feet, patting the snow from her coat absentmindedly. With a sharp command through the link, she raised her arm, and the undead came to an abrupt halt. The female fighter slashed into the neck of the fleshfiend that had been fighting her but only managed to get her sword stuck, which she desperately tried to retrieve.

“Stop!” Alyssa shouted at the group, and realizing that they were no longer under attack, the three living turned toward her as the mage raised his hand, and the two dead soldiers, too, became still.

“Who are you.” The mage gave her a closer look, and his eyes were tense.

“Alyssa Miner.” She nearly laughed at the strange situation as she introduced herself.

“Alyssa!” Mireille skidded to a stop directly beside her, degen flickering with suppressed lightning and her coat unbuttoned, and while she looked around cautiously, she was still struggling with her left sleeve.

From the house, Jill and Alea jogged closer, with the priestess frowning heavily as she saw the reanimated corpses. “What in the name of the goddess is this new heresy!”

The mage looked surprised and perplexed at once as he took in the robes of a priestess of Ielenia, and his eyes flitted between the deathly pale Alyssa with dark magic swirling around her left hand and the pure white robes with the symbol of the White-without-stain on the other side. “What in all the hells is going on here?! I’m Leomund von Hollgren court magus of Nordmark.”

“That’s no surprise.” Mireille tilted her head and looked at the Nordmark crest on his robes.

“So. Who sent you.” Leomund subconsciously smoothed his robes while his apprentice was holding his broken arm, gasping in pain.

“What are these undead doing? Is it you?” Jill turned to Alyssa.

“I just took control. They were here before us.”

“Lay them to rest right now!” She furiously strode in front of the girl, her knuckles whitening around the grip of her sword.

“If we are interrupting something…” The female fighter took a step back, pulling the apprentice along.

“Stay where you are!” Alyssa hissed. “Jill. I did not raise them, but we are in the middle of the Nordmark territory, and we need their help to end the evil they are committing here. Can’t you see that this is necessary?”

“You can’t cleanse this cesspit when you yourself are full of filth.”

Alyssa and Jill stared at each other, but it became soon apparent that the undead girl no longer needed to blink, so Jill finally looked away and swallowed angrily while blinking.

Alea softly touched Alyssa’s shoulder and asked. “Do we truly need them? I think it is distasteful too, and the aid of a priestess could mean more in the days to come.”

“Fine. But this is not the last word about this!” Alyssa gestured, and the undead faltered and then fell heavily to the ground. With another gesture and a flare of power from the jewel, the two undead soldiers guarding the small group before them suddenly lost all tension and spilled onto the ground, their armor rattling and the weapons tumbling end over end.

The mage seemed surprised and intimidated by the display. “How…!?” He had raised his hand as the undead began to fall but now thought better of that. Licking his lips and no longer as arrogant as before, he cleared his throat. “We merely wanted to have a look at the graveyard. We won’t bother you anymore. What would it take for you to let us leave?”

“Tell us what those cultists were doing and what the ritual was meant to accomplish.” Alyssa folded her arms before her chest.

“As far as I know, it was meant to summon and bind a demonic entity. The undead have proven to be insufficient in the amount and quality we can muster.”

“What’s with the Heartstealer? Are you really allied with her?”

The mage grimaced and swallowed. “Do you have to ask?” He nodded at the undead surrounding them. “If I answer, I will probably be killed when I return. Even though it is self-evident.”

“And they don’t give you troops?” Mireille asked incredulously.

“There is the matter of the mountains. And the stone-tribes and dwarves don’t like undead passing their territory, which has led to...losses.”

Alea nudged Alyssa and whispered. “The one with the broken arm. I fear he is close to fainting. Could I perhaps heal him?”

“Do we let them leave?” Alyssa whispered back and looked at Mireille. The mage looked at them nervously.

Jill had a disapproving look on her face, but after the confrontation with Alyssa had ended, she had been quietly guarding at the side.

“We take them prisoner, but we won’t kill them,” Alyssa spoke louder as she answered.

“What makes you think we can agree to that!” The mage blustered, but at that moment, the apprentice swayed, and his eyes rolled up so that only the white could be seen before falling. The female fighter, that had been mostly silent, grabbed him before then lowering him gently to the ground. She then shook her head at the mage, who sighed in defeat.

“Damn it.” giving his staff a push, he let it teeter for a moment before it plunged into a snowdrift. He raised his hands in surrender. “Promise not to kill us, and I, we, will come quietly.” He looked at the fighter in confirmation and got a nod in return.

With a light fluttering sound, Iseret dropped down behind them and sheathed her khopesh, startling them. “A wise decision.”

With a soft thud, the sword the fighter was wielding hit the snow, and she, too, raised her hands.

Alea cautiously stepped around them while Iseret bound their hands with rope and then began to incant healing spells to fix the apprentice’s broken arm.

Soon they had the trio bound and gagged in the cellar with some blankets so that they should not freeze.

Jill was taciturn all the way and did not look at Alyssa, who also seemed disgruntled.

“We have to work together if we want this to work.” Mireille interrupted their brooding. “I know you hate the undead, but this is only taking the weapon of the enemy and making it our own. We don’t raise them. We simply make use of them and then free them.” She nearly stumbled over the part mentioning the raising but managed adequately.

“I cannot condone letting void-infused mockeries of life remain in our midst. The body of the honorable dead is forever stained with dark magic, and even the soul might suffer.”

“No. How would that work?” Alyssa interrupted incredulously. “Souls go into the great wheel and have to pass through the void. How would that corrupt them?”

“You use the magic to force them to do your bidding, twisting the natural order. That is not without cost for the soul!”

“What cost? The memories and even the identity of the dead are lost in the void. At least, that is what is known. So what if they are around a day or two longer?!”

“There is no such thing as a good deed done by evil means!” The muscles in Jill’s jaws bunched as she ground her teeth.

“But she can free the undead that would otherwise fight for those that raised them.” Mireille interjected.

“That…Oh, I don’t know. I…I can’t.” Jill clutched her head and turned away from them, praying to herself.

“Let us leave her alone for a bit. Perhaps she might come around to our point of view.” Alea adjusted her blindfold and stroked across Cecilies brass carapace.

“I will keep an eye on her,” Iseret said softly. “You look after our prisoners. We still have a few hours until Vanessa wakes, and then we interrogate them and decide what we will do.”

“Okay.” Mireille nodded and looked at Alyssa, who shrugged.

“I think that is a good idea. Please keep her from leaving. If she is alone in these woods, I don’t think she could survive for long before she is either frozen or captured, and I think she genuinely wants to be a good person.”

Iseret gave a slight smile at that, nodded, and vanished through the front door going after the priestess.

…

“What is it?” Zygmund von Nordmark was in a foul mood. “Where is the last demon? I need more if we are to hold the city.”

The room was the dungeon underneath the castle, and several corpses were laid on stone slabs awaiting their raising. A figure swaddled in thick clothes followed him closely while carrying a large iron-bound book. Fumes rose from the figure, shining a sickly yellow-green in the torchlight. Two wight-warriors guarded the entrance.

Ivyander was standing beside the entrance and, as had become the usual, was wearing an inscrutable expression.

“I have not heard of a new demon. And might I remind you that the summoning of such volatile creatures might very well backfire?”

“Yes, yes. You were, as always- nagging about that. But look.” He turned and pointed at the hunched-over creature following him. “They are useful and obedient. Nothing like what you are always going on about.” Laughing to himself, he strode toward the prepared corpses. “Sent another patrol but make it larger this time. Let the blood knight accompany them. He can use the exercise.”

“At once, milord.” Ivyander sounded slightly sarcastic as he bowed and then turned to leave.

“Get Jamila. It is high time she, too, embraces the gift. As she is, she is nearly useless.”

“As you wish.”