While historical annals say the battle was won during the day, that is not the truth. I believe I may have caused some confusion among readers by my pithy treatment of Primarus in the battle beneath the colossus. Many a bardic tale has been spun about the brass giant, but that is not where I lay my stress. The battle was nothing special.

The magic is what mattered.

We relocated to a wine cellar, partially submerged by salt water diffusing through the land. Over our heads were still elegant arches, and mosaics surrounded us, but our feet slogged through ankle-deep mud. I didn’t pay attention to what lies were told from Jean to her attendants, but the body of Primarus was transported in whole to the cellar with us. I recall how much dismay that caused among the awakened thralls, for they wanted to eat his enchanted flesh and claim his stigmata for their own.

The blanks were forced off, and rumors allowed to swirl as me, my pupil, and the living angel locked ourselves into the dank chamber with a corpse and a book. We had no choice but to let them whisper and worry and make their superstitious claims. Perhaps some of them weren’t even far off the mark. We were, in fact, summoning a demon. The only difference was that we were not summoning it to parley and request aid, but to banish it.

Once I sealed the cellar door and made the basement into a candlelit dungeon, Jean gave me a pained smile. “Looks like I wasn’t a very good student.”

She had been a fine student for the few months I taught her how to control the immense power she was born with. In fact, her only shortcoming was that she was fundamentally kind. No one traumatized her to put in her a wound I could nurture into ambition. So, I had cut my tutelage short and continued elsewhere.

“Show me the book, girl,” I said. “There is a difference between a foolish student, and a cunning adversary.”

She took the eldritch tome out from a carrying sack, laden with belts to keep it shut. Lucius dumped the body of Primarus at the center of the chamber while I undid the bindings. Even before I opened the text I recognized the intent. I knew who had cursed the young bishop.

Because he yet lives, let me call him here Hector.

To omit the technical details, I broke the binding on the book, which could most easily be compared to kicking in Hector’s door. The will of the book became nearly uncontained and I had to twist the cover around as pages spewed forth like a hurricane. Ink pulsed through the sheets, writhing as living things.

Before they even congealed, Hector’s voice echoed through the chamber. “You have no right, Amurabi.”

The bishop grabbed the holy symbol hung about her neck. “He knows you?”

“And I him. Take your form, Hector. Here a sacrifice is given. Bind yourself manifest. We’re civilized beings, aren’t we?” I commanded, pointing my finger to the proffered corpse.

The demon snarled, but the mayhem fixed itself upon the corpse of Primarus. Page after page plastered itself to the bloodied body. It covered over every wound, every piece of flesh, every trace of humanity. Hector reached through and took hold of the puppet. Hector had to flex open his broken jaw, ripping through the pages of flesh until it opened like a viper’s maw. “You are not better than me, Amurabi.”

I scoffed. “You’re out of touch, Hector, but that is neither here nor there. Release your hold upon the girl. You are overreaching your rights.”

The demon approached, and Lucius interceded. “I have all the right in the world!”

Jean’s voice cut through the darkness. “You lied to me.”

“Silence,” the demon ordered, and with a flick of his hand, Jean’s words were gone. Nothing more than the rasp of breath could leave her throat. He sneered at me.

“Always with the theatrics,” I said.

“You’re one to talk. You’re the most circuitous of all!”

“I do not have to justify myself to you, nor you to me. All that matters is that you have wronged me.”

Hector laughed. “Are you going to summon a moot?”

“I have no need, unless you force my hand. This can be settled between us. Let natural law decide who is in the right.”

“In this body? You would ask for a duel?”

I shrugged. “It seems close enough to pass as a champion, does it not?” I made the offer because I knew he would think that an advantage. He had direct control of a body bearing a stigmata. Arrogance was ever Hector’s problem. Like many of the daemonia beyond Lumisgard, he thought little of the less magical. When I gestured toward Lucius, he saw the boy as nothing more than my pawn.

“What would be the terms?”

“I already stated my demand. Release your hold on the girl. Find some other corner of the world to work in.”

Hector laughed. “Then, if I win you’ll give me his firstborn to do with as I see fit.”

I grabbed Lucius by the shoulder and held him back. My pupil was ready to tear Hector apart, but negotiations were not complete. “That is not mine to give.”

“What nonsense.”

“It is not mine to give.”

The demon snarled. “Fine then. You have a godling on you, do you not? An imprint of a spider. Give it to me if I win.”

He asked much. I had been nurturing that monster almost as long as I had been nurturing Lucius. Indeed, just a few days different. “If that is what you want, then you will have to also give me the print of the [Cthonic Body] stigmata.”

Hector laughed. “You always did want that. Unfortunately, I bartered that off about two years prior.” If only I had known at the time what an ill omen that was to be. I had no idea he had given it to someone in Lumisgard.

“[Air Compression] then.”

“Too much. You’ll have to add whatever technique you used to reshape the boy’s face. Such a feat is always in demand.”

“It’s a deal then,” I said, not feeling the slightest urge to clarify that I had done nothing at all to the boy’s face. That had entirely been the work of the snake. “To the death of the champion then.”

“To submission,” Hector said. “I’ve already seen how hard the boy is to kill. We’d be here for ages if it’s to the death.”

“As you wish,” I said, and released the boy.

Lucius marched forward as Hector hunkered down and pulled in his power. The chamber crackled with electricity until hair stood on end. The demon had far greater control over it than the wastelander, enough that the comparison would be akin to a child slapping at clay compared to a grandmaster sculptor. Thus, it can be no surprise that it only took him an instant of expanding his subjugated magnetic field for him to realize that not one ounce of metal existed within the chamber. Not so much as a counterfeit coin could be pushed against.

Obviously, that meant Lucius was once again without a sword. The battle between champions would be with natural weapons only. When Lucius put his fist through the daemon’s mouth did Hector realize just how I had duped him. It was nothing to be upset over. Lying in negotiations is common practice with such creatures of shadow.

The ankle deep water made movement dangerous. Neither combatant could jump, lunge, or dash. They had no choice but to take careful, steady moves. All subtlety of their pankration had to be done from the hips up. Each man threw himself about, letting fists dart and fly, quickly turning their opponents blow aside. Whenever one was forced to retreat, the other redoubled during the splash of water.

My pupil’s fists rained down harder. He struck like a blacksmith’s hammer upon the paper-clad daemon’s face until every vestige of bone within was broken. Blood seeped down the creature’s front but not without cost. The bones in Lucius’ hands shattered as well. His stigmata knitted them back together, but there was a certain error to the healing. We learned about it while the lad sparred against the Tolzi brothers years ago.

If not articulated properly, the small bones of his palm had a tendency to fuse instead of healing properly. It made his fists into fearsome bludgeons, but were excruciating to break apart afterward.

Lucius wasn’t an ignorant boy however.

The moment he felt the shards of pain, signaling the healing, his hands opened. Transitioning completely from the Vassish art of boxing to Aillesterran martial arts, he tried to grapple with the daemon. Lucius was no expert at the art, but against any other opponent, the changeup in tactics nearly guaranteed victory.

Amidst the keening screech of the daemon, Lucius caught a crossing jab and pulled it across his body. He forced his opponent in a step before delivering a crippling palm strike across the daemon’s temple. Any human would have been downed, unable to coordinate their motions. The habitual followup was to twist the captured arm into a pin and slam the foe to the ground. In this case, to drown them in the water.

Hector’s arm snapped at the joint, without any loss of strength. It doubled around and grabbed Lucius by the throat, overturning the grapple. Both men fell to the water.

The ensuing sight nearly made the bishop faint. She staggered back and had to grip the stone for support as she struggled to keep her gaze on the melee. Indeed, the entire chamber vibrated with their anger. Every broken bone, every ruptured organ, drove out growls of pain.

Hector had misjudged his foe. He lacked the empathy to realize how much grit and fury was inside the boy for having lost his friend and mentor. No amount of pain would have made Lucius stop, especially as the healing of his stigmata was so enhanced by the glut of deaths around him, by the surging power of the daemon within his grasp. He dared to even break his own joints to escape grapples, just as Hector did, and rely on his stigmata to put himself back together in time.

When the water of the chamber at last stood still it was as red ink about our feet. Every major bone and joint in the daemon’s body had been destroyed. The only movement was the labored breathing that gurgled through blood. Even worse injuries had befallen Lucius, but we could already see his body restoring itself.

“Do you submit?” I asked.

The daemon was incapable of speech, but a sharp pain made Jean cry out. She panicked for but a moment before realizing the curse put upon her had been ripped free by the root. The lasting effect would be akin to internal bruising but of the soul rather than the flesh. When she realized her foolishness had been averted, she wept.

The other aspects of the bargain were easily secured between me and the daemon. While I exchanged the goods, Lucius and the bishop left. I found him later that night, but did not make my presence known. He had found a secluded cove down the beach from the city harbor, where none of the soldiers could see him weep. Lupa sat with him, their backs pressed against one another as she glared at me like a watchdog.

To this day I still wonder if Anubi had intended for that living weapon to be beautiful, or if some other force had a hand in her making.