“Mary Bruten?”

  A few of the white clothed guards of Verne confronted a woman in the streets as she carried a bag of groceries. Standing behind them was one of the fur-clad monastics, watching silently.

  Mary looked between the guards. “Yes, that’s me. What is this about?”

  “You’re part of a small list of individuals that have been ordered to be taken to the Concord for a test conducted by holy magic,” the guard said. “It shouldn’t take any longer than thirty minutes.”

  Mary hefted her groceries and said indignantly, “I’m an instructor in the Collegium. What are you even talking about? A holy magic test?”

  The guard stood his ground firmly. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we’ve been approved to do this by both the Concord and the government of Verne. Please, come along.”

  “No. Not a chance,” she said. “This… this is like the Inquisition. Abducting people from their homes without cause, performing foul experiments on them? I know this story. I know this story, and my rights.”

  “This is an agreement made by all four nations in the Concord, and presided over by the Heavenwatch Monastery,” the guard said. “All due respect, ma’am, but… this is the last time we’re asking,” the lead guard said, placing his hand on the pommel of his sword.

  Mary set down her groceries. “Fine, very well. There’s no need for that. I’ll follow.”

  The guards approached to seize Mary, but the moment they did she had lunged forward. She appeared ready to kill, but instead she stumbled disgracefully, landing on the ground. The guards looked between each other nervously, swallowing.

  “What did you… what did you do to me?!” Mary demanded, struggling in vain to get away.

  “Poison, ma’am,” the guards said politely. “It won’t be of any harm to you so long as you cooperate. Once this is done, you’ll be free to go. You’ll receive compensation from the city if this was a mistake.”

  As they hefted the woman up, her body started to spasm and twitch. Dark cracks appeared on the surface of her skin, and moments later a foul demon burst free of the shell that once was Mary Bruten. The monastic, previously idle, stepped forward and shifted to assume the form of a divine beast. The divine and the demonic clashed in the streets of Verne.

  All around the city, similar scenes were unfolding. Some of the subjugations were carried out by Student Ambassadors. Some were tended to by the guards of the city. Most were dealt with by the monastics of Heavenwatch Monastery, but pivotally…

  Chancellor Turke Dumane elegantly sliced his blade through the demon that had appeared, taking a moment to pause and catch his breath. He looked to the right, where his son Isran watched with labored breath. He, too, had dealt with a demon. The two of them turned to ash.

  “I told you, father,” Isran said, straightening his back and cleaning his blade. “But as ever, you didn’t listen to me. The demons have always been the true threat. Here in Verne… in the Confederation… everywhere. We were puppets dancing at the wag of their finger.”

  All around the city…

  Chancellor Sibylle Vantz wielded powerful ice magic, ensnaring the many foes that rushed at her. Then, Olivia Vantz-Leon dashed in, piercing them with her rapier. Prince Maximilian Vantz wasn’t far behind, wielding a colossal warhammer that cleaved through their flesh easily. Some people had never doubted the existence of the demons. But this was proof—indisputable proof.

  People saw the truth, that day.

  Ruth and Marissa Goldhain, fledgling and elder, stood side by side, bows in hand, firing at the demons that emerged from a warehouse. When it was done, all that remained was a pile of arrows.

  “This was a warehouse from our family,” Ruth said harshly. “A warehouse that you did business in, Marissa. You can no longer act arrogant, disaffected. Reality is staring you in the eye. Will you continue to blind yourself to it?”

  The old woman looked at the fading bodies, and then at the shells they’d abandoned—shells of people she’d conversed with not days prior.

  And for those that already knew the truth, they were shown why they couldn’t ignore it.

  Rowan Sumner and Denzel Riverra stood before Chancellor Cyril Villamar and Dean Mortimer, all of them in the homey office of the dean.

  “When you came to me with this emergency measure, I thought that our largest concern would be paying out compensation to those affected,” the dean confessed. “But… but this? Unimaginable. Simply unimaginable.”

  Cyril looked out the window. “We succeeded in capturing a few demons alive. I’m wavering between having envoys visit here to witness them or simply taking the beasts on a tour through the four great powers. Both hold risks.”

  “I think a tour would be best. Let the people see these creatures just as much as those in power,” Denzel said.

  Rowan stepped forward. “The entire history between demons and humans has been us sitting around and reacting to what they do to us. We wait for them to try and destroy us. Only then do we respond.” He shook his head. “No more. We’ve proven that, today. Will we let it stop here, or will we take this into the four great powers?”

  “Boy, you don’t…” Dean Mortimer began, then scoffed. “Duke Cyril… this feat was yours. I’ll ask you to respond.”

  “He isn’t necessarily wrong.” Cyril twirled a small stick through his fingers. “But you are, Mortimer. This feat wasn’t mine—it was that of Heavenwatch Monastery. Their founder possessed the ability to view time more freely than you or I can. It appears as though that ability has manifested among one of them once again. Among their ranks, there is a True Divine Beast. One that wishes to remain hidden.”

  “So, you are in alliance with them?” Denzel asked.

  Cyril said nothing for a time. He had gotten very far in life by being in the right place at the right time. Or… maybe he just knew how to put himself in the right place. Either way, taking advantage of opportunities like this was the reason that Duke Cyril had ascended as much as he had.

  And so, Cyril looked back and said once more, “Yes. I’ve allied with the monastery.”

  But in reality, the true architect behind this happening stood in a courtroom, presided over by judge and jury.

  “…and lastly, you’re accused of the murder of Sancar Alkoyen,” the judge read. “How do you plead, Lucian Villamar?”

  Lucian stood beside Theobald.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “He opposes the offense’s thesis,” Theobald said, running a hand through his blonde hair. “On all counts.”

  “Very well. Do you have a thesis for this counterplea?” the judge pressed.

  “We do. We posit that Lucian Villamar is not an independent actor, but has been for many years now the catspaw of his father. Cyril Villamar is willing and able to bend and distort the law just as much as his own flesh and blood. This trial will clarify that the true defendant should be Cyril, not Lucian.”

  “…that thesis doesn’t necessarily directly contradict the offense’s,” the judge said. “Even if Lucian did these things at the behest of the duke, he still did them.”

  “But there are mitigating circumstances,” Theobald said. “Namely, coercion, blackmail, threats… and magic.”

  The judge stared for a few moments, then said flatly, “I see.”

  Lucian felt very choked by the silence that followed. Maybe he was imagining it, but the judge seemed contemptuous of the mere idea. Lucian looked around. There were countless people writing in here—printer shop journalists, who’d be writing this in newspapers and distributing them by the thousands around the continent.

  “Very well. Now that both sides have submitted their judgment and their thesis, we enter the evidentiary phase. The offense will provide evidence for their claims. You will attempt to scrutinize this as best you can to determine legitimacy. Then, you will provide evidence for your counterplea, and they will scrutinize your evidence to determine its legitimacy. Do you understand?”

  “I do.” Theobald dipped his head. “Thank you, judge.”

  ***

  “I think we’re going to lose,” Lucian said as he and Theobald left the Concord. “I really do.”

  “No, no,” Theobald disagreed immediately. “See, you’re now one of the most well-known people on the continent. On the same day that Duke Cyril purges Verne of demons, his son is in the basement getting poked full of holes. It’s a juicy story, full of light and dark both. The eyes of the world are on you. And when the eyes of the world are on you… they can’t play dirty. Well… not as dirty, at least.”

  Lucian bit his lip anxiously. That had been partly deliberate. He wanted to completely erase any notion that he was connected to Heavenwatch Monastery by being accounted for while the purge in Verne was happening. He hoped that any lingering suspicion Belcourt and the others might have for him disappeared.

  Above all, it gave him safety in Verne. Those possessed by demons had all been neutralized, one way or another. Those merely influenced were detained, and now remained under close watch. Verne became an island free from demonic influence for the time being. He wished he could conduct the same treatment continent-wide, but Verne was the only place he had really solid intel on. It was the War of Four’s main hub, after all.

  “So… in the evidentiary phase, what, they drag up all the past incidents, bring witnesses to tell precisely what happened, and you try to poke holes in the story?” Lucian asked. “That sounds like a terrible way to present myself to the public.”

  “It’ll be bad, no doubt,” Theobald said. “Very bad. The evidence against you… well, it’s not a lawyer’s place to judge, but you definitely did these things.”

  Lucian stared blankly. That did nothing to comfort him.

  “That’s why my counterplea is about mitigating circumstances, not denial. We don’t refute anything we say. We pass the buck to Duke Cyril. Suddenly, everything awful you’ve ever done… he’s done it. It sticks to him. We don’t need to fight their evidence, just redirect it. Using your sister Cate as blackmail? Drugging your mother? The countless other things he’s done? It won’t be a stretch to believe your testimony.” Theobald walked ahead. “It’ll work. Trust me. I’ve done this before.”

  Lucian exhaled. “And you’re sure?”

  “Definitely,” Theobald said. “I know your father fairly well. I’ve seen his temper when things don’t go his way. He may seem invulnerable. To be fair, he usually is. But he can break.” He paused, then walked a few steps closer to Lucian. “Look… I haven’t been entirely honest with you. This isn’t just about helping you out. This is about a theory I’ve had for a long time, and a debt I owe to someone.”

  Lucian blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “The way that the Inquisition fell was intensely suspicious,” Theobald said quietly. “When your mother mentioned a deal with Belcourt… so much clicked into place. Even she doesn’t know the details, sadly. But Cyril does. Everything went perfectly for him. Overnight, he went from prominent heir to international icon.” He shook his head. “When things go south for Cyril, he tends to want to handle things personally. I’ll invite him to the trial. He’ll stand witness. He can be charismatic when he tries. But there… I’ll break him. Break him in front of everyone,” he said, his voice low as he smiled. “And you’ll be the tragic victim of your monstrous father.”

  Lucian felt a little intimidated by Theobald in that moment. “Do you have a grudge against Cyril?”

  Theobald smiled. “Ah, don’t worry about it.” He patted Lucian’s shoulder. “Just know I’ll show the world what he really is. Leave it at that.”

  Lucian watched Theobald leave. He didn’t know whether or not an emotional attachment was a good or a bad thing. Didn’t people generally recuse themselves in cases like this? Perhaps he should speak to Helen.

  ***

  Rowan grabbed a vial off the table. Charlton and Lucian stared at him intently, while Miriam watched off in the distance.

  Rowan eyed the bottle cautiously. “Well… here goes.” He swallowed the potion—or poison, as the case was. Immediately, he started gripping the table. “Hoo… yeah, it stings.”

  “Tael,” Lucian said, holding his hand to Rowan’s head.

  Ordinarily, that was nothing more than a simple healing spell. But as Lucian took hold of his Formless Essence, he wove it as Charlton had helped him. He wove into the shape of energy that had wracked his body many times. Rowan jerked back, then grabbed his chest.

  “Activate that,” Lucian said.

  A few moments later, Lucian felt a powerful heartbeat resonate with his own.

  “The pain is…” He exhaled loudly, shocked. “It… it felt like my heart just…” Rowan explained, eyes flitting from side to side.

  “Felt like it quaked violently, sending a wave throughout your body that purged the poison?” Lucian finished. He looked over to Charlton, a smile on his face. “Seems it worked.”

  Rowan laughed in disbelief. “So… that was really one of your blessings?”

  “Yeah,” Lucian said. He tried to use the Blessing of the Titan’s Heart on himself… but it failed. “It seems as though I can lend my charge for the blessing on others.”

  Rowan paced around the room. “My headache’s gone, too. Unbelievable…” He looked at Lucian. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  “Might be joining you in battle again,” Lucian said neutrally. “Claiming blessings, then giving them out freely.”

  “Under different circumstances,” Rowan said, sitting back down. “I’ve been thinking a lot. That purge… it wasn’t a pleasant thing. I saw people that I had some degree of respect for transformed into monstrosities that tried to destroy the city I grew up in.”

  “It worked, though,” Lucian said.

  Rowan nodded, thinking hard. “You look back at history, what do you see? Demons attack. Demons attack. Demons attack. Attack, attack, attack—that’s all there is.” He bounced his leg impatiently. “No. This time, the humans attack. We go into the Hells, and we fight them there.”

  “Not just humans,” Miriam said, moving closer. “Elves have ample motivation to fight as well.”

  Lucian looked at her. She seemed driven, focused.

  Yesterday, Charlton had Lucian examine some of the Black Bloom. He’d actually been infected with it—but it only affected elves, so it didn’t matter too much. In so doing, he helped Charlton confirm something using his Formless Essence—namely, that a demonic being had tampered with the Black Bloom Initiative. That information was beyond what they had in War of Four. It didn’t help bring them closer to a cure, unfortunately, but it did provide a direction for that anger.

  “Of course, elves as well,” Rowan assured. “The fact is, Lucian’s advantage of foreknowledge enables us to move much faster. We can strike at them directly, before they change and adapt. We have a small window of opportunity. We have to do as much damage as we can. Lucian ventured into the Hells once—we have to do it again, and soon.”

  Lucian took a deep breath and exhaled, worried.

  “I know a lot about the Hells,” Lucian said. “But I don’t know all, not even close. I’m not willing to do that quite yet. I think it could end incredibly disastrously.”

  Rowan bit at his lip. “Yeah… I get it. But think about it, won’t you?” He shook his head. “Just feels a shame to always be the one cowering behind castle walls. It’d be nice to take to the field.”