Her plan reached an overwhelming success. Finally, after days of a harsh mental drain. After, pushing her mind and concentration to maximum. She found him. She found Lucifer. Her father from a past life.
Her age differed, but the form remained the same. He would recognize her, if not visually, then from her soul.
Keeping a keen eye on the Lesser Demons she manipulated provided ample feedback. Their surveillance and search of the major cities proved fruitful. The sweet taste of victory was delicious—well for a minor one at least.
The Rat-Bats continued to stream intelligence back. She lost track of time with the unchanging sky and weather. Yet with this lead, the exhaustion doubled. Useless information riddled the stream, forcing her to skim or weed through the thicket.
She fixated on the Rat-Bat who spotted him. The Rat-Bat flapped its black rubber wings, scouring above.
Lucifer wore the long leather coat fashionable amongst male High Nobles with his insignia pressed into the back—twin horns. His short-cropped black hair clashed with Noble formalities. Yet, the silken threads framed his narrow face and soothed the face creases encasing his velvet-toned eyes.
From her vantage point, he entered a mansion and disappeared from sight. The front, a simple structure of blackened stone. No indentations or marks marred the surface, instead, placid and smooth. Flames twitched and flickered from metal cauldrons, hanging from rods strutting out of the wall. Still, the holdings conflicted with the city's dull sandstone buildings.
Manipulating the Demon would have granted his exact location, but the ability surpassed her. Instead, she followed the miniature speck and waited. Yet, the chance became lost. Her senses buzzed, the aura sustaining the barrier balking.
Her eyes flashed open, the barrier's energy fluctuating. Isla groaned. Of course, she lost the feed. Now what?
Isla narrowed her gaze on the pale darkness before her. She listened, the hushed voices sounding outside her dwellings. Shit.
With a delicate shift, she changed her stance to a crouch. Her hand clenched her sword's hilt. The blade gliding from the sheath.
She breathed deep, the sulfur stinging her lungs. A cough urged forward, but she suppressed the action, her eyes watering.
Isla quelled the urge then crept towards the sheet-covered entrance. She peered upwards from the side, at an angle, through the gaps.
Strength radiated from their muscled biceps, lean but condensed. Combined with confidence, a degree towards arrogance, and they showcased their supremacy. A thick bloodlust coated their bodies, her instincts pummeled with the oozing scent. Their characteristics surmounted the previous Nobles she encountered. In fact, textbook knowledge portrayed them perfect. They were High Nobles.
Who needed to look at their souls? No one, not even a Sight See-ers' ability was needed.
The barrier hummed louder, cracks cascading through the blue shimmering hue.
Her body moaned, voicing a solid truth. Magic consumption had drained both her physical and mental stamina. A drawn-out fight, impossible. Rather, a frontal confrontation with ordinary weapons spoke foolishness. Heightened senses stripped her chances of escape. Still, what choice did she have?
Her grip tightened on her sword. What could she do? What were her options?
At best, she could hold the entrance and limit her foes. Isla straightened her posture with her knees still bent. This would not go well.
She bit her lip, her heart racing. Her adrenaline exploded as the barrier shattered. Those plotting outside slashed through the flimsy barricade, charging in.
As the first Noble passed the threshold, Isla lunged and slashed upwards. The Noble pivoted, his body reacting on reflex. He blocked the attack, his maroon gaze piercing hers. The killing intent paralyzed her body. A second lost.
Her body flew backward, the air wishing past. She acted on instinct, manifesting a protective layer.
The force flung her into the sandstone wall, dust perforating the air. She collapsed, coughing. The shield fragmentized on impact, her ribs earning the damage. An inch of movement antagonized her bones, her breathing pained.
She needed to stand her ground. Rise, dammit.
Isla craned her neck. But the exertion she expended earned a powerful kick to her abdomen. The pain rippled, shooting through her. She suppressed the scream, her teeth clenching tissue. The iron taste of fresh, warm blood filled her mouth.
She choked, rose red liquid spewing from her mouth. Still, she pushed on. Her fingers clawed the ground, lifting her body. Yet, the suffocating floor smacked her face again. The kicks rained upon her like hellfire, burning rainfall mixed with ash.
Her body crumpled, her head safeguarded and her knees tucked. How long would this continue? Would she live? Not yet, death had to abstain. This time she would survive and reap her rewards. For once, could she not succeed?
The flame sustaining her determination fluctuated. The weakness from magic fatigue and exhaustion from sleep deprivation added themselves to her torturous state. Her mind hazed, the damage distant.
"Grab her," a Noble commanded, his voice strict and imposing.
Her limbs unfolded, her body sagging and her feet dragging. Her imagination formed a strong grip, but reality shined a feeble touch.
The monotone landscape blurred, the building outlines merging. Yet, her mind remained sharp. She knew her destination. The King's castle.
~~~
Water doused her face, drenching her hair and clothes. The liquid stung her wounds and she jerked her head, spewing water.
Her eyelids snapped open, revealing the fire coated cavern. Stalactites hung from the earth ceiling, lava dripping from the peaks into a molten pool below. The self-created prison expanded, the edges unseeable. Only the occasional irregular pillar bolstered from the heated domain base kept the space intact.
Her body yanked forward, a hand tugging her neck. Chains rattled and dug into her wrists. The cavern's heat evaporated her dazed spellbound, even sweat became singed at each drop.
The fire-stricken gazes of three High Nobles stared at her. The same maroon piercing eyes accompanied two others, each evoking the thought of fire. Their long hair was contained by leather bands, neat and organized. And their clothes mirrored Lucifer's long coat with high-quality cloth beneath.
The instigator tapped her chin, his hypnotizing gaze bore into her. "God, tell us, why are you here?"
Isla swallowed the dry lump restricting her throat. "The King," her voice quivered, raw hoarseness lacing the words.
Her eyelids drooped, her strength spent. Yet, a swift slap across the face forced them back open.
"Why?" he barked. "What do you seek?"
"To kill him, why else? What could a God possibly want?" muttered another, his inflection soothing but not low like the first.
"Arcadia," she mumbled, "an alliance." She heaved, tasting blood on her lips. Her body crumbled and denied the rest flooding her mind.
"Arcadia? What the hell does she mean?"
What could they not understand? Did the Arcadians not have an alliance before?
Her thoughts lapsed, a fuzzy haze blanketing the rest. She missed something important. A word or phrase which could change the tide. She had it, but what was it?
"She's knocked out," a third, but rough voice added. "If the Gods are planning an assassination, we need her alive. Force her to speak."
"Alive," the first chuckled, "that's easy. One piece is a little different."
"All might be pointless if their King gave an order."
"And? She's a God. Either way, she dies."
Isla listened to their debacle. Sure, she would die, they sealed her fate. Stupid. If only she had not linked her location and offered herself on a platter. Why did she not think more? There had to have been another solution.
"Let me grab some tools," the first commented, his footsteps sounding further away.
"What first?"
"Why don't we just stick to conversing, okay? She seemed ready to talk." The Noble urged his tone calm.
"Conversing? What are we civilized now? You sound weak. Explains why your younger brother stole your clan's leadership. Pathetic."
"Intelligence is a thing of beauty but lost on the foolish," he mumbled. "Do what you want, fool!"
"A good torture solves all. Bring the Fire Ants." A silence snagged him before provoking him further. "Wait. Why are you here?" The voice growled and trailed off to hushed murmurs.
A soft touch caressed her face, cradling her chin and inching upwards. The stranger stroked her hair, patting her sullied state. The warmth disappeared and her head caved.
They left, but who had it been? Her question was returned with silence.