The Demon King advanced from his throne. His cape cascaded to the floor, swishing with each powerful step. His face contained no spec of emotion and no hint of thought. Rather, his eyes spoke volumes. They burned brightly, a ferocious intensity within their depths.
As he reached the bottom, one watchful Noble rushed forward. He delivered the King a red-tinted Zweihänder. From pommel to point, the weapon matched the Noble in size.
Lucifer stepped before her, his head bowed, "My King, please wait."
"Move."
"Lucifer." Isla emphasized his name, her voice rising in pitch. "This is my fight, not yours."
He hesitated, his back trembling. Still, he slid to the side, smoothing down the nonexistent wrinkles of his coat.
Isla lifted her chin, her gaze latching onto the King. His mere presence radiated a crushing pressure. Her pathetic attempts at composure had ended minutes ago. She knew her pale face and sweat-slicked nape exposed her unease. Concentration be damned, she expended every ounce on merely remaining upright and stable.
She watched him approach, raising the giant weapon to her neck. Her gut instinct roared, telling her to retreat, squealing about death. But how could she? Fear ensnared her body, swaddling her core. She would die before she fled the room.
Isla swallowed the dry lump clogging her throat. Being here and now, she had a reason. What about her father? What about Leef? She reiterated to herself. Nothing would ever change if she succumbed to him.
"We have a common enemy. Isn't that worth something?" she whispered, unable to strengthen her voice.
Her words produced no reaction, his face unflinching, but she continued. "We both hate the Gods." Her sound bolstered, one notch higher.
Still, he chose deafness and was unresponsive. Instead, he prepared to strike, swinging his sword high. One attack and he would behead her.
"Help me kill him. Help me kill my father."
The silence extended but not alongside his weapon. The Zweihänder blade straightened and descended.
"Even if you kill me, I'll just come back again. This will never end," she blurted.
His attack ceased and Isla shivered as the Zweihänder touched her neck, stinging her skin. She tilted her head away and searched his expressionless face. Why stop?
"You can break my limbs, shred my body, drain my blood, but I'll come back again. I'll live again," she added.
Isla restrained herself and waited. What would he do next?
He withdrew his weapon, propping the hilt against his shoulder. "And?"
Her eyes widened a split second before she recovered. "I'll give you my life, use me as you see fit. In return, I want him dead," she proposed.
He cocked his head, his eyes darkening from their fiery red to maroon. "Your soul." A flash of yellow entered his gaze—as if his proposal was amusing—but then receded from sight.
Her soul for her father. A dangerous exchange, but even more confusing. What value did she hold? Or did he desire a pet God? She chuckled at the situation's madness.
Her outburst incited a scowl. Laughter must be an unfathomable reaction for him. She brushed her cheek, her face heated.
Offering her soul meant she would never be free. He would employ a blood contract to enact his claim.
Dropping her hand away, she stared at the contours of his fine face and hardened jaw. "Fine. We have a deal then?"
"My Lord please wait," interjected an onlooking Noble. He scurried forward, the top of his hair whitening from age. "She's a God! Our people would never stomach the thought of your greatness having a connection to the race we despise."
The King turned to him and the Noble flinched, his posture slouching.
"Sarr'ock, speak your useless thoughts again, and you'll never think them again," he growled. The air mimicked his mood, heavy and murderous. His gaze reunited with hers but narrowed. "Your hand," he commanded.
Isla nodded, raising her palm open. He shifted his gleaming red Zweihänder, slicing her skin, the motion swift and painless. Blood droplets oozed free, dripping down her arm.
He copied the act, red blood appeared, contrasting the tanned skin. The exposed life-fluid levitated into streams, circulating his hand. Each droplet followed the twisting rivulet, defying nature.
They may be different races, but their blood resembled one another. How odd. The sight and meaning held an unspeakable weight.
He snorted, drawing her attention back. "Begin," he commanded.
"Begin what? I don't enact blood contracts on a daily basis. Explain," she retorted before clamping her mouth tight and lowering her gaze. "I'm sorry. Please explain for this fool."
He donned no change. If her contentious words drew anger, she obtained no fist. "Combine your blood with aura," he voiced, deep and hard.
Isla directed aura upon his instructions and glanced upwards, waiting.
He snatched her hand, locking his fingers.
"Say your demands," he added while squeezing his grip.
Isla released a haggard breath then swallowed. "Help me end my father's life, for good."
"The day your father dies, I own you."
His declaration reverberated through her. Was she making a terrible mistake? Would this not be far worse? She had a chance, she could still run. Her heart leaped, thumping wild and fast.
Her hand burned as tendrils of blood coiled around their connection. The liquid entwined them, suctioning her skin. With the blood's movements ending, her aura reacted, challenging the contact without her discretion. Yet, nothing partitioned their connection, instead, her aura drained. Her knees weakened and her head sagged.
He released her limp hand, retracting his back. Without pause, his exposed wound disappeared, and skin tone blended. Her eyes widened, scrutinizing her own. She noted the soft pink flesh fringed by purple discoloration. He exceeded her regeneration. Or did all Demons heal quick?
"Sarr'ock," he barked.
"Yes, your greatness, Lord Calimitrin Ignas Mascero." The Noble scampered forward, his body prostrated before his King, his head bent.
"Tell the generals to prepare their men."
"Yes, of course, my Lord." He crept upwards, bowing consecutively as he scurried away.
The King pivoted, his cape whirling alongside. He strode towards an exterior corridor obscured behind the watchful Nobles and low hanging banners. His men divided on his approach, bowing before his passage. They each straightened a stride later, following his exit.
"Well, that went well," Asterick chuckled.
"A little too well?" Lance questioned.
Isla's stomach tussle mellowed and she breathed deep, her lungs invigorated by dust-coated air. Better, but not whole. She sold herself, nothing would revoke this truth. She sighed, and her gaze wandered, spying Lucifer's stiff form. His eyes darkened, their irises pinpointed upon his King's retire.
She inched towards him, massaging her healing hand. "Lucifer?"
He remained fixated without a response. She touched his arm, eradicating his trance-like state. "Nothing, my dear," he replied, peeking at her. "Now, let us make our own preparations."
"You don't have to come."
The darkness clouding his vision faded and their previous red richness returned. "Nonsense. I will and I should."
She nodded, training her view on the throne chair. "Fine," she murmured.
"That does not make you happy?"
"It's not that. I'm grateful, truly." Isla paused, searching for the answer. "But my choice. No, nevermind. It's too late to regret."
"I cannot decry your worries, but know that I'll assist in any way possible."
"Stop. You've done more than enough, Lu."
"Your praise blinds me."
"Cracking jokes now, are we?" Isla quipped.
He laughed. "I've come far in my old age."
Isla smirked and rubbed her brow. Should she tell him about her father? Explaining before she sought death held weight—no, she should. "You know, I finally met him."
"Was he everything you thought he would be?" Lucifer questioned, facing her.
"A complicated experience." She cleared her throat. "I expected more, perhaps more hate and anger. I had always thought I earned his hatred from my mother's death. But it wasn't there. I didn't see it. Why did he hunt me? Why now, does he choose to earn my trust or allegiance instead? Too many questions and I fear none will ever be answered."
"Does knowing matter? Would it change your portrayal of him?"
"No. I'd be an idiot to believe such."
"Then gain what you can, that's all you can do."
He was right, but the understanding neither removed nor quelled the underlying feelings. She wanted to know, painfully so.
"Don't get confused by his words, remember him for what he's done."
For a moment, Isla shut her eyes, her forehead nagging. She stroked the point, soothing the dull ache. She must forget her looming woes, only actions paved her pathway to victory, not her worries. Once more, Arcadia beckoned her. Her last stop before challenging Elysium.
She returned her attention to Lucifer. "I need to head to Arcadia before this fight. There's something I must do."
"Very well. I'll keep his excellency busy," he responded with a playful bow before her.
She smirked, short and quick before spreading her aura. She pictured the marketplace, the rows of shops lining the street, but most importantly, the operational base of Varnis.
A/N: Things are heating up, almost to the end! Hope you enjoyed the chapter.