Fire danced and swayed, a dot of light in an otherwise endless canvas of black. The flames were the only thing keeping the darkness and nightmares at bay. The light flickered and waved unsteadily as the void crept ever closer. The gloom loomed inward as if it were sentient, compelled by a gluttonous need to snuff out the resting world. A chill glided across the plains and attacked the little light.
Salvia's breath hitched in her throat.
On any other night, she could at least find comfort in the moon's luminous glow and the stars which peppered the sky, but nature seemed determined to mirror the turmoil raging inside her chest. A dense cloud cover had arrived with the setting sun and choked out all celestial light. Her little fire was her one lifeline.
Her hands went scrambling through dirt and grass, searching for the stick she laid close in case the flames needed sparking back to life. The fire was dwindling, and as it receded the nightmares grew bold and approached. Frantic screams echoed all around. Embers floated wistfully through the blood-tinged air. Blood pooled on the ground. Death was everywhere. Fires engulfed everything. Homes. Boats. The pier. Nothing was safe.
Salvia released a trembling breath. Her brown eyes stung. Her breathing grew ragged and heart raced. Flames engulfed her vision, and then suddenly, there was her fiance, Lorenzo Aguado, running toward her. Just as he reached her, a spear erupted from his chest and slammed into her with a wet crunch.
Breathe. A deep, cacophonous, and reverberating voice entered her mind, causing a shiver to run between her shoulder blades. Salvia, you have to breathe.
Salvia hadn't even realized she had stopped. Struggling through the fear, she pleaded with her body to respond. Slowly, she sucked in a breath and exhaled. Again and again. She felt a little better knowing she wasn't alone. The memory of the fall of her village, Marineros, was still fresh in her mind. It had barely been a week since that terrible night.
Salvia VerdaderaFe, the girl who survived.
Her first major tragedy happened when she had just entered womanhood. A terrible plague ravaged her village and took her parents. Many others died as well, but the village pulled through. Years later, the second major tragedy of her life happened. Raiders fell upon her town, pillaging, murdering, and burning everything in sight. The young woman was the only survivor.
The smell of iron and burning flesh lingered in her nostrils. Salvia could even still feel the warmth of Lorenzo's blood on her copper skin. Bile rose up her throat, and a queasy ache formed in the pit of her stomach.
Slide your hand to the right. It isn't far. The voice in her head told her. She followed without question.
Dirt rolled loosely under her palm as the bladed grass brushed her skin. The sensation would have tickled if panic wasn't spiraling in her heart. Something hard slid against her little finger, and a spark of hope blossomed to life. She wrapped her hand around the small, round, wooden object. It was her makeshift poker, and just beside it she found the bundle of sticks she had collected before daylight had vanished. She grabbed a few handfuls of twigs and dry brush, then tossed it all into the fading orange glow of the pit.
Sparks flew erratically as the flames spread across the newly added debris. Salvia poked at the branches to strengthen and spread the weak flames. As the warmth grew with renewed vigor, the kiss of the flames sent a prickle across her skin. She released a sigh of relief. Sitting back on her folded legs, her body straightened and her hands fell limp at her sides. Her terrible memories were finally falling silent again, returning to the recesses of her mind. The crackling of the flames quieted. Both warmth and cold evaded her senses. All sensation faded. She felt nothing; not the aching of loss, not the strain of travel on her muscles, not the dryness choking her throat, not even the scent of pine and cedar from the sparse surrounding trees.
She just felt—nothing.
Her poker slid from her hand and landed with a soft thud. Salvia pulled her legs out from under her and slid her knees into her chest, wrapping her arms around them and hugging herself tight. She sat like that for a long while. Her body tensed at the sound of a light grumble emanating from her stomach. She was hungry. It seemed odd to her that that would be the one feeling to persevere where all others had faded to obscurity. At that moment she wondered if hunger was the most powerful driving force in life. After all, more than anything else, everything needed to eat. Hoping to calm her hunger, she placed a hand on her belly and rubbed it in an attempt to quell its muttering, but her hunger only grew more severe.
Turning her head to the side, Salvia found her satchel beside her and reached inside the opening, removing a small parcel wrapped with thin rice paper.
She dropped her knees into a criss-cross position and placed the parcel on her lap. Loosening the white string around it, Salvia unwrapped the paper. Looking down at the contents inside she let out a soft, disappointed groan. Four thick cuts of salted pork were all she had left.
That wasn't good.
There wasn't much left and there was no way to be certain how much longer her journey south would take. She had no map and no idea where the next town could be. With another fierce roar from her stomach, she ripped away a small piece of the pork, barely the size of a coin, and stuffed it in her mouth. Salvia would have to savor what she could and ration what was left until she made it to wherever the Temple of Pride was meant to be.
A face then slowly emerged from the light of the fire. It was ferocious, with horns and fangs, looking almost skeletal. Its eyes were glowing. They stared intently at her. Salvia met the being's gaze, unflinching and unamused, then took another bite of the meat.
"Hey! You're gonna share aren't ya?" Ultor, her demon companion from Infernos, asked while forming his fanged mouth into what seemed to be a playful smirk.
The very first time Salvia had met him, the same moment she had heard his voice trickle into her mind, fear froze her as still as stone. It was the night her village fell. Lorenzo was lying dead, his corpse on top of her as fire roared all around them. Ultor approached and knelt beside her, brushing a few loose strands of umber hair away from her face with a thin, pointed claw. He had grabbed hold of the shaft of the spear and pulled it free of her and her betrothed. The only sound she could make at the time was a sharp gasp.
She found herself panting, a hand clutching her chest as the fire of the pit in front of her danced against the cold night air. The face in the flames seemed nearly incapable of making an expression, but she somehow always knew what the minor movements in the face were conveying. She could interpret the worry in her demon's gaze. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her body and swallowed.
"I thought demons didn't eat human food." Salvia answered, eliciting a chortle from Ultor.
"Well, that depends on your definition of human food." He paused on the last two words. The demon then released a deep, throaty laugh as he glanced at the pork. Watching her quietly for a moment, his expression seemed disappointed, likely since she hadn't reacted to his jest. Her posture relaxed somewhat but she remained quiet. With a sigh, he broke the silence. "You know what? Never mind, your portions are too small for someone like me anyway." The demon stated with a hearty bellow. His image faded as quickly as it had arisen.
Salvia stared intently at what was left of the portion of pork in her lap. She ignored the grumbling of her stomach with all the power of will she could muster, knowing full well she couldn't indulge as much as her body was urging her to do.
A loose, dry strand of braided hair slid into view, lightly obscuring her vision. Using only her left pinky finger she pushed it away from her face. She began to twirl it about her index finger and watched the embers as they rose into the quiet stillness of the night, a melancholy hanging over her.
Her hand drifted absentmindedly to her collar bone, then fell to a spot on the very center of her chest. Salvia's fingers slid in a slow, circular motion across the fabric of her traveling dress, searching for the item she knew she'd find hanging there. A slight burning sensation birthed to life within her ribcage, deepening the frown marring her face. She held back a discomforted groan.
Hey, stop that! If you keep feeling like this . . . it'll only hurt my feelings. The demon chuckled warmly. There was an unusual comfort in his words, and while she appreciated his concern there was little anything or anyone could do to extricate her from her turmoil. All she could do was clutch onto the object beneath the cloth, squeezing Lorenzo's final gift.
A pang of guilt pierced her heart. Although they had been engaged at a young age, an arrangement made by their parents, and had known him for a long while, she was never able to truly love. Not as a spouse is supposed to.
Why was that? The practice of arranged marriages was common and many assured her that love would follow as it had for them, but that hadn't been her experience. Was she broken?
She cared for the young fisherman, and they did many things together. She baked him her famous quesitos. He taught her how to sail and to fish. They shared in each other's company and learned the intricacies of each other's thoughts, hopes, and dreams. But no matter what, her feelings toward him never blossomed beyond friendship. She had never felt that spark of something more. Salvia was sure Lorenzo knew of her feelings, or lack of, though she never vocalized it. Perhaps that was why on the night of El Festival de la Rosa de Oro,* a popular festival in her home country of Cabreo celebrating love and enduring life's many obstacles, he set up a picnic and gave Salvia his final gift. He told her that it didn't matter how she felt for him, that he was and could remain patient. That spark had found him, for her no less. He loved her and believed one day she would feel the same for him. No matter how long it took. He would wait. Unfortunately, that day would never come. The fall of her village came soon after that night.
Releasing a shaky breath, she broke the quiet and asked, "Ultor, is there something wrong with me?"
The demon snorted, as if Salvia had just asked him the silliest question. Of course not, my young friend. Being an immortal, I've come to learn many things. See many lives in various ways. There's nothing wrong with you. Nothing broken. You are just you. You are young, Salvia, and still have plenty of time to discover who you are meant to become.
"Hmm," looking forlornly at the fire before her, she chose a different question to ask him, "por qué me elegiste*?" Her last words were in the Cabreoan language, the language of her country.
Shortly after meeting Ultor, she agreed to be his host and to take him south to a temple held in the heart of the mortal realm. There, they would enact something the demons and angels had called the Finis. Before embarking on her journey, her king and his sons helped return her slain people to their great god Calamar in the sea.
Through her connection to Ultor, she understood and could speak Anglicus, the language of the people of Marlela, where within they would find their destination south of Cabreo. So much of her understanding of the world had changed in that short time. It was almost too much to accept. Gods. Demons. Angels. Limbo. All of it was real and yet, much of what was preached across the known world was not entirely right, nor wrong. The reality was somewhere in between, a tangled mess of truths and untruths.
She then realized Ultor had stayed silent. He hadn't even emerged from the fire. That was until she felt a presence appear behind her. She sucked in a startled breath and glanced back. Someone, or something, was emerging from her shadow. The figure opened its deep violet webbed wings wide, revealing somewhat leathery wrinkled patagiums stretching between rough, stone and skeletal fingers. A chill spread over her skin like a blanket of ice, gooseflesh forming all over. The being pressed himself against her back. Long, thin arms wrapped around her. What seemed to be skin was as hard and as rough as stone. Ultor's arms shined in an icy violet hue against the dancing fire before them. His wings closed in around her, stopping just shy of enveloping her completely as to allow the fire's warmth to caress her skin.
Salvia sat frozen in place. Had she not understood the gesture to be comforting, as close to a hug as one could receive from a being of his unique composition, she would've been terrified. Fortunately, she did know him. Her heart warmed at the display. Raising a hand to his forearm, she found he truly was as cold as ice. Despite being a demon of Infernos, a realm only ever described by mortals as being a land of death and fire, full of molten pits of unending, unfathomable torment, his touch hadn't a single modicum of warmth. Clearly there was more to the demon's realm than any among the living could possibly comprehend.
"Do you really want the truth or the sweet comfort of a lie?" Ultor finally answered.
The corners of her lips twitched into a smirk, then responded, her words melodious yet somber in her Cabreoan accent. "You know our pact."
"Of course I do, but I want to hear you say it."
Salvia stared into the fire a little longer and took a deep breath. "We shall never lie, and we shall never hate. Our blades will strike true into the hearts of those who have sinned. We will help all who would ask but only should they be deserving. You are my guardian and I your vessel. Now purge our sins."
They recited the vow in unison, their words weaving into a tapestry of beauty and harmony. Their roles were reversed, but the purity and intent behind the vow would shape the bedrock of new beginnings and, possibly, so powerful as to bring everlasting change to the realm of mortals. For good or for ill, that was yet to be determined.
Both remained silent for a moment after, each trying to outlast the other in holding their stern, quiet gaze. In the end it was Ultor who broke first. They lightly began to chuckle, and soon their chuckles turned to laughter as warmth filled their hearts.
She looked down at the salted pork and ripped off a somewhat large piece, then raised it to him. "Here, pruébalo."*
Salvia tilted her head, noticing Ultor's hesitation. After a long moment he raised his clawed hand and pierced the sliver of meat between his index finger and thumb. His hands were large and fingers long and thin. She quickly ripped away a tiny piece for herself and watched Ultor, wondering just what he would do.
In their time together she hadn't once seen him eat. Did demons even eat as mortals do, or did he get all the nourishment he needed from Infernos?
The demon eyed the flesh between his claws, turning it this way and that. Tilting his skeletal face to one side, his expression seemed a mixture of inquisition and caution. He pulled the salted pork up to where a nose should've been and drew in a long breath. His insides flared with light, then faded as he exhaled. Lowering it to his fanged mouth, he took a mousy bite and went still. His eyes stared into oblivion as Salvia counted the moments drifting by. One. Two. Three. The demon's attention then refocused, and his gaze turned down to her.
She couldn't help but snort, both amused and a little concerned. A smile slid across her face as she met his look. "If you don't want it then I'll eat it myself." She stated as flatly as she could.
"Ha! Go right ahead. I don't think I could if I wanted to, to be honest. I always wanted to try it, to eat as you humans do. A memory lost to me of my life before. Your kind always looks as though they really enjoy it. Unfortunately, it would seem a sensation forever lost to me. For us, mortals are our food. Humans, dwarves, faes, elves, and so many others. The souls of sinners, and nothing more."
"Aaaah, I see."
"Yes, and to answer your question from a moment ago. There was something within you, something that—" Ultor suddenly paused, a sneer shading his angular, spiked face.
Salvia cocked her head at him with a raised brow. "Ultor?"
"We are no longer alone." A growl reverberated from his chest, taking her aback.
Ultor slowly stood before her, a full seven feet at his tallest, and turned. She ducked as his long spiked tail soared over her head. His wings spread far before her, shielding her view. Salvia pursed her lips and laid her salted pork on the ground, bending low to peek beneath the webbed wings. She squinted and waited for her vision to adjust to the darkness, her heart jumped in her chest. Several knights in azure garb beneath armor of silver and white were approaching atop horses of varying hues.
There were six in all, and based on the emblem emblazoned on their banners, they were Templar Equitums from the capitol city of Lumen Magnum. These were knights of the infamous Cirine faith. Salvia nearly opened her mouth to inform Ultor of who they were but fell silent as the top of the demon's sharp tail pressed firmly against her lips.
Shhh, Salvia, I can hear your thoughts, remember? Just be still, this will only be a moment. The sound of his voice rang in her mind.
She closed her eyes for just a moment, feeling the faint dizziness which came with the telepathic link. Ultor said she would acclimate to it over time and even though it hadn't even been a week since their pact was enacted, she was ready for the dizziness to be a thing of the past. Opening her eyes and blinking the haze away, Salvia inspected the templars as best she could.
The banners were azure with shining gold borders, bearing the silver symbol of an intricate cross surrounded by four feathered wings. They halted their horses' gallop about fifteen paces away from the demon. At the head of the group was a knight donned in large, rounded shoulder pauldrons. His helm was decorated with four long white feathers poking high above his head. He raised his hand to the faceplate, slid it back, and showed his face.
Salvia's breath hitched in her throat. He was a young man that looked to be about her age of eighteen, if not a tad older. His skin was fair. A scar was visible across his thin lips, stretching from just under his right nostril across to the left side of his jaw. For some reason, she couldn't help but wonder how he had received such a ghastly wound.
The dark azure of the young man's pupils glared at her demon friend intensely. Salvia's heart slowly began to race as the knight reached to his side and drew a white sword from its scabbard. The man quickly pointed it at Ultor. "You, demon! How dare you show yourself in our holy country! By the holy light of the Great One above I shall slay you here and now. You will never again tempt an innocent soul."
A long stretch of quiet followed. Seconds felt like minutes. Eventually it was Ultor who broke the silence with a harsh cackle. His cackle grew into a deep bellow of laughter, sending a terrible chill up Salvia's spine. She shrank away from him a little and stared up at his thin back.
Ultor's arms rose at his sides, displaying the large, jagged armor plates that covered much of his body. Shining black blades suddenly protruded from the ends of the armor on his forearms just above his wrists, stretching further than any sword Salvia had ever beheld. He slowly spread his arms and webbed wings. He had become a wall of death.
Salvia had no idea he had such a weapon concealed within him. Taking a deep breath in the hopes it would help calm her panic, she scanned the knights' faces. Judging by their expressions, her fear didn't compare to the dread her demon had summoned into their hearts. Her small campfire suddenly erupted behind her, growing into a raging flame that towered over her.
"Sin." Ultor whispered hoarsely, pulling her attention back to him. "I sense a sinner among you."
The horses began to whinny, their front hooves skittering in place and trying to back away while the riders fought to keep the creatures in place. Ultor's spiked tail slowly flailed left and right like a lion ready to pounce. He leaned forward with a deep growl in his chest, looking ravenous with hunger.
"Salvia, which one?" Ultor asked, startling her.
It was time.
Her body was trembling. In order for Ultor to act, she had to be the one to divine the sinners for him. Were he to strike at an innocent, he would suffer divine punishment, so he offered her a means to do as needed. She stood up and revealed herself from behind Ultor, startling the head knight, and raised her left hand toward them, palm facing the sky.
Taking another deep breath, she gently closed her eyes and felt the warmth spark to life on her hand. It grew hotter and hotter, feeling like a small weight on her palm. Opening her eyes, she found a ring of fire hovering over her hand no larger than the size of her head. She raised it until her arm was level with her gaze and peered through the haze of heat and flames. She searched the distorted image within the fire and there, one of the knights began to glow brightly in a sickly yellow tinge. Recalling what Ultor had taught her the first time she tested the ability, she recognized the putrid hue to be the color of greed. She looked to the others, waiting, expecting more to light up as well but was taken aback by what she saw—nothing. Only one of the bunch was a sinner.
Ultor noticed her pause and glanced at her. "What's wrong?"
She gently shook her head. "Nada.* I suspected the one who raised his sword to you and perhaps a few others to be guilty, but it's just the one on the far right."
"Is that so? Very well then."
He crouched close to the ground, his large, spiked horns pointing toward the knight whose soul was marked by sin. Without a moment's hesitation Ultor rushed forward, causing Salvia to jolt in place. He moved so fast he became a blur and struck his left arm blade through the sinner's chest before anyone had a chance to react. The horses reared with fright, causing the still terrified knights to tumble from their saddles to the ground below.
Raising the sinner high into the air, his body glowed brightly in tones of red and orange that danced over his being, like fire. He hung still, lifeless, but the glow separated and took on a human form of its own and writhed, kicking and screaming in agony. Salvia's jaw locked, her body turning icy cold with the realization of her demon companion's power.
Ultor opened his fanged mouth wide and took in a deep breath. He began to devour the glow as it wriggled and desperately fought to escape. The knights all stared wide eyed and frozen with fear at the horrific sight taking place before them. It was like nothing Salvia had ever seen and judging from the knights' reactions, they too were unprepared for this fight.
As she stared wide-eyed at Ultor, sweat beaded on her brow, and her pulse raced. She thought she had understood, thought she had prepared herself for what was to come. To see what he called The Devouring. Salvia didn't expect it to be like this. She knew this fate was the sinner's own doing. Justice was being dealt for whatever atrocities the knight had committed. She should've been glad to see him sent to Infernos for punishment, but all she felt in that moment was pity. The horrific wail of his scream was otherworldly, bone chilling, and a thing of nightmares. She could almost feel the agony he must've been going through.
Her eyes traveled to the body that had now slid to the base of Ultor's blade. Crimson blood slid down his forearm and dripped to the grass, muddying the dirt. Flashes of her burning village rushed into her mind again, her people running, screaming for their lives. Many fled to the docks, trying to reach the boats in the hopes that they could escape into the vast blue ocean that had always welcomed them. Others tried to fight, wielding oars, shovels, pitchforks, anything they could find. Unfortunately, her people were fishermen and farmers, not warriors. When she closed her eyes, she could still see their chests skewered by swords, their blood painting their village. Women screamed over the laughter of evil men as they were carried away. Not even the children had been spared. Many were tossed, screaming into burning homes. Those lucky enough to live were taken, likely doomed to a fate of slavery, or worse.
"NO!" One of the Templars screamed out, jolting Salvia back from her memories.
As the soldiers regained their composure they quickly drew their swords. Salvia dismissed her fire ring, dropping to the ground, and slammed the same hand hard to the dirt. Breathing in deeply once more and closing her eyes, she called for the binding magic Ultor gave her to protect herself should she ever be in need. Warmth brimmed to life beneath her hand and spread outward. A wave of heat brushed against her face. The spell was ready. All she had to do was focus on the soldiers, will the magic to hold them in place long enough for her and Ultor to flee—
"Kill the witch!" The voice of the head knight ordered, startling Salvia from her concentration.
She'd never heard the word witch before. As she opened her eyes, her heart skipped a beat. It felt as if time was slowed. She watched helplessly as a bolt soared toward her. Salvia fell backward, but there was no time, there was no way she could dodge the projectile in time. Panic set in. She was going to die.
On instinct she crossed her arms over her chest, closed her eyes, and prayed to the Almighty One and the sea god Calamar, praying to anyone who was listening to not let this be her end. She hadn't expected anyone to actually be listening and waited for the bolt to find its mark. Suddenly a rush of wind slammed into her from above. She heard a powerful flap of wings followed by a loud clang, as if a hammer had struck an anvil.
Adrenaline pounded through her veins as she opened her eyes. She was taken aback at what she found. Soft white feathers covered her view. Her mouth fell open. Salvia leaned forward, reaching out to the wall of feathers with a hand, and just as a tip of her fingers brushed against the soft, ethereal plumes, a golden glowing hand grasped onto her.
"Dost not."
A soothing voice filled her ears, sounding more splendid than any bird's song carried on a gentle breeze, more calming than the laps of waves at daybreak, and more relaxing than a soft bed after a long day's work. She turned to its source. Spreading his wings just enough to reveal his form to her, an angel of Hevellum met her gaze, face-to-face. His features were sharp and chiseled.
Her face lit up with disbelief, staring into his aqua green eyes. She quickly crossed her arms into an X over her chest and bowed her head low to show her respect for such a beautiful being. He bowed his head in return, his ebony hair sliding over his armored shoulders and partially covering his glowing golden-brown skin. The being then stood to inspect Ultor who was still devouring the sinner and seemed to be savoring every bite.
As the last vestige of the sinner's glow vanished into the demon's maw, Ultor tossed the corpse to the side where it landed with a terrible squishy thud. The noise made Salvia's insides churn. Ultor then turned his attention toward the bowman who had fired her bolt at Salvia. He swatted the other soldiers out of his way, as if they were nothing more than a simple inconvenience. The woman with the crossbow visibly startled.
To Salvia's surprise she didn't retreat, instead aiming her spare weapon with a bolt already loaded, and loosed it. Ultor didn't even flinch as he snatched it from the air mere inches from his skeletal face. Unamused, he dropped the bolt to the ground, then grabbed the crossbowman and raised her high into the air, looking poised to snap her neck.
"Ultor stop!" The angel screamed out. A burst of light cracked across the sky, punctuating his command with authority. The tone of the plea caught Salvia by surprise. There was no condemnation in his call. Urgent as it was, there were clear traces of concern in his voice.
"This human dared to loose her bolt at Salvia! This one needs to be punished." Ultor snarled. Whatever bravery the woman moments ago had was now gone, replaced by understandable fear. Her hands quivered.
Salvia jolted, fearing what punishment might befall her companion should he devour an innocent. "Ultor, por favor,* stop!" She pleaded. "The woman only acted out of fear of what you did. She knew not her actions! I promise you, there are no more sinners here."
Ultor continued to glare at the knight within his grasp, seething as he slightly tightened his grip around her body. The woman groaned in pain as the air escaped her. She clawed at his rough skin with her free hand to no avail. He brought his face closer to the knight, reveling in her fearful, wide-eyed stare. Ultor sniffed her once, twice, three times, as if hoping for a trace of something that wasn't there.
"BAH!" He scoffed, sounding disappointed. "Fine." Dropping the woman, he walked over to join the lightly armored angel and Salvia, helping her off the ground.
Salvia glanced at the Templars who stared in disbelief at what lay before them. The leader slowly stood, his hand-and-a-half longsword still tightly gripped in his trembling hand. Ultor and the angel turned to the knights, causing many of the soldiers to flinch, but none dared attack after what had nearly befallen the bowman moments before. Suddenly, one of the knight's horses cantered over to them. It was the one that belonged to the now dead soldier.
Just as the creature reached Salvia, she slowly raised her hand and cupped the horse's chin. She pressed her forehead against the stallion and gently scratched along his jawline.
Ultor then turned to the angel with an annoyed sneer. "What is this, Abimelech? I heard the call for Finis, but the sinner's I've found so far are few at best."
So the angelic warrior's name was Abimelech, Salvia thought, brushing the horses gray fur and trying to act as though she were not eavesdropping on their conversation.
"Thou misunderstand, demon." Abimelech replied with an annoyed scowl of his own. "The call was not to end the mortal world of Eldara, but to end a single city."
The demon's profound brow winced in surprise, curiosity rising. "Oh, a city? Please explain."
Salvia noticed the head soldier flinch. He was gawking at Abimelech, likely trying to understand what he was seeing.
Swallowing, she decided it would be good to finish the spell she had started before one of the knights had nearly ended her life with a bolt. It would be unwise to interrupt the angel and demon's discussion. Besides, binding the templars would likely be the best way to keep them safe from further antagonizing Ultor. Removing her hands from the horse, she slowly turned to the fire to not raise any alarm and sat herself down on folded legs. Planting a hand on the ground, she resummoned the binding circle and froze the soldiers where they were.
"The city has warped the views of the Almighty One above." Abimelech started to explain. "They segregate and discriminate against all who art different, and murder those who dost not follow their self-proclaimed true faith."
A small, pleased smile then grew on Ultor's fanged mouth. "Don't keep me in suspense Archangel, what's the city's name?"
Abimelech rolled his eyes in disgust and continued. "The capitol city of Marlela, Lumen Magnum. The selfsame place where the seven Temples of Sin and Virtue reside."
Chapter 1 End