The hastily assembled group, led by Selene, plunged deeper into District Ten-Eleven. The streets narrowed, becoming canyon-like corridors of oppressive dark stone.

  “Alright, Darius,” Selene said, “You want to tell me why I'm leading a group of Inquisitors into a nest of demons? Just so I know where to take you.”

  Darius matched her pace. “I want to see the Demon leader for the Hallows. Ravokar Veykaroth acts as the representative, but I suspect he’s not the true power. Is that correct?”

  Selene smiled. She nodded slowly. “You are correct, Commander. How did you figure that out?”

  Darius finally turned his head, letting his gaze sweep over her.

  “Two reasons. The first is history,” Darius stated plainly. “Morgan, for all her power and long life, is ultimately mortal. While she is the leader of the Hallows, she won't be around forever. Ravokar Veykaroth listens to her well, but..." Darius looked at Selene up and down, "but he doesn't seem like the type who would willingly listen to someone weaker than him. No offense, Princess.”

  Selene gave a casual shrug, the movement fluid and unbothered. “None taken. It's obvious I'm not as strong as my Grandmother yet.”

  Darius paused, letting the silence hang for a moment before delivering his final point. “Then there must be someone over him, a much older Demon power, keeping him in check and ensuring the Demons adhere to the spirit of whatever deal they made with Morgan LeFaye.”

  Selene gave him a playful, quiet applause with two fingers. “Precisely. You are a lot smarter than I thought, Commander.”

  Darius allowed a genuinely playful smirk to cross his lips. “Of course you would think that, Princess. When you’re around, I can leave most of the thinking to you, and just focus on hitting things.”

  Selene chuckled, a deep, rich sound that seemed completely out of place in the dark alley. “A man of many talents, then. The strong, silent type with a keen mind.”

  Before Darius could deliver a witty retort, Cassian cleared his throat loudly, breaking the moment with an audible sigh of exasperation. Selene rolled her eyes, her smile lingering as she glanced back at the Crown Prince. She gave him a small nod of understanding.

  “You are correct, Commander,” Selene continued, refocusing. “The real power is not Ravokar. It’s his father, Lord Zaltus Veykaroth. He is the true leader of the Traitor Demons. I assume you wish to ask him something about the nature of Demonic Corruption that only an ancient demon will know.”

  “Yes,” Darius responded simply.

  “Then why not just ask Ravokar?” Selene pressed, resuming her stride. “He should know everything his father knows by this point. It would be easier.”

  Darius’s eyes narrowed, all humor vanishing. “Do you really think he’ll be cooperative? Even if you insist? Ravokar is the diplomat; he’s excellent at telling people exactly what they want to hear. He will either lie or withhold information that could be deemed disadvantageous for us to know. I need someone who operates outside the politics of the Accords to be certain.”

  Selene conceded the point with a small, sharp intake of breath. “Fair point.”

  The group went quiet again as Selene led them through a final, winding passage. The passage opened suddenly onto a wide, unexpected thoroughfare. They found themselves in front of a large manor, the structure somehow seeming to swallow the already dim light. It was built of obsidian wood that had been polished to a mirror sheen, adorned with bronze railings shaped like massive, coiled serpents.

  In the front, two Demon Guards stood sentinel. Their skin was the color of burnt coal. They looked at Selene’s group with detached amusement. Without warning, they unleash a powerful burst of unfiltered Vaylora.

  An invisible, crushing weight that felt less like magic and more like being submerged thousands of feet beneath the ocean rushed the group. Selene, Darius, Cassian, Lucen, Varin, and Isolde narrowed their eyes at the act of aggression. Eryndor was almost crushed by it, but he focused his mind and resisted, staring at his aggressors with the intent to attack.

  The four Inquisitors of the Thorned Path who had followed them—Calder, Myrren, Jareth, and Kaelin—were instantly brought to their knees, gasping for breath. The oppressive force bound their muscles and squeezed the air from their lungs, rendering their highly trained physiques useless.

  The two guards raised an eyebrow in synchronized surprise. One of them spoke.

  “You have surrounded yourself with some… interesting humans, Princess. I expected to see all of them on their knees.”

  Selene scoffed, her voice perfectly level, completely untouched by the magical weight that was crippling her allies. “I’m aware. So put it away, before I shove it back. And tell your master I’m here with some friends to have a chat.”

  At the casual command, the pressure instantly faded. The Inquisitors collapsed, coughing violently, their faces pale and slick with sweat.

  “Blasted Hells,” Calder gasped, hands pressed to her chest, struggling to catch her breath. The others, though less vocal, were no better off, their armor clanking softly as they tried to regain their footing.

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  Myrren, who had pulled her notes, looked up at Selene, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and shame. “Are… are those Demons particularly powerful, Princess?”

  Selene shook her head, her face expressionless. “Not really. They are relatively young, probably less than a century old, and are mostly assigned to guard duty like this to gain experience and temper their power. Most older and more powerful Demons tend to keep to themselves.”

  The revelation that such commonplace beings could disable the best of the Sanctum’s forces immediately dampened their moods, their earlier bravado shattered.

  Grand Master Varin, who had withstood the pressure with only a slight strain visible around his eyes, spoke to them, his voice firm and steady. “Worry not. You were tested, and you learned. No one is asked to slay a Demon alone. If the day comes, you will fight together as a unit, relying on the collective strength of the Thorned Path. Don’t be shamed by your weakness, Inquisitors. Use it to strengthen yourself, so that you will not falter when your brothers and sisters need you most.”

  The four affected Inquisitors brightened a bit, though the lesson was clearly etched in their memory.

  The guard who had gone inside returned, his expression now one of mild curiosity. “Lord Veykaroth will see you now.”

  They followed him into the manor. The entrance hall was not a dark den of arcane power but a marvel of spatial warping. Much like the Clock Hand Tower, the interior was vastly larger than the outside suggested.

  The manor opened up into an elegant estate that looked more accustomed to a massive Victorian museum than a demonic stronghold. Marble columns rose to a dizzying height, supporting a glass-domed ceiling that was somehow lit by a gentle starlight, even though it was daytime.

  A Demon butler—orange in color, with small, neatly trimmed horns, wearing a pristine white glove—bowed to them. “This way, please.”

  Grand Master Varin looked around at the impossible scale and luxury of the Manor, then looked over at Selene, a genuine question breaking through his usual rigid demeanor. “Did you… Did the Hallows learn to construct the Clock Hand Tower from these Demons?”

  Selene chuckled softly. “No, Grand Master. That sort of basic spatial extension is not something so miraculous that we’d need the knowledge of demons to create. It’s standard-issue Hallows’ architecture.”

  Varin didn't know how to feel about that. It was something that far outstripped anything known in the Sanctum, yet Selene dismissed it as commonplace.

  Selene looked at Varin’s discomfort and offered a gentle analysis. “If the Church didn’t put so many artificial limitations on its gifted—if you were encouraged to learn, to innovate, and to test—I’m sure you would not be so far behind in such simple matters.”

  “Perhaps,” was Varin’s only response, his gaze drifting over the opulent, impossible space.

  “Perhaps… It’s time for the Church to revisit some of its doctrine,” Cassian added, stepping smoothly into the conversation.

  Varin squinted his eyes at the Crown Prince. “Deeming to change the words of the gods is blasphemous, Prince Cassian.”

  “Was it the word of the Gods, Grand Master?” Cassian countered, his tone perfectly innocent. “Or just human interpretation? Humans are flawed. Nothing is stopping us from correcting mistakes, other than stubborn pride.”

  Varin said nothing. Cassian could not hold back his smile as he looked at the confusion on the Grand Master's face. He then winked toward Selene.

  The butler announced, “We have arrived,” and opened a large, ornate door carved with esoteric glyphs.

  Inside, the room shifted immediately. It was a grand dining hall, with a large ornate dining table acting as the room's main attraction.

  At the table's head sat the Demon Lord they were seeking: Lord Zaltus Veykaroth.

  He looked far more human than any of them thought was possible. He was traditionally attractive, appearing to be in his early to mid-thirties, with light, polished skin. There were no visible horns, claws, or markings. He wore a fine, tailored suit of deep green. His strawberry blonde hair was slicked back. The non-human aspect of him was his eyes, which were pools of green and gold.

  He opened his mouth to welcome them, revealing slightly fanged canines. His voice was raspy, deep, and laced with an antique charm.

  “Welcome, dear guests. Selene, darling, it’s always a pleasure to see you. Have you finally come to take me up on my offer?”

  Selene stepped forward. “I’ll have to pass, thank you, Lord Veykaroth.”

  “Shame, really. Ravokar is a good boy once you overlook his… inclination towards chaos.”

  “Stop it, Lord Veykaroth,” Selene said firmly, though without heat. “You know well I’m already engaged.”

  Lord Veykaroth looked dismissively at Cassian and then groaned, annoyed. “Yes, the human Crown Prince,” he responded, the words dripping with manufactured boredom.

  The space in the room undulated and rippled. In an instant, the Demon Lord disappeared from his seat and reappeared in front of the group. He now stood before Cassian. He was much larger than he looked while sitting. He stood well over six feet, and his powerful build was plain to see even through his fine-tailored suit.

  His hand shot out quickly to grab Cassian by the chin, giving him a thorough, calculating once-over. He scoffed, a sound of utter dismissal, and released the Prince. Cassian stumbled back a step, momentarily speechless, his regal composure fractured.

  Veykaroth’s gaze then lingered on Aelun. “And what is something like you doing with these children?” he asked the Elf, curiosity replacing his annoyance.

  “I was bored, and I find these children interesting,” Aelun responded, his tone perfectly flat and unaffected.

  The Demon Lord chuckled, a low, guttural sound that was genuinely amused. “True. They are an interesting bunch.” He gave a brief look to Lucen, recognizing the Saint’s power, and then looked towards Darius, his gaze locking on Devotion, at his side. He studied the blade for a long, quiet moment.

  The space around them wobbled again, a momentary distortion of reality, and Veykaroth was back in his seat at the head of the table. He sighed dramatically. “Very well. I will stop trying to tie you to my son, Selene. It seems you have your hands full enough already with the men you surround yourself with.”

  “That would be appreciated, Zaltus.”

  The Demon Lord then slapped his hands together. The room shifted again, and all of them were suddenly standing in front of chairs at the large dining table. Zaltus motioned for them to sit.

  “So,” Zaltus said, leaning back with a dangerous, expectant smile, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? A diplomatic call? Or is it a more interesting proposition?”

  Selene turned her gaze toward Darius, who was already taking his seat, his hand still resting near Devotion’s hilt.

  “I want to talk to you about Demonic Corruption,” Darius stated plainly, his voice cutting through the elegant silence.

  Lord Zaltus Veykaroth’s eyes widened slightly in genuine delight.

  “OH hohoho! What an interesting topic,” the Demon Lord purred, leaning forward across the expansive table. “What questions do you have, little Inquisitor?”