Roderick, bless him, was hacking at that oversized crab like he could muscle his way through its shell with sheer stubbornness alone. He was strong, sure—the strongest I knew, even on his worst days—but this beast was practically laughing at him, or it would have been if it had any lips. Every swing of his axe landed with a solid thunk, denting the shell but not cracking it, no matter how many times he tried. He looked almost offended when his axe bounced off, like this was some insult to his very existence.

The air was thick with the tang of smoke and the metallic scent of sparks flying off Roderick’s shield as it clashed against the beast’s relentless pincers. They stood in the middle of a clearing littered with fragments of shattered rock and splintered wood, remnants of the crab’s earlier swipes that had gouged out the ground in its fury. Steam rose from a muddy puddle nearby, where one of the crab’s acidic sprays had seared the earth, turning soil into foul-smelling sludge. Dark clouds loomed above, casting a gloom over the scene, as if the heavens themselves were watching in ominous silence.

“Keep scratching, Roderick,” I called out, just loud enough to break his concentration for a split second. “You might find its ticklish spot yet.”

He grunted—a sound somewhere between frustration and defiance—and shifted his weight, charging again, this time with his shield raised. When the crab lunged forward with one of those razor-sharp pincers, he met it head-on, bracing against the impact like he was the one giving lessons here. The pincer clanged against his shield, sparks flying, as he held his ground with that grit of his, feet planted, muscles straining like he could stare the creature into submission.

“Can’t say it’s helping, but it’s certainly a spectacle,” I muttered to myself, eyeing his back as he swung the axe again in a wide arc, aiming right for the creature’s side. This was classic Roderick: trying to find just the right angle, using brute force as if it could crack the very laws of nature.

The crab’s shell held, of course, but Roderick’s persistence didn’t waver. When the creature reared back, he took the opportunity to sidestep, swinging his axe low, hoping to catch the underbelly. Smart—probably the closest thing it had to a soft spot—but the crab anticipated him, slamming its other pincer toward his legs. Roderick dodged with a fluidity that seemed improbable for someone his size, his shield twisting in just in time to deflect another blow.

“Impressive, brother, very impressive,” I muttered under my breath. “Just keep dodging, blocking, swinging, all day if you like. I’ll be here...observing.”

Of course, it wasn’t just for show. I’d watched him enough times to know every move before he even made it. He’d plant his feet to counter the blow, shift to open the creature up, then drive his weight down with the axe—all in one smooth, practiced rhythm. Each strike sent shudders through the beast, even if the shell stayed intact, and I could tell Roderick wasn’t about to stop until it was a crumpled heap.

Roderick was still at it, his axe a blur of heavy swings, his movements precise but increasingly desperate as he dodged and struck with a rhythm I knew he couldn’t sustain forever. The crab had him backed against a jagged outcrop, one swipe away from pinning him there like a bug on a board. It was time to step in before my brother got himself crushed—or worse, started making speeches about “fighting to the last breath.”

I took a step forward, tightening my grip on my staff, eyes locked on the beast’s thickly armored legs. They were like iron pillars, dense and almost impenetrable, but they weren’t invincible. Yes, that’ll do, I thought, a smirk creeping onto my lips.

“All right, big guy, stand back just a hair,” I called to Roderick, but I didn’t really expect him to listen. “Just long enough for me to show you how it’s done.”

Ignoring his irritated grunt, I angled my staff and began the incantation, my voice low and steady. This wasn’t one of my flashier spells—no torrents of fire or blinding explosions. Those would be useless here, wasted on this stubborn hulk of a creature. No, this one required finesse, a precise touch. Stonebinder’s Grip.

As the words left my lips, tendrils of shimmering green magic slithered from the tip of my staff, weaving through the air before sinking into the ground beneath the creature. The earth around the crab’s legs began to tremble, then surge upward, ensnaring its limbs with bands of enchanted stone. The creature lurched, its pincers snapping and scraping against the rock, but the bindings only tightened.

I watched as the crab strained, its monstrous legs pinned down by thick ropes of stone that twisted tighter with every movement. It was thrashing now, unable to shift more than a few inches in any direction. Roderick caught on in an instant; he didn’t need a second invitation. With a battle cry that would’ve startled even a deaf goblin, he charged, swinging his axe high above his head.

He brought it down with everything he had, right into the softened crevice between the crab’s shell and its underbelly. The axe bit deep, and this time, there was a sickening crack as the shell split open, dark, foul-smelling ichor spilling onto the ground. Roderick didn’t pause; he drove the blade in again and again, each strike met with another shuddering crack until the beast’s struggling stilled.

I lowered my staff and watched, one eyebrow raised, as Roderick pulled his axe free, breathing hard, a mixture of satisfaction and exhaustion on his face.

“Efficient, wasn’t it?” I couldn’t resist, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Honestly, Roderick, all that effort just to turn it into stew meat. Do you always have to be so dramatic?”

He wiped some monster gore off his axe and shot me a glare. “Says the one standing back with a stick, tossing a few stones around like it’s a child’s game.”

“Oh, you mean the stick that actually saved your sorry hide?” I raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome, by the way. Next time I’ll let you tenderize it a little longer.”

He scoffed, swinging his axe down to clean the blade. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy the show. And besides, I was just getting warmed up.”

“Ah, of course,” I said, deadpan. “Nothing like watching you swing that axe around like a particularly angry ogre with a tree branch. It’s positively riveting.”

“Better than standing around waving a sparkler,” he shot back, grinning. “Maybe next time you’ll be the one in the thick of it.”

“Oh, please,” I replied, with a mock sigh. “If I took on all the close-up work, who’d be left to save your neck every time?”

We both chuckled, his laugh a bit more reluctant than mine.

As Roderick cleaned his axe and we exchanged our usual jabs, I felt a familiar pang of relief settle in, though I’d never admit it to him. He’d held his own—of course he had. He always did. Sometimes I wondered if he even needed me at all with the way he barreled through enemies. But I wasn’t about to let my guard down. I was his big sister, after all, and that meant something. I had a job to do, and it wasn’t just casting spells.

It was making sure he went home in one piece. He didn’t know that I watched his back for reasons that went beyond the usual “teamwork makes the dream work” spiel. It was for them, his family—his wife and his little son, waiting in that cozy little cottage they’d built together. Waiting for him to walk back through the door, in one piece, like he always promised them he would. So I’d be damned if I let anything get close enough to break that promise for him.

My eyes shifted to the crab’s twisted carcass, and I allowed myself a small, satisfied nod. We’d taken care of it—another job done, another monster gone.

The job itself was hardly glamorous. Some poor fisherman had hobbled up to us in a frenzy, telling us this “giant crab from the depths” had been wreaking havoc, scuttling through their waters like it owned the place, eating everything in sight. Fish, nets, boats—it didn’t seem to care what it ate, as long as it could destroy it. By the time the townsfolk noticed, the crab had nearly wiped out the local fish population. No fish, no food, no money. It was a classic problem: big creature terrorizes little people, little people can’t fight it, so they hire big folks like us to do it for them.

And, honestly? The pay wasn’t half-bad. Enough to keep us fed for a week, maybe longer if I stretched it. Jobs like this were what kept us moving, kept us fed, and kept our supplies stocked. Roderick would tease me about “taking it easy” if I ever mentioned it, but the truth was, I didn’t mind these smaller jobs at all. The risk was lower, the pay was reasonable, and every monster we put down was one less to harm people who couldn’t protect themselves.

So maybe I was a little glad to take out a giant fish-thieving crab, even if the whole thing was absurd. And seeing Roderick in one piece after it? That was a reward all its own.

We were just about to turn back when the old man hobbled toward us, his clothes worn and hands rough from a lifetime of hauling nets. He looked up at the fallen crab and shook his head in something like awe. “Well, I’ll be… you two really did it,” he said, letting out a low whistle. “That beast’s been swallowing our fish for months. Thank you, thank you both.”

I recognized him—he was the one who’d practically begged us to take the job. Without missing a beat, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a leather pouch, heavy with coin, and held it out to me. “Here’s what I promised, and more, madam,” he said with a rough smile. “You’ve earned every coin.”

I felt Roderick tense beside me, and I didn’t even have to look; I could feel him glancing at me, wide-eyed, with that barely contained smirk he wore whenever something amused him.

Madam. I blinked. He meant it kindly, of course, but the word still hit me, sharp as one of those pincers. I took the pouch with a tight-lipped smile and a quick nod, making sure he didn’t see me grit my teeth. “Glad we could help,” I managed, keeping my voice even. “I’ll leave the cleanup to you and your friends then.”

I could feel Roderick’s gaze on me, as if he were daring me to react. I turned to him and shot him a look, all business. “Come on, Roderick,” I said briskly, waving him along. “Let’s get out of here before you wear out your welcome.”

As we walked, I kept my face forward, my expression carefully composed, but inside, I couldn’t shake the old man’s words. Madam. Was that what I was now? I tried to do the math—if I was remembering right, I’d be turning fifty this year. But it had been a long, long time since I’d last looked at myself in a mirror, much less thought about my age. I’d been out here too long to care about what I looked like, or to wonder if my hair had gone a bit gray. I’d always known I was getting older; I just didn’t realize I was old.

I pressed my lips into a wry, half-hearted smile and kept walking. Nothing to do about it now, anyway.

Roderick followed, biting back whatever joke was sitting on his tongue, for once, as I steered us away from the marsh.

The walk back to the city was quiet at first, both of us listening to the crunch of leaves and the distant murmur of birds beginning to settle in for the night. But it didn’t take long before Roderick broke the silence.

“So,” he said, his voice laced with that particular brand of curiosity he couldn’t hide. “What’s next? Giant rats? A chimera? Or maybe a nice, easy swarm of giant hornets?”

I rolled my eyes. “Who knows? We’ll find out. As always, it’s the pub for us.”

The pub had become something of an informal hunting office—a cluttered wall of flyers, maps, and desperate messages scrawled in shaky handwriting. There was usually a crowd of would-be monster hunters, adventurers, and the occasional drunk, all looking for a quick job or coin. And though the bounties on other jobs could be higher—there was always a generous price on a bandit chief or some upstart rebel—we kept it simple. Monster-hunting was straightforward. You didn’t have to know anything about your target, just that it wasn’t human. It was easier to sleep at night that way, knowing our hands were only bloodied with the beasts that deserved it.

As the night deepened and we neared the city gates, we heard the sound of hooves—heavy, rhythmic, and getting closer. A troop of soldiers appeared on the road ahead, armed to the teeth in full armor, their swords clinking at their sides. They rode in grim silence, each of them looking straight ahead as if their very lives depended on it. The sound of metal scraping and the distant glint of their polished helmets caught my eye. These weren’t just some mercenaries off to guard a caravan; they were prepared for something far bigger. Perhaps they were on their way to join another battalion, heading off to some far-off battle I’d never see.

The war on this continent had dragged on for as long as I could remember, swallowing whole villages, cities, and even generations. The whys and hows had never concerned me much, but people in the city whispered that the end was in sight—that peace was finally near. And if that was true, then good. It was one less thing to worry about, one less mess to clean up for people like me and Roderick.

After hours of walking, we finally reached it.

They called it Caerwyn, this city where every creature in the realm seemed to gather, all living on top of one another in a kind of noisy, harmonious mess. If there was one place on this continent where you’d find dwarves haggling beside elves, orcs sharing bread with halflings, and every odd pairing in between, it was here. Caerwyn was a melting pot, a place where an elf marrying a dwarf didn’t raise so much as an eyebrow, and where humans and orcs could be seen herding children—half-orc, half-human—who had inherited the best, or sometimes the worst, of both worlds.

Honestly, it was strange, even a little charming, to see all these people who’d normally be at each other’s throats just… getting along. I supposed that was Caerwyn’s magic; it made even the unlikeliest things seem almost normal. But I didn’t care much for it beyond the usual curiosity. Love and family… those were luxuries for people who didn’t spend their days killing things with too many eyes and teeth. I’d given up on that idea years ago. There was a time when I thought I’d find someone who could keep up with me, or at least tolerate my particular brand of wit. Now? I was too tired to even try.

Maybe that’s what wore a person down over the years—not the battles, not the magic, but the letting go of things you never really admitted you wanted in the first place. And here I was, probably looking every one of my fifty years because I’d made peace with not caring.

The city itself didn’t make it easy to feel young—or even sane, for that matter. Caerwyn sprawled out in every direction like a maze dreamt up by a mad architect. Buildings stacked atop each other in ways that defied logic, with narrow stairways and creaking ladders connecting different levels of rickety apartments, leaning shops, and balconies that seemed ready to give way underfoot. The streets twisted and tangled like some enchanted vine, often ending in a brick wall or spilling into a crowded square you never meant to find.

Every corner had a vendor hawking wares, their stalls crammed into any space they could find, all shouting over each other with accents as thick as their potions’ mystery ingredients. They sold everything from suspicious-looking “remedies” to enchanted baubles that promised “instant fortune” to anyone gullible enough to buy them. String lights and lanterns were strung high between buildings, casting a warm, uneven glow across cobblestone streets that were forever filled with the noise of the crowd.

And the crowds—good gods, the crowds! A nonstop flood of bodies, scales, fur, feathers, and every combination of creature you could imagine. The press of people was constant, jostling shoulders and wings, horns and hooves, all pushing forward in every direction. Caerwyn was a cacophony of laughter, haggling, and the occasional bellow when a drunken fool wandered too close to a pickpocket’s reach. Every few paces, someone was shouting out a story, a threat, or a warning to “watch your purse, friend!”—advice that usually came a second too late.

It was loud, chaotic, and, frankly, utterly exhausting. But that was Caerwyn for you—a city that swallowed you up, spat you out, and somehow left you coming back for more.

Finally, we found ourselves outside our usual haunt: The Iron Tankard. Calling it a “pub” was being generous—it was more like a big room with a roof, a few rickety tables, and the stench of spilled ale permanently soaked into the walls. But it was our pub, and the place was practically buzzing tonight. The noise hit us like a wall as soon as we stepped inside.

The tables were packed, some with rowdy adventurers recounting stories that were probably half-fiction at best, others with locals sharing drinks with complete strangers. A bard was strumming a lute in the corner, his voice barely audible over the din. Over at the bar, a dwarven bartender was slinging mugs with the practiced indifference of someone who’d seen it all before.

Roderick elbowed his way to an open table, and we sat down, the warmth and noise wrapping around us. There was something oddly comforting about it, this sea of noise and laughter, even if half of it was just drunks shouting nonsense.

I leaned back in my chair, letting out a long breath. For a moment, I just watched the chaos around us, from a brawl brewing at one corner table to a human and an orc arm-wrestling over a pile of coins.

The barkeeper, Ilsa, shuffled over with a tray balanced on her hip and her usual no-nonsense expression. She set down a mug of mead ale in front of me and one for Roderick without even asking, like the true professional she was. After all, we were here so often that Ilsa could probably guess our orders in her sleep.

“Here you go, Roderick,” she said, sliding a plate piled high with lobster meat toward him. His eyes lit up, and before I could blink, he was tearing into it like he hadn’t eaten in days.

For me, she set down a plate of sautéed starfruit slices, golden and crisp around the edges, glistening with honey and some herb that smelled like mint but with a sharper kick. Starfruit was a rare treat around these parts, and I couldn’t resist it—especially prepared like this.

Ilsa leaned on the edge of our table with a sly grin. “You just missed Rowan, you know,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Stopped by here a few hours ago, but he didn’t stick around long.”

Rowan. Just the mention of his name got Roderick’s attention, and he glanced up from his lobster meat, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Rowan?” he repeated, almost reverently. “Rowan Hale?”

She nodded. “The one and only. Heard he just took out that whole nest of harpy fiends over in Galeford. Dropped ’em dead one by one, solo. Impressive, huh?”

Roderick shook his head, almost starstruck. “I knew he was good, but… that’s a job we’d barely handle with the two of us. He makes it look easy.”

I had to bite my tongue to keep from rolling my eyes. Must be nice to be born with all the talent in the world. Rowan Hale was the best monster hunter on the continent, no question, with a skill that was frankly irritating. He took down things solo that entire teams of hunters struggled with, like he was simply strolling through a field of daisies. Roderick idolized him, naturally; to him, Rowan was a legend come to life.

“Guess we’re not all born geniuses,” I muttered under my breath, a little louder than I meant. Roderick shot me a glare but said nothing, his focus already shifting back to Rowan’s latest feat.

Ilsa just chuckled. “Well, maybe if you two hang around long enough, some of that luck’ll rub off on you,” she teased, winking as she wandered off to help another table.

As Roderick devoured his lobster, I took a bite of my starfruit, savoring the taste and ignoring the urge to remark on how even “legends” have to eat and drink like the rest of us.

We finished our food in a comfortable silence, the noise of the pub filling the space between us. Roderick stretched, let out a massive yawn, and then mumbled something about “going to check on the room,” which I knew was code for “I’m going to pass out upstairs.” Sure enough, he lumbered toward the staircase, leaving me alone at the table. He’d always had that annoying habit of falling asleep after a good meal, as reliably as a bear hibernating after its first snowfall.

It was a charming enough trait—until we were out camping in some thick jungle, miles away from civilization, and I was left to stand guard alone. Last spring, for example, we’d barely had time to set up camp when a few blight creepers—nasty, root-covered beasts with acidic saliva and far too many teeth—decided we looked like a fine evening snack. I blasted them with a thunderbolt that should’ve woken half the forest, and still, Roderick didn’t stir. I’d had to handle them alone, frying the creatures while he slept peacefully beside me. Afterward, he claimed he’d heard “something” but just assumed it was a dream.

Once Roderick was gone, I turned to the job board near the bar. A massive slab of old, scratched wood, covered with paper scraps, it held more than enough options for the adventurers who passed through.

I leaned in, scanning the hastily scrawled notes pinned to the board:

Dire Frostfang spotted in the northern peaks—vicious predator, breathes ice, said to have scales harder than steel. Reward: 200 gold. Not worth it. Roderick would freeze before we even reached it, and a Frostfang could cleave through armor like it was parchment. I moved on.

Poison Fangs infesting the ruins at Oak Hollow—large snake-like creatures with venomous breath, haunting locals, and leaving trails of toxic fog. Reward: 100 gold and three elixirs of healing. Poison Fangs weren’t too bad if you knew how to handle them. They were massive, heavy-scaled serpents with foul-smelling, venom-laced breath that lingered like a dark mist. Their weak spot was right at the base of their skull—a single clean strike there could sever the spine, assuming you could get close enough. I made a note of it. Easy enough to handle with a bit of preparation and a steady hand.

Amberback Golem in the Sand Wastes—huge, heavily armored, and known to be aggressive. Reward: 500 gold. I scoffed. A golem? I wasn’t a fool. Amberback Golems were nearly impossible to defeat without a full team of mages, a pyromancer, and half a city’s worth of luck. Sure, 500 gold was tempting, but only if I had no plans to keep breathing by the end of the week.

Shardling Swarm in Grimsby Caves—small but deadly, said to attack in hordes, each creature made of enchanted crystal. Reward: 80 gold per creature. Now that was more interesting. Shardlings were tricky because of their numbers and sharp crystal bodies, but they weren’t unbeatable. They had a habit of rushing all at once, so a carefully timed explosion or two would take out half the swarm. I’d keep that one in mind. The gold would add up quickly if we could take out enough of them.

I continued reading, weighing the risks and rewards of each job. It was tempting, sometimes, to go after the high-paying targets, the big beasts that everyone wanted taken down. But the truth was, that kind of risk would get a person killed, and I hadn’t survived this long by chasing coin alone.

I let out a slow breath, taking a step back from the board. It looked like the Poison Fangs or the Shardling Swarm might be our best bets. With Roderick’s brute strength and my spells, they’d be manageable, and we’d both live to see another meal. And that was good enough for me.

I was still studying the job board, debating between which monster would be the most manageable and the least likely to get us killed, when someone sidled up beside me. At first, I barely noticed them, too focused on the various flyers pinned up in front of me.

“Are you a monster-hunter?” came a small voice from somewhere below my line of sight.

Without looking down, I replied, “If you’ve got the money.”

“I have plenty,” the voice said, soft but sure.

That caught my attention. I looked down to find a child standing beside me—couldn’t have been older than eight or nine, barely tall enough to reach my stomach. She was thin and pale, her clothes dusty and wrinkled, like she’d been wearing them for days. But it was her eyes that struck me. In those wide, dark eyes, I saw fear and something else… regret. The kind of regret I’d seen plenty of times before on faces far older than hers.

I knelt down in front of her, softening my voice. “What’s wrong?” I asked, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

She looked at me, her small hands clenched at her sides, and said, “I need you to kill the demon that’s infested our house.”

I blinked, the words catching me off guard. A demon? All these years in the business of monster-hunting, and I’d never once met a demon—unless you counted the stories told by ale-soaked adventurers hoping to make a few coins off a good yarn. Demons, devils… those were bedtime tales, legends meant to keep children in line and out of trouble. The so-called “demon” jobs I’d taken over the years were usually nothing more than oversized beasts preying on kids who’d wandered too far from home.

I gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Listen, kiddo. There are no such things as demons. Monsters? Sure. Nasty things with teeth and claws? Absolutely. But demons? They’re just tales.”

She didn’t look away, though. Her eyes met mine, unblinking, as if she could will me to believe her. “They do exist,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but with a conviction that sent a chill down my spine. There was no hint of doubt or childish imagination in her face; she was deadly serious.

I held her gaze, feeling the weight of her words settle in, heavier than I wanted to admit.

“Alright then,” I said, my voice low and steady. “Tell me everything.”

To be continued...

We found a quiet corner in the back of the pub, away from the crowd, though not for mystery’s sake. The kid spoke so softly that I could barely catch her words over the clamor of voices, clinking mugs, and the occasional outburst from one of the more enthusiastic drunks.

She sat across from me, fidgeting with her hands, casting nervous glances around, as if something might leap out from the shadows. I waited, giving her a nod, and slowly, she began to speak.

“It started… maybe a few months ago,” she whispered, eyes darting up to meet mine before dropping back down to her hands. “Mama and Papa, they just… changed.” She said it quietly, but there was a tremble in her voice, like even saying it out loud made it real. “They look… wrong. Like, tired. Real, real tired. And their eyes—” She stopped, thinking. “They got these dark, funny marks under ’em. I told Mama she looked like she hadn’t slept in years, and she just… didn’t even laugh. She always laughs.”

I leaned forward, urging her to go on, and she nodded, swallowing hard.

“And when they talk… they talk real slow. Like… like it’s hard for them. Like they’re trying real hard to remember the words.” She paused, twisting a strand of her hair. “Mama told me to stay out of the basement, though. Said it was ’cause of a ghost down there.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper, like she was almost afraid to say it out loud. “I believed her… I mean, sometimes, I hear stuff down there—like voices. But not like Papa’s or Mama’s. Deep voices. Rough. I thought maybe… maybe she was right.”

She stopped for a moment, hugging her arms around herself, her eyes going glassy, distant. “Papa… he started bringing animals down there, too. Goats, chickens, even a dog once. He didn’t say why. But… but after he did, they’d come back upstairs and look… better. Happier, like. They’d smile a little more, and the dark under their eyes wasn’t so big.”

I felt a chill settle over me as she continued, and she looked up, her expression haunted.

“Then, one night… Papa called me down to the basement. It was his voice, but… Mama and Papa always said not to go down there.” She swallowed, her small fists clenching on the table. “But he kept calling, and he sounded like he really needed me. So… so I went.”

The child’s voice grew even softer, trembling as she relived the memory, and I had to lean in close to hear her.

“When I got down there,” she whispered, “I saw… I saw Mama… h-hanging, like… like she was a doll, with chains all around her arms and legs, holding her up like she couldn’t move. Her head was down, but she… she was breathing.” Her small voice hitched, and her fists clenched tighter. “Papa was right next to her. He was on his knees, crying, like he wanted to make it stop but couldn’t. He kept saying, ‘Please, please, I’ll do anything,’ like he was… like he was begging.”

Her eyes glistened with tears, but she pressed on. “In front of them was… was a woman. She looked beautiful, almost like a princess in a green dress… but her skin… it kept changing. And her face looked different, like… like it was Mama’s, but then it wasn’t. And her eyes… they were like they could see right through me.”

I felt an involuntary shiver run down my spine. I’d heard my share of children’s ghost stories, usually about strange “women” or “monsters” lurking in attics or under beds. But this? This wasn’t some shadowy beast or woodland creature driven mad with hunger. No, this thing sounded… calculated, like it had a purpose, a mind twisted around dark intentions and manipulation. That glint in the kid’s eye, that haunted expression—it told me she’d seen something no child should ever witness.

In all my years, I’d learned to categorize creatures, to keep them locked in neat little boxes in my mind. Beasts of claws and teeth? Easy. I knew their weaknesses by heart. Wraiths, night fiends, shadow crawlers—monsters I could face with confidence. But what she described… it was something else entirely. A presence that could shape-shift, distort reality, twist emotions… something with a level of intelligence and cruelty unlike any beast I’d ever hunted.

Was this… was this really a demon? I found myself searching my mind, grasping for some creature, any creature, that fit the description she’d given me, hoping that there was some rational explanation. A bog witch, maybe, or an enchantress with a knack for illusions. Yet nothing came close.

I forced myself to meet the kid’s wide, terrified gaze. She wasn’t making this up. I knew fear when I saw it—real fear, the kind that sticks in your bones long after it’s over.

I gave the kid a long, steady look, letting her story sink in fully. Finally, I cleared my throat and asked, “And then… how did you get here?”

The kid’s gaze fell to the table, and she mumbled, “Papa saw me… as soon as he saw me standing there, he ran over and pushed me out of the room. He told me to run away and…” She bit her lip, her voice barely a whisper, “he locked the door.”

I held back a sigh, watching her as she twisted her hands in her lap, her eyes hollow. The desperation in her words—it was like a punch to the gut. I couldn’t just walk away from this, not when a kid needed help. And yet, my instincts screamed at me that this was more than I could handle alone. I didn’t have to be a genius to know that whatever was lurking in that basement was nothing like the beasts I was used to dealing with.

My gaze drifted toward the stairs where Roderick was no doubt snoring away, oblivious to everything. I needed help, and since my brother was out cold, I’d have to turn to someone else. Unless you are Rowan Hale, all the monster hunters were prohibited from working a mission alone. All for the good thing of course, because if you are dead, who would pick your body?

I turned back to the girl, softening my voice. “Alright then. Let’s get ready.”

Her face lit up, just slightly, as if clinging to some last glimmer of hope. I pushed my chair back, motioning for her to follow me. “But I’ll need some backup. There’s a spot over there where freelancers gather for work. We’ll see who’s around.”

As we walked, I looked down at her, noticing her pale skin and the faint hollows under her eyes. “Have you eaten?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No… but I don’t feel hungry.”

Of course she didn’t—she was scared half to death. I pressed my lips together but didn’t press the issue, deciding I’d see if I could sneak her a slice of bread or something once we had a plan in place.

We made our way to the far corner of the pub, where mercenaries and freelancers—“free-men,” as they liked to call themselves—gathered to wait for job offers. I scanned the tables, taking in the odd mix of people, each as dangerous-looking as the next.

There was a dark-haired elven warrior sharpening his slender, silvery blade, his sharp, hawk-like features fixed in concentration. Beside him sat a stout dwarven sharpshooter, tinkering with a set of gears on his crossbow, every inch of his attire bristling with bolts and pouches. Next to him, a giant human fighter with a thick beard lounged with his boots kicked up on the table, humming under his breath as he watched the room with a lazy, calculating eye.

But it was the orc sitting at the back of the room who caught my attention. Katsuro. At his full height, he was so tall I’d have to crane my neck to look him in the eye, and his frame was solid muscle beneath the deep green skin and tattoos that curled along his arms. His armor was crafted from dark lacquered plates, each piece fitted with precision, strapped securely around his muscular frame yet light enough to allow him swift, fluid movement. Across his back was a single long, curved blade—its hilt wrapped in fine, worn leather, and its scabbard adorned with subtle symbols of his clan, a mark of honor among his people.

Katsuro’s hair was pulled back into a neat topknot, revealing a face that was as sharp and disciplined as the weapon he carried. His expression was calm, almost meditative, though his dark eyes held a watchful intensity. He moved with a quiet grace, a kind of stillness that made him look more like a man about to perform a precise, practiced ritual rather than a brutal fight. There was an elegance to him, every movement economical and exacting, like he was guarding reserves of power that could be unleashed in an instant.

As I approached, he looked up, his expression softening into a faint, wry grin.

“Thalia,” he rumbled, his voice so deep it felt like it reverberated through the floor. He nodded at the girl lingering behind me and quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were bringing your daughter along tonight.”

I snorted, folding my arms. “She’s not mine, Katsuro. And you know I wouldn’t put my own kid through this life.”

He gave a slow nod, his tusked grin softening a bit. “A wise choice,” he replied, his eyes flicking back to the kid, his tone shifting to something almost kind. “So, if she’s not yours, what’s she here for?”

“She’s got a problem in her house. Something that’s a bit… beyond the usual beast.” I paused, then decided not to dance around the details. “I think it might be a demon.”

Katsuro’s eyes narrowed, his usual easygoing grin fading as he studied me. “A demon? Thought you didn’t believe in them, Thalia.”

“Didn’t,” I said with a sigh. “But… let’s just say I’ve seen enough tonight to think twice.” I nodded toward the kid, who was waiting quietly, watching us with those haunted eyes. “I can’t just leave her, and I can’t go alone.”

Katsuro studied me for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “You’ve got yourself an extra blade, then,” he said, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “For the right price, of course.”

I rolled my eyes, pulling out my coin pouch with a smirk. “You’re as merciful as always, Katsuro.”

But I was relieved. Katsuro had agreed to come along, and with him on my side, I knew I’d have the strength and steadiness I needed. He might not be as strong as my brother, someone rarely is, but he’s more dependable.

Katsuro and I made our way back to the kid, who was still standing by the wall, her small form looking even smaller next to his towering figure. He approached her slowly, dropping down to one knee so that he was closer to her eye level.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he said in a deep, surprisingly gentle voice. “We’re here now. We’ll make sure everything’s all right.”

I watched, a bit taken aback. I’d been on enough missions with Katsuro to know his calm, unshakable approach to danger, but I’d never seen him this… gentle. I guessed even an orc might have a soft spot tucked away somewhere, though Katsuro had always been different from the rest of his kind—more disciplined, more reserved. Maybe that was why I trusted him as much as I did.

The kid seemed to relax, just a fraction, as Katsuro rose to his full height and nodded for us to follow. Together, we stepped out of the pub and into the winding streets of Caerwyn.

Despite the hour, the city was still very much alive. Vendors were packing up their wares by lantern light, while night merchants were setting up stalls with all manner of goods—mystery tonics, late-night bread, and trinkets that sparkled under the glow of lanterns strung across the streets. Shadowed figures moved about in clusters, laughing loudly or arguing in voices that echoed off the cobblestone alleys. And here and there, groups of adventurers roamed, swapping tall tales and boasting of monsters slain and treasure hoarded.

The air was thick with smells—the warmth of freshly baked bread mingling with the tang of spilled ale and the faint, metallic scent of smoldering lanterns. Even now, close to midnight, the pulse of the city seemed tireless, its energy swirling around us as we walked.

I could feel fatigue pressing down on me, but I pushed it aside. I’d handled worse—crawling out of marshes at dawn, trekking for hours after a night fight, even holding off monsters until Roderick got around to waking up. This was just another night in Caerwyn, and if I needed to stay sharp, I would.

As we made our way through Caerwyn’s winding streets, my eyes caught sight of a vendor just setting up for the night, his small cart gleaming with an array of treats I hadn’t seen in ages. He was selling sunfruit rolls, a local favorite—thin pastries rolled around slices of honey-soaked fruit, crispy on the outside but warm and soft in the center. They were small enough to eat in a single bite, yet sweet and rich enough to satisfy any hunger, even the type you didn’t feel.

I paused, handing the vendor a couple of coins and picking out a small bundle of the rolls wrapped in paper. They radiated warmth, the scent of honey and spices wafting up as I held them.

I glanced back at the kid, who was quietly shuffling along beside me, her hands folded tightly at her sides. She hadn’t eaten since who-knows-when, but the poor thing probably didn’t even realize she was hungry. I unwrapped one of the rolls and held it out to her.

“Here, kid. Try one,” I said, nudging her hand with the pastry.

She blinked at it, her expression uncertain, but I saw her gaze flicker with interest. “What is it?”

“Sunfruit roll. It’s sweet, small. Won’t weigh you down.” I gave her a gentle smile, hoping she’d take it.

She hesitated but finally reached out, taking the pastry from my hand. She took a cautious bite, her eyes widening as the warm, honey-soaked fruit melted on her tongue. For a moment, the tension in her shoulders softened, just a hint.

Katsuro watched, a faint, approving smile on his face. “A good choice, Thalia,” he murmured as we kept walking.

I just shrugged, already feeling the exhaustion kicking in again. But if a little food could bring her a moment of comfort in the middle of all this, I’d consider it worth it.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long to reach the kid’s house—or mansion, rather. The place was larger than I’d expected, with gleaming windows and pristine white stone walls, polished to the point that they reflected the soft glow of the street lamps. Iron railings lined the balcony on the second floor, and the gardens, even at this late hour, were tidy and lush with fragrant flowers. Everything about the place looked clean, orderly, and proper—a far cry from the dark, twisted image I’d conjured in my mind when she’d told us her story. It was hard to believe that anything sinister could be hiding beneath such a spotless facade.

As we approached the front door, Katsuro crouched down to the girl’s level once again, his voice low and gentle. “Stay here, little one. Don’t follow us in, all right? We’ll take care of things.”

She nodded, nibbling on another sunfruit roll, the warmth of the treat seemingly comforting her, if only a little. Katsuro gave her a small, reassuring smile before he rose, and together we stepped inside.

The entry hall was grand, with high ceilings and dark wood paneling, the floors polished to a mirror-like shine. Ornate tapestries hung on the walls, and a few family portraits were lined up in neat frames, all of them radiating the quiet dignity of wealth. I almost forgot what we were really here for, but the thought of that basement lurking somewhere below snapped me back to the present.

As we walked deeper into the house, I glanced sideways at Katsuro. “Didn’t know you had a gentle side,” I said, keeping my voice low.

He raised an eyebrow, his face as impassive as ever, though I caught the faintest hint of a smile. “Everyone has their soft spots, Thalia,” he murmured. “Even orcs.”

I opened my mouth to press him for more, but we both fell silent as we turned a corner, and there it was—the basement door.

It looked perfectly ordinary, plain wood with a brass handle, no scratches or marks. But something about it felt wrong. It was as if the air around it grew colder, heavier. All my instincts screamed at me to stay back, but I forced the feeling down. I looked over at Katsuro, who was already watching me with that unspoken readiness in his eyes.

“Well,” I whispered, taking a slow breath. “Here we go.”

Katsuro took a deep breath, steeling himself, and reached for the door. With a firm push, he swung it open, revealing nothing but darkness beyond. The room was silent at first, just a void of shadow and stale air, but then I heard it—a faint, choked sob coming from somewhere within.

Slowly, we stepped inside. Katsuro led the way, careful and deliberate, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. I muttered a quick incantation under my breath, feeling warmth gather at my fingertips as I summoned a light spell. A soft glow bloomed in my palm, casting a sphere of golden light that expanded slowly to fill the room, illuminating the dark corners.

The light revealed a sight that made my chest tighten: the kid’s father, kneeling on the ground, his arms wrapped around his wife. She lay limp in his hold, her head tilted back, her face pale and empty, her lips tinged blue. She wasn’t breathing. The father rocked back and forth, his shoulders shaking as he clutched her to him, murmuring apologies that barely made it past his lips.

I took a step forward, but Katsuro raised a hand, signaling me to stay back. His eyes narrowed, watching the man with a deep, somber understanding that I could feel but not fully share. So I stayed still, keeping the light steady, my gaze fixed on the broken figure before us.

The man’s sobs quieted as he sensed our presence. He didn’t look up, but he spoke in a cracked, trembling voice, each word heavy with regret. “I… I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have let it consume me,” he whispered, almost to himself. “If I hadn’t… if I hadn’t envied him—envied my own brother… if only… she’d still be here. We’d still be together…”

His voice broke, and he buried his face in his wife’s shoulder, his hands clutching her lifeless form as if she might somehow come back to him if he held on hard enough.

Katsuro stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “We’re here to help,” he said, his words carrying a grounded assurance that only he could manage. He crouched down to the father’s level, speaking softly but with intent. “But to help you, we need to know… who, or what, we’re dealing with. Can you tell us that?”

The father shuddered, drawing a shaky breath. He glanced up, eyes hollow, searching for something in Katsuro’s face before he finally spoke.

“Her name is… Lavael,” he whispered, the name tumbling from his lips like a curse he wished he could swallow back down. “She… she promised me everything I ever wanted. Said she could make it happen—make me better than my brother, make me richer, more respected.”

He closed his eyes, as if the memory of her words burned him. “She appeared… beautiful, like… like a vision. Her skin shimmered like green glass, and she… she looked like everything I wanted. Everything I didn’t have. She said she could give it to me, if I just… if I just gave her what she needed.”

He broke off, his voice catching as he looked down at his wife, a fresh wave of grief washing over him. “I thought… I thought it was just animals. A goat here, a chicken there… small things, sacrifices to show my… my commitment, she said.” His hands trembled, his fingers grazing his wife’s still, pale face. “But… it was never enough for her.”

He choked back a sob, his voice barely audible. “When I couldn’t give her any more, she said I’d have to offer something bigger. ‘One last sacrifice,’ she called it. I didn’t… I didn’t know she meant…” His words dissolved into silence as he lowered his head, consumed by guilt.

He looked back up at Katsuro, his face etched with despair. “Please… you have to stop her. She’s… she’s still down here somewhere. Watching. Waiting. She said there would always be another sacrifice…”

“And you are correct,” came a voice, low and smooth, drifting through the shadows like smoke. It slithered around the room, cold and mocking, making every hair on my arms stand on end.

I turned, heart pounding, as a figure began to materialize from the far wall, like ink bleeding into water. At first, she was just a dark outline, shifting and warping, until finally, she took form. She looked… human, almost painfully so, but there was an unnatural beauty to her that made my skin crawl. Her skin was a deep, iridescent green, glistening like scales under moonlight, shifting ever so slightly as she moved. Long, black hair spilled over her shoulders like liquid shadow, and her eyes glowed with a faint green fire that seemed to pierce right through me.

Her face changed subtly as I looked at her, as though it couldn’t decide which shape to settle into. One moment, she looked young and beautiful, with high cheekbones and a cruel smirk that hinted at power; the next, her features grew hollow, her eyes becoming cold and empty, like a mask that had lost all warmth. She was familiar somehow, like she was blending a dozen faces I’d seen before into one uncanny figure, flickering between them as though she were wearing people’s memories as disguises.

I couldn’t help but analyze her instinctively, my mind running through the catalog of monsters I’d hunted, each with its own weaknesses and strengths. She moved with an almost predatory grace, like a wraith or a night fiend, but more tangible. Her voice held the same hypnotic, enchanting quality I’d seen in shadow sirens, demons that lured their victims to their doom. But she was no ordinary monster, and as much as I wanted to find a flaw, some weak spot—perhaps near her heart, if she had one—I was painfully aware that this creature was something beyond any beast I’d fought before.

Katsuro straightened beside me, his posture snapping to rigid attention, one hand resting on his weapon as he prepared himself, his gaze fixed and steady. My own grip on my staff tightened as I watched her, every muscle tensed and ready.

Lavael's eyes shifted over to the kid’s father, a sneer twisting her lips. “So quick to regret, aren’t you?” she purred, her voice thick with mockery. “You begged for wealth, for status, for everything you thought you deserved. And now, you mourn your own actions. Pathetic.”

She took a step closer, her form shimmering as though the air itself recoiled from her presence. “Did you really think I’d simply grant you every desire without expecting a payment worthy of my time?” Her voice dripped with disdain as she looked him up and down. “Weakness and jealousy—such fitting qualities for a mortal, and yet you wear them as though they could ever make you more than you are.”

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to stand still, my fingers tightening around my staff. I’d dealt with creatures who enjoyed tormenting their prey before, but none with quite this level of venom.

Lavael’s piercing green eyes drifted over to us, her gaze predatory and gleeful. Her twisted smile widened as her focus locked onto me, her face shifting slightly as if savoring some sick, private joke. Instantly, Katsuro moved, stepping between us, his broad shoulders blocking her from my view as he stood like a shield. I could feel the tension radiating from him, every muscle in his body coiled tight, ready for whatever she’d throw at us.

“Well now,” she purred, her voice dripping with mockery. “You bring me a real meal.” Her words slithered around the room, thick and oily, each syllable steeped in a dark hunger.

Then, with a delighted, sickening laugh, she let her head tilt back, the sound filling the room like a chorus of nails scraping across stone. The walls seemed to vibrate with it, amplifying the unnatural pitch until it felt like the air itself was splitting. That laugh clawed its way under my skin, digging deep, and for the first time, I felt a prickle of doubt gnawing at the back of my mind.

To be continued...

As Lavael shifted and twisted before us, her body morphed into a solid, familiar form. The sight sent an involuntary shudder through me—there he was, Roderick, down to the last detail. Every scar, every muscle, every inch of the brother I knew better than myself. But his expression was off; his usual fierce grin twisted into something cruel, his eyes gleaming with a malice I’d never seen in him.

“Well, well,” he sneered, his voice carrying Lavael’s mocking edge, tainting Roderick’s familiar tone. “So this is what you thought a demon would look like, Thalia? Or did you think it’d be as easy as every other little beast you’ve taken down?” His gaze raked over Katsuro, dismissive and contemptuous. “And you brought this one along?”

Before I could process the insult, Lavael—wearing my brother’s strength—moved. Roderick’s massive axe swung down in an arc, and Katsuro barely sidestepped in time, his face set in grim determination as he dodged. The blade crashed into the stone floor with a force that made the entire room shake, shards of stone scattering around us.

Without missing a beat, Katsuro retaliated, his movements swift and precise, his blade slicing through the air with a grace that was second nature to him. But Lavael, with Roderick’s brute strength and quick reflexes, blocked each strike with ease, her laughter echoing off the basement walls. “This is what you call skill?” she sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. “You might as well be a child playing with sticks.”

Katsuro’s jaw tightened, his stance shifting as he moved in again, faster, his strikes aimed to exploit the tight, close quarters. But Lavael was ready for him. With a sweep of her arm, she deflected his blade, sending it skittering to the side. Katsuro went for another strike, aiming at her legs to destabilize her, but she caught his wrist with an iron grip. Before he could react, she twisted, forcing him to drop his sword with a pained gasp.

Katsuro’s gaze flicked toward me, as if he wanted to reassure me, but Lavael’s grip tightened, and his face contorted in agony. “Is this all your so-called ‘dependable warrior’ can manage?” she taunted, her voice a mocking echo of Roderick’s, before she slammed Katsuro into the wall, the impact enough to rattle the stone.

Katsuro grunted, trying to right himself, but Lavael was merciless. She yanked him back by his arm, her grip so strong that I saw his shoulder strain and dislocate with a sickening pop. Katsuro grimaced, his face pale, yet his stance remained steady, his gaze defiant.

I clenched my fists around my staff, fighting the rising panic in my chest. Lavael was relentless, moving with Roderick’s brute strength, and there was no doubt now—she could tear us apart if we weren’t careful. My brother was a powerhouse, the strongest fighter I knew, and seeing his abilities turned against us was like witnessing a force of nature, terrifying and unstoppable.

Katsuro, despite his injury, tried again, moving with a determination that had kept him alive in countless fights. His good arm swung toward her in a sharp arc, but Lavael caught his blade with her hand, ignoring the way it sliced into her palm. Blood oozed between her fingers, but her twisted grin only widened as she tightened her grip and ripped the blade from his grasp.

“Is that all, Katsuro?” she mocked, her words a mockery of everything he’d fought for. “You play at strength, but you’re no match for me. Not even close.” She raised her arm, swinging the hilt of the axe down against his chest with a brutal force that sent him sprawling to the ground, coughing and gasping for air.

In an instant, Lavael was on him again, grabbing his leg and twisting with a sickening crunch. Katsuro’s face contorted in agony, and I heard a strangled scream tear from his throat as his knee gave way, bending at an unnatural angle. She released him, watching him struggle to get back up, her expression one of cruel delight.

I wanted to scream, to charge at her with every ounce of magic I had, but I forced myself to stay calm. I knew what Roderick was capable of, knew how he fought with relentless strength. And that was what I was up against now: a demon wielding my brother’s unstoppable power.

Lavael turned her gaze to me, her eyes gleaming with malevolent amusement. “And you,” she sneered, stepping over Katsuro’s crumpled form, her eyes raking over me. “You thought you’d save the day? You thought you could handle a real demon?” Her voice was a twisted echo of Roderick’s, dripping with scorn. “Always relying on others to pull you through. What will you do now?”

My grip on my staff tightened, my knuckles white. “I do what I always do,” I said, summoning my magic, feeling the familiar warmth gathering in my palms. “I don’t give up.”

A flash of anger crossed Lavael’s face, her mockery twisting into something darker. She raised Roderick’s axe, ready to crush us both in one final, brutal strike. But before she could bring it down, I released a blinding blast of light, hitting her square in the chest and sending her stumbling back, if only for a moment.

“Katsuro!” I shouted, rushing to his side, helping him to his feet as he clutched his injured leg, gritting his teeth in pain.

He looked at me, pain etched in every line of his face, but he managed a nod, a grim determination still glinting in his eyes. “We’re not finished yet.”

With a murmured incantation, I cast a protective charm over myself, Katsuro, and the kid’s father, who had somehow managed to crawl into the corner, still clutching his wife’s lifeless form. A faint shimmer enveloped us, a ward that would hold for as long as I could keep it steady. But in a basement with a demon wielding my brother’s raw power, it wouldn’t last forever.

I steadied my breathing, forcing myself to focus. I knew a hundred spells and then some, each useful in its own way, but knowing a spell was only half the battle. What had kept me alive all these years wasn’t just my knowledge—it was knowing which spell to use when. And right now, brute force would be useless against someone like Roderick. If I tried to meet him head-on, I’d end up like every shattered thing he’d left in his wake.

No, fighting my brother was about patience, about waiting for him to make the first move.

Lavael—still wearing Roderick’s sneer—stalked toward us, her massive frame filling the room, every inch of her rippling with raw, borrowed strength. She raised the axe high, her gaze locked on me, fury radiating off her like heat.

But I didn’t flinch. I waited, feeling the magic build at my fingertips, until she was just a few steps away. Then, in a quick whisper, I cast a spell.

A flash of icy blue shot across the ground, and a slick layer of frost instantly formed beneath her feet. Lavael, caught in mid-step, looked down just as her foot skidded, her balance lost. With a surprised roar, she flailed, her weight pitching forward, her body too heavy to stop.

She hit the ground hard with a thunderous crash, the impact shaking the basement walls, splinters of stone and dust scattering around us. I allowed myself a small, grim smile. Roderick never could handle ice, not with all that muscle weighing him down.

Lavael’s face twisted with rage, and she let out a scream in my brother’s voice, a bellow of pure, unfiltered anger that echoed around the room. “You’re just delaying the inevitable, Thalia!” she snarled, pushing herself up with a dark fury in her eyes.

As she got back to her feet, I watched with a mix of horror and awe as she raised the axe high above her head and slammed it down onto the ice, shattering the frozen surface beneath her in a single blow. Chunks of ice flew, clattering against the walls as the slick surface dissolved into fractured pieces, leaving the ground rough and useless for any more ice spells. She had crushed it all in one swing.

“Oh, silly brother,” I muttered under my breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. “If that were really you, I’d slap you across the face.”

But Lavael’s eyes were already on me, her fury mounting, her knuckles white as she gripped the axe even tighter. The demon wearing my brother’s form took a step forward, her gaze fixed on me with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine.

And I knew she’d be coming for me now, with nothing held back.

Thankfully, Katsuro was back on his feet, his breathing steady as he adjusted his stance. Orcs had a way of bouncing back from injury almost instantly—a trait I had always envied, and right now, one I was grateful for. His arm still bore the bruises from Lavael’s brutal assault, but his eyes were clear, sharp, as he raised his curved blade, sliding back into the fight.

He moved in fluidly, his blade a gleaming arc as he deflected “Roderick’s” next swing with a ringing clash. Katsuro kept his steps nimble, sidestepping and weaving, forcing Lavael to turn with him to keep up. I matched his movement, staying opposite, keeping the distance between us and the demon while searching my mind for the right spell.

Katsuro was good—one of the best swordsman I’d ever known—but he wasn’t Roderick. He didn’t have that brute strength, that relentless power. In a contest of raw force, he would lose.

But I could even the odds.

I tightened my grip on my staff, feeling the energy pulse in my hands as I summoned the magic into a bright, crackling sphere of light. With a quick motion, I thrust my staff forward and released it, chanting under my breath. A bolt of energy shot from my staff, twisting into a spinning force of pure magic. It expanded outward, a forceful gust of energy that hit Lavael square in the chest, pushing her back a few feet as she staggered.

Her eyes flashed with fury as she regained her footing, but the few seconds I’d bought gave Katsuro the chance to reposition himself, keeping his blade ready, his breath steady.

I felt the tug of exhaustion start to creep in, but I shoved it aside. In this cramped, claustrophobic basement, I didn’t dare risk any bigger spells. Something explosive would bring this whole place down on top of us, and I wasn’t about to risk the life of that poor kid’s father, still huddled in the corner, or Katsuro, who had already taken more than his share of the demon’s rage. I had to keep it controlled, focused—just strong enough to buy us time, to push her back without leveling the entire room.

I cast a quick glance at Katsuro, nodding as he met my gaze, our silent agreement holding us steady. He would keep up the pressure, and I would find a way to take her down—without bringing the whole place crashing down in the process.

But then, the whole place seemed about to crash down on us. A low roar rang from deep below, vibrating through the floorboards. Dust drifted from the ceiling, and even Lavael paused, her sneer faltering as she glanced around, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Then, with a deafening crash, the basement door burst open. But it wasn’t someone who stormed in—it was an axe. A huge, heavy-bladed axe that shot through the air with terrifying speed, slicing straight across the room in a blur of silver and steel. It struck “Roderick” square in the chest, and I winced as I watched my “brother” fly backward, pinned to the wall like a twisted, unnatural tapestry, Lavael’s stolen form writhing as she struggled to free herself from the weapon impaled in her chest.

For a moment, the room was silent.

Then a familiar figure stepped into the doorway, filling it with his broad shoulders, his familiar stance unmistakable. Roderick, the real Roderick, squinted into the dim room, his eyes darting over the mess of cracked walls, the kid’s father huddled in the corner, and finally, me—bruised, dust-covered, and staring back at him with a mixture of shock and relief.

“Well, hell,” he muttered, his gaze drifting over to Lavael, who still hung suspended by his axe, struggling feebly. “I get out of bed for one second, and I find my own sister trying to fight me?”

I let out a breath, letting a grin slip through. “Good to see you finally made it to the party, brother,” I shot back, my voice laced with mock irritation. “Hope you had a good night’s sleep.”

“Oh, fantastic. Right up until your spell yanked me awake and dragged me here.” He strolled over to where I was standing, dusting his hands as if this was the most casual thing in the world. “Mind telling me why I was needed?”

I almost laughed. Leave it to Roderick to forget the spell I’d put on us. Years ago, when we first started our work, I’d crafted a charm on both of us, a subtle spell that would activate if one of us sensed mortal danger. It was a backup plan, something I’d thought he’d appreciate, even though he’d probably long since forgotten it existed. I hadn’t even been sure it would work—it had never activated before tonight.

Apparently, the charm had stirred him from sleep, brought him here in a half-daze, and propelled him—axe in hand—through the city and into the fight. Only Roderick would arrive so abruptly, weapon first.

Katsuro, now back on his feet and steadying himself, stared at Roderick in mild disbelief, a faint grin breaking through the grimace of his injuries. I could tell he was trying to piece together just how my brother had materialized in time to impale a demon with an axe.

Roderick raised an eyebrow at Lavael, who hung from the wall, still pinned by his axe, her face twisted in fury as she struggled to pull herself free. “So, mind explaining why there’s another me here?” he asked, giving me a sidelong glance. “Or do I just accept that this is what you do for fun?”

I shrugged, still feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins. “Long story short? That’s Lavael, a demon with a taste for envy and shapeshifting. Decided to wear your face. Hope you don’t mind.”

Roderick let out a low chuckle, his expression turning serious as he watched her writhing in place. “You know, I never thought I’d see the day when someone wore my face better than me.” He turned to me, eyes sharp with a fierce, familiar determination. “You ready to finish this, Sis?”

Then he blinked, his expression faltering slightly as he glanced back at Lavael, pinned to the wall and thrashing like a fish on a hook. “Actually… scratch that, I seem to be at a bit of a disadvantage without my axe. Bit awkward, really.”

I stifled a grin, rolling my eyes. “Guess you’ll have to finish this one with your bare hands, then?”

“Oh, don’t tempt me,” he replied, his tone dry but tinged with amusement. Lavael’s furious screams grew louder, her form beginning to shift again, her body contorting as she clawed at the wall, fingers scraping and twisting into grotesque shapes.

As we watched, her appearance began to change. Gone was Roderick’s familiar face, and in its place was something more sinister, something far more monstrous and unfamiliar. Her greenish skin grew darker, glistening as though coated in oil, and her limbs elongated, becoming gaunt and angular, the joints bending at unnatural angles. Her face took on an inhuman quality, stretched and sharp, with hollow eyes that seemed to sink into an endless, swirling black void.

But what stood out most was the cloak of scales that covered her skin—deep emerald green, shimmering like glass in the dim light, shifting with an eerie beauty that was both mesmerizing and deeply unsettling. She had no mouth; instead, rows of slits appeared along her cheeks, like the gills of a sea creature, emitting a low, hissing growl as she turned her gaze on us. Small, clawed hands unfurled from her arms, each finger jointed twice over, bending in strange, unnerving directions as she regained her balance.

Lavael’s hollow eyes burned with fury as she pulled herself from the wall, the axe still embedded in her chest, her twisted form standing tall as she took a halting step forward.

Just then, Roderick’s axe jerked from her chest and shot back toward him, nearly knocking him off balance as he caught it. He blinked, looking down at the axe with wide-eyed wonder, clearly pleased with himself. “Well, look at that,” he said, grinning. “Knew this axe was something special. Chose me, clearly.”

I barely held back a laugh, crossing my arms as I shot him a look. “Roderick, it’s a spell I cast. But sure, let’s go with ‘destiny.’”

Roderick shrugged, holding the axe up with an exaggerated smirk. “Hey, let me have some fun, okay?”

The ground shook as Lavael took a step toward us, her voice dripping with fury. “You think a little spell or a weapon makes you invincible?” Her form shifted slightly, the scales rippling as she spoke. “You think you can stand against me? I am a Demon!”

Lavael tilted her head back and let out a piercing scream, so shrill and intense it felt like my skull was splitting open. The walls shook, dust and loose stones raining from the ceiling as the sound echoed, bouncing off every surface until it was all-consuming. I clamped my hands over my ears, squeezing my eyes shut, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Roderick do the same, his face twisted in pain.

But then, in a blur of movement, Katsuro charged forward, his face set with fierce determination. He launched himself at her, moving faster than I’d ever seen him, his blade flashing as he aimed a vicious strike at Lavael’s head. At the last second, she raised her arm to block, letting his sword slice clean through it with a sickening tear, her severed limb dropping to the ground. But it had served its purpose—she had protected her head.

The scream stopped, replaced by Lavael’s low, guttural growl, her hollow, dark eyes locking onto Katsuro with seething rage. But Katsuro didn’t flinch. He pressed forward, his blade a swift arc as he struck again, forcing her to step back. Every strike was precise, relentless, his movements calculated, each step forward pushing her closer to the wall.

Lavael’s form shimmered, her skin rippling with a sinister, unnatural glow, and in an instant, another set of arms sprouted from her shoulders, new limbs unfurling with long, clawed fingers. She sneered, her expression twisted with fury and amusement as she parried Katsuro’s next blow, her newly formed arms moving with unsettling agility, blocking his strikes with an ease that made my stomach drop.

Katsuro’s face was a mask of focus, his blade flashing as he aimed for her core, cutting through her scaled skin with each strike. But Lavael barely seemed to register the wounds. Her body healed almost as fast as he injured it, her wounds closing over with sickening speed, her slits of a mouth widening into something resembling a grin.

She caught his next strike with one of her clawed hands, holding the blade in a grip of steel, her second set of arms reaching around to strike. Katsuro twisted his blade free, ducking just in time, narrowly avoiding her claws as he backed up, his stance tightening, bracing himself.

But Lavael was quicker. She feinted, and as Katsuro adjusted to counter her, she twisted her body and drove her clawed hand forward, stabbing him right in the chest.

I gasped, my heart lurching as I saw her claws sink into his armor, piercing through the protective layer and tearing into his flesh. If it weren’t for the protective spell I’d cast earlier, that would have been the end. As it was, the magic held, and instead of tearing him apart, the blow sent him flying back, his body slamming against the wall with a brutal thud.

Katsuro slumped to the ground, his breathing ragged, his hand clutching his chest, but he was alive. I felt a wave of relief, but a surge of anger quickly followed it as I turned my gaze back to Lavael, who was already grinning, savoring her apparent victory.

Roderick gave me a quick nod, his gaze shifting from Katsuro, who was struggling to catch his breath, back to Lavael. Without missing a beat, he stepped in front of me, his axe raised, his stance as familiar as breathing. I tightened my grip on my staff, feeling the pulse of magic building at my fingertips.

We’d fought side by side for nearly our whole lives. We knew each other’s moves, each other’s strengths and weaknesses, the rhythm of a battle that we didn’t even have to think about anymore. I was grateful to Katsuro—his bravery and skill had bought us precious time—but this was different. Roderick was my brother, and there was a ferocity in us when we fought together that no one else could match.

Without a word, we launched into the fight.

Roderick moved in first, his axe sweeping through the air in wide, forceful arcs that kept Lavael at a distance, each swing brutal and precise. She snarled, her claws snapping up to block his strikes, but he pressed on relentlessly, driving her back step by step, each swing of his axe forcing her closer to the wall.

As he kept her occupied, I raised my staff and muttered a quick incantation, focusing on her feet. Tendrils of energy curled out from the ground, wrapping around her ankles like ghostly chains and anchoring her in place. Roderick took advantage of her hesitation, delivering a crushing blow that struck her shoulder, splitting her scaled skin with a sickening crunch.

Lavael let out a furious shriek, tearing herself free of the binding spell, but the damage had already been done. I kept my focus steady, readying another spell as Roderick moved to her right. As his axe came down in a diagonal swing, I flicked my staff and cast a subtle air spell, pushing against the side of his axe just enough to alter the angle of his strike.

The blade hit harder than she’d expected, cleaving through her forearm and drawing a roar of pain as her severed limb fell to the ground. Lavael stumbled back, her mouth twisting in rage, but Roderick and I were already closing in.

With her balance thrown off, I seized the chance to cast another spell, one that laced the ground beneath her feet with frost. The spell wouldn’t be enough to immobilize her for long, but it was just enough to make her footing treacherous. Roderick’s axe came down in a brutal arc, and Lavael tried to dodge, but her feet slid on the ice, and she missed her step. The axe caught her along her ribs, and a sickening crack echoed through the room as she crashed to the floor.

Lavael hissed, the slits on her face widening as she let out a growl, but Roderick didn’t give her a second to recover. He lunged forward, raising his axe high for another strike. I whispered another incantation, this time a small burst of wind that propelled him forward, adding momentum to his attack as he brought the axe down with a force that rattled the walls.

She barely managed to dodge, rolling to the side with inhuman agility, but I was already ready with a follow-up. I cast a simple but disorienting flash of light, sending a blinding burst directly into her face. Lavael shrieked, momentarily blinded, and Roderick’s next strike caught her across the chest, slicing through her scaled skin in a line of dark blood.

She staggered, her movements slowing, her usual fluidity beginning to falter. She attempted to heal, but her speed was no match for the constant blows and my spells, each one disrupting her attempts to recover.

“Nice aim,” Roderick grunted, parrying her swipe with the blunt end of his axe. He was breathing hard, but there was a glint of fierce satisfaction in his eyes.

“I’m here to keep you from getting killed, remember?” I replied, casting a quick spell that lashed out like a whip, striking her legs and forcing her to stumble.

Lavael snarled, her eyes blazing as she tried to lunge forward, but Roderick’s next swing intercepted her. With each step, each precise spell, we drove her back, our attacks relentless and perfectly timed, a rhythm we had built over years of fighting together. Her healing slowed, the cracks in her scaled skin widening as her energy began to drain.

In that moment, as we pushed her back once more, her balance wavering, I could feel it—our combined strength, our practiced skill. This time, we weren’t just holding our own. We were winning.

Suddenly, mid-swing, Lavael’s form twisted, her shoulders expanding grotesquely as four new arms burst forth, each as long and sinewy as her main limbs but bulging with an unnatural strength. Each of her massive hands shot up, two gripping Roderick’s axe in a vice-like hold, halting his swing as if he were striking solid stone. The other two clawed arms reached forward, bracing against his shoulders, pinning him in place.

A wicked grin spread across her face, her eyes gleaming with a sinister pleasure as she held him there, his powerful swing stopped dead in the air. I caught the flicker of shock in Roderick’s eyes, his muscles straining as he tried to wrench the axe free, but she held fast.

“Oh,” she purred, her voice dripping with mockery, cold and twisted with malice. “Did you really think brute force would be enough? You let your guard down.” Her laughter bubbled up, echoing off the basement walls as her eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction.

“No,” I said, my voice steady and cutting through the tension. “You let your guard down.”

For the first time, I saw her confidence waver. She froze, her grip still tight on Roderick’s axe, as she tried to turn her head toward me. Her eyes widened with sudden fear as she saw the point of my staff directly aimed toward her head.

With a single word, I unleashed the spell, and from the tip of my staff, a blade of wind shot forward—Windslash. The concentrated burst of air sliced through the room, faster than her reflexes could respond, and in an instant, it cut clean through her neck.

For a heartbeat, everything was still. Lavael’s grip loosened, her wide-eyed expression frozen in shock. Slowly, her head separated from her body, dropping to the ground with a heavy thud, followed closely by her lifeless form as it crumpled, her twisted grin wiped away at last.

Roderick let out a long breath, his hands loosening on the axe as he glanced back at me, a mixture of awe and relief in his eyes. I met his gaze, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over me, but a fierce satisfaction flickered through the fatigue. Together, we had finished her.

To be continued...