Every muscle in Alexander's body locked. The stone was unforgiving against his feverish skin.
A demon? How could he know? The accusation, delivered so casually through solid rock, felt more violating than the King's judgment or the guard's hatred.
This stranger knew his most damning secret with a single breath. His mind raced, concocting and discarding a dozen denials.
"What?" The word was a choked whisper. He pressed his forehead against the cold stone, as if he could push through it. "What do you mean? Me? A demon?" A nervous, brittle laugh escaped him. "How's that possible? Maybe this place is messing with your senses, it's certainly messing with mine."
From the other side of the wall came a soft, noncommittal sound. A psychic shrug. "Maybe. Or maybe you just smell."
Before Alexander could form a retort, the sound of boots echoed in the corridor outside—not the heavy, deliberate tread of Cornelius, but a lighter, more confident step. The footsteps halted not at his door, but at the one next to his.
A bolt slid back with a clang.
"Fully rested, Hale?" a new voice asked. It was crisp, professional, devoid of Cornelius's personal venom.
"Like a baby," Hale's replied, bright and easy. "So, what's the today's main event?"
"A shawoman. Claims she can speak to heart and soul, bind them forever."
"Really? That's cool. I hope she's not like the last fakes."
"We all hope not."
Alexander heard the distinct, heavy clink of metal links. A sharp, pained hiss came from Hale.
He could muttered, just loud enough for Alexander to hear. "You'd think they'd invest in a more comfortable model. This chafing is the real crime here."
His voice was followed by the slam of his cell door.
As the footsteps passed his own door, Alexander found his voice. "Taz! Where are you taking him?"
The footsteps stopped. A face appeared at the narrow slot—younger than Cornelius, with sharp, intelligent eyes that widened in genuine shock. "Prince Alexander? By the Goddess, what are you doing in the North Tower?"
Before Alexander could answer, Cornelius's bulk filled the corridor behind Taz. "Move along, Taz. The prince is not your concern." His glare was a physical force through the slot.
The guard's face disappeared, and Alexander listened to the retreating footsteps, a distant bang, and the turn of a key. Silence returned, heavier and more profound than before.
Then, a new sound drifted up from outside: a faint, rhythmic chanting.
Driven by a desperate need to see, Alexander's foot knocked against his forgotten meal tray. The bowl clattered, spilling thin stew across the stones. He didn't care. He righted the wooden stool, placed it precariously on his cot, and climbed up, his fingers finding the rough edges of the high window slit.
The world outside was a sliver of life and color. A crowd had gathered in the courtyard below, surrounding a dwarf woman dressed in rags. Before her, a crystalline sphere floated, catching the afternoon light.
"A light-bringer. Very intriguing. I wonder what brings her here."
Alexander's focus narrowed. Hale was being led into the center of the circle. He didn't struggle or shuffle. He walked with an unnerving, majestic calm, his wrists and ankles bound in heavy chains.
The woman raised her hands, her chanting growing louder, more forceful. She commanded him to stop.
A ray of pure, white light shot from the sphere, striking Hale square in the chest.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, tendrils of darkness, like living smoke, began to writhe from his body, drawn toward the light. Hale threw his head back, a raw, gut-wrenching scream tearing from his throat. The sound was agony.
Then, it wasn't.
The scream twisted, warping into something else—a low, dark laugh. A smile spread across Hale's face, a terrifying expression of triumph. The crystalline sphere vibrated violently, a web of fractures racing across its surface. With a sound like shattering mountains, it exploded.
But no light burst forth. A wave of pure, black energy erupted outwards. It was a light that devoured light, a silent concussion that made Alexander's vision swim and the crowd below cry out in fear and disorientation.
He could almost feel its violation from his perch. The tendrils of darkness it pulled from Hale were not mere smoke; they writhed like living shadows, snapping and hissing as they were dragged into the light.
For a moment, the air in the square tasted of old graves, and Alexander's own demonic energy stirred in response, a low, sympathetic growl in the pit of his soul.
When his sight cleared, the sphere was gone. The dwarf woman was on her knees, her hands clutching the dirt.
"A crude exorcism. She seeks to pluck a weed, unaware the roots are wrapped around the foundations of the world." Crimson whispered.
Hale dusted off his shoulders with his manacled hands and turned to Taz. "See? I told you she was a fake. A real professional would have at least offered a light show."
"Impossible! You truly are demon. There's no other explanation," the shawoman screamed, her eyes wide with a horror that looked ancient.
A different kind of energy now crackled through the crowd—not just fear, but a volatile mix of shock and morbid excitement.
"I told you!" a burly man with a scarred face roared, shaking a meaty fist. "I said no simple exorcism would work! It takes cold iron and a stronger stomach than that!"
A woman clad in hunter's leathers spat on the ground, her hand resting on the hilt of a wickedly curved dagger. "A hundred gold crowns on his head, and they send a street performer with a glass bauble. The Guild will hear of this insult."
"Stand aside!" shouted another, a hulking figure brandishing a spiked mace. "My ancestor's warhammer felled a Bone-Titan! Let a real warrior have a go!"
The crowd, now more a mob of disgruntled mercenaries and bounty hunters than curious citizens, began to press forward. Taz and his guards had to form a tighter circle, their spears shifting from a ceremonial posture to a defensive one, holding back the surge of self-proclaimed heroes.
From within the chaos, a single merchant's grumbling voice rose, clinging to a different reality: "Not another one! That's the third 'Hale-slayer' this month. My taxes are paying for this circus? At this rate, the whole city would be nothing but bounty hunters and charlatans!"
Hale, completely unfazed by the crowd of people demanding his head, simply raised his manacled hands in a theatrical shrug. "Form an orderly queue, ladies and gentlemen! I'm flattered by the attention, but my dance card is frightfully full. Perhaps try again next season?"
Taz sighed and shook his head. He was starting to believe the shawoman would incinerate Hale.
Hale turned to Taz, his chains clinking. "Well, that was underwhelming. Shall we head back?"
The arrow came from a nearby roof, a whisper of death aimed directly at Taz's temple.
Hale moved.
It wasn't a dodge or a shove. He lunged, his head snapping to the side. His teeth closed around the shaft with a definitive crack, stopping the arrowhead a hand's breadth from Taz's skin.
Taz's professional composure cracked for a single, wide-eyed second before snapping back.
Hale spat the splintered wood onto the ground, not with disgust, but with the casual grace of a man flicking away a gnat.
Chaos, true and absolute, erupted.
More arrows rained down, finding their marks in guards and fleeing civilians alike.
The shawoman looked up, whispered a single, frantic word, and vanished in a puff of acrid smoke.
From the direction of the arrows, a creature emerged from the shadow of a stable. Its upper torso was powerfully built, humanoid, its skin a pattern of gray and green scales.
But from the waist down, its body was a massive, coiled serpent, propelling it forward in a smooth, silent slither. In its hands, it held a bow of dark, polished bone. It placed a hand on the string, and ten arrows of shimmering, corrosive green energy materialized from the air.
The volley fired, not at the people in the square, but at the palace battlements. Stonework exploded where the arrows struck, sending royal archers stumbling back from the ramparts.
Fear grasped Alexander as he watched the 'creature'. He's seen beasts of different kinds but this was a whole other level.
"A Naga-kin. I watched their empires rise from the swamps. But this one looks... Different."
Hale didn't look at the creature. He simply held his chained hands out to Taz. The High Guard, his face a mask of grim efficiency, didn't hesitate. A key was produced, and with two quick turns, one manacle from a wrist and one from an ankle fell away, clattering to the cobblestones. Hale was left with one arm and one leg free, the remaining chains linking his limbs together.
"Ah, just enough freedom to be useful. They always need just a little more than they're willing to pay for." He turned, finally, to face the serpentine archer, a feral, welcoming grin on his face as he flexed his freed wrist.
Taz drew his dual swords, their steel ringing in the sudden hush. "Secure the perimeter! Get these people to safety!"
His stance amazed Alexander. It was not that of a palace guardsman, but of a frontline legionnaire who had learned that survival was a dance of aggression and precision.
The serpentine archer's glowing eyes were fixed only on Hale.
Alexander watched, his breath caught in his throat, as the battle began. The creature nocked another trio of energy arrows, its powerful tail whipping around to crush a stone bench.
Hale, with his bizarre, chained gait, moved with impossible speed, closing the distance.
"It seems, little prince, you are not the most dangerous guest in this palace."