They panicked, and it mixed with their confusion.
"Is he one of ours? A prisoner? Did they—"
"SILENCE!" The commander's voice cracked like a whip.
The army stilled, but the whispers didn't entirely die. Three hundred pairs of eyes fixed on the man who continued sharpening his blade, apparently unconcerned with the apocalypse of holy fire aimed at his skull.
Aldric dismounted, his boots hitting stone with heavy finality.
He walked forward, his hand resting on his blessed sword, stopping ten paces from the seated figure.
"So," he said, his voice carrying across the courtyard, "the rumors were true. The desperate demon queen truly has a human playing god to keep her throne."
The scraping continued.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
"You're not a god," Aldric continued, his tone hardening. "And you can't save them. You're the Queen's last desperate gambit. A worthless puppet dressed in demon clothes."
Scrape. Scrape.
"I'd ask why she would so stupidly send her toy to war, but..." Aldric's lip curled, "...she was never the best at making decisions, was she?"
The scraping stopped.
The man—Liam—looked up for the first time, his grey eyes meeting Aldric's with an unsettling calm.
"And it seems," Liam said quietly, "neither are you."
A ripple of tension moved through the paladin ranks. Aldric's jaw tightened.
"I wonder how she did it," he mused, beginning to circle, his boots crunching on gravel. "Convince a human to act like one of them. To turn himself into a monster."
From the ranks, a younger paladin—emboldened by numbers—called out with a crude laugh, "Perhaps she shares his bed! Rumors say the demon queen is a sight for sore eyes!"
Scattered laughter erupted from parts of the formation. Nervous laughter, the kind men make when they're unsure and need to feel superior.
But Aldric wasn't laughing.
And Liam noticed.
The human stood slowly, his movements fluid, unhurried.
He set the whetstone aside with care, then lifted Igar's Shard, examining the edge in the morning light. Satisfied, he drove the blade point-first into the stone at his feet, where it stood like a grave marker.
Then he looked at Aldric. Really looked at him.
"You know what i think, Commander?" Liam began, his voice low but carrying with perfect clarity. "We're all monsters, all of us."
He took a step forward.
"We weren't born as such though. But somewhere along the line, being broken was easier than being human."
Another step. Aldric's hand tightened on his sword hilt.
"Every one of your soldiers. Your priests. Every king who blessed this crusade - they all started with reasons. Noble ones, I'm sure." His voice took on a mocking edge. "Protect your home. Save your people. Serve. Your. God."
He stopped, five paces from Aldric now, close enough that the commander could see the slate-grey of his eyes, cold as winter stone.
"But the thing about reasons is... they eventually rot."
The courtyard had gone utterly silent. Even the wind seemed breathless.
"With enough time... and enough blood, reasons become excuses. Excuses become rituals. And rituals?" Liam's voice dropped to something that wasn't quite human.
"They create what we are now."
He gestured to the army surrounding them.
"I've seen it. How many villages have you burned on your righteous quest? How many innocent women and children have died in the name of your godly duties?"
"NO DEMONS ARE INNOCENT!" Aldric's roar echoed off the mountain walls, raw and defensive.
Liam didn't flinch at it.
"Of course," he said softly, almost gently. "From inception, they're marked as monsters. Their birth itself a sin." His head tilted. "But how different are they, really, from the paladin who kills in the name of mercy? The man who lies because the truth hurts too much to carry?"
He began walking again, not toward Aldric but along the line of paladins, his voice carrying to each of them.
"You all build cages out of conviction and call them ideals. Worship the bars because it's easier than admitting...you're afraid."
He stopped, turning to face the army.
"That's the truth of it, monsters aren't born in hell. I personally think they are born in our silence. In our compromise. In the small deaths we trade for survival."
His voice rose in intensity alone, not volume, each word a nail being driven home.
"Every time we look away. Every time we choose comfort over conscience. Every time we justify what we know is wrong, we feed the beast inside us."
He walked back toward Aldric, his eyes never leaving the commander's face.
"And you're right." A cold smile touched his lips. "Some wear their monstrosity on the outside. Claws and horns. Red eyes."
He stopped directly in front of Aldric, close enough to be killed in a single strike.
"The rest of us - you and I - we're far worse. Because we still like to pretend we're good."
The silence was crushing.
"So yes," Liam continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried to every ear. "I'm not their savior. I'm not their god."
He paused.
"All I am is another monster who finally stopped pretending to be anything else."
The weight of the admission hung in the air like smoke.
"But you know what?" His voice gained an edge of something that might have been hope or might have been madness. "Maybe—maybe—that's where redemption begins. Not in denying what I am, but in choosing what kind of monster I'll be next."
Aldric's hand moved on his sword. His voice came tight, controlled. "And what kind is that?"
Liam's smile widened, and there was nothing human in it anymore.
"The kind that slaughters my own," he said softly, "and smiles while doing it."
He reached back, pulled Igar's Shard from the stone with a sound like a death rattle.
"So I hope you've said your prayers, Commander."
The blade came up, black metal catching no light, a void in the shape of a sword.
"Because they will be the last you and your men get to offer."