RE: Monarch

A flash of light and the scent of brimstone brought us back to the negotiation room. Somehow, the already gothic colors seemed more muted than before, almost desaturated. Maya's lingering gaze never left me, confirming that she'd pieced together the same revelation I had.

And she wasn't the only one with unspoken questions.

Ozra, Loria, and Vogrin all seemed unsettled by the revelation. It was obvious why—their discomfort entirely too similar to mine when I'd first discovered the cycle of life and rebirth had been hijacked, warped into something far different from what I'd believed. Ozra, specifically, seemed overly suspicious, watching all three of us intently, waiting for some sort of explanation or tell.

Slowly, my little sister's sobbing subsided, the perpetual cringe faded, and she grew rigid in my arms. The only remaining indication she'd lost her nerve, as she removed my arms and stepped forward, was the glistening tear-streaks on her face.

"I understand that something damaging was done to me, either through trickery or some other means. And now, thanks to your generosity, I understand the method—" Her voice caught, and she held a fist to her mouth, holding it there and gathering her wits before she dropped it. "What I cannot comprehend, whether the perpetrator is Thoth herself using some travesty of magic, or someone else using her likeness to inflict terror on me, is why. Why would anyone do such a thing? Why to me specifically? I have no enemies. Both my brother and sister stand out more and have greater value to the kingdom. I'm insignificant in the grand scheme of things compared to them. I'm—" She choked a little, then recovered. "I'm no one."

Vogrin crossed his arms and turned towards Ozra, waiting for the arch-fiend's permission. Reluctantly, Ozra slowly nodded. Vogrin cleared his throat and levitated forward, standing directly in front of Annette but addressing all three of us. "What I'm about to tell you is not common knowledge, even among demons. It is a relic of a more brutal, primitive time. There are aspects of it that are shameful. Some—the more fanciful and inventive among us—believe the discovery and the transgressions that followed are the reason the fae realms were sundered, struck down through direct intervention from the gods."

"Eventually repurposed into the hells." Maya's jaw dropped, her voice shaken with awe. "I thought that was nothing more than a fairy tale. A story infernal parents used to help children overcome their fear of demons."

"A misconception the conglomerate of disinformation has worked quite hard over the centuries to sustain." Vogrin grimaced, pausing to glance at each of us, imparting the emphasis. "We would not be speaking of this if the situation did not call for it. It has been so thoroughly obfuscated that even if you were to take leave from this meeting and rush back to the enclave and recount every detail to them directly, you would be laughed out of their chambers. Still, we would appreciate it if you did not."

"That depends. If it's truly ancient history with no bearing on the present, there's no need to wag tongues. But I refuse to play the part of an infernal turncoat and hide demonic transgressions from my people."

"Vogrin—" Ozra placed a hand on his forehead, as if warding off a headache. "They're already aware, infernal. No secret survives the rigors of time. It either dies with a single person or spreads, with nothing in between."

"Who knows?" Maya challenged.

"A few individuals who hold power in the Enclave. Some in obvious places, others less." Ozra waved dismissively, hiding a smirk. "The truth is disclosed to a handful of such individuals, every generation, to ensure the balance of power remains in check."

"And why would a people who so voraciously obsess over secrecy in even the smallest matters do such a thing?"

"Did you hear that, Vogrin? She called us people."

Vogrin grunted something that only passingly resembled amusement. Maya didn't so much as blink.

Still tickled by his own joke, Ozra continued. "If we don't, history has a tendency to repeat itself. Infernals are curious by nature. Curious in all things, but especially in avenues of magic and matters of the soul. That's why it's important there are those in power capable of curtailing or redirecting certain areas of advancement and research." He paused, giving Maya a coy look. "If any doubt remains, I'd advise seeking Ralakos's guidance on the matter. In person, of course."

The namedrop had the desired effect. Planted a seed of doubt that defused reticence. Maya frowned, reluctantly accepting the suggestion. "Fine. I'll keep anything discussed here to myself for now. But I will seek confirmation later."

"See that you do." Ozra replied, unbothered.

Vogrin took a long breath and began, addressing Annette. "We believe what has been done to you is a form of purposeful denouement. It should not be possible. But given what you are, and the state of your soul, it is the only explanation that makes sense."

Annette's forehead wrinkled as her brows drew together. "Denouement refers to... the end of something, does it not?"

"There is some nuance lost in translation, but broadly, yes." Vogrin agreed. "We've briefly touched on the nature of souls in your tutoring. Do you remember what makes them different from every other source of power?"

"Nature inherently expends its energy." Annette recited. "A tree will grow quickly at first and slow with age before it dies. An old man has a fraction of the energy of a child. Even the ley lines beneath our feet will eventually grow dim and fade, the mana they provide becoming fallow and resistant before it disappears entirely. The only exception is a soul." ṛ𝔞𐌽𝘰𝐁Êṣ

"Correct." Vogrin smiled, pleased. "A freshly created soul is unremarkable. Practically worthless. Their only noteworthy quality at the early stage is durability. It requires many reincarnations before the first blemishes and scars form, and more still before the disfigurement deepens into fissures and schisms capable of retaining fragments of the divine mana required for reincarnation. After the soul reaches this state, only then will the current incarnation be capable of wielding a single element."

"That much is known," I realized, flashing back to a conversation I'd had with Ralakos what felt like lifetimes ago. "Or at least suspected."

"The underlying thought is mostly the same." Vogrin pursed his lips, searching the tattered side pocket of his satchel until he fished out a ring, which he placed on his middle finger. "A theory that has persisted for eons, bearing countless names. Viewed purely as a philosophical concept it holds little issue. But when it's taken to logical conclusion, well, that is when the sort of problems that undo creation begin to form."

Vogrin squeezed his fist that bore the artifact at his side, then made a circular gesture in front of him. Shadows took shape in the form of humans—only differentiating themselves as they became more cohesive and colorful. Their skin was gray, hair white and pigmentless, similar to the eyes, which reminded me of an infernal's. The illusion depicted a thoroughfare in a large, ethereal settlement washed in gold, silver, and light, the architecture so drastically different from ours that it was difficult to draw obvious connections.

"There are not many reliable accounts regarding the Fae. What we can be certain of is that they were already advanced in matters of magic and science when most mortals in adjacent realms were still wearing loincloths, chasing prey with sharpened sticks. We know they were likely soulless. And like any being capable of intelligent thought, they coveted what they did not have."

The image flickered and changed, showing one of the Fae approaching green, fearful-looking creatures that could have been precursors to goblins. The fae had altered its appearance to better match the goblins, though the hair, skin tone, and eyes remained the same.

"To our ancestors' credit, their first efforts were reasonable. The offers were pragmatic, fair, securing benefits for both sides. 'Lend me your soul and I'll feed your clan for a decade. Grant it indefinitely, and you'll know comforts that head you rest on a cave floor cannot possibly imagine.'"

Maya cut in angrily. "They didn't even have the capacity to understand what they were giving up. The concept of reincarnation didn't exist yet."

"Their problem. Not the Fae's. Arguably, the prehistoric world they were 'stolen' from offered little in comparison. Monsters present today, even those that reside in the deepest reaches of the sanctum, cannot hold so much as a dying candle to the true terrors that plagued the wilds. Mortals died quickly and in great numbers. The wheel of reincarnation took their souls from a brutal plane, and according to the gods' arbitrary rules, spit them back out to die again. Comparatively, those who were elevated to the fae realm lived in bliss. They were given clothing, domiciles, entire domains where they were allowed to live out their lives and raise families, treasured and pampered like prize livestock that would never be slaughtered. In return, the Fae harnessed the divine mana housed in their souls, granting them what they could previously only simulate through painstaking effort and little return. The arcane."

"How noble." Maya rolled her eyes. "Where did it all go wrong?"

"Literacy." Vogrin grated. "There was always a chance of conflict before. But as the mortals' grasp on the spoken word became more nuanced, and they developed written language, for the first time, information circulated. Stories of monsters in the guise of mortals who—if you allowed them—would spirit away children and loved ones by force. Violence was commonplace and superstition ran rampant. Elevations became more arduous to secure. From what little we know, there were two schools of thought. The first argued for a slow of growth, limiting use of divine mana to what was maintainable with what The Fae already possessed until they worked out a solution to the new obstacles."

"And the second was to dispense with the niceties and start taking them by force." I finished.

"It was more contested than you're probably willing to believe, but yes. That was the end result." Vogrin shrugged. "Their argument was that the result was the same. At that point the mortal realm was still a more hellish place to live than the Fae realm ever had been. Some of the great monsters were gone, but minor wars over territory and theism filled the gap just as quickly. Supposedly, even mortals taken against their will acclimated to the new environment quickly, most happy to concede their souls after a matter of days."

"And those who weren't?" Maya asked.

Vogrin averted his gaze and continued. "With new strategies arrive new leaders to herald them. And in this shifting of tides, Lycaon rose to power."

"Earlier, Ozra implied you visited Lycaon... do the Azmodials have an honest-to-god fae held captive?" I asked, having trouble even imagining it.

"There are no fae left." Vogrin clarified. "Any who survived the sundering became demons. Punishment for their avarice. Not that it matters—if the legends are to be believed, Lycaon's preferred form was reportedly hellish from the beginning. If he had been released rather than blinded and forever imprisoned, he likely would have been the one Fae comfortable with the changes."

The demon snapped his fingers, and a translucent wolf took shape, hulking and muscular, bound by thousands of interlocking chains that sheened with crimson, bulging around too-large shoulders and overgrown, unkempt fur. Countless fingers of all shapes and sizes gripped his neck tightly like a wreath of worms, forming a collar.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, stifling my surprise, disguising it as confusion. Vogrin's conjured image gave a false impression of size. Made him appear not much larger than a dire wolf.

But the true Lycaon was massive. As tall as a manor and nearly as wide, with a deep rumbling voice to match. In our many encounters I'd wondered of his nature. He'd never spoken to me in demonic, but something about his cadence implied the connection. He'd never done anything tangible enough to confirm it outright, but he'd never told me his name, either.

Perhaps this was why.

Maya circled the projection, observing the creature thoughtfully. "If current circumstances were less pressing, nothing would make me happier than learning the full history. The chance to speak with a creature this ancient—well, that's something I would consider making a deal for. A minor one." She clarified, immediately correcting herself when both Vogrin and Ozra looked more than ready to take her up on it. "But fascinating as it is, I have yet to see how the Fae's turn to kidnapping and abduction applies to Princess Annette."

I had to admire her progress. Her cunning. Beyond the most recent years, Maya shared my memories and experiences. Had everything she needed to make the connection. Granted, her recall was imperfect, so there was a chance she missed it. But she dangled the idea of a deal in front of them. And Maya was only willing to deal with demons if the benefits were both immediate and tangible.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

So. She'd come to the same conclusion I had.

Ozra strode in front of Vogrin, taking a long pull of red wine from a crystal goblet I hadn't seen him pour. "It's not the abductions that mattered. To us now or the gods then. If the Fae simply carried on seizing mortals at random and never advanced beyond the base practice, they would likely still exist today, in some capacity. It's what happened after. What Lycaon learned and how that knowledge was applied."

"The ritual denouement." Annette mused, frowning. She was still shaken but handling it better than she had been, defaulting to her usual pragmatism. "It's taking some adjustment, imagining demons heeding the limitations of any taboo. In most societies dealing with a demon is forbidden for exactly that reason. My knowledge of your kind consists of mostly folklore and what Vogrin has taught me, but my understanding is that you can demand practically anything for your services, that price being as insignificant as a ball of yarn, up to the ultimate cost of a soul."

"With one grand exception, thanks to our mongrel friend." Ozra offered a half-hearted cheers to the image. "So allow me to present something of a riddle. Lycaon discovered that the souls forcefully abducted from the mortal plane carried considerably more divine energy than the souls of those that willingly remanded themselves. Would anyone like to take a guess as to why?"

"Cynicism." I realized. "As offers go, it sounds good on the surface. Escape from your dangerous surroundings and dire circumstances to live out a prolonged life in peace, surrounded by wonder. A naïve person would jump on that sort of offer far faster than someone who'd been betrayed or cheated."

Ozra unfurled his index finger from his goblet and pointed at me, the crimson liquid sloshing within the vessel. "Exactly. Someone who's experienced more, or been plagued by misfortune is more likely to question any windfall that appears too good to be true, and mortals carry—or as the elves might claim—cultivate at least a fragment of that predisposition from one life to the next."

"Say there was a fascinating soul." Annette suggested, completely cold now. "Rare and exceedingly powerful. But it belonged to a man who outright refused to conspire with demons." She pressed on, encouraged as Ozra made a circular motion prompting her to continue. "Word of such a soul—and the difficulty of securing it—circulated throughout the fiendish consortium, making the man's soul a coveted prize, one he refused to relinquish until his dying breath."

"Some would argue the man won, remaining set on the 'righteous path' until the end."

Annette shook her head. "But is it the end? Is it really? Or would the man, upon his reincarnation and rebirth, find a demon perched on the edge of his crib?"

"Well done. You've uncovered the great limitation." Ozra gave her a brief smile. "The Fae, beneath Lycaon's leadership, perfected many methods to do just that. Trace the path of a soul through the afterlife in preparation for when it returned. Based on the gods' retaliation to later developments, and the fact that there is not even a whisper of the methods the Fae used to do so that remains, it's safe to assume that this practice was, at the very least, frowned upon." His smile died, and hatred crept into the arch-fiend's voice. "But that was hardly the depths of it." Methodically, Ozra swirled his wine, letting the silence hang as he gazed into the crimson, more troubled than I'd ever seen him.

Vogrin coughed, then picked up where Ozra left off. "As the Fae followed the path of the aggressor, Lycaon questioned the state of things. And like before, the question was born of convenience and pragmatism. Pursuing the same soul across multiple lifetimes, ensuring hardship and misery followed them until the soul was finally ready for harvest was a proven method. But it took centuries to accomplish."

"Never mind that you're already superseding the natural order in a manner that invites divine inquest." Ozra swiped at the air vindictively. "Never mind that your wealth and power already dwarfs the lessers you once envied. Don't transcend your disadvantages and resist the childish urge to thumb your nose at the creators who slighted you at every opportunity. Instead, find a way to do it all faster, and fuck it up for everyone that follows you." He sighed. "Apologies. Nothing is more infuriating than wasted potential."

"I'm beginning to see the shape, and a part of me is afraid to voice it... but how did he do it?" Annette asked.

Ozra drained his glass and set it aside on the table. "Truthfully, no one knows beyond Lycaon himself. The specifics of the practice lost to us in the rare case of divine interference I actually agree with."

"Why?" Maya asked, arms crossed, radiating suspicion. "I'll even go so far as to admit there have been, in rare circumstances, demons sympathetic to mortal plights. But you are not among them."

"I suppose..." Ozra's eyes slid away from her. "I see wisdom in the balance. When a soul is destroyed, a fresh one does not simply spring up from the divine annals to replace it. The very existence of a newly created soul has not been documented in over a century. If Lycaon had his way, every viable soul would be expended, and there would be no mortals left. We would be more powerful, yes, but what good is power that serves no purpose? Reigning as the baron of dead lands with nothing more to conquer holds little appeal. So yes, I care little for mortals, nor their troubles. But I do not want them gone."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly pained. "Lycaon did not share my sentiment, and The Fae suffered for it. And while we cannot know for certain how he did what he did, we can make educated guesses based on other incidents. There are three taboos, well established to invite the wrath of the gods." Ozra held up a finger. "The first is obvious. Forcibly preventing the souls of the deceased from reentering the wheel of reincarnation." He held up a second finger. "The intentional design and construction of an abomination. An artificial creature that exists beyond the bounds of mana." Slowly, he unfurled a third finger. "Lastly, of greatest import. Tampering with chronal magic."

"Like time travel?" Annette asked, but I barely heard her.

Ozra nodded. "And most with interest in the histories believe that Lycaon, in an act of insurmountable hubris, ran the trifecta."

Any doubt that Lycaon was who I suspected, vanished.

"Everything beyond this point is conjecture, but if you add all three together, suddenly it makes sense why the gods were so angry. Capture a mortal. Take measures to prevent them from returning to the wheel. Condemn them to an existence so tormented and dire that they wish for death. Use chronal magic to accelerate the process, and, when they are nothing but an empty shell, turn back the clock and do it all over again. The mind forgets. But the soul is not so fortunate."

It hit me hard. For so long, I'd wondered how the metamorphosis society had managed to actually create a functioning loop. From what little I'd glimpsed, they seemed disorganized, constantly entrenched in disagreements and set back by failure. There'd always been a problem, something that didn't work. A missing piece.

A piece they'd found in the hells.

Similarly shaken, Annette was trembling. "And you believe that's what happened to me?"

"Yes."

"I was tormented—killed, over and over—to bring something valuable out of my soul."

"There are still pieces beyond understanding. But, we believe that to be the case." Vogrin agreed.

"What happens to me now?" Annette asked. Quiet. Frightened.

I wanted to soothe her fears. Comfort her. But somehow, Ozra beat me to it. He went down on a knee in front of her and took her hand. "Nothing. You simply decide how you'd like to live and do so."

"Biding time until absolution claims me." Annette's shoulders shook.

"Absolutely not." Ozra smiled. "No matter what Vogrin implies, it's impossible to perfectly predict when a soul will expire. Yours may endure another incarnation." He clapped his other hand over theirs, his expression equal parts sympathetic and calculated. "Even if this is the last time you find yourself on this plane, think of what that truly means. Unbeholden by the gods, free of any strictures of religion. Your choices are truly yours, and yours alone."

"Do..." Annette hiccuped and buckled down, trying to force her way through it. "Do you wish to alter any aspects of our deal? I hold less value than before, I must. To the suitors as well."

"My dear." Ozra chuckled. "There is little more cherished on a freezing night than a dwindling fire. The most precious things in life are fleeting. And a soul at its apex is precious indeed. I can say with confidence, that any suitor will feel the same. They will be more attentive to the present, given there's no possibility of tempting you to join them in the hells."

"And our monthly meetings. If there's no chance of attaining my soul, do you still wish—"

"If you try to walk those back, I shall be cross." Ozra interrupted, scowling in a manner that was neither entirely serious, nor a joke.

"Very well." Annette stood there awkwardly for a moment, dazed, before she curtsied.

Conflicting emotions warred within me, as Ozra stood and straightened his posh leggings. I'd seen the worst of him in the Enclave, memories that still lingered in the dark. Ozra, the Arch-Demon of the Asmodials, laying waste to people I cared for. People I loved. Tearing through innocents and combatants like parchment, trailing the dead behind him like a cloak. He'd remanded me to torture and even now still held purchase on my soul.

Yet, in that moment, I wasn't sure I could have consoled Annette. She'd always been too intelligent for platitudes, and in many ways, our situations were not entirely dissimilar, though the nature of my curse made it almost impossible to convey.

Only, of all people, Ozra had conveyed them for me. Beyond that, Annette had erred when she asked if he wished to renegotiate. Given him the opening I'd worried about. Yet, instead of exploiting the lapse, he'd let it pass. Which led me to believe he’d truly reached the same conclusion I'd always known. Even when I took it for granted.

My sister was precious.

Given that, when he glanced over at me, I mouthed the only words I could reasonably say.

"Thank you."

"Bringing us back to Lycaon, just briefly." Maya put a comforting hand on Annette’s back as she addressed Ozra. "I understand the purpose the chronal magic and sequestering the soul serve. What's less clear is how the second taboo factors in. Abominations. We encountered them in the Sanctum, did we not?"

Memories of fighting through adolescent infernals twisted beyond recognition over and over surfaced. Limbs twisted and split like branches of trees, gaping faces leering, wielding wild, tainted magic that made the very air crackle with the scent of burning flesh.

"Not exactly," Ozra settled back into his usual smugness. "What you encountered were innate abominations, transformed by the tainted mana of a dying ley line. Formidable by pedestrian standards. But they pale in comparison to true abominations. The monsters Lycaon created to inflict his torment. Demons, before demons came to be."

Maya rolled her eyes. "Do they have a name to go along with the reputation?"

"They do. Though you would not know it." Ozra mused. "They are rarely spoken of. Most believe them gone, destroyed along with the rest of Lycaon's legacy. Imagine my surprise, when I discovered its presence in the sewers. I cannot tell you this particular one's origin, nor its master. Parsing those details would be a breach from which I could not recover. But it is the purpose of this meeting. The embodiment of fear itself. And its name is Lithid."

What felt like a lifetime later, we emerged into the sunlight, the shadows of the demonic chamber fading as the revelations clung on, souring in the wind's stench of sewer.

In a matter of seconds, someone grabbed the neck of my armor and yanked me forward. "Where the hells were you?" Sera's voice revealed the identity of the silhouette as my eyes adjusted to the light. "It's been hours. I didn't know what to do, what to tell the men—"

"At ease, banner lieutenant." I managed. To her credit, Sera released me, scowl now visible beneath the blazing sun. "I know what we're fighting. And, more importantly, how to fight it."

"Well, what is it?" Sera demanded. "Changelings? Something vampiric?"

Closer than you think. Yet somehow worse.

"There's little point in repeating the same information twice. I'll address the regiment in a moment."

"Fine."

I reconsidered, calling out after she'd already turned away. "Sera."

She stopped and turned. "Yes?"

"You were always fearless growing up, throwing yourself into the sort of trouble Annette and I did our best to stay clear of. Almost vindictive in your rebellion."

"And?" She crossed her arms, likely expecting me to advise caution.

I thought about the best way to say it. "I need that version of you now. We all do. The men who decided to follow you, they'll need you to fight for them to get through this. This is your chance to prove yourself as their direct report and a leader."

Slowly, she let her arms drop. "It's that bad?"

"Make sure everyone's prepared and alert. Follow the instructions I give the rest of the Banner Lieutenants, and we'll get through this."

"Sure..." Sera trailed off, as Annette stumbled up beside me, a little dazed. "Nettles. You alright?"

"Been better." Annette admitted, as she looked up at me in shame. "I... I... I'm not sure that—"

I put a hand on her forehead gently, stopping her. "Get one of the soldiers to take you home, little sister. With haste. No arguments."

"Okay." She agreed quickly, relieved. "I'll uh... find one that's weary, unlikely to handle the sewers well."

"Good thinking."

Sera stared after Annette as she trudged towards the greater regiment, blinking several times as our sister inspected the group of soldiers, eventually singling one out. "Did she just... run away—"

"Princess Annette is returning to the castle on my orders." I interjected. "And on the subject of orders..."

"Yes, yes, your eminence, I'm going." Sera grumbled, though her heart wasn't in it. Behind her, our arrival had been noticed as more and more heads turned my way.

"You'll need to address them soon." Maya said, taking her place at my side. "If you wait too long—"

"The lithid will have more to feed on. I'm aware."

"This will be hardest on you." Maya observed, her voice tinged with worry.

"Perhaps. But... that's the way it should be." I admitted, looking over the regiment, feeling a swell of pride despite the circumstances. "They're here because they chose to follow me. I don't want them to die for that choice. If it takes me first, their chances only get better." I reached over and interlocked my fingers with hers. "And we both know what you face won't be any easier."

"If it takes me, I hope it dredges up that wretch from the trial." Maya's mouth twisted in hatred. "It will bring no end of pleasure to slide a dagger between her ribs."

"At times you frighten me, Ni'lend." I admitted.

"Often, I frighten myself," Maya mused, words heavy with meaning. "We should be vigilant in what we say."

"There are ears everywhere in Whitefall."

"More today than ever. The wisest course would be to speak of this later, but given what we face, it seems more necessary than usual to set my mind at ease." She squeezed my hand tightly. "When our host was reciting his history... was I imagining it?"

"No."

It all lined up perfectly. How the metamorphosis society perfected that final, desperate effort to meddle with time before the world ended. They’d gone to the source. The progenitor of evil.

Lycaon. The Black Beast.