58: THE COST OF JUSTICE

Xivan’s story The Second World

Suless’s mistake was thinking she was safe.

It was an easy mistake to make. This was the Afterlife, a place where only souls, demons, and Immortals wandered free. The very reason Suless had sought out the secrets of demonic soul transformation in the first place was to escape the annoyingly relentless Xivan by popping off into the Afterlife if she ever drew too close.

The Afterlife was the one place Xivan couldn’t go, right? The nature of what Grimward did, by allowing the binding of upper souls to otherwise dead bodies, tied that soul to the Living World. The Cornerstone granted eternal half-life, but that existence was also a prison.

Logically, traveling to the Afterlife was quite beyond Xivan’s ability.

But not, as it turned out, beyond the power of what Xivan was turning into, ever since Talea tricked her into accepting Thaena’s Grail. Now such travel wasn’t merely within Xivan’s power, it was trivially easy.

Her first blow hit Suless in the right arm, severing it at the elbow with a satisfying, meaty chuck. Suless screamed in pain, but also surprise. She must not have expected the Afterlife to feel so … real.

Suless spun to face her attacker, and her eyes widened in shock.

“That’s … that’s not possible!” Suless cried.

“And yet, here we are,” Xivan said with an amiable grin. “Now, my girlfriend is probably going to be mad at me if I don’t offer you a chance to surrender,” she said, the smile turning sardonic. “But let’s be honest with each other, you and I: that was never an option.”

“No, wait, I can—”

After everything Xivan had been through in the past few months (or decades, if she were to be entirely honest with herself), it would have been so satisfying to take a moment to spell out Suless’s sins. To make a long, dramatic description of the pain and horror Suless had inflicted on Xivan and everyone she cared about. It would have been lovely to do so slowly, all the while carving off piece after piece of Suless until even a fellow demon wouldn’t recognize what was left.

To make it hurt. To make it slow.

Torturing Suless wouldn’t bring Azhen back. It wouldn’t bring Exidhar back. And it wouldn’t make them feel better, because they’d never know it happened.

But Xivan had friends who needed her back in the Living World. Friends who could still feel pain, loss, and love. So Xivan made a choice.

She chose them.

Her powers had crept up on her, growing swiftly but invisibly over the past few days. Most of the time, Xivan only vaguely comprehended how to control her new gifts; some skills seemed instinctive, others less so. In the Living World, she’d had no guide, no real idea what she could do or how to do it.

But this place felt more like home than anything she could remember in a long, long time. Here, she knew exactly what to do and how. It was if the very Afterlife itself spoke to her, guided her, nurtured her, taught her.

This land so desperately wanted to be loved.

Xivan grabbed Suless by the throat and reached inside her, hand passing right through metaphysical “flesh” as if were but smoke and mist. She began pulling out the souls that Suless had consumed; an impressive number for one so newly come into demonhood. An impressive number, but not enough to give Suless the power she’d have needed to survive this.

Not nearly enough.

When the last outside soul was released and Suless was merely herself, a sobbing, mewling, pathetic soul that squirmed and spewed promises, Xivan did one more thing that the Afterlife taught her.

And then, in the silence that followed, she turned her attention to more important matters.

Janel’s story The Monastery at Devors, Quur

“High General, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Janel yelled as she approached her father’s position atop the cliffs. The scorpion war machines arrayed on either side of him like the wings of some massive raptor of doom weren’t those that normally guarded the monastery. Those were overrun by the feral beasts who used to be soldiers. These were all new war machines, brought in through magic gates and now taking advantage of the opportunity to rain destruction on both the Lash and Drehemia.

And Janel’s friends.

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Kalindra shouted. She held a squirming, crying, screaming Nikali in her arms. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” she yelled as soldiers moved to block Janel’s way. “She’s on our side! Move!”

The soldiers ignored her orders. One pushed Janel, hard, and she stumbled back.¹ Her eyes flashed red, and she pushed him back. He flew a good ten, twelve feet and landed on his back, the air knocked out of him.

Several other soldiers began to draw weapons, but Qoran Milligreest, High General of Quur, roared, “Enough!” and made an irritated gesture. The soldiers backed away and let her through.

She rather doubted any of them even noticed Teraeth circling around to take up position behind them. Even Kalindra probably hadn’t noticed.

“You need to stop with this nonsense before you make the Lash angry and she breaks the deal!” Janel shouted. “Those are my people down there.”

“Then remove them,” her father said, his face expressionless. “Do you have any idea how many people have died in the last couple of hours because of those two monsters? I may not be able to permanently kill Drehemia, but I am not passing up the opportunity to rid the world of the Lash.”

Janel wondered who’d told him the Lash’s real identity. Then she realized he might have just figured it out himself; the kraken hadn’t exactly been quiet in her bellowing.

“You won’t be able to destroy either of them,” Janel said. “But we can make them leave. We’re halfway there, but if you keep this up, there’s an excellent chance we’ll lose everything.”

“Someone remove this woman,” Qoran Milligreest said.

“I wouldn’t recommend trying,” Janel said. “The first one of you to touch me—”

“Father,” Jarith said, his voice stern and commanding, “stop it.”

Qoran Milligreest visibly paled as he turned and beheld his son standing between two scorpion war machines.

Jarith was dressed in funeral white, almost certainly the last thing his father had ever seen him wear.

Janel exhaled softly. Teraeth, you sneaky son of a bitch. That’s one Kirpis-worthy illusion.

“Dada!” Nikali screamed. Janel couldn’t tell if the tone in his voice denoted joy or desperation.

“What … How…” Qoran frowned. “This is a trick.” He turned to Janel, leveling a finger at her. “It has to be a trick!”

“It’s not a trick,” Jarith corrected, his voice firm. He walked forward as Nikali wiggled free of his mother’s stunned grasp and ran to him. He bent to scoop up “his” son. “Thurvishar D’Lorus is down there right now. Galen and Sheloran D’Mon are down there also. Kihrin D’Mon is down there. So please do what my sister said. Call off the damn attack. We’re handling this.”

Qoran stared at him for a moment, then started barking orders to his men.