E05 - Ch 22: Horrivex

The sounds of screams in the distance broke Sylvara's dark thoughts, and she spat out the mucus that had collected in her throat.

Weak, she cursed herself as she wiped her wet face and straightened herself beside the tree. You’re so pitifully weak.

This was no time to be crying over murders already committed. Something was wrong with that demon, and she needed to send it back before this night got any worse.

"Shaktyon," she incanted as she crouched down. Then she leaped off, flashing through the forest in a blaze of violet light.

She reached the village square in less than a spell and landed at its center in a controlled blast of arcana that sent the soft earth of the square jumping.

It was empty of people but there were hoes and even a sword thrown to the ground. Benches and tables had been smashed and the small cabin the peasants called their village hall had been smashed.

The demon seemed to have run into some of the villagers here and they had scattered. Enough had been done by the demon for Sylvara’s tastes, and the other task she had given it, she’d completed herself. It was time to send the demon home, but where had it gone? She felt it was near but the signature of its binding was extremely faint. She could barely sense it.

How is that even possible? Sylvara asked herself. Their pact had been made. Her arcana was all that held it to this world through its bound seal. How could she not clearly sense her own arcana?

"It's her!" a voice called from behind the ruins of the village hall. A group, likely the very ones that had thrown their tools to the ground now stood, revealing themselves.

"She’s over here!" one shouted into the air, while another screamed at her to begone. They were emboldened, it seemed, now that it was not a demon that they faced.

Drawn by the calls, half a dozen more villagers were suddenly coming over the hill, running and hollering at the top of their lungs, a few wielding more farm tools as their weapons.

The two groups of villagers gathered together and began to move toward Sylvara in a cautious march as they shouted at her to leave.

“Begone, witch!”

“Heleric shall smite you for what you’ve done!”

“The Emperor will hear of what you’ve done tonight!”

It was all a joke. These peasants had no idea what they faced.

"I don't have time for this," Sylvara said. “Which way did the demon go?”

"You're the demon!" One of the red-faced men replied.

"Leave now before things go bad for you!" called a woman.

"The legionnaire's men are on their way!"

They grew closer, still shouting and taunting. Their cries tore on Sylvara's nerves. She felt cold inside, and she was in no mood to deal with a group of ignorant fools.

"Demon-tongue, Jitter," Sylvara incanted as the black circle formed in her hand and the monster arose from it. "Legio."

The tentacle rising from her hand suddenly bulged at the secondary command as if it were about to regurgitate a meal from its mouth. But instead it rocked back and then forward, its jaw going almost impossibly wide as it roared a word that Sylvara did not hear into the crowd of villagers.

The effect was instant, men and women screamed as they ran. Some had already begun to run at the sight of the monster, whereas the rest were hit by the spell, the fear in their minds growing tenfold.

Sylvara's eyes widened at the sight of one man, still standing on the square, his hands trembling as he held onto his hoe. She recognized him from the duel. His face was weathered and sunbeaten and his body wiry with lean muscle. He had tied the rope to Aelric for his duel with Brint. It was his father.

"L-leave now!" he shouted. "It is y-your last warning!"

How was he still standing on the square? The rest of the villagers had fled like rats before a cat. Had something gone wrong in the demonsphere? The Argha had failed too many times this day. What was this madness?

He charged at her as she was still considering the Agha’s failures.

"Chidra." The air in front of her raised hand cracked red and dark blue and the man was sent flying backward, crashing into the wreckage of overturned benches.

She had incanted the spell reflexively, and for a moment, she felt the horror of killing another father. But then she heard the man groaning and a strange relief flooded over her.

Why does it matter? she asked herself. This weakness is going to get you killed.

A rush of wind swept through the square, and when it passed, Sylvara thought she heard a scream coming from the northwest.

There you are, demon.

"Shaktyon." The spell made her body bright with violet arcana, and then she was off, speeding toward the sound in a dash of spell-enhanced leaps. Dark fields raced past her all around and she saw a trail of cabins that lay in ruins. Small groups of villagers whipped their heads with her motion as she passed, but then they were gone, out of sight.

Then there were only the stalks of freshly cut wheat fields for a time. She wasn't sure if she was going in the right direction, she tried to sense for the demon again, but it was no use. The signature was so faint, as if the demon were somehow veiling itself from her senses. But that was impossible. The demon relied on her arcana for its existence in this world.

It doesn't matter, she told herself. She had other ways to find things.

Sylvara pressed her will into the kingstone, more than she usually had to for she knew the kingstone would not so willingly point her in the direction of a demon, but with the strength and clarity of her intentions, she finally felt it nudge her hard toward the west. She had gone off track. She spun and leaped away, sparking with energy as she went.

As she drew nearer, the sense of the demon finally became noticeable. She knew he could not stray too far or her seal would fail and it would fall back to the demonsphere.

But when she reached the top of the hill and looked down upon the torn house, the two girls having just escaped, and the demon rampaging within, horror crept into her empty heart. The demon had an arcana signature of its own. Which could only mean one thing.

She had conjured a Horrivex.

She could not be certain for she had never seen one before. But somehow, she knew her intuition was right. This was a rare breed of demon, one that could turn the terror of other souls into its own arcana.

Her intention had been to call forth a dim-witted, manageable being to sow discord, not this abomination. But why would such a rare demon go for her minor offering of arcana?

Of course, so that it could go on a rampage and overpower her binding.

She remembered how it had reacted to her comment about a squirrel. It had all been a lie from the start. A trick to put her at ease.

The Horrivex had deceived her with its facade of stupidity. Its mockery about her lack of offering a sacrifice should have been her warning, but her mind had been consumed by the dread of what needed to be done to the hunters.

Her teeth ground together and touched her kingstone through fabric beneath her breast. What kind of horrible joke was this? This wasn't just unlucky, it was as if all the misfortune in the province had gathered upon her shoulders today.

A shudder ran through her at the thought of losing a demon. The Mother would not care, not unless the demon truly got out of control and greater authorities were summoned to investigate what had happened here.

The demon had not yet broken any of her rules. The moment it did, the seal would automatically have sent it back. The demon had been biding its time until its own power could withstand Sylvara’s arcana.

Regardless of how powerful it became by terrorizing the villagers, the demon would not survive the morning. No demon could. But the night was still young, and Sylvara had heard enough stories of what a demon run amok could do in a single night, let alone a Horrivex which would only grow in its might.

Drawing a steadying breath, she lifted her hands with outstretched fingers. Her seal was still marked upon the demon and she could still use it to send the demon back to the demonsphere by ending their pact. But she would have to overpower the demon’s own newly gained arcana. For now it was nearly the same as her binding. There was no way to make her arcana seal stronger. She had only her will to send the demon back.

The Horrivex bellowed its resistance as it felt her intention, its body rippling like smoke caught in a storm. She sensed its defiance as it gorged on the sisters' dread. With each moment it amassed more strength.

Sylvara would not let it get to that point.

She pressed her will into the seal. She could not put more arcana to strengthen it, but the seal's powers were great. It was developed over hundreds of years by the Nyx to control their demon charges. It would be enough if she could only overpower the demon's resistance with her will.

The demon shrieked and writhed as it fought for dominance. Through it all, she glimpsed Feyna and Feyla clustered together, their faces masks of absolute terror, a feast for the Horrivex.

But Sylvara was a true arcanist and her will was absolute.

She felt the demon's mind losing its grip.

Then something crashed into her.