The Cruelty of a Waking Demon

The demon, who had not deigned to move from his position on the floor, remained impassive as Jianna cast the blankets aside. She rose and crossed the room in a rush, her movements sharp with indignation, until she stood looming over Malakor. A potent and familiar concoction of righteous rage and the electric surge of adrenaline that always heralded a confrontation flooded her mind, churning into a tempest of unspoken accusations. For a protracted moment, she was too consumed by her fury to articulate a single thought. At last, the words erupted from her, sharp and laced with contempt. "Alright, then! If it means I can finally go home, escort me to your Council."

A guttural snarl rumbled deep in Malakor’s chest. "Fine!" he retorted, the single word a declaration of war.

"Fine!" Jianna shot back. Spinning on her heel, a piece of her mother's timeless advice—never leave an untidy bed in a stranger's house—echoed with peculiar insistence through the haze of her anger. With vicious, precise movements, she began to straighten the sheets, yanking the fabric taut in a physical manifestation of her tightly controlled wrath.

"Um…" Blynn's soft voice, timid as a startled mouse, managed to slice through the thick tension. Jianna’s head snapped toward the Satyri, who was fidgeting with nervous energy. "Shouldn't we wake Flitterwing before we go?"

Jianna’s gaze fell upon the Feyan, her surprise momentarily eclipsing her anger. Oblivious to the explosive debate that had just transpired, he was still slumped against the wall, deep in slumber, in the exact same spot he had occupied when she first opened her eyes.

With a low growl vibrating in his throat, Malakor roughly nudged Flitterwing’s shoulder. Jianna couldn't discern whether the demon's irritation stemmed from the Feyan's continued sleep or the galling fact that he had been so diligently cared for throughout the night. She bit back a furious reprimand, forcing her focus back onto the bed linens, smoothing a wrinkle with unnecessary force.

After several more shoves and increasingly menacing growls, Malakor finally succeeded in wrenching Flitterwing from his sleep. The Feyan's red-rimmed eyes fluttered open, bleary with exhaustion.

"Wha…?" he mumbled, his gaze shifting sluggishly between Blynn’s anxious wringing of her hands and the shared, thunderous expressions worn by Jianna and Malakor. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he asked, "Did I miss something?"

"Not a thing," Malakor barked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Get ready. We're leaving now."

"Now…?" Flitterwing’s complaint was a weak, exhausted whine. "But I just woke up!"

"Yes, now," Malakor insisted. "Get up, or we depart without you."

"Geeze," Flitterwing grumbled, pushing the blanket from his lap. He rose stiffly, grimacing as he stretched his aching limbs. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the cave today…"

"Listen, Feyan," Malakor snarled, channeling the entirety of his foul temper directly at Flitterwing. "I have no need for your commentary today. I never asked for you to accompany me, I am not authorized to bring you, and I would have no qualms about tying you to a tree and leaving you here."

A shadow passed over Flitterwing’s features, his gaze hardening. The Feyan was not one to anger easily, but Malakor's venomous disposition was wearing thin on his patience. It was an especially bitter pill to swallow, considering Flitterwing had spent the entire night tending to the demon, coaxing his fever down to a manageable state, and had only succumbed to his own exhaustion near dawn. He understood Malakor’s abrasive nature, but this was an insult that cut too deep.

"I'd like to see you try, Demon," he muttered, infusing the title with a palpable, dripping insolence.

Malakor’s crimson eyes flashed with a malevolent fire. "Don't tempt me," he warned, his voice dangerously low.

Flitterwing was the first to act, a blur of silver and fury lunging toward Malakor. In an instant, the room descended into anarchy. The two collided and crashed to the floor in a maelstrom of entangled limbs. There was no elegance or technique to their struggle; it was a raw, testosterone-fueled brawl, a brutal and clumsy explosion of violence born from frayed nerves and simmering resentment.

The fight concluded almost as quickly as it began. Malakor, with one hand cruelly tangled in Flitterwing's hair, jerked his head back, forcing the Feyan to his knees. In a critical error, Flitterwing had removed his vest to allow his wings some respite. Malakor’s other two hands exploited this, digging his fingers into the sensitive base of the wings, striking a cluster of nerves just beneath the skin. A blinding, horrific agony seized Flitterwing's entire body. With his fourth hand, Malakor pressed the cold steel of one of Flitterwing's own swords against his throat, a stark contrast to the heat of his skin. Malakor's own blade remained uselessly stowed in his knapsack. The torment radiating from his wings and the sharp, throbbing pain from the wounds inflicted by Malakor's short nails and hard fists brought involuntary tears to Flitterwing’s eyes.

"As I said, Feyan," Malakor breathed, his voice a scorching snarl against Flitterwing's ear. "Do not tempt me. I have a long history of fighting your kind." He then tore the blade away and delivered a vicious kick to Flitterwing’s back, sending the Feyan sprawling onto the stone floor. With a contemptuous snort, Malakor tossed the sword so it clattered at Flitterwing's feet. He strode across the room, snatched his pack, and declared, "I'll be waiting outside. Don't be long."

The door slammed shut with a resounding crack that made Blynn and Flitterwing, who had been frozen in terror throughout the skirmish, flinch in unison as they stared at the space the demon had just vacated.

The sound broke Jianna’s paralysis, and she rushed to Flitterwing's side. He was pushing himself onto his hands and knees. "Are you alright?" she asked, her voice soft as she knelt beside him. Her fingers brushed lightly against his shoulder, near a small, crescent-shaped gouge left by the demon's nails.

Flitterwing drew a long, shuddering breath and managed a brief, pained smile that quickly dissolved into a wince. "Yeah, I'm fine. At least I landed a few good hits."

"I'm sorry," Jianna said, though she wasn’t entirely certain what she was apologizing for—Malakor's venom, the fight itself, or her own role in escalating the conflict. "Malakor has been in a foul mood since he woke. You unfortunately bore the brunt of it."

"Ah, it's nothing," he replied, slowly and stiffly getting to his feet. "I'll be right as rain in a few weeks."

Jianna offered a faint, grateful smile in response to his attempt to lighten the oppressive atmosphere. "I think it would be best if we all just… kept our distance from Malakor for a while, alright?"

The others nodded in solemn, earnest agreement. A tense silence descended as they gathered their belongings and filed out of the room.

None of them could have known that this fraught and unpleasant morning was merely the prelude to one of the most transformative and terrifying days of their lives—a day that would irrevocably shatter the foundations of everything they thought they knew to be true.