Without Balancer at full strength, Cirayus had to fight differently. Lacking the agility the tattoo normally gave him meant he was forced to favor a more stationary style, leveraging his physique to deal devastating blows, while moving only the barest amount to dodge incoming attacks, and using Balancer as sparingly as possible.
Unlike Vir, his prana capacity wasn’t nearly sufficient to power his strongest Bloodline Arts. That the lad managed such a feat filled Cirayus with giddy excitement.
The shadowy figure wasn’t simply wearing a cloak—its vaguely humanoid body was wreathed in a moving shadow that shrouded all details. Like an abyss of black.
“Who are you?” Cirayus said. “What do you want with me?”
The shadow halted. “Who am I?”
Another shadow appeared behind them. “This is what you say after betraying us?”
“It wasn’t enough to doom us to our deaths?” said a third shadow. A female. It was an incredibly familiar voice.
Isn’t that… No. No, she would never say such a thing.
“Now, you forget us as well?” a fourth, older voice cried out, filling in the gap. Together, the four of them encircled him.
“How am I to know who you are when you shroud yourself so?”
Cirayus bellowed, yet he recognized their voices all the same. He’d recognize them anywhere.
“Why did she have to die?” the elderly voice said. “I entrusted her to you. You were supposed to care for her. Instead, you abandoned us for some boy! You killed my daughter!”
Cirayus froze. “Is that truly you, honored father?”
The shadow melted away, revealing an old and frail red demon. Except, his skin had been burned off, revealing a hideous visage. Cirayus nearly turned away. Nearly.
It was Kamesh, alright. A horribly disfigured Kamesh. His only living wife’s father had been a wise, gentle soul. A philosopher whom Cirayus, along with most of the Demon Realm, greatly respected.
Is this what became of him? Did he truly suffer so?
“This, and more, Cirayus,” Kamesh croaked. “You see, I was but an old demon. I care not what became of me. What of her? What of them?”
He turned, slowly, to the shadow Kamesh pointed at.
“No…” Cirayus whispered, trembling.
There, where the shadow once was, stood his dearest Kiyara. His wife of four decades. Disfigured, like her father. Bleeding from multiple battle wounds.
“I fought so hard, Cirayus. I fought to protect our family. Where were you when we needed you most?”
“Kiyara, why were you there? Why was Kamesh there when Samar Patag fell?”
Cirayus’ heart wept. She should never have experienced such cruelty. She should have been hidden away at Camar Gadin, as he’d told them. Certainly not Kamesh. Kiyara was a capable warrior, but her father? He had no business being anywhere near the Gargan capital.
“Traitor,” father and daughter said together.
That one word cut through Cirayus more than any injury he’d ever sustained.
“Father couldn’t bear to stand idly by while innocents died. He insisted on going to Samar Patag to aid the wounded,” Kiyara said, her voice dripping with regret. “I dissuaded him, but he wouldn’t listen. In the end, I gave in. I accompanied him to that damned city. Do you know why?”
“Why?” Cirayus croaked, his throat dry.
“Because he convinced me that you would never allow anything to happen to us. That you, the mighty Ravager, would protect his kin. I believed him.”
“I…” What could Cirayus say, except the truth? “I did.”
“So you admit it,” a third voice said. Another, all-too-familiar voice. It was the voice of his thirteenth son.
“Satish,” Cirayus said, turning to face his son. Unlike the others, his face wasn’t burned, but he bled through numerous sword wounds that covered his torso. Far too many, even for a hardy Bairan to survive. It spoke of the valor with which the demon had shown.
“You fought to the end,” Cirayus said.
“I did. To the cold, bitter end. I never lost hope. I knew you would come. Right up to my dying breath. Had I known, I might’ve lived. I might never have thrown my life away for those doomed people.”
Cirayus was not easily brought low, but this? Only a cold, broken soul could carry on after learning such revelations.
The giant fell to his knees. Kamesh, Kiyara, and Satish all walked up to him. Slowly. Deliberately.
Cirayus met their judging gazes. “That boy will save us. He is the future. Sarvaak is more important than me. Than even you.”
“One boy. Your whole family. No scale would weigh them equally,” Kamesh said, placing his maimed hand on Cirayus’ shoulder. “We are dead. At least let our souls rest in peace.”
Cirayus’ lowered his head. “What would you have me do, honored elder?”
In terms of age, Cirayus was older. Yet Kamesh was the father of his wife. His position of honor was unquestionable.
“You would make amends with us?”
“You know better than most how much I care for my own,” Cirayus said. “If your souls have not found the peace you deserve, then I shall do what I can to allow you to rejoin the cycle.”
“Very well,” Kamesh said, handing Cirayus a ceremonial dagger. “Follow us. There is one we would have you kill.”
“Is that all?” Cirayus cracked his neck. “Will this truly appease you? I am no stranger to death. You know this.”
Kamesh nodded solemnly, then turned and started walking.
Cirayus followed his dearly departed family as they marched through the burning streets of Samar Patag. Injured victims moaned, and the roads were filled with dead warriors.
Did the city ever recover? Or would he only find a husk of its former glory when he arrived there? From experience, Cirayus knew which was more likely. Yet he hoped, nonetheless. He wanted so desperately to believe his family’s sacrifice had not been in vain.
Nay, it wasn’t, he reminded himself. They bought us the time we needed to save young Sarvaak.
His family turned a corner onto a street Cirayus knew well. It led to a small square ringed by one and two-story buildings—all burned or burning.
They stopped at a particular door, which opened, revealing a ghastly white figure, pale and translucent.
Unlike the others, the elderly demon woman did not burn.
“Greesha,” Cirayus said, his voice hoarse.
Greesha smiled sadly. It was a smile that carried the weight of centuries. “Hello, Cirayus. My poor herald.”
81
THE REAPER’S WISH (PART ONE)
It wasn’t hot fury that flowed through Vir’s veins, but rather the icy calmness that only true rage can summon. It was the promise of death.
Vir’s leg may have been broken, but in that moment, nothing could stop him from chasing Ekanai into the Shadow Realm.
He hadn’t paused to consider that following Ekanai might’ve been impossible. Or dangerous. He simply acted.
Without understanding how, he felt Ekanai’s presence in that realm, and gave chase.
Ekanai, bearing the full Dance of the Shadow Demon tattoo, wasn’t restricted by the same limitations as Vir. In the time it took Vir to traverse twenty paces, Ekanai had gone a hundred.
Vir remained undaunted. He jumped right back into the shadows, intending to catch up. Then he stopped.
Ekanai was baiting him. The demon wanted to kill Vir. To absorb his soul. Any damage Vir took in this place resulted in strengthening his predecessor. Vir didn’t need to chase the demon. Ekanai would come to him.