He's coming.
His boots echoed through the tower halls, each floor smeared with the blood of my soldiers. Every scream drew him closer.
"Break him and I will set you free."
The god of stories' words slithered into my head—smooth, cocky, dripping with amusement. For centuries, he's used me like a puppet, forcing me through tales as the villain, savior, and executioner. Never once had he offered freedom.
Until now.
I barked out a fractured cackle. The sound ripped through the air—harsh and guttural.
My new body trembled like a drenched dog, limbs scraping against the iron throne beneath me. I drove my sharpened nails into a skull on an armrest with a frightening crack. It shattered next to the other bones littering the ground.
This is my chance.
The woman I've possessed was born in yet another of the god's favorite stories, "Curse of Power." She was the demon general Enissa feared across continents—the hero's first enemy at the novel's start. His first victory.
I felt a familiar pang in my head.
"Destroy his morality, ruin his relationships, and demolish his faith in the gods," his silken voice whispered through my skull.
As he spoke each command, a black ring burned around my wrist with a faint glow. Three black marks. Three final directives. They would vanish as I fulfilled each one.
My lips curled at the sight. Three more chains until I was free. I could practically feel Pepper's soft fur under my fingertips. My small apartment. My life. Almost.
The long over-arching doors creaked open.
I smiled coldly. Finally.
They entered. Five handsomely clad warriors from the hero's team—a mage, healer, tank, assassin, and the hero. Alastair. My lovely exit ticket.
His footsteps echoed across the large room—metal armor clanking at each step. Messy brown locs framed a hardened expression. Black blood dripped freely from his sword, his eyes snapping to me like a whip.
I languidly rose from my throne, descending the stairs with cat-like grace. My heels clacked against stone as the hero's holy sword lifted towards his unholy enemy—me.
The mage's hands sparked, the healer's staff glowed golden, the tank's sword whipped to the ready, and the assassin crouched, daggers hissing in front of her.
Just as they were about to pounce, my knees hit the ground with a thud.
"I surrender!" I cried out, hands clasping together.
They froze—Alistair's eyes widened to saucers.
"…What?" he breathed, incredulous.
Demons never surrender.
"It's obviously a trick," said the mage coolly, sliding his glasses up.
"Just slice her head off already!" spat the assassin, "Surrender or not, she's dead meat."
"Demons are evil in the rawest form," whispered the healer, "She lies."
The tank wheezed in laughter, "This is the best thing I've ever seen!"
"You all misunderstand!" I hissed, drenching my voice in desperation.
"I betrayed the demon king. He abandoned me. I—I can help you." My gaze softened, locking onto Alastair's startled eyes. "Please hero, I can give you everything. Maps. Secrets. The generals' weaknesses."
"Bullshit!" barked the assassin.
Alastair's face was tense in deep thought. I could see the internal war in his head—calculating, doubting.
"Lies. I've never seen a demon this desperate," murmured the mage, glancing to Alistair.
The hero's grip tightened around the sword's hilt, head hanging low.
"I understand," I whispered, drawing a dagger made of dark magic. "Then watch closely."
The party sparked into a readiness for an attack. I fought back a smile.
Fingers curled around the handle. I thrust it over my head. In one fluid motion, the blade sang through the air, slicing through my wrist—flesh tore, bone cracked, black blood gushed like a river.
My severed hand hit the stone floor with a sickening slap.
The heroes paled, gaping at me like dying fish.
"WHAT THE HELL—?!" Alistair roared, stumbling back.
I studied his expression—shock, revulsion, and a hint of pity rippled through his beautiful features.
"I-Is this not enough?" I rasped, engineering a pained expression.
The mage's brows rose slightly, surprise cracking through his cold exterior.
"If not…" I lifted my uninjured wrist to the hero, "I'll gladly offer my other hand."
My lips curled into a shaky smile.
"I'll need your help with that, hero."