-Callen-
Arranging lodgings for my team was simple enough. Apparently Hew took the existence of a magical gateway to and from wherever I am as a threat to be prepared for high-ranking guests at any moment. It just so happened that we conveniently had a castle that remained relatively uninhabited except by the maintenance staff that he could use to have suites for visitors ready at all times. Was it the intended purpose of the castle? No, but it was convenient and didn’t get in the way of the castle's real purpose as a shelter during emergencies. It wasn’t arranging the guests that impacted me but the persistent nagging headache. The memories that normally made home feel like home seemed to clash with my perspective of what I am. Why would a demon have a mortal sister? Why can I remember being born to human parents if I’m not human? The headaches continued to sharpen, and I could even start to feel like pieces of me were collapsing as the waves of uncaring washed them away.
Unable to bear the weight on my soul, I ran to the far side of the town, where familiar sights wouldn’t trigger memories that didn’t fit into reality. I eventually stopped myself alongside the beach where the sand met the internal forest. Leaning against a tree to steady myself against the nausea that followed the headache. Slowly my mind lethargically worked out that there was definitely an issue. None of this happened before I met the witch, so clearly she was the source. It made sense the deal I struck with her was nonsensical. Why would I care about getting her to stop her invasion of humanity? Or maybe the truth lies in the opposite direction? I needed to establish a baseline, something I could trust to define what was real. I pulled up my status and stared intently at my traits plainly telling me what I am.
It was clear to see the unfeeling, uncaring system's decree. I was not a human; I was some sort of reborn demon from earth. Maybe I was previously a human who ended up in hell only to somehow be granted access to this world through my birth? The split that formed Callia must’ve been an intervention separating what once was human from the corrupted evil that is me. My mind seemed to stutter with each step, but I looked down at my hand and noticed my fingernails elongating into a black claw-like shape. My skin also started to turn into a sickly pale shade. Clearly I was finally starting to break the illusion by piecing my way through it. The next piece that didn’t seem to fit was the memories of growing up with my family. The happiness felt sick and wrong for what I am. Just before I could begin to dissect my condition, the sound of movement alerted me to someone arriving.
“Callen?” Crescent's voice rang out uncertainly as she walked down the beach towards me. I flinch badly in my dizzy and nauseous state. I slump against the tree to catch myself from falling but hastily push myself back up. “I needed time and isolation to break the curse on me.” The thought echoes in my head, but the noise I made draws her right to me. A look of concern immediately fills her expression, and she clings onto me supportively.
“Callen, what happened to you!?” She chattered into my ear, but the ringing in my mind that I fled from in the city was back. Memories of spending time with Crescent. Our dance by the bonfire, chore shopping together, and long talks without purpose or meaning just to spend time together. A part of me grabs on desperately as the wave of unimportance tries to wash away the images. I don’t know why, but my voice rings out softly as the world turns black.
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“Help, please,”
-Crescent-
I carefully held my hand against Callen’s cold and clammy skin. It was slick with sweat, and he was dangerously pale. My mind raced as I tried to piece together what could do this to Callen so quickly. My physical examination revealed no trace of any injuries suggesting venom, but his hands had strange deformities, with his nails blackened and shaped into claws. I gently grabbed his head to prop it up and immediately winced as a spike hidden by his hair jabbed into my unsuspecting hand. I parted his hair, revealing the stump of a black horn that seemed naturally integrated with his skull. I narrowed my eyes, looking over his whole body again as I started reconsidering the affliction. It was starting to look a lot less like poison or venom and was starting to look a lot more like this might be some kind of transformation.
The thought makes me pause. Was Callen only so accepting of my nature as a changeling because he was secretly some kind of monster wearing human skin? I recoiled as the very thought seemed to make the reality feel wonky and out of place. A sensation from a sense that I couldn’t name made that lie taste rancid. A trick that seemed to feed into itself until it became true. I recoiled back a step as I tried to identify the feelings' origin, but it didn’t take long for me to recognize it as the same senses that told me I was wearing a poorly fitted meat suit. It was an instinct born from my nature as a fey.
I snap out of my stupor, noticing Callen starting to stir again. My instincts started to sharpen like a cat's fur puffing out when startled. Callen wasn’t going to be himself for much longer. The thought crossed my mind, but in the back of my head a voice whispered to me.
“A truth for a truth—do you accept?” I wanted to look around for the source, but Callen’s reawakening gave me no time to consider the consequences.
“Deal!” The moment the words left my mouth, I felt the lie clinging to Callen peel away. I slumped down in relief for a moment before noticing the “meat suit” I’ve been using as a human body felt strange. I held up my hand and watched in horror as my fingers distorted like melting wax. The tips of my fingers are falling off in little blobs, splatting on the ground below. I stood up in alarm as the melting seemed to accelerate. My fingers dripped off or fused into my arm that now hung onto my bone like a wet towel stretching farther and farther. My legs lost strength as the flesh on them began to melt in a similar manner, and I crashed to the ground. My back sank into the ground as the flesh flowed between my ribs. “What?” My voice gurgled out my disbelief as my throat finally collapsed. My body sank into a puddle of flesh that shouldn’t be alive yet somehow was. I flailed my arms that were little more than stubs dripping rapidly as my more intact eye locked on to a small figure in the tree above. It looked like a small human with wings. I was filled with confusion before my skull collapsed and my brain stopped functioning properly as it melted in with the rest of the Me puddle.
Distraction
As Callia left to prepare her ambush, Norold looked over to the men he gathered for the ambush. The force was better than he expected but still inferior to what he expected from the strike force. However, winning the battle wasn’t something he considered from the beginning. After witnessing Callia’s prowess on the battlefield earlier, he was set on aiming for this particularly risky venture. The warden of the Vault, a space mage known as Isolan, and his closest friend, the captain of the vault guards, Valon, were the strongest among those who supported the pope. With our men exhausted from attacking the fields, it was the perfect opportunity for the pope's strike team to overpower any force sent against them.
There were plenty of targets the strike team could’ve targeted while Norold’s men were tired, particularly including his men, but Norold felt confident that the pope would target more supplies. The pope was obsessed with material possessions, likely the fault of the demon whom he served, which meant he wouldn’t pass up the chance to claim vital supplies even if crippling the Norolds force might make more sense. Norold had contingencies in case the paladins were the target, but in the dark of the early night, he saw his enemy moving just as he predicted. Without a word he signaled the men to follow him as they rushed through the streets and into the enemy formation. Norold pummeled the regular paladins in his way, making himself a target of necessity for Isolan and Valon. Valon immediately engaged, and the two went back and forth trading blows, but Norold found he couldn’t push Valon enough to force Isolan to support. Just having Valon nearby demanded Norold’s attention, letting Valon take advantage, scoring a deep cut to his arm. Step by step Norold started to falter under Valon’s attacks until a flying head flopped right between them—Isolan’s head. Norold could scarcely believe it, but moments later the warhorn sounded.
The paladins behind disengaged rapidly while Valon stared Norold down with hate. Norold didn’t hesitate to take the opportunity to withdraw as Valon switched his attention towards the house that the warhorn sounded from. An enraged warcry was the last Norold heard of Valon as he stumbled down to a secret safehouse that Galen had provided. With a groan, he laid back and let the healer on standby get to work treating his wounds. He shook his head ruefully as he accepted that he had underestimated Valon, but Callia still somehow managed to pull through; taking Isolan without something to distract him was an extraordinarily impressive feat. He was eager to hear how the battle went from her perspective, but as time passed, she didn’t return. Nervously he looked at the condition of the others to see if anyone would be in good enough condition to search for her. The groans of pale, injured, and spent men who had just returned from fighting numbers significantly greater than their own forced him to scratch that plan. There was little to do but pray for Callia’s return.
