Suddenly, King Baalrek spreads large bat wings from his back with a sharp crack. They’re made of membranes of deep crimson that stretches between long, jointed bones.

  Jacob takes a few steps back because of the gale of wind summoned by them. Another blast of air hits Jacob in the chest. He loses his footing and falls on his ass. Dust puffs around him.

  King Baalrek laughs with a crystalline voice.

  Jacob freezes.

  He has heard King Baalrek laugh before. He has heard the dry, amused chuckle from the creature in his soul and from the skeleton of the Mad King. He has heard the bitter snorts from his very veins. But he has never heard this sound. It rings clear and bright, like glass struck by a silver coin. It sounds alive. It sounds young.

  For the first time, Jacob sees not a cursed relic or a skeletal king, but a full Infernal in the flesh.

  King Baalrek folds his wings halfway and calms his laughter with a slow breath. His eyes burn steady gold.

  “Before,” he says, “you spoke with a fraction of me. A bone. A shard. A stubborn remnant that clung to its curse.”

  He bends and he picks up the broken sword hilt from the ground.

  The leather grip lies scorched and cracked. The jagged stump of the blade catches the red light and throws it back in dull flecks. It looks pathetic in his hand.

  “Now my true essence is here—I recalled all the pieces of me,” he says. “Now the rest of me has caught up. No more inheritance from me—they crumbled. But… here I am.”

  The air around the hilt warps. Jacob feels the mana pressure spike, and he sees golden fracture-lines blaze down King Baalrek’s arm and into the metal. The broken shard hums. Liquid light pours out of the fractures and runs along the stump like molten gold.

  The sword fully reforms.

  Metal grows where there was none. The jagged break smooths into a polished edge. The sword stretches until it is a full greatsword again.

  King Baalrek weighs it in his hand.

  “My true essence can restore what the curse broke,” he says. “The Mad God’s power gnawed at me, but no more. If I wished, I could now… just be again. I could walk the realms again.”

  Jacob swallows as he imagines that. A fully reborn King Baalrek with his full mind and full power. Jacob’s chest tightens.

  Part of him wants to back away from the aura that rolls off King Baalrek. It presses on his skin. It tells him in very simple terms that this is not a common person at all anymore. This is a king who could level cities.

  He is intimidated. He would be an idiot if he were not.

  Yet under the fear, something else stirs. Relief.

  He looks at King Baalrek’s face and he sees less tension around the eyes. The curse that twisted his master is finally broken.

  Jacob has done it. He has freed King Baalrek from his curse.

  His throat feels thick. He had promised to save him. He actually did.

  King Baalrek swings the restored sword once. The air howls around the blade and leaves a clean line through the red haze.

  “I could resume my crusade against Asmodeus,” he says. “This is me at the height of my power. No more sleeping fragments, no more… little peeks at whom I was. This is me.I could gain my full power again. I could knock on Asmodeus’ door with a sword in one hand.”

  The idea hangs in the room like a storm cloud. Jacob imagines Asmodeus feeling that aura bloom and he imagines the panic in half the Monster God’s cults.

  King Baalrek’s aura billows as if the thought alone feeds it.

  Wind howls out from him. Dust and red mist whip into a spiral that fills the chamber. Jacob lifts his arms to shield his face. Grit stings his skin and bites into his lips. The noise roars in his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut as the mini-tornado rips at his clothes.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  For a heartbeat he thinks this is it. King Baalrek will step out of the Secret Room and nothing in the world will be ready.

  The wind stops.

  Silence crashes down. The dust settles in a slow curtain.

  Jacob opens his eyes.

  King Baalrek stands in front of him. The wings fold back neatly. His aura lies tight around his body once more. The only sign that anything happened is the way Jacob’s hair sticks out in every direction.

  King Baalrek holds the sword out by the hilt.

  Jacob blinks. He looks from the weapon to the king’s face.

  Jacob looks at King Baalrek, confused.

  “Take it,” the Infernal King, his master, says.

  “You said you would resume your crusade,” Jacob says. “You said you could gather your power and go after Asmodeus just now. How can this be mine if you are going to fight?”

  King Baalrek smiles. It is small and it is tired and it is real.

  “I am not going to fight,” he says. “Not anymore.”

  Jacob stares. “What are you going to do then?”

  “I am going to do what I really wanted to do since my family died,” King Baalrek says.

  The way he says “family” lands like a weight. The anger that used to twist that word is gone. Only a deep ache remains.

  “What is that,” Jacob asks.

  “Rest,” King Baalrek says. “Be with most of them. Let go. Stop clawing at a war I already lost.”

  Jacob studies his face.

  The rage is not there. His jaw has eased. For the first time, King Baalrek looks peaceful.

  Jacob understands.

  The decision settles in his chest. This is not a retreat. This is a man who has finally dropped a burden he carried for too long.

  And Jacob knows what this means.

  Jacob runs into him.

  He does not think about etiquette or his master’s title. He just moves. His shoulder hits King Baalrek’s chest. His arms wrap around him in a clumsy hug.

  King Baalrek stiffens. Jacob feels the surprise in the way the muscles under his clothes tense. Then the king exhales. His arms come up and he hugs Jacob back.

  The wings fold around them for a moment like a curtain.

  “I had a beautiful wife,” King Baalrek says above Jacob’s hair. His voice sounds rougher again. “She was my queen. I had a handful of heroic sons. I taught them the best ways I could. I tried to make sure they would not repeat my mistakes.”

  He pulls back a little and he looks past Jacob, at something only he can see.

  “One of them, my strongest son undertook a campaign against Asmodeus,” he says. “He did not follow my orders. He thought he knew better. He thought he could take on a God with his own plan.”

  His mouth tightens.

  “And then—”

  He stops himself. He shakes his head.

  “The rest is not for now,” King Baalrek says. He looks down at Jacob again. “You will find out when you need to. The world has a way of dragging old stories into the open.”

  King Baalrek steps back and rests both hands on Jacob’s shoulders.

  “If I stayed,” he says, “I would have to do things I do not want to do. I would have to break oaths. I would have to spill oceans of blood again. I would have to lead you instead of letting you lead yourself. I am tired of that.”

  He gives a small, unapologetic smile.

  “So I am leaving this crusade in your hands. Selfishly.”

  Jacob can’t hold his tears—the only he heard is...

  “This is a goodbye forever, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” King Baalrek says. “I am tired, and I see someone who can carry the good parts of my will further than I did.”

  “You really trust me that much,” Jacob asks, trying to wipe his tears away.

  King Baalrek’s gaze does not waver.

  “I trust you more than I trusted my strongest son, Draskalfar,” he says. “You make choices he never would have made. In another life, Jacob Cloud, you are my son.”

  The words hit harder than any aura.

  Jacob’s vision blurs for a second. He blinks fast and he swallows hard. He has felt alone in this world for what feels like forever.

  Hearing that from a man like King Baalrek cracks something open in his chest.

  King Baalrek lifts one hand. Golden light gathers around his fingers in small, tight orbs.

  “I can give you things now that I could not give you before,” he says.

  Jacob sniffs once and forces his voice to stay steady.

  “Why couldn’t you,” he asks, curious.

  “Because the price Karma would have made you pay was too great,” King Baalrek says.

  “And why can I pay it now,” Jacob asks. “I have not gotten richer since last time.”

  “You are not paying it,” King Baalrek says. “Someone is paying it for you.”

  Golden motes start to drift from his skin. His edges blur. The wings thin into lines of light. His fingers turn translucent as the orbs of light around them drift toward Jacob.

  “This is why I had to break the curse first,” King Baalrek says. “I had to stand as myself to sign the last deal. I had to choose to pay instead of asking you to.”

  The motes brush against Jacob’s chest and sink into him. Warmth spreads through his veins and lodges in his Grimoire, in his Skills, in everything he is, in places he cannot quite name.

  King Baalrek’s smile does not fade as his body dissolves.

  “Do not waste it, Jacob Cloud,” he says. “Do not make my mistakes. I know of your thirst of power. But I also see your pure heart. Never lose it.”

  Then he is gone. Only motes of light remain, and they fade one by one.