Akil stood upon the battlefield, his armor strewn with blood and dirt, bodies dead and dying carpeted the hard-packed ground. His blade under the chin of a devil from Wrath’s domain, as the devil begs for his life, “Please, have mercy,” he said, with tears streaming down his face as he shivered uncontrollably. “I’m begging you!”

  “Find peace…wherever it may be,” Akil says, as he pierced through the devil’s throat, twisting the blade, ending his life. He sighed when he heard feet scrabbling towards him from behind, he dodged a swipe of claws by casually leaning to the left, then quickly spun and slashed through the face of the beast, ending its life. 'Probably one of their pets', he thought while surveying the area. Barely affording the beast a second look, he sighed again and gazed up at the fire-strewn sky.

  'Why do we even go through this farce anymore, it’s pointless… meaningless'.

  “My Lord, are you alright?” Rollo, one of his most promising and loyal soldiers, asked.

  “Is there a problem?” Akil brought his face down from his soulful gaze and his mind back to his surroundings. “Is there something that requires my attention?”

  “Not quite, My Lord. I bear message from the forces down at the Eastern Marshes. They’ve managed to secure a strong foothold there… for now at least”

  “That’s a welcome development then, I believe we’re done here barring any unforeseen circumstances.” Akil turned away, sheathing his sword into the rune on his palm that acted like a dimensional storage for his Soul Weapon.

  “This war has been nothing but unforeseen circumstances if you ask me,” Rollo says with a chuckle that dies that in his throat while witnessing the bloodshed around him. “Truly a waste of souls.” He shudders and spits on the ground.

  “Some of our comrades are nothing but bodies now, barely distinguishable from who they considered enemies… it’s a bit funny really.” Akil uttered a strained laugh. “All is equal before death”. Those words carried a strange but powerful weight to them that Rollo couldn’t explain.

  A presence of otherworldly power approached them both amidst the smoke and ash of the battlefield. Rollo shivered and his throat dried up. “Lady Syrene…” he uttered while bowing low, unable to raise his head.

  “Stop with this senseless bullying Syrene, it’s unbecoming and quite unnecessary.” Akil said, taking a step forward as he unleashed his domineering presence.

  Rollo was forced onto his hands and knees, gritting his teeth and finding it difficult to breathe in the presence of two Progenies.

  “Easy there, Akil. You know it pains me to see someone have what I covet.” Syrene giggled, while sweeping closer to Akil. Emerald eyes glowing, she took a deep breath, and the pressure abated. “See? No harm done.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Rollo, go along now, I’ll meet you back at the base camp.” Akil reined in his presence as Rollo scrambled to his feet.

  “Thank you, My Lord… Lady Syrene,” he said, bowing his head at both of them before staggering away.

  Akil studied Syrene, the Princess of Envy, clad in an emerald cloak, the shimmer of jealousy flickering around her eyes. Even dirtied and bruised by the vagaries of battle, her beauty was venomous, meant to sting and linger.

  She met his gaze, unflinching, her smile curving wildly. “You won again, Prince of Lust. You should rejoice..." she gestured broadly around them “...at your victory”.

  Akil frowned, 'Victory.

  That’s what they’ll call it

  I feel nothing'.

  “Victory died here long before I arrived,” he says, preparing to take a step away from her.

  She barred his leaving, her palm pushed slightly on his chest, delicately, halting his movement. He could almost taste the envy that bled from her close presence, it was sharp, intoxicating and far too familiar.

  She circled him, sliding her fingers across his breastplate, her boots crunched through ash and bone. “Always so poetic. Tell me, Akil, is it guilt or boredom that makes you sound like a philosopher?

  He doesn’t bother to answer. His eyes are on the dying flames and broken bodies, where a soldier— one of Wrath’s — crawls helplessly across the charred ground reaching for his severed leg. Akil watched him for a moment, shrugging off Syrene’s touch, he knelt close to the soldier. The soldier looked up, fear and pain written in every inch of his broken face.

  Akil pressed two fingers to the devil’s forehead. Violet flame seeped into the soldier, not to heal, to erase, to end his suffering. The body gets consumed from within and dissolves into ashes.

  “Mercy?” Syrene’s voice had cut through the silence, amused and disbelieving. “Lirien will flay you for that.”

  He replied coldly, “Then she can have my skin.”

  For a moment, their eyes met: his, cold and violet, hers, green and curious.

  Then the winds changed, blowing fiercely.

  A tremor rolled through the land, a promise of an otherworldly presence in its wake. Akil turned towards the northern sky and he saw something that left him numb.

  Above the horizon was a light.

  Not flame.

  Not infernal.

  Pure, radiant, impossible.

  A comet streaked across the sky, ripping through Hell’s storm clouds trailing silver and crimson in its wake. The light slammed into the borderlands, a blinding and terrifying impact that tore through the quiet creating a huge ash cloud with its impact.

  The tremor faded but the echo lingers in his bones.

  Syrene stared in wonder, lips parted. “That… was not of this realm.”

  Akil’s voice was low, eyes fixed on the location of the crash. “No, it was not, and it shouldn’t have survived the fall.”

  Not waiting for her reply, he conjured his wings out of his soul flame — vast, dark, burning violet at the edges — and launched into the air.

  “You really are daft, aren’t you?” Syrene sighed, staring at his quickly departing figure as he vanished into the haze.

  Below him, the battlefield recedes, the dead fading into mist and ash. The wind roared past his ears fluttering his violet streaked hair, but his mind is calm, silent. Something ancient was stirring, something that shouldn’t be.

  As he flies towards the smoking crater in the distance, he feels it for the first time in centuries.

  Not lust.

  Not wrath.

  Something quieter, more dangerous.

  Curiosity.