Birds cawed, the wind blew, and rats scurried at the signs of destruction and death. Hundreds of bodies lay scattered on one side of the battlefield, and only one body on the other. Not long ago, an army had been defeated—brought down by just two. The army had fallen; hundreds and hundreds of bodies remained, but only one of the two warriors had fallen. As he lay on the battlefield, believed dead by others, he himself thought he had slipped away and fallen in battle while trying to protect the only one who mattered: Angel’s Daughter.

  A gentle glow began to engulf the body of the fallen warrior, the body of Devil’s Son. The spell cast by Angel’s Daughter in an attempt to save Devil’s Son had, unbeknownst to either of them, miraculously worked. Devil’s Son awoke soon after, feeling something almost like a stab to his heart—someone close to him was in danger. He lay motionless, unable to move or even feel his limbs. He felt pain like a knife, but he was alone. What could be hurting him? He tried to move his head, but he was unable to do even this task. He lay there, motionless, and powerless; all strength had left him. He knew not why, but he was still feeling unbearable pain, pain like a battle. He felt a knife cut his face, but there was no wound, and then a slash to his leg, but again there was nothing there. He felt as if he was in a battle and losing, but then it stopped. He was still in pain, but there was no wound.

  He lay there feeling nothing but pain. Slowly, very slowly, the strength returned to him, and he stood up, looked around, and saw destruction—the same battlegrounds where he had fought for his life and hers.

  “Angel’s Daughter!” The thought came to him. Had she escaped? Had she fallen? He searched the site of destruction for her body, but all he found were the bodies of his enemies, all dead. “Did she make it?” he said out loud to no one.

  “She might have,” said a voice behind him. He turned toward the voice, his body on autopilot, and shot bolts of magical power. A man raised his arm, blocking the spell with another spell of his own, and then fired his own spell that struck Devil’s Son square in the chest. He fell backward and hit the ground. He looked at his chest—there was a wound this time, a scorching burn that filled him with pain.

  “Now, friend, I mean you no harm. I am a businessman.” Devil’s Son looked up to see a merchant, and what he saw filled him with panic. The man had the armor Angel’s Daughter always wore.

  “Where did you get that? It doesn't belong to you!” he shouted at the man. The merchant smirked.

  “It was sold to me by a woman running from pain and sorrow. Maybe you know her—she is a young woman of eighteen, with golden blond hair and light green eyes, full of pain. Her skin is white like a night elf, and her heart is more broken than the bodies on this battlefield. The…” he paused, an evil look in his eyes, “…Daughter of an Angel.”

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Devil’s Son panicked, his eyes starting to tear. “What did you do?”

  “Well,” the merchant replied, “I gave her the ability and means to kill whoever she wished. I gave her a robe that will make her almost invisible and a venom extractor that will let her poison her enemies.”

  Tears started to fill the eyes of Devil’s Son. “You are no merchant—you are a devil! The very devil I tried to escape when I ran from the Thief Clan, when I ran from you, Zathor, leader of the Thief Clan and creator of killers. You turned my only love into the killer you made me. You knew that pain of the heart is where you can best plant the roots of your evil. Well, I will not let you. I will find her and save her from the monster you are turning her into!”

  Zathor’s smirk turned into a wicked scowl, and a spell that had been surrounding him faded, revealing his true form. “I won’t let you destroy my greatest creation yet!” he snarled. He shot a blast of magic at Devil’s Son, which struck him square in the chest and sent him flying backward. Devil’s Son crashed to the ground, unconscious but still breathing.

  “How is this possible? He should have died from that spell. Even one as strong as him cannot survive that spell,” Zathor muttered. He approached the body of Devil’s Son, drawing a knife from its sheath as he walked, carefully watching the fallen warrior. He then grabbed Devil’s Son by the throat, lifting him off the ground. “Why don’t you die?”

  Suddenly, a drop of blood fell from Devil’s Son’s body. When it hit the ground, it shimmered and killed the grass within a foot in every direction. Zathor realized what this meant, and it filled him with rage. He brought Devil’s Son’s face close to his own. “Remember this: Angel’s Daughter may have saved you—a selfless act, to say the least—but when I’m done with her, the only act she will ever do will be to kill.”

  He threw the body over his shoulder and started walking. He walked for miles until he reached a dock on the Hundred Mile Sea. Every year, one boat would cross this sea to trade with the kingdom on the other side.d

  Zathor approached the boat that was about to depart for the long journey. “Friends,” he said to the sailors, “I have a slave that I no longer wish to own.” The sailors were confused. “Wha’ d’ye mean? Slaves were outlawed seventeen years ago.”

  Zathor frowned. “Tut tut, that may be true, but it is not outlawed in the kingdom you are going to trade with. You can have him for free—use him on the sea voyage, and as long as you sell him before you come back, no one will know. It is a win-win: you have a slave to do what you wish, and then you can make a profit by selling him.”

  “Hey, he has a point. We could do that, and a little extra profit never hurt anyone. Plus, I do not like cleanin up the ship. You know what? You have got yourself a deal!” Zathor smirked and handed Devil’s Son to the sailors and began to walk away, but one of the sailors shouted after him, “Hey, this slave is a strong one with muscle. Why are you getting rid of him?” Zathor smiled as he left. “Oh, you know—one less pest to deal with.”