1. Uriel

1

URIEL

T he weight of my glamour settles like oil across my skin as I push through the crowded marketplace. My wings - now invisible to demonic eyes since they are far too obvious in this setting - still catch the strange crimson light filtering through Ikoth's perpetual blood-red sky. The absence of New Solas's golden spires and crystalline architecture leaves an ache in my chest.

Dark stone buildings crowd the marketplace, their surfaces rough and unpolished. Demon merchants hawk their wares from stalls built from volcanic rock and weathered wood. The scents of earth and mineral springs replace the familiar perfumed air of home.

I adjust the satchel of weapons at my hip, each piece carefully wrapped in enchanted cloth. The metal sings against my palm - beautiful pieces, really. Too good for demon hands, but coin is coin. And I come to Ikoth for just that, even if I hate having to make myself look like a demon slave to get away with it.

"Fresh meat, straight from the hunt!" A demon vendor thrusts a skewer of something unidentifiable toward my face. I curl my lip and step away. These creatures and their base desires - always eating, rutting, fighting like animals.

The marketplace winds through narrow streets that remind me of intestines, twisting and turning without logic or grace. Nothing like the planned elegance of New Solas's golden boulevards. Here, the buildings lean into each other like drunken revelers, creating shadows perfect for cutthroats and thieves.

"You there, trader." A demon waves me over, his horns scraping the low awning of his shop. "What's in the bag?"

I paste on my practiced smile, though it feels more like baring teeth. "The finest blades this side of the void. Care to see?"

He grunts, and I pull out a short sword. The enchantments shimmer beneath its surface like trapped lightning. The demon's eyes widen - good. Let him think he's getting something special. In truth, it's barely worthy of a xaphan foot soldier.

But that's why I'm here. I need something that is worth something.

"How much?"

I name my price, watching him sputter and protest. Such predictable creatures. We haggle, and I let him think he's won when he pays only slightly less than what I wanted. Demons - so easy to manipulate when you understand their pride.

With the transaction complete, I continue through the market. My wings may be hidden, but I still hold myself above this rabble. Let them have their dark corners and earthy hovels. Soon enough, I'll be back among the civilized, where everything gleams of gold and glory.

I scan the market stalls, my fingers trailing over samples of basic metals and mined goods. Nothing special enough to warrant the trip to this cesspit of a realm. These common merchants wouldn't know true quality if it seared their flesh.

A glint catches my eye - deep violet crystals nestled among worthless quartz. My wings twitch beneath their glamour. Those could be useful.

"Interesting selection." I tap the violet crystals. The demon merchant's three eyes narrow, recognition flickering across his features.

"They are." He draws himself up, trying to match my height. Fool. "These particular specimens come from the deep mines. Very rare."

I lift one, examining how it catches the red light. Power thrums beneath its faceted surface. "The price?"

"For you? Three thousand gold pieces." His lips curl back from yellowed fangs in what passes for a smile here.

I drop the crystal back into its velvet nest. "Do I look like some fresh-faced apprentice? Five hundred, and I won't mention how you're passing off lesser gems as premium stock."

The demon's throat bobbles. Sweat beads on his grimy forehead. "Two thousand?"

"Seven hundred, final offer." I lean forward, letting my glamour slip just enough to show my true eyes. Golden light spills across the stall's surface.

He practically throws the crystals at me. Smart creature.

I tuck my prize into my satchel, already imagining the blade these will enhance. The metal will need to be folded exactly one thousand times, tempered perfectly, but it will be worth it.

By the time I exit the market, I'm itching to get away. I hate coming to the demon continent but I like the wares I find. So I force myself twice a year.

But the market isn't the real place I find what I need. Now it's time to go scouting.

The red sky darkens to a bruised purple as night creeps across Ikoth. I stretch my wings, shaking off the last traces of glamour. No need to hide now - the darkness provides cover enough.

Banking left, I soar over the nobles' district. Their homes sprawl across the volcanic hills like tumors, all sharp angles and obsidian walls. Wealth flows from the mines here, evident in the elaborate gardens filled with crystal-bearing plants and the telltale shimmer of magical wards.

I circle a particularly ostentatious estate, noting the guards posted at regular intervals. Amateur work. Their defensive spells spark against my awareness like static - annoying, but hardly effective against someone of my caliber. The owner clearly has more coin than sense. Just the right one to do my work with.

I just need to find someone who is deep in the mines and trap them in a deal that benefits me.

Movement catches my eye. Further up the hill, partially obscured by outcroppings of black rock, stands a mansion that makes my wings snap taut with interest. Guards track around its perimeter, and wards pulse beneath its surface, layer upon layer of intricate spellwork that speaks of real power, not just purchased protection. The walls seem to drink in the darkness, and windows gleam like amber eyes.

What are they hiding?

I drop lower, testing the edges of the magical barriers. They respond instantly, sending a warning thrill through my bones. Professional work. Expensive work. The kind of security that speaks of valuable secrets.

A courtyard opens at the mansion's center, and there - mining equipment. Not the crude tools used in common operations, but precision instruments. Crystalline drills and enchanted picks that could extract the most delicate specimens without damage.

My lips curl into a smile. This is what I've been searching for. Whatever they're pulling from Ikoth's depths, it's rare enough to warrant this level of protection. And rare means profitable.

I circle once more, committing the layout to memory. The wards might pose a challenge, but nothing insurmountable. Not for someone who's spent centuries crafting weapons that can slice through wards.

My boots touch the dark grass, power thrumming through my veins as I test the wards. They're impressive - layers of protection spells woven together like a tapestry of deadly intent. Each strand pulses with different energies: fire, lightning, pure force. Breaking through will take time, finesse-

A flash of light erupts from the mansion's walls. The wards ripple like disturbed water, and a woman bursts through them as if they're made of paper. She tumbles onto the grass at my feet, her chest heaving.

My breath catches. Waves of dark hair spill across her shoulders, framing a face that belongs in New Solas's finest paintings. Her skin glows pale as moonlight against the black grass. She wears a white dress that clings to curves made for sin, now torn and stained a little with dirt.

But it's her eyes that freeze me in place - wide, green, and filled with an innocence I haven't seen since leaving the golden city. No demon or hardened human possesses that pure light. She's like a star fallen into this dark realm.

Her gaze finally lifts to mine, and those golden-green eyes widen with fresh terror. The sight sends electricity crackling through my veins, igniting something dark and possessive in my chest. My wings spread wide, casting shadows across her trembling form.

"Well, well," I purr, all too eager with this. "What a delicious treat I've found."

She tries to scramble back. The white dress bears testament to her struggle - torn, dirty, yet still managing to showcase curves that would make most men weep. She's clearly been kept, pampered. No calluses mar those delicate hands, no hardness dulls that innocent glow.

I prowl closer, my boots silent on the dark grass. She scrambles backward, but there's nowhere to go. The mansion's wards crackle behind her, and I stand between her and freedom.

My fingers flex, itching to touch that pristine skin, to claim what fate has dropped at my feet. She doesn't belong in this realm of darkness and decay. She belongs in New Solas, surrounded by gold and crystal. No - she belongs in my workshop, where I can keep her safe, protected. Mine.

The predator in me recognizes easy prey, but there's more to it. That light in her eyes, that untouched grace - it awakens something I thought long dead after centuries of dealing with demons and their ilk. A desire to possess, to corrupt, to own.

A growl builds in my throat as she tries to edge sideways. My wings snap forward, hemming her in. The movement draws her attention to them, and recognition flashes across her face. Yes, little one. See what I am. Know that escape is impossible.

I've crafted countless weapons, forged blades that can slice through reality itself. But this - this frightened creature with her torn dress and desperate eyes - this is what I want to master. To break and remake until she shines only for me.