2. Malorg

two

Malorg

Malorg wanted to die.

That bitter truth threatened to crush him beneath its monumental burden. It was all he could think of as he slid yet another dagger past the spiky tendrils hanging from the voidspawn's body like rotting fronds and lodged it into the beast's bulbous, mushroom-shaped back.

The voidspawn tried to retaliate with a meaty fist coated with rounded suckers, but Malorg had already released his grip on the blade and stepped back. With an effortlessness born of centuries of practice, he slipped into the shadows, dissolving into a pool of darkness that skittered across the gray dirt of the Dusklands. Rematerializing twenty paces distant, he watched dully as the abomination let out a pained cry and clawed at this latest wound.

Malorg had already left over a dozen littered across its mottled flesh. The voidspawn was strong for its kind—not powerful enough to be considered a void lord or to wield its own voidflame, yet hardier than he'd expected. Hence his toying with it.

Don't lie—you're toying with it because you want it to land a lucky blow. To defeat you once and for all.

There was a time Malorg would've fought to silence that taunting voice in his head. He'd have pretended it was duty that drove him to roam the outskirts of Infernal territory alone rather than a death wish. But he was no longer the Infernal champion who had single-handedly slain countless void lords. That life was in the past.

His fingers lightly brushed the scar bisecting his left eye, where the mended skin still occasionally seemed to squirm. Let the others serve the Dusk Council and fulfill the Covenant for all the good it would do. If he couldn't win, well—at least he might rest.

Malorg focused his attention back on his current target. Though nowhere near as imposing as the creature whose tainted magic had left him his scar, it might still prove strong enough to pose a legitimate threat. Perhaps it would find a way to surprise him. Or perhaps it—

He sighed as the voidspawn collapsed. Black tendrils of duskflame spread across its skin, courtesy of his cursed dagger still embedded in its back. It let out a final shriek before dissolving into ash.

So much for a lucky blow .

Slipping back into the shadows, Malorg blurred over the darkened landscape. To mortal—or even Celestial—eyes, the Dusklands' forests would appear pitch black, utterly devoid of color or light. Yet, to Malorg's vision, the ground came alive with striated shades of blacks and grays woven in an intricate, ever-shifting mosaic.

Such a stark difference from the unbroken barrenness of the Dawnlands. Let them keep their pristine silvers and golds. Here, nothing remained unchanged for long, everything always beautifully in flux.

Except for me . Malorg allowed himself to sink into the familiar well of melancholy as he surveyed the outskirts for his next target. Not for the first time, he considered how much simpler it would be to abandon this pointless hunt and put an end to his misery himself. Infernals were tricky to slay, their shadowy flesh quick to mend and difficult to hit, but that wasn't what deterred him.

No matter how much he told himself he'd grown weary of this unending fight and his tedious existence, some part of him—misplaced obligation, instinct, or his own conscience—refused to take the coward's way out. So instead, he always sought out the most dangerous assignments. He ranged further and further alone, taking ever greater risks and confronting ever more powerful enemies.

Someday, he would stumble upon a challenge he couldn't overcome—a foe that surpassed him. And when that day came, he would finally find the peace he craved.

Until then, his hunt continued.

Several disappointing voidspawn later, he passed through a copse of gnarled trees and found himself standing before a light so bright it made his eyes water. Squinting against the unfamiliar glow, he realized what it must be: the boundary marking the edge of Infernal territory, where the shadowy forests of the Dusklands bled into the stark white plains of the Dawnlands. Eternal Dark, had he really travelled so far already?

More likely, the Dawnlands had expanded again. The Celestials had always had an easier time recruiting fresh souls to their banner despite the best efforts of Infernals like Malorg's old friend Pelorak. Many foolish mortals saw the Celestials as good and the Infernals as evil when in reality they were both sides of the same coin, each devoted to fighting the Void in their own way.

Malorg eyed the barrier between light and dark, considering. It had been over a century since his last visit to the Dawnlands. A shudder traced the ridges of his spine, and his shoulders tensed.

Not since Uryqh.

Back then, he'd pushed for greater cooperation between Celestials and Infernals, believing it a necessary step to defeating the Void. He harbored no such illusions now. However, the Dawnlands would have voidspawn to hunt as well, and his magic would be far less potent there. Even lesser voidspawn might pose a significant challenge.

He stared into the light for a long moment before muttering a soft curse and turning away. As tempting as he found the possibility, that annoying part of him that refused to let go thwarted him. He'd just have to seek out more capable prey in the Dusklands.

He'd begun to pool darkness around him to duskwalk when he heard a faint cry in the distance. His brows raised as he paused to listen. He'd ranged far from the usual Infernal hunting ground, the voidspawn here sparse and scattered. Had there been a fresh breach nearby?

Another shout came, along with a shriek that could only have been made by a voidspawn. Malorg's eyes fixed back on the border. Both had originated from the other side—from the Dawnlands.

A fierce grin split his face as he burst into shadows and flowed across the barrier. Thank you, whoever you are, for giving me an excuse to risk my neck.

The instant he crossed over, the Dawnlands' insufferable light beat against him, scorching his pale skin. He hissed at the dull pain, barely able to sustain his duskwalking. What had been as easy as breathing in the Dusklands now quickly sapped his reserves of duskflame. He wouldn't be able to maintain this form for long.

Thankfully, he didn't need to.

Ahead, he spied a lone Celestial facing off against a swarm of voidspawn. The Celestial held no weapon, fighting with his bare fists. Golden blood dripped from myriad injuries. He must be even more exhausted than Malorg to have not already mended his wounds or conjured a blade.

One of the voidspawn—a creature reminiscent of a hound—launched itself at the Celestial. The Celestial met the beast head-on, shouldering it aside before pummeling it with his shining fists.

With the Celestial's dawnflame so exhausted, however, his target was slow to die. Its flailing claws raked more wounds down his side. The distraction left the Celestial unaware of the pair of voidspawn creeping up behind him.

Drawing upon his own depleting reserve, Malorg quickened his pace, flitting over the perfect silver landscape of the Dawnlands like a blotch upon its pristine exterior. As soon as he was close enough, he emerged from the shadows, conjuring twin daggers to hurl at the approaching voidspawn.

Both blades struck true, piercing the voidspawns' skulls. Black cracks spread from the curses imbued in the blades. One voidspawn collapsed as the curse overtook it, but the other only staggered before recovering.

Malorg muttered under his breath while summoning more blades. In the Dusklands, that blow would've been enough to fell such a weak opponent. Here, however, the accursed light fought against his presence.

Not wanting to risk more duskwalking if he could help it, he dashed forward, throwing more daggers as he ran. Aware of him now, the surviving voidspawn dodged one of the blades, but the other lodged in its leg. The beast shrieked and went down.

The Celestial looked up sharply. His wide, golden eyes briefly met Malorg's own gray ones, but Malorg didn't have time to worry about him. He reached the fallen voidspawn, ripping the dagger from its leg and stabbing it through the neck.

A lashing claw raked down his chest. Thanks to the duskflame infusing his flesh, his skin flickered like smoke, allowing the claw to partially pass through it. Once again, however, the Dawnlands betrayed him. He hissed as the strike left a gouge leaking dark wisps of shadow.

The voidspawn dissipated, and Malorg staggered to his feet, ignoring the ache in his chest. The wound wasn't serious enough to cause him any real danger, though it would hamper him even further than being here already had.

The Celestial slowly stood, eying Malorg with open suspicion. "Who are you?"

"Your savior." Malorg waited until he was convinced the Celestial wasn't about to do something stupid like attack him before scanning the surrounding plains.

A single voidspawn remained several dozen paces distant. Though its plodding pace marked it as slower than the others, its armored carapace—similar to a turtle's shell except for the dozens of stubby tentacles protruding from it—looked like it might be tough to penetrate.

He turned back to the wary Celestial. "How do you want to do this?"

The Celestial's brow rose. "You tell me, savior."

Malorg narrowed his eyes. "Maybe I'll leave you here to satiate it while I escape."

"It would come for you as soon as it finished me."

"Let it." Malorg flicked his wrists to conjure two fresh blades. "It'll be easy prey once I make it back to the Dusklands."

"If you make it back with that wound and your weakened magic." The Celestial's appraising gaze roved over Malorg from head to toe in a way that left him vaguely unsettled. Something akin to nerves fluttered in his belly. "Besides," the Celestial continued, his tense posture relaxing, "I don't think you'll abandon me."

Malorg barked an incredulous laugh over the oncoming voidspawn's growl. "And why is that?"

To Malorg's astonishment, the wounded Celestial managed an exhausted smirk. "You wouldn't have run all the way here from the Dusklands to save me if you were the kind of person to just give up."

The Celestial's words slugged Malorg like a punch to the gut. Before he could muster a retort, the voidspawn howled and began a laborious charge across the last of the distance separating them.

Malorg peppered it with a barrage of daggers, but as he'd feared, this foe didn't fall as easily as the others. Even with multiple blades turning its rounded back into a pincushion and jagged cracks of cursed shadow rippling along its carapace, the voidspawn barreled on.

Malorg fell into a crouch beside the Celestial with his latest daggers in hand. It seemed they'd have no choice but to fight in close combat. Maybe I'll get my wish to pass on sooner rather than later .

For some reason, the thought didn't please him nearly as much as he'd expected. Instead of relief at the idea of rest, all he could think of was the unarmed Celestial at his side who would suffer the same grisly fate if he failed.

"Stick close to me," he said. "If I go down, run."

The Celestial didn't reply, and Malorg glanced over to see his golden forehead furrowed in intense concentration. Had the Celestial been mortal, sweat would've been beaded there.

"What are you doing?" Malorg demanded. "It's almost here!"

"I. Know," the Celestial said through gritted teeth. He raised his right hand to point toward the voidspawn. "Just give me. One more minute. And—"

The Celestial gasped as dawnflame burst from his raised hand. It wasn't much—barely a trickle. Malorg watched skeptically as the weak magic streamed toward the voidspawn. If his cursed blades hadn't been enough to drop the beast, that tiny amount of dawnflame wouldn't either.

Yet, the turtle-like abomination didn't appear to be the Celestial's target.

Shock widened Malorg's eyes when the dawnflame instead flowed into one of his daggers still embedded in the voidspawn's back. The dagger erupted with golden light. Flames spread down the black cracks Malorg's magic had left.

The voidspawn staggered to a halt, shrieking as the infusion of dawnflame somehow jumpstarted the duskflame curse, sending more black tendrils fanning outward to carry golden fire in their wake. Within seconds, the flames had engulfed the voidspawn until nothing remained but violet ash.

Malorg spun toward the Celestial. "Eternal Dark, how did you do that?"

The Celestial slumped to the ground, his exhaustion overtaking him now that the immediate threat had passed. Still, he found the strength to grin. "Light if I know. I figured since I didn't have enough magic left to do much on my own, maybe I could somehow strengthen yours. I wasn't expecting it to work so well, though."

"It shouldn't have! Dawnflame and duskflame are polar opposites. Light and dark, Celestial and Infernal—they're not intended to ever mix!"

The Celestial's grin faded, his brow knitting. "What does it matter how or why it worked? The important thing is that it did. Besides, you're here in the Dawnlands, so the two must not be entirely anathema to one another."

Malorg spun away, shaking his head. "The only Infernal that would willingly come here is one with a death wish!"

He regretted the words as soon as they'd left his mouth. The Celestial was right: victory was victory. So, why did he still feel so on edge?

You wouldn't have run all the way here from the Dusklands to save me if you were the kind of person to just give up.

He tensed as the Celestial sidled up behind him.

"A death wish, huh?" The Celestial's voice was soft, any hint of joviality gone.

If Malorg were mortal, he might have flushed at the quiet accusation. As it was, he felt his body stiffen as he silently cursed his loose lips. He hadn't meant to give so much away, especially not to a Celestial.

"Forget it." He strode back the way he'd come, toward the border with the Dusklands. "I assume your comrades will be looking for you." Unlike Infernals, Celestials rarely if ever hunted alone.

"I expect so," the Celestial replied. "But what about you?"

The concern in the Celestial's tone almost broke Malorg's stride. "I, for one, have had enough of this Dark-cursed light," he said without turning.

The Celestial's chuckle sent a prickle of warmth through Malorg he wasn't sure he liked. "I meant, what about your comrades? Are they waiting for you at the border?"

"I hunt alone."

Footsteps sounded on the silver earth, and Malorg startled when the Celestial appeared beside him, limping slightly as he favored his wounded right leg. "Really? This far along the outskirts? Do you come here often?"

Malorg jerked an impatient nod.

"But there are all sorts of random voidspawn hiding this close to the Void."

Malorg did his best to tamp down his annoyance. He had fought alongside the Celestial—he could put up with a few questions. "That's the idea. Plentiful prey."

"Right." The Celestial bobbed his head. "Makes sense." His bright golden eyes studied Malorg's profile, and Malorg had to stop himself from turning to stare into their scintillating depths. "If, that is, you have a death wish."

Malorg whirled, grabbing the Celestial by the front of his battered armor. Ignoring the Celestial's surprised squawk and the faint burning he felt from direct contact with the hardened dawnflame, he leaned in until a mere hand's breadth separated them.

"Unless I miss my guess, I have been fighting since long before your mortal self was even born. I have watched countless comrades fall to the Void and sent countless more voidspawn back there myself. Do not presume to judge me!"

The Celestial swallowed, never taking his eyes off Malorg's face. "I wasn't. Though, I admit I am curious what happened to make you abandon hope."

Malorg had to hand it to the Celestial—he had guts. Of course, that should have been obvious when Malorg had found him taking on multiple voidspawn with his bare hands.

"I will fight until my last breath," Malorg said, forcing down his guilt at the half-lie. "But when my end finally comes, I will welcome it with open arms. Once you have lived as long as I have, you will do the same."

Releasing the Celestial's armor, he shoved him a step back and resumed his trek toward the Dusklands. This time, the Celestial didn't follow, and Malorg was surprised by the thread of disappointment that wove through him at the absence.

"Maybe you're right!" the Celestial called after him. "If I'd been through what you have, maybe I'd be tired of fighting, too. But there's more to this existence than war and death!"

Like what? Malorg didn't dare ask the question, though he wasn't sure if it was because he feared he wouldn't receive an answer…or because he feared he would .

He'd thought the Celestial gone, off to return to his own people, when he heard him shout, "My name is Sarilian."

Sarilian . As pretentious a name as any. Definitely suitable for the naive young Celestial.

"Malorg," he surprised himself by replying.

"Well, Malorg, until we meet again!"

I seriously doubt that day will ever come . Still, even after Malorg had crossed back into the Dusklands, relishing the shadows' cool embrace, the annoying Celestial's parting words continued to rattle around his head. And, as unlikely as such a reunion was, he found a part of him longed for it all the same.