-Three Months Later-

I bowled right through the grand doors to the King's Hall. "BARBAS!" I roared, blade drawn already and flanked by Eileen, Raven and a contingent of Elite Knights.

At the far end of the hall, Barbas lounged across the royal throne, chugging from an immense mug. Ale sloshed past his mouth and ran down his bare chest, mingling with the blood splatters across his body. As the foot of the throne, his immense hammer was embedded in the pulverized remains of King Iraine.

"What madness has taken you, Barbas?!" I snapped. "To murder the king, proclaim yourself tyrant, have you forgot what we stand for?"

Barbas lowered his cup, belching loudly. "You stood for, not me." He waved me off. "I was only in it for the money and fights. But, since I am the strongest, why shouldn't I be in charge, eh?" He dropped the tankard and sat up. "I put in all the hard work, I did the fighting, why should this little chickenshit be in charge and not me?" Barbas smiled, crooked, yellow teeth contrasting with his bloodshot eyes.

"You've finally lost it, haven't you." Eileen shook her head as she readied her staff. "Please surrender, Barbas, we won't hesitate to put you down."

"HA!" Barbas stood, wrenching his sledgehammer from the pulped corpses of the king with a wet squelch. "You're free to try, lass. But don't ever forget; I am the strongest, no-one else!"

Barbas leapt at us, hammer gleaming as red as his eyes, spittle and froth flying from his lips. Seven knights died in the ensuing battle before Raven could slit his arm and force him to drop his hammer. Eileen paralyzed him, and I took off my once-friends head off with a single stroke.

It would take three hours before I was informed that the Darkcell was empty.

-One Month Later-

I looked down at the new grave. Another victim.

Maurice had once been my mentor, teaching me the way of the sword in my earlier days. I treasured him like a father. They found his corpse half-eaten by Dire-wolves in the forest three days after his disappearance. They said, judging by the bloodstains and the cuts on his wrists and heels, he had been forced to crawl like a dog through the forest for hours before he died.

My gaze turned to the other graves; a blacksmith here, burned to death after a collapsed awning pushed and trapped him in the hot coals of his outdoor forge. A tavern-keep, beaten to death in a bar brawl gone too far. A questing knight, trampled to death by his own horse. A priest, stabbed in the lung during a break-in at his own chapel.

All of them, connected to me and my party.

"Does it hurt enough yet." I turned calmly to the new voice.

Damien didn't look like Damien anymore. His fangs overgrew his mouth, giving him a permanent grin. His horns had grown into an immense crested crown, and a pair of wings made of pure smoke hung from his back. His squatted on Maurice's grave, staring at me intently.

"Damien..."

"Does it hurt enough for you to kill me yet?" He snapped again.

"Damien," Tears pricked my eyes. "I can't. No one can, I-." Damien lurched upright without warning.

"It's not going to stop, Alione." He said slowly. "I won't hurt you, but your friends, family, every companion and cohort. Until my pain is gone, yours will never end."

"They're your friends too!" I roared, tears rolling down my face now.

Damien began to fade, smoky wings draping across his body as his form broke apart.
"Not anymore, Alione."

-Two weeks Later-

One final slam, and the barricaded door shattered, sending me staggering inside.

"Raven!" I screamed, voice hoarse from the hours shouting before. I couldn't conceal my panic anymore. "Raven, please talk to me! It doesn't have to-!"
My voice died as I saw her.

Her breathing was shallow, but her eyes were dead. In one limp hand, an empty phial and needle. A dozen similar syringes were strewn about, a few still-smoldering smoking pipes and countless booze bottles.

She was a mess, a living corpse with her deathly pale skin and sunken eyes. I shook her and cried, desperately trying to elicit some kind of reaction, but were only met with unfocused eyes and no response.

I barely noticed the small charm clutched in her fist, a gift from years past given to her by Damien, nor the shadow on the wall behind her, twirling a syringe between its fingers.

-One Month Later-

I woke with a start to the sound of cutlery clattering from the dining room.

"Eileen?" I called to my new wife, worry beginning to flare in my breast. Sitting up, I stepped into the dining room and froze at the sight of it. Damien, just as malformed and horrific as always, sat at my dinner table, leisurely eating a steak like some civilized person. His massive black wings took up half the room easily, cutting off my vision of the rest of the room.

He noticed me, jabbing his fork at the other end of the table. "Sit, we need to talk."

I sat without argument, watching him intently. I was already dreading his visit. "Where's Eileen." I bit out, knuckled going white as I clenched my fists.

"Oh please," Damien waved me off with his knife. "I have no care nor need for her. She's useless to me. You, however..."

"Damien, I..." I felt bile rise back up in my throat. The same old argument, the same old response. "I can't. I couldn't kill The Dark before, I can't kill you now."

"Alione," His voice, that jagged, malicious voice quieted to a familiar, supporting tone. Just like before. "I believe in you."

He leaned forward, jabbing me in the chest with his fork and the small cut of meat on its end. beneath it, I felt the Mark of Light, the tattoo that marked me as the Hero, burned ever so slightly. "You're the Hero, Light embodied on the earth. If there's anyone who can, it has to be you."

Just like before. Before the ritual, before the Well, before the decision. Kind words, earnest support, given to raise spirits in the face of evil. I felt some fundamental terror fall into my gut.

"Damien, what did you do, where is Eileen?"

"Oh, old friend, I told you, I have no need for her." His wings shifted, folding back and letting me see beyond him. "A farmer does not set a cow loose just because they produce no milk."

Through the open doorway tp the kitchen, I saw the limp arm of Eileen, splattered red, dangling from the kitchen counter.

"All it means is that the farmer shall be eating beef." Damien sneered, biting into another piece of his steak.

Part 2/3