World of Agatha - 21 Demonic Soul

What is a demon?

The simplest answer is that they were beings of indomitable will.

Some people develop very deep obsessions. Be it for power, pleasure or maybe even love.

But when this desire is distorted beyond any recognition, when it becomes the person’s raison d’être, surpassing any rationality, when it becomes an evil and perverted never-ending lust, this person’s soul becomes “demonic”.

They are no longer fully themselves, but something much more sinister.

For centuries Rosalyn was consumed by her violent appetites. And even though she was not yet a full-fledged demon, as Morgana initially thought, her soul was definitely demonic already.

This gave Rosalyn many useful powers.

Yet it bore a terrible cost. Because demonic souls can never follow through the path of an ordinary afterlife.

When they depart from this world, their fate is a completely unique one.

….

Morgana grabbed Meatgrinder from the ground.

But as soon as she held the cursed weapon, the hammer’s lust assailed her.

The small creak of blood sprouted once again and Morgana’s eyes were tinged with deep red.

But soon the wrath was subdued.

Her eyes regained their original colors and the blood tide dried out, becoming coagulated on the surface.

The dark wizard took a deep breath and, with a quick motion, put away the weapon, making the hammer vanish on her robe’s deep sleeves.

“Get out now! There is no use hiding because I can feel your presence.”

“No?”

After receiving no answer, Morgana moved like a thunderbolt.

“Grasp.”

With great accuracy, she grabbed deep beneath the earth. And, like a hunter dragging a small prey out of hiding, Morgana extracted a terrified gnome from the ground.

….

After being thrown against the fire by Sylvan, Nimble hid on the earth where he had the opportunity to heal his many wounds.

The plan was simple. Make use of both Adan and Rosslyn as distractions in order to strike down the dryad at the appropriate moment.

But two things prevented him from intervening again. First was the giant fire spell Sylvan used, taking advantage of the fire walls to fuel his formation.

The second was Rosalyn. Her true self, which was shown on the struggle against the fey, not only made the dryad scared but Nimble as well.

He honestly had no idea if this monstrosity would still consider him an ally or just rampage out of control.

But after Morgana arrived he certainly felt glad that he made this choice.

With only two movements she managed to eliminate the mighty foe which had whipped out his group.

Not only that but she even manipulated the half-mad Rosalyn into submission, avoiding unnecessary struggle.

However, Morgana’s cold warning sent a chill down his spine.

Was it a bluff?

Possibly. After all, how could she have more accurate senses than a druid or the fey, both of which held a deep connection with the natural world?

But his hopes were crushed when Morgana moved against him.

Now, Nimble could only pray that she was not too annoyed by his futile attempt at avoiding capture.

But before he could say anything. Before he could beg for his life, Morgana took another glass bottle from her robes.

This was a much larger vial. The base was round and the extremity, narrow. Its liquid was pitch black and when Morgana took out the stopper, a putrid decadent odor filled the air.

“Drink this, if you want to live.”

What should Nimble do?

The enemy held him at her mercy. Even if drinking this wasn’t wise, could he really refuse her?

Somewhat hesitant at first, the gnome began to swallow the substance.

Its taste was horrible, resembling a mix between rot and manure.

But as he kept drinking, the taste changed, improving constantly.

In the end, Nimble could feel thick and sweet honey as well as the smell of Spring, which he loved deeply.

A sense of numbness assailed him as the world around became blurred.

….

Through the woods walked a gnome with a face deep in concentration.

With great skill, he manipulated the leaves and dirt in order to eliminate any trace of his presence. Even the smell was gone, erased by a neutralizing wind.

Back when Nimble traveled with his group, speed was of the essence and he couldn’t be bothered to use this method.

Of course, it had been a terrible mistake and now that he was alone, it was more important than ever to journey incognito.

Even now Nimble’s heart was troubled by fear and grief.

He might not have known Rosalyn and Adan very well, but they were still his companions. Besides, Theodore was his best friend. Someone who stood by his side since the days of old when they fought together in King Alfred’s army.

Those were the good days. When the war had just begone, it was believed by all the conflict would be resolved shortly. A few well delt victories and the fey would be scared into submission. Exiled from Azov forever.

Of course, things were not so simple. They couldn’t be. That was the naivety of children.

And now, centuries later many had died. The king and most of Nimble’s friends. Azov’s grounds were drenched with the blood of the firstborns from both races.

“And now, because of that tyrant, Theodore is dead too.”

The druid was consumed by anger as he firmly believed that Lord Douwe was involved in foul play.

As for his choice to engage the treants combat. Was it really a choice?

Nimble was one of the “Traditionalists”, a faction within the village which defended a more aggressive posture against the fey, as they believed the forest rightfully belonged to them.

By using the fervor of his beliefs, Nimble managed to shield himself of any guilt, blaming his enemy for all the misfortunes that had befallen him on this journey.

Also, thinking about his beloved and that Alston brat being together deeply infuriated him.

“If you think this is over, it’s really not. I am coming for you all!”