The ring flared, and the pain that came with it made Kurnos vomit-on his robes, on the floor. He fell on his hands and knees, sobbing. Flashes like Karthayan fireworks filled his vision as the pain spread through his chest, clawing closer and closer to his heart. He knew, when it got there, that he would die. The demon would rather kill him than be thwarted.
“Get out, then, you bitch!” he screamed, his throat burning. “Sathira!”
She burst from the emerald with such force that she knocked him back, sending him sliding across the marble floor. The shadows billowed like smoke from a holocaust, mushrooming up to the study’s vaulted ceiling, spreading down the walls in rolling waves to pool across the floor. Candles blew apart, sending gobbets of hot wax flying through the air. The wine-colored lamp on Kurnos’s desk burst into a storm of glass shards that tinkled onto the floor.
The Kingpriest lay still through it all, curled up in a ball, moaning as if someone had driven a spear through his stomach. He could only look up helplessly as the demon took on physical form-larger now than she had been, towering like an ogre, all sinuous, velvety blackness. Her baleful green eyes were as narrow as razor cuts as she glowered down at him, and for a moment he was sure she would seize him in her talons and tear him apart. She wanted to-he could sense it-but the magic that bound her held her back. For a long moment she seethed, the fires of the Abyss blazing in her eyes. Then, with such obvious loathing that Kurnos nearly laughed, she bowed to him.
“Master,” she snarled. “I failed you. The monk lives. Say the word, and I will destroy him.”
Unsteadily, Kurnos rose to his knees. The stink of bile was thick in his nostrils. He knew her words were a command, not an offer. If he denied her, she would return to the ring, and the pain would multiply until it killed him. There was only one way to end this. He had no choice. Did I ever have one? he wondered.
Wiping his mouth, he met the demon’s malevolent gaze. “Very well,” he said. “Go. Finish your task.”
Sathira’s eyes blazed with unholy joy. With a snarl, she streaked to the hearth set into the study’s wall, then vanished up the chimney, leaving the chamber in ruins in her wake.
Alone, Kurnos slumped, his shoulders hunching in defeat. Weakly, he fumbled at his throat, pulling out his medallion. It felt deathly cold as he clutched it between his shaking hands.
“Help me, Paladine,” he whispered. “I beg of you…”
No reply came. In all of Kurnos’s life, the god had never seemed farther away.