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Mercius was led through familiar corridors for quite some time, surrounded by a demon raiding party. Then, slowly, subtly, the floors of the halls began slanting upwards. The thrum in his soul, that told him something was not right was still there, still growing, but was now almost eclipsed by the other senses he was feeling. The air changed as they, he and his escort of roughly one hundred demons, ascended. It became less stale and stifling; fresher. He had never experienced this, and it took him several moments to decide that he liked the feeling, and could actually breathe deeper and more easily. His compatriots, however, seemed to have the opposite reaction: their breath took on a more rasping quality, and they seemed to lose energy as they rose. Also, the stone of the walls had altered; in the world he knew, the stone was always hot and perspiring. Here it was cool, dry, and smooth to the touch; it seemed to vibrate slightly under his hand with life.
At long last, they came to the exit of the dungeons. Mercius' breath caught in his throat as he took in the new sight. The sun was just sinking below the horizon, setting the sky aflame with reds, oranges, blues, greens. The earth was blackened and barren here, but he found beauty in it all the same. He was nearly overwhelmed by the vast openness of it all. He spun slowly in a circle, and took deep, refreshing breaths of evening air. It was hot, but compared to the dungeons he was nearly shivering.
A demon barked at him with impatience; they hated it here. It was oppressing to them, Mercius could tell. They were eager to have the night's work done, and return to their lair. Mercius mounted a demon that was being held for him. It was a four-legged beast with stout, strong limbs and a horn-studded head. Mercius had been led to understand that it was an evil parody of a horse. He had ridden in the vast chambers of the dungeon, for Asgoroth believed that he should be mounted when his time came to lead demons on his own; Mercius would be above the rest, literally and figuratively.
They set off at a ground-eating pace, into the west, into the setting sun as it threw its last flare of brightness into the twilight. Surrounded by demons, Mercius relished in the feeling of freedom, the feel of the wind in his face. Flying creatures kept pace with them overhead, and filled the night with constant shrieks and wails.
By the time the desert thinned, and the land gained some terrain, night had fallen completely. It took Mercius quite some time to determine the source of the smell that wafted on the light breeze as trees. He had heard of these things, but never imagined them to be so fragrant or majestic. They became taller and closer together as they ascended into a hilly country. The stars overhead were a wonder as well, and he had to force himself to watch where his mount was taking him instead of gazing at the infinite, dazzling orbs above. He was pulled from his reverie as the company slowed to a silent walk: the village was near.
With the high log walls of the village just barely in sight, Mercius dismounted. The place was absolutely silent, and his eyes were unable to penetrate the night.
"Sentries on the walls," a demon whispered near his ear, in the harsh and guttural tongue of demon-kind. He nodded. He had been trained his entire life for this. They crept silently closer. With a signal that Mercius didn't see, the night was shattered.
Flying demons swept from the trees with howls of rage, plucking the sentries from the wall and ripping them in two before stuffing the men's heads into their mouths and dropping the desecrated bodies into the village. The indescribable quail in Mercius' soul returned with a fury. He still had no idea what it meant, but it nearly crippled him. He ran with the others, hoping that it was just nerves causing this awkward sensation in him, and it would pass as battle was joined. The massive wooden door of the village wall was rammed by demons that were three times the size of a horse. They battered their heads against the doors repeatedly, even while arrows and large stones were cast down from the defending people above. Just before Mercius reached the doors and would be forced to stop his charge, they were smashed. The attackers poured through the gaping arch, and into a throng of human defenders.
Flickering light and shadows were cast upon the courtyard in which the battle took place by large fires in the center, as well as metal braziers set about the place. Mercius saw the people staring defiantly and willfully at the demons rushing through the door. The vibration inside him grew so strong that he couldn't even reach over his shoulder to unsheathe his mighty sword. He was paralyzed by it. He stood there and watched as people fought desperately for their lives. They were not well-organized, but they had a plan of defense. The fittest men were in the front of the crowd, holding the best weapons available. Then a line of boys and older men, less well equipped. Finally the women and children, each clutching a dagger or club of some sort. The men in front fought well and hard, but were ultimately no match for the demons, whose only goal in this world was murder and destruction. Many of the initial defenders were slain immediately, but most were caught in nets, or around the neck with leather loops at the end of long poles. The humans were outnumbered and outmatched. The young and the infirm were even quicker to fall, with more blood and more captives.
Having won the fight with ease, the demons approached the women and children slowly, sneering at them with anticipation. This was the best part of their night: the taking and brutal savaging and killing of the defenseless. The first demon to step forth was the leader of this night’s expedition. He didn't speak to the people cowering in front of him, only advanced methodically. He grasped a woman by the wrist fiercely. She was tall and slender, with the wild look of fear and panic in her eyes. The demon sneered at her and lowered his head as if he meant to bite her face. With a cry of fury and terror, the woman whipped the dagger she held in her free hand and slashed it across the demon's face. It recoiled slightly, then placed a long-fingered, clawed hand to the gash in its flesh. Then, nonchalantly, he put this same hand against the woman's collarbone and effortlessly ripped her arm off. As the woman screamed and fell to the ground, Mercius began to move.
He had been rooted to where he stood by the pounding in his heart. When he saw the blood gushing from the poor woman's shoulder, however, his body lurched into motion of its own volition. He seemed to have no control over his actions as he charged the demon. Suddenly, the hilt of Illuricht was in his hand, and he was upon the demon. The hulking thing turned his face to Mercius just in time to see the black blade streaking toward him. The cursed sword sliced cleanly and easily into the demon's neck. It cut through neck and upper torso with ease, and the demon crumpled.
Mercius stared down at the ruined body. His green eyes glowed and flickered in the torchlight. He gazed around at the remaining demons, and awaited attack. It never came. They gazed back at him, but something seemed to hold them where they stood. Fear of Illuricht? Some warning Asgoroth had given them? Whatever the reason, Mercius took advantage, and took control.
"The prisoners in the nets and the poles come with us," he said fiercely, gesturing toward where the captives were being guarded. "The rest we leave." His tone allowed no objections, but the demons gave a communal hiss of questioning and frustration. They began to trickle out of the village, however. Mercius stayed where he was, sword in hand, and watched as they departed.
One, a slinking thing that ran on four legs, but walked on two, stopped by the bleeding woman that was missing an arm. "This one's dead anyway," he muttered. With one hand he reached down, sank his talons into her skull, and ripped her head from her body, bits of muscle and spine coming with it. As he walked past Mercius, he shot him a triumphant look and popped an eyeball into his salivating mouth. Mercius held his tongue, and stilled his sword; he had tempted fate already tonight, and was not steady enough to do it again.
He cast his eyes about the remaining villagers. They were petrified and shocked, frozen in place by fear and awe. There was one, however, that showed neither fear nor amazement. She was short, with long black hair hanging loosely down he
r back. Her face was fair but strong, her jaw set as she looked at Mercius. Her blue eyes were fierce and proud, but glistened wetly in the firelight as if she were holding back her tears with all her incredible will.
She stared steadily and defiantly into Mercius' eyes, and he, for a moment, was unable to turn away. The strength that he saw in the short woman’s gaze was something that he had never thought possible. This woman, this human, was not weak or cowed or sheepish. She was strong of will and of heart. It seemed an entire conversation passed between the woman and the young half-demon as the light of the nearby fires danced across their features. Mercius put all of his confused feelings into his stare, and hoped that maybe this small woman would understand.
Finally, Mercius sighed heavily and dropped his gaze. He then turned and strode steadily from the village, not looking back.
The walk back to the dungeons was slow. They were not charging into battle, and Mercius' enthrallment with the outside world had been dimmed by what he had seen occur in it. He had time to think, but couldn't organize his thoughts. He kept returning to that feeling in his soul, which had temporarily paralyzed him, and subsequently forced him to kill one of his cohorts. His mind couldn‘t trap the thought, but it seemed as if he had felt this thing inside him, at one point in his life, so intensely that it made tonight's appearance seem dull and nearly nonexistent. He knew that the answer lay within him, but couldn't unearth it.
As they walked, the demons that accompanied him formed a loose, casual, but impenetrable circle around him, and held him within until they reached Asgoroth's chamber.