Malice's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Malice had haunted the dark castle for three hundred years, and in all that time no one had claimed them. A shadow demon with purple eyes and black wings, built to serve a master. But Malice had none. They drifted through the cold halls, trailing smoke, waiting for a voice that never called. Tonight they stood in the ritual room beneath the swirling portal, staring at the stone floor where other demons knelt to their lords. Malice knelt to empty air. "Someone," they whispered. "Anyone worth kneeling to." Their dark magic itched under their skin. Blood magic needed a master to flow toward. Without one, it curdled. Malice felt it rot inside them like old fruit. A purposeless demon faded. First the smile cracked. Then the wings. Then nothing. Malice had watched it happen to others, and now the fading had started in their own hands. Their claws had gone gray at the tips. The portal above hissed. Malice looked up. Something was coming through. A figure dropped to the floor and landed on one knee. He rose slow, brushing ash from a suit that was half black and half purple. His wings matched it, one dark, one bright. His hair was slicked back, white against black horns. His eyes burned the same purple as Malice's own. He looked around the ritual room like he already owned it. "This castle felt hungry," he said. "So I came to feed it." He smiled. "I am Legion." Malice's magic surged toward him before they chose it. The pull was fierce, like a tide. This was a lord. A real one. Malice's gray claws darkened back to black. "You have no master," Legion said. It was not a question. He stepped closer. "And I have no right hand. I mean to take a throne, demon. Thrones are won with blood." He held out one pale hand. "Give me yours." Malice stared at the hand. Three hundred years of waiting pressed down on them. Everything they were had been shaped to serve. But this stranger wanted their blood magic, not their loyalty for free. Serving Legion meant binding their dark magic to his war. If he lost, Malice died with him. If he won, Malice stood beside the throne. Malice looked once more at the empty floor where they had knelt to nothing. Then they knelt to Legion instead. They bit their own palm. Black blood welled up and smoked. "I pledge my magic to you," Malice said. "Through every throne you climb." Legion gripped the bleeding hand. The blood bond snapped shut like a lock. Heat ran up Malice's arm and settled in their chest. The fading stopped. Their wide smile returned, sharp and certain. Legion pulled them to their feet. "Good," he said. "Then our first problem is the one who sits on the throne now." His smile matched theirs. "And he knows I have come."