Lirael knelt in the shadow of a stone pillar, adjusting the strap of her pack. Her wings folded tight against her back, gold feathers gathering dust from the underground city's ceiling. She'd come to New Xaxsuroth hunting rumors of a demon lord, hoping that slaying it might prove she'd become something better than the angel heaven had cast out. The streets around her bustled with traders and travelers, none of them looking twice at a fallen angel with glowing eyes. She needed proof the demon was real. She needed a target. A man stumbled past the weathered pillar and collapsed at her feet, blood spreading across the stone. His hand clutched a rolled parchment, fingers white with the effort of holding on. Lirael caught him before his head struck the ground. His breath came in wet gasps. She pried the parchment free as his eyes rolled back, and unrolled it with shaking hands. A sketch of the desert above, marked with symbols she recognized from her time in heaven—demonic sigils, drawn in clusters across the sand. The demon lord already controlled the surface. The man's last breath rattled out as she stared at the proof in her hands, and she knew her hunt had just become a war she might already be losing.