Chapter 27

I imagine you've never met a demon in person, much less a demon lord like Maghalis. Some, as I've told you, are coy and deceptive and will appear beautiful or appealing to achieve their own ends. Others have a far subtler sense of misdirection, slipping past suspicion in the little things. But others, such as Maghalis, are like a firestorm, anxious only to rage and consume and leave desolation in their wake. The dread of these demons is well-placed, for their glory is in shock and terror, but these types of demons aren't the backbone of the force. They are the roaring head, the teeth and the claws.

The many demons which roam our histories aren't often these terrible monsters. They are the ones which work their havoc in the background, while we go about our daily habits. They undermine our efforts in the day-to-day routine—these we should fear most, because like cockroaches, they fester unseen and the longer we ignore them, the worse we all are for their malevolent work.

But the demon that towered in front of Warren did not care at all for subtlety or a behind-the-scenes jobs. Maghalis had again caught up with it's quarry and Warren could feel the demon's hunger. And he trembled.

A low rumble of the lion's growl mercifully interrupted Maghalis' gaze on Warren, who found himself seated on the floor, scampering backwards until his shoulders hit the wall. Never before had he felt such dread or fear in his life than staring into those black eyes, those orbs of emptiness, of a terrible and inexhaustible void. His stomach had felt cold within him, his heartbeat seemed to have slowed, and his throat felt as if it had turned to stone. The raw fury of the demon, while focused at Warren, had a paralytic effect—one might have even described it as a tightening grip on his chest.

But the small release that came when Maghalis turned to the lion, hardly felt like relief—only Warren's mind was free to think again. He thought he heard the lion speak, but it could have just been another growl. Whatever it was, it reminded Warren to breathe. He gasped as Maghalis spoke.

Maghalis' voice though, in reply to the lion's statement, was deep and steady. “Why? I violate no such terms; I come to claim a wandering servant, nothing more. As soon as you relinquish him, I will go and leave this place in...peace.”

“You will do no such thing. This place is refuge for all who are lost, and, as it's keeper, I cannot allow any of my patients to leave,” the lion stated, and Warren thought he heard it's claws dig into the floor.

“Lost? No, no this one was never lost. A drifter is not lost, for he has no goal, no future, only a past—a past which belongs to me. You cannot refuse me that which I own—look for yourself, my mark is upon him.”

Warren scrunched his eyebrows, and followed the lion's saddened gaze to his hands. There, right at the wrist, on the back of his hand, had grown a curious, dark, twisting tattoo. Warren looked back to Maghalis, whose lips widened in a grim smile.

“I ask you,” the demon said, addressing the lion, “did he enter willingly, or was he brought to this...infirmary by another?”

“He belongs here, in this orphanage,” the lion answered sharply, “regardless of how he entered.”

A dark mist seemed to begin to rise from between the demon's scales, and Warren feared the combat that seemed would be inevitable. Surely the lion could put up a firm fight, but....against such a foe as this? Maghalis shook his head wildly as he answered. “He belongs to ME! Do not tempt my rage, young one! I will tear this place to pieces if I must; I should have done it ages ago. Prepare for oblivion!” The demon fell to his front legs and his form suddenly resembled a dragon far more than the winged human-esque shape he had been. His jaws snapped eagerly as he stretched toward the lion. Warren tried to squirm further into the corner of the room, but with the two giants stretching the limits of the space, there seemed no alternative but to hope the lion would defend him and defeat the demon. The lion crouched, snarled, bristled his fur; and then relaxed, set the whole of his body on the floor, and turned a pained eye to Warren. A whisper invaded his mind: “Breathe, on my account.”

The dragon lunged forward, still growing in size, broke apart the walls and ceiling with a great sweep of its wings, and let out a tremendous roar. The lion laid its head on the floor and closed its eyes, while Warren tried to make sense of what was happening. But then, to his absolute horror, the dragon snatched the lion's neck in its powerful jaws and shook it like a puppy would a rag doll. Then, throwing it back down to the ground, lunged at the cat, tearing and biting in a blood-crazed frenzy. The whole of the serpent's being convulsed in rage as it pounded and shredded the orphanage keeper. The mists that had shrouded the beast caught fire and soon spread to the debris around him. Smoke began to mix with the dust, and after just moments, Warren could only see the silhouette of the enraged demon as it spun and circled and pounced again and again—could hear the gleeful howling of death itself as the life was beaten and bled from the lion.

After a final, terrible roar, the demon paused in its fury to relish the moment of death. “And I thought you were going to fight back, “ Maghalis cackled. “I thought you might have even challenged me. But this! This is all? You are pathetic.” The form of the dragon bent low, his head evidently next to that of the dying lion. “Where is your fabled power? Where is your protection? You have become just like those miserable wretches you sought to aid: worthless, powerless, feeble, weak. You have been abandoned just like them. Now, die with the comfort that all of your so-called children will be joining you soon.”

Warren saw the dragon-head make a last strike and wrestle the final ounces of life from the body of the battered cat. A deep, throbbing laugh echoed across the misty valleys, and Warren huddled into himself, waiting for his turn. But after the laughter had subsided, a small whisper penetrated the smoke, the dust, and mist. “It is finished.”

A sharp rush, like a thunderclap, blew the air free of any obscurity. For a moment, Warren and Maghalis stared at each other, but the surge of hate was gone from the black eyes. Curiosity had replaced it. Then a breeze gently began to blow through Warren's hair. It lifted him as easily as a feather and started to carry him upwards, and off to the east, the western sun at his back. Maghalis screeched and took to the air, his great and powerful wings churning to carry him upwards, but it became apparent a headwind had caught him. The more he struggled, the greater the resistance seemed to be, until finally the dragon was thrown back to the earth and drifted out of sight.

Warren relaxed on the currents of the wind, took a deep breath, and, with a tear in the corner of his eye, thought of the lion. “Why?” was the only question on his mind. It was evident enough that the lion had given himself up for Warren. But why? And Warren could not answer it.

So he floated on, watching the endless countryside disappear below him. He passed over rivers large and small, over forests and long grasslands, through orange trimmed clouds at sunset, and across a large body of water, scintillating under a full moon. His speed must have been incredible, but he felt nothing at all as he rode with the wind. For nearly an hour he watch the stars appear, watched the waves roll on beneath him, until he saw the glistening white of a shoreline beach. As he passed it, he felt noticeably lower, and the tree tops rushing below him began to concern him. But as he lost altitude, his speed began to diminish as well, and after a few minutes, Warren could again see what he assumed to be the ocean, and those silver-lined waves. And although he could reach out and brush the foliage of the trees if he had wanted to, he never did have to dodge a branch or duck a limb. And then he burst from the trees onto a white-sanded beach. The wind swirled him around and set him on the sand like a mother putting her child to bed. Warren felt his weight again, found himself releasing to a sudden gravity of fatigue, decided that sand had never felt so comfortable in his life, and dropped into a deep sleep.