The nightmare was supposed to be over by now. Isandra had assumed that once the heroes entered the Demon King’s castle, it would be a simple matter of finding the Demon King, probably in the throne room, and confronting him. Instead, it turned out that the Demon King’s castle was built like a labyrinth, and that a large portion of it was underground. For three days, the heroes had wandered up and down stairs, through gardens, libraries, catacombs, barracks, statuaries, and ballrooms, only to find more waiting for them. How could anyone live here? Isandra suspected that there were secret paths of some sort. Or perhaps the demons had some other method of getting in and out of the castle.

At any rate, for a castle of this size, it was surprisingly sparsely populated. True, they ran into and had to fight demons frequently, but usually just a few at a time. Who were all of these rooms for? After a time, Isandra began to wonder whether this entire castle was simply a front designed to lure the heroes into an endless maze.

Her fellow heroes were becoming similarly impatient. The morning of the fourth day started with Friedrich offering his usual moaning complaints as they gathered their things and prepared the next day’s journey. “Can’t we go back to that last armory so I can grab a better sword?”

He’d broken his most recent sword during a fight with a boar-like giant and was now forced to work with an oversized meat cleaver which he could barely hold.

“Forget it,” said Isandra. “If we start doubling back, we’ll never get anywhere.”

“Honestly, I don’t know how you keep doing it,” said Alistair. He was calmer this morning, which was a relief. In fact, he was so collected that he almost reminded Isandra of the regal vampire he used to be when she had first met him, despite his torn clothes and mussed hair. “I’m pretty sure some of those swords were specifically enchanted not to break. It’s like you’re trying to see how many you can destroy.”

“Just like you’re trying to see how many of those stupid rules you can break?” asked Hermia, voice dripping with mockery. “I saw you eating that garlic yesterday.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” shouted Alistair, his composure vanishing like a burst bubble. “I get it, okay? I’ve spent the last two centuries pointlessly following a bunch of nonsense rules. But it’s not like you’re any different. You’re a priestess.”

So much for his regal bearing.

Hermia smirked. “Yeah, except there was an actual reason I followed those rules. I actually got power out of the deal. Your rules just limit you. Which I guess is all the better for us real people. Makes you abominations easier to destroy.”

“Maybe I should make you one of those abominations, too,” Alistair snapped. “At least then you might be some actual use.”

Hermia crossed the room to stand way too close to Alistair, their bodies nearly touching as she stared into the vampire’s eyes. “Do it, then,” she said quietly. “Destroy what’s left of my soul. Twist me into a disgusting mockery of humanity.”

“Enough,” Isandra announced, sick of Hermia’s constant taunting of Alistair. “We need to get moving.”

With some reluctance, the rest of the group gathered up their things in silence and continued on. They had camped out in a large hall, a wide area where it would have been easy to see anyone approaching. Unfortunately, Isandra’s care in choosing a camping spot was rendered moot when Hermia fell asleep during her watch. Thankfully, they had gone unbothered during the night. Now they continued down the hall, between two seemingly endless rows of alabaster pillars, until Isandra found a broad, carpeted staircase.

A regal staircase like that, she thought, just might lead to the throne room. Of course, it was really just a guess since the castle’s construction made no sense, but it seemed like as good a lead as any. There really wasn’t any proof that, if the throne room even existed, the Demon King would be found there. However, everyone had agreed that it was the most likely lead. This was how it was done, after all.

The stairs led up to a landing, then became a spiral staircase for the next several floors before twisting in the opposite direction and finally letting out in yet another garden. This one, unexpectedly, was full of mushrooms of all sizes.

“At least they have a sense of variety,” Friedrich said dryly.

The garden unsettled Isandra. Some of the mushrooms were the size of small trees. If they gave off poisonous spores, they could be dangerous. Alistair, who didn’t need to breathe, seemed unconcerned.

“Is that a morel?” he asked, plucking a small mushroom with a wrinkled cap. “I haven’t had one of these in so long.”

“Do you know much about mushrooms?” Hermia asked.

Alistair shrugged. “My mother used to take me foraging when I was a child. I hardly remember anything about the mushrooms we gathered, but the taste of the morel is unforgettable.” His voice became nostalgic. “Turning has brought me so many wonderful gifts. But I don’t think any of them have brought me the same level of joy as some of the simple pleasures I experienced as a mortal.”

Hermia joined Alistair to examine the mushroom quizzically. “What makes them so special? Do they cause hallucinations or something? I want to try the kind that causes hallucinations.”

“No, of course not,” said an annoyed Alistair. “They just taste really—”

A line of blackness cut across Isandra’s vision. Instinctively, she blinked. By the time she opened her eyes the line was gone and so was Alistair’s mushroom. Only a little bit of stump remained in his hand as he stared, mouth agape and heartbreak in his eyes.

“These mushrooms belong to the Demon King,” a slightly raspy voice rang out.

From behind one of the taller mushrooms, a man stepped out. He was tall and slender, dressed in a black coat that stretched from floor to neck. A pair of smoked glasses hid his eyes. He would have looked like a young, unusually handsome human if it weren’t for the long black horns extending from his head. He held a sword that shone with blackness. Or perhaps it absorbed the light around it, creating a blade-shaped void.

“Ooh. He’s cute,” Hermia said quietly.

“Tch. Unbelievable,” the man said with disgust. “It’s bad enough that I have to deal with that meddler changing the hallways around, but now a bunch of rats are crawling around, stealing the King’s possessions.”

“You know we’ve killed about a hundred of you so far, don’t you?” Friedrich said, drawing his cleaver. “At least it looks like I’ll be getting a decent weapon out of this one.”

The demon smirked. “Before I kill you I feel obliged to let you know that I’m Onyx, first of the Demon King’s generals.” He held his blade before himself dramatically. “And wielder of the Soul Stealer.”

“And he’s important, too,” Hermia said excitedly. “Excuse me, would you happen to be looking for a servant?”

“I’m just looking for someone to take out my frustration on,” Onyx replied. He seemed to be waiting for his opponents to make the first move.

Isandra decided not to keep him waiting. Whispering an incantation, she sent an enormous fireball flying at Onyx. Instead of attempting to dodge, he slashed at the fireball with his blade and, to Isandra’s shock, instead of exploding, the flames collapsed into themselves, drawing into the sword’s darkness.

Suddenly he was moving, running at the party with impossible speed, sword at the ready. He was too fast for Isandra to react, but thankfully Friedrich was ready. He stepped between Isandra and Onyx, swinging his cleaver to meet the demon’s blade. The Soul Stealer passed through the cleaver so smoothly that it was like it wasn’t there. As the bulk of the cleaver’s blade, severed, flew through the air, Soul Stealer continued its path, embedding itself deep in the side of Friedrich’s chest.

Friedrich let out a confused groan as his face began to pale. A moment later Onyx withdrew his blade and the fighter dropped to the ground lifeless. Onyx closed his eyes and raised his head, sighing as though savoring some wonderful taste. Hermia clapped her hands with delight.

The demon opened his eyes again, looking at Isandra with a predator’s eyes. “Now you see the curse of the Soul Stealer. It does, indeed, claim souls in the name of the Demon King so that they can be given new bodies and serve in the Demon King’s army. But it also feeds off my soul. It grows hungrier and hungrier the longer I wield it. The only way I can sustain my life is to keep killing more and more, faster and faster, until finally I can no longer satisfy its hunger and my soul becomes its sacrifice.”

“Oh! Take my soul next,” Hermia called out.

Isandra wasn’t going to let it take anyone else’s souls if she could avoid it. A direct attack had failed, but that wasn’t the only trick a mage had. With another incantation, she sent mycelia bursting up through the floor, twisting towards Onyx from every angle. But, moving so fast that she couldn’t even see what he was doing, he spun and twirled in an elaborate dance, neatly severing each mycelia that came close to him.

“Tch, who do you think you are?” he asked. “Did a bunch of random adventurers really think they could just march into the Demon King’s castle and even reach him, let alone defeat him? Only the heroes would be capable of something like that.”

But they were supposed to be the heroes. Of course, Isandra had had her suspicions from the beginning, but it hadn’t occurred to her that the only way to prove that they had been lied to was to actually get killed and fail to fulfill the prophecy. Now with Friedrich dead and herself soon to follow, it brought her little satisfaction to know that her suspicions had been correct.

Alistair, who until now had been silently staring at the remains of the morel, suddenly spoke up. “That mushroom.” He took a heavy breath. “Was the world to me.” And another. “And you destroyed it.”

He turned to face Onyx with a fury Isandra had never seen from him before. Unlike the anxiety-fueled rage that had led to the fourth seal’s destruction, there was a purity to this anger that was frightening. All of this over a mushroom?

Suddenly Alistair was standing before Onyx, gripping the blade in his bare hand.

“Shadow tricks,” Alistair spat. “Pathetic. Newborn vampires learn these tricks before they’ve killed their first mortal.”

“This isn’t a shadow trick,” Onyx grunted, trying with all of his strength to wrest the blade from Alistair’s grip. The vampire held fast.

“I fail to see the difference,” Alistair said with a sneer. With a twist of his arm he shattered Onyx’s sword, sending particles of darkness scattering amongst the mushrooms.

Onyx’s cool persona dissolved as he gaped at the vampire. “Impossible! Soul Stealer is unbreakable.”

“I mean, obviously it wasn’t,” Hermia muttered.

“You’re free from its grip now,” Alistair announced. “Are you relieved? Or was your only purpose in life really to sacrifice your soul for the Demon King?”

“I live for the Demon King,” Onyx replied defiantly.

“Too bad,” sighed Alistair. “I was hoping you’d tell us where the throne room is so we could get this over with.”

“Tch, you know what? I will tell you where the throne room is,” Onyx said. “Not that it’ll do you any good. I was on my way there, too. Just through these gardens, past the royal armory and up the second flight of stairs.”

“Thank you.” Alistair shoved the demon aside and started walking before calling back to the others. “You coming?”

Isandra and Hermia trotted to catch up. Isandra was still trying to understand the incredible display of power she had just witnessed from Alistair. Perhaps she had been wrong to doubt. Only one of the heroes would be capable of what he had just done. She wondered what hidden powers she might be capable of herself. Of course, with Friedrich dead, there was still the question of whether they could fulfill the prophecy. All four heroes were needed, it was true, but did they all have to make it all the way to the Demon King?

Just as they were leaving the garden Onyx called after them. “Wait, what do I do now? I live to serve the Demon King. Without Soul Stealer, I’m nothing.”

“Maybe try foraging for mushrooms,” Alistair called back.

They made their way through the armory, which was packed full of enchanted swords of all kinds, from a claymore that protected the wielder from demonic magic to a rapier which would instantly kill anything it pierced. From there they continued to the stairs Onyx had indicated. These stairs were tight and narrow, like the sort that would lead to an attic. At the top, however, they opened up onto a broad landing with a set of huge ornate doors.

The doors opened at the slightest touch from Isandra. Alistair tensed and even Hermia drew in a sharp breath as the throne room was slowly revealed. It was darker than Isandra had expected, and less regal. All stone walls and pillars, lit by just a few small sconces. The throne, in stark contrast to the rest of the room, was painted in a variety of colors. Behind it spread a collection of carved peacock feathers. The woman sitting cross-legged on it was red-haired and wore spiked leather clothes of the type worn by someone trying way too hard to look both informal and impressive.

“The Demon King’s a woman?” Hermia asked, breaking the tension.

“Not what I expected,” Alistair added.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be completely surprised. After all, the goblins have a female king, but…” Isandra looked doubtfully at the demon woman. She didn’t seem terribly king-like. There was something familiar about her over-the-top style of makeup.

The demon grinned. “The four heroes,” she announced mockingly. “Here to defeat the Demon King and fulfill the Edhru Prophecy bringing about the end of demonkind. Well, three of you are here, anyway. Did the fourth not make it?”

“He was killed by your general,” Isandra admitted. “But we paid him back. Shattered his unbreakable sword and left him helpless back in your mushroom garden.”

“My general? Are you talking about Onyx?” The demon heaved a big sigh of relief and clasped her hands together. “Thank you so much. That guy has been trouble ever since I took over. I’ve had my women combing through every inch of this castle and he keeps popping out of nowhere to kill them. I’ve had to keep shifting the rooms around to keep him from sneaking up on me. It’s such a relief to know he’s dealt with.”

The heroes shared an uncomfortable look. “So you aren’t the Demon King?” Alistair asked.

The demon shook her head. “Nope. I’m Comtesse Ember. And you’re not the four heroes, either. You’ve been lied to this entire time.”

“I knew it,” Isandra shouted. “This whole thing has felt messed up this entire time.”

“So what’s going on, exactly?” Hermia asked.

Ember heaved another dramatic sigh and leaned to one side. “Well, right now I’m trying to figure out what’s going on with these contracts, right? Riven’s plan was for me to take over this castle and the Demon King’s giant stash of contracts for everyone in his army. See, before invading the northern continent, he took over the largest demon territories, defeating all of the various ducs and rois and comptes. He got ahold of all of the contracts they held with their followers and in doing so, made them into his followers. Now, conventional demon knowledge will tell you that it doesn’t work this way. Contracts aren’t transferable. But Riven and I figured that if he was able to do it, then conventional knowledge must be wrong and that I would be able to do the same. But it just doesn’t work that way. So now I have this vault full of contracts I can’t do anything with because they aren’t my contracts and it’s causing our plan to go a little bit awry.”

Isandra felt sick to her stomach. “Did you say Riven? Please tell me you don’t mean Riven Circe.”

Ember smiled. “I do. Do you know her?”

The scream started somewhere in Isandra’s chest but soon it was escaping through her throat, furious and incomprehensible. When she was finished, she found she was able to form words again. “I hate her. That pervert ruins everything she touches.”

“Really?” Hermia asked. “I kind of like her.”

“Yeah, and look what she did to you,” Isandra replied, gesturing to Hermia. “You used to be a saint, the first in centuries, full of immense holy power. And now you’re completely useless thanks to Riven. I wouldn’t be surprised if she went back in time and made up all those stupid rules Alistair thought he had to follow.”

Ember stood and stretched, her spade-tipped tail twitching behind her. “Well, either way, the three of you really don’t have any business here anymore, so you should probably be on your way. If you want, I can shift us closer to the exit for you.”

“Wait, so where is the Demon King?” Alistair asked.

Ember shrugged. “On his way to Rampart City. Riven’s luring him out there by pretending to hand the city over to him so she can ambush him using fairy glamour and a bunch of zombies.”