“Please don’t kill me!”

Sarakiel in this life, nor the last, had ever been a good actor, but she hoped that some of her genuine fear would help persuade them to let her pass. But given the halfling’s intense examination of her, her mind worked to find an alternative.

The auburn haired man only stood up to her navel, giving him a full view of her nude form. Even in the red hues of the torchlight, the stout adventurer turned a vivid shade of red, glancing away. “Bella, come here real quick.”

The priestess hopped on her feet and ran down the rocky shore to the halfling’s side, “Whoa! Is that a devil?!” Her enthusiasm took both the succubus and her inspector by surprise.

“A devil?” Performing a feat of pure athleticism, the halfling jumped twice his height away from the monster. He dropped his torch by his boots and quickly drew his curved sword, about as long as Sara’s arm. “Bella, stay back! Radan, come!”

The pokey knight lifted his head from the waters, his helmet still on. Stumbling to his feet, it took the entire run over for him to find the leverage and draw his longsword.

“Yeah, how did you not see her horns?” The pink cleric asked, taking position behind the two men. Her staff was made from polished oak and gold, metallic rings hung on both sides.

“I…” The most battle hardened of them loosened his stance, “I couldn’t see past her…” His eyes darted to the succubus’s breasts, a look of longing in his eyes.

Lifting her hands in supplication, Sarakiel tried not to grow embarrassed by his gaze, “Hold on just a minute! I…” She quickly tried to think of something, “I was cursed! Cursed by a devil further in this cave! She- She is far too powerful, but I managed to escape!”

The Arm of Altalour had no practice in lying. He never needed it when violence solved all his problems.

Lowering his own sword, the knight looked to his traveling companion before turning his head back, “Why did you come down here, ma’am?” The one they called Radan may have had terrible technique, but at least he had courtesy.

“Well…” She tried not to stammer, “I am a… a woman! Of House Proudmane!”

“Proudmane?” The armored fighter dropped his stance entirely, “But that house died a while ago. How long have you been in here?”

Sara looked to the other woman in the room, looking to see if she would corroborate this news. She was hoping the idiotic lordling was misinformed.

“Just answer his question!” She tightened her grip on the staff pointed at the demon, “I don’t know anything about that!”

Tears began to build in her eyes, clouding her vision. “I…” Something hung in her throat. “I never knew that…” He hit herself in her thigh, hoping the pain would stifle the water from running.

All the people she knew in her previous life ran through her mind. Hopes, theories and pleas smothered her thoughts as she tried to make sense of it all. She wanted to ask question after question, hoping to alleviate this pain building in her heart.

But only one worked its way out.

“Was it Merle?”

The deacon tilted her head, “Merle? Like, Pontifex Merle Albright?”

“Pontifex…” Was all she could mutter, her tears now running free, masculinity be damned. The High Bishop was only a single step from reaching the apex of the church, the Pontifex. However, Merle stated repeatedly that he would never sit upon that throne as he wished to continue to serve Aldrius, their friend and king. Questions continued to swim, her mind a veritable fishbowl.

Now it was the priestess’s turn to lower her weapon, “You must’ve been in here for a while, Pontifex Albright was consecrated around two years ago. Why did none of the other travelers or patrol find you?”

Sara knew she had to think of something, but her mind was busy elsewhere. Thoughts of Stella, Seralene, Elezar, Melmurk, and all of the King’s Shroud’s whereabouts filled her with dread. The holy knight Samuel Proudmane failed in his duty not only to defend his kingdom, but to defend his family.

“I-” She began to stoop down, blindly feeling the ground, “I need to sit for a moment.”

This was no longer acting. They genuinely found a helpless woman in the caverns.

- - - - 

The group sat around a fire, cooking skewers of meat. Sara had been bound by ropes, the young party still unsure if she presented any harm or not.

“What are we gonna do with her?” Radan whispered loudly to the halfling. “I don’t think we can take her back.” He looked over to the deacon, drawing in a notebook she produced from one of many bags on her person, “Don’t devils die in sunlight?”

Bella shrugged, “No clue, I kinda slept through that class.” The pink maiden sat closest to the succubus, possibly assuming she could do more to the twisted creature than weapons could.

The halfling’s gaze tore a hole through Sara. Refusing to keep his eyes off her for a second, he sat across the open flame, locked in on the bound creature. “She can at least talk. Still, keep your wits about you, I heard they can be…” he looked at the curvature of her legs, “Deceiving.”

Radan did his share of staring too, but underneath the helmet he refused to take off, for some reason, it was harder to get a read on him.

The succubus lapsed into despair once more. She ignored the rumbling of her stomach, triggered by the smell of the fatty meats cooked over the fire.

Samuel was dead. And so was everyone he loved.

The latter part hurt worse than the first. His wife was an innocent soul who abhorred violence. Seralene was much like her mother, already in her mid-twenties who hopefully escaped through marriage to another house with a new name. Most of his servants were his former soldiers, no longer able to serve their kingdom through battle, but could still live a life with purpose. His ward was hopefully saved as well, but who could truly say?

A knot sat steadfastly in the succubus’s stomach. Her heart was overtaken with pain. Her mind seethed with anger over not only the betrayal towards her, but to the innocents who had no part in their squabble.

“Hey.” The halfling’s voice echoed through the cavern, “Did you hear us?”

Sara lifted her head to the man standing before her, her face crusted with streaks of salt from the tears.

With his sword drawn and held over his shoulder, the halfling sighed, “I said I’m going to have to kill you.”

Sara looked past him, wide-eyed to the rest of the group. They sat there, avoiding her gaze.

She returned to her executioner, “Why?”

He pulled her up by the ropes restraining her arms behind her back, “I can’t just let a devil roam free. You might be playing a trick on us and will escape to the surface when we have our backs turned.”

He was not tall enough to lift her, so he dragged her nude body across the rocks, back to the boulder she tried to hide behind. She stared upwards at the cavern above, her mimicked eyes unable to see through the darkness.

“Bella, you come too.” The young girl stood and ran over at his call, coddling the staff in both her hands. “I might need you to cleanse the area of her tainted blood once we kill her.”

Lighting their way to her chopping block, the two silently dragged the devil behind them. Magelight poured from the deacon’s staff, lighting their path on the way to prepare the mercy kill.

The succubus had no choice as the halfling placed her neck on the stone, throwing her drying white hair over her face. “Don’t move, or else I’ll have to keep hacking away until you die.”

Magelight bathed the spot in a white glow. Through the strands of her hair, she could see outwards. Out to the underground lake.

The lake who’s mana she had felt.

She recalled how it felt when it flowed through her earlier, overtaking her and relieving all of her needs, just for a little bit. Felt its mystery, felt its familiarity.

The cold steel of the blade rubbed the back of her neck.

A slight murmuring overtook the space, as the deacon began to chant. Not a prayer of forgiveness, but of victory. Prayers recounting their triumph over this creature of darkness. Against this thoughtless strange devil. Against this lying deceiver who tried to use the name of the Holy Pontifex against their group.

But Sarakiel never lied.

Rage began to overtake her once more. The curved sword was lifted high, the trained hand ready to make her like those she had left at home. Like House Proudmane, forgotten by those who believed this new Pontifex. Those who believed Merle.

Her rage flowed from her, blindly seeking to fill something.

Coughs echoed through the cavern. The sound of stumbling across the small rocks began to pull her would-be executioner away from her.

Much like how the water mana flowed into her, she flowed into the halfling.

“Cut my bindings.” She commanded. Within a few seconds, she was free from the ropes. The succubus stood before the deacon, her nude form shining brightly in the magelight being emitted from the cleric’s staff. Her puppet took his stance beside her, armed with his cultural weapon. His face was slack, jaw hanging loose, unlike another place on his body.

“Now…” Sarakiel stroked the chin of the halfling, his eyes glowed the same vivid pink her familiar’s crest emitted. “Where is this ‘Pontifex’ you speak so proudly of?”