Chapter 11

A short time later, the four of them joined Mara, who had kept watch at Kastel ter Meeren.

"They're still there," she informed them when they arrived. All four fell into a crouch behind the downed tree trunk she was perched upon. As they shuffled into position, Mara shot a scathing look at the Wardens and their swords. "Do they know how to use those?"

"Well enough," Dalca lied.

In truth, Wagner was fine. When they'd first crossed paths, the wizard hadn't been much of a swordsman. He'd improved over the years, most likely in an attempt to be ready to face the legendary 'Dubhlainn' should their paths ever cross. He was serviceable with a regular weapon, and his enchanted sword practically hummed once returned.

Jonson, on the other hand, had almost taken his own arm off when Dalca had tried giving him a few pointers.

"Sword fighting is kind of like sex," Mara explained to the young man as the others looked toward the mansion. "Well, human sex, that is."

"What?" Jonson sputtered as a blush began to creep up his neck.

"Who have you been watching have sex?" Jean asked the tiny fairy, her voice filled with concern.

"It's all stick-it-in, wiggle-it-about," Mara continued, waiving her arms in demonstration. Dalca wasn't quite sure exactly what she was supposed to be mimicking, but his best guess was a traffic cop trying to copulate with an orange cone. "And after all the spurting starts, you pull it out, and do it all over again with someone else."

"That's—" Jonson began.

"Only make sure they're finished first," Jean added helpfully. "You don't want them getting up after the fact to tell others how wretched you were."

"What—"

"And don't overdo it," Mara said with a groan. "No need to bury it to the hilt. You'll have a hard time pulling out in time—"

"Enough," Wagner growled.

"Any idea what we're looking at?" Dalca asked the water vâlvă.

"I've seen the daughter and several lycanthropes," Mara replied, the previous conversation already forgotten. "No sign of Herzog or Schröter, or the child."

"Okay," Dalca said, turning to the others. "My guess is that the demon will be in the chapel. Schröter said something before about it being where he could speak to his god; I just didn't realize he was being literal. Wagner and I will concentrate on that, while the rest of you back us up, taking care of any of the servitors."

"You expect us to take on Schröter and his daughter?" Jonson clarified. "Because my understanding is that she pushed you around before, and he's likely to be just as strong."

"We'll be fine," Jean said tiredly.

The young wizard looked to Jean in disbelief. "You're not worried about fighting in an enclosed space with juiced up lycanthropes?"

Jean frowned at him, and then swung a fist into the downed tree trunk.

The wood, freshly fallen and not yet given way to rot, splintered and broke beneath her knuckles.

When she pulled her hand away, the damage to the tree was apparent. The indentation from her fist was at least an inch deep into the wood, and a crack had appeared along the log's length. Jonson's eyes widened as he looked up at Jean, who simply brushed the remnants off her hand. "How did you…?"

"We visit the zoo a lot," Dalca explained helpfully. "But to correct you, no, I need to be the one to take Schröter. You all will get everyone else." Turning to Wagner, he gave the warden a nod. "You ready, Sunshine?"

The old wizard looked at Dalca for a moment with wild eyes, as if he still hadn't accepted that he was now fighting alongside the man he'd sworn to kill.

But the moment passed, and his training kicked in. "Let's go."

At that, the five slipped into the shadows of the forest, and began to circle around to approach the mansion.

As they closed in, Dalca kept an eye out for any sign of Schröter. Regardless of how many acolytes might have been present, he was the only person that mattered, save for Wagner and Dalca himself.

Jean was the first to come across a defender. Several Wolfshits — the nickname was catching — were on patrol outside the house. As the young wizard came out of the trees, a lycanthrope happened to round the corner.

Moving with the speed of a cheetah, Jean ran for the man. He must have heard something, despite her run being close to silent. Still, he turned, and saw her as she sprung to the air with inhuman agility.

Her pink-tinged sword swept through the air, cutting through his neck with ease, the heated blade making quick and quiet work of the defender.

Jean landed gracefully, before running silently toward the far corner, disappearing behind a flickering veil as she did.

"Oh, wow," Dalca heard Jonson say under his breath.

Something told Dalca that the young man was going to be smitten with his apprentice before the night was through.

"Focus," Wagner rumbled as they ran toward the closer corner of the manor house. It was the shorter wing, which also happened to contain the chapel. "Remember your training."

"Right," Jonson said, swallowing thickly as he tried to prepare himself for combat. Dalca just rolled his eyes, before shooting a lycanthrope in the head as she appeared.

The round was silent, preserving their stealthy attack. But Dalca wasn't counting on that lasting for long, if at all; the demon most likely knew they were coming.

As the three rounded the closer corner, Dalca saw the door to the chapel. It was the same one they'd used to exit the house on their first visit. If they made it in, he had no doubt they'd find Schröter there, if not the demon itself. He hoped to find the former first, but would make do if not.

He slowed as he came to the door, Wagner joining him as he did. Jonson ran on, with Mara perched on his shoulder. The two headed for the next corner, which would lead around to the front.

Before the young wizard could get there, another Wolfsherzen guard appeared, seeming to expect them. Jonson hesitated, trying to decide if he should use magic to take the man out, or try and draw the sword. One could be lethal, while the other could not; at least, not if he wanted to remain a warden.

His hesitation would have cost him his life, if Mara hadn't leapt into motion. Her small form blurred away, before re-appearing on the lycanthrope's shoulder.

Dalca turned to the chapel door and kicked in, before running inside. It wasn't that he was that eager to face the powerful demon; it was that he didn't want to get drenched in blood.

A popping noise confirmed that Mara had done her exploding veins trick. A second later, Dalca thought he could hear the sound of a vomiting wizard.

Glancing back, he saw that Wagner had followed him into the chapel. That narrowed down the possibilities of who was currently losing their dinner. "That's kind of pathetic," he observed.

"He's young," Wagner bit out, clearly irritated with the judgmental tone Dalca had taken.

"You're not doing him any favors coddling him," Dalca replied, before slipping into the main hall of the chapel.

Rather than replying, Wagner followed him in, and the two looked over the ornate and beautiful room that was surprisingly well lit. The door they'd used was toward the front, which meant they were only about six feet away from the altar, and the old man kneeling in front of it, when they burst in.

"Hey there, arschloch," Dalca said as he brought his gun up, taking aim on the old and withered form of Jöhan Becker.

The man looked up at their arrival, his eyes soft and as pleasant as his smile. "Hello again. Can I help you with something?"

In response, Dalca fired.

He might have had just a bare second of doubt at the other man's response to their sudden appearance. But that doubt was cast aside when the bullet struck the old man's shoulder. He rocked backward at the impact, almost using the momentum from the bullet to stumble up to his feet. The man hit the altar behind him before spinning around behind it, putting some distance between them.

Becker's hand rose to his shoulder quickly, to cradle the wound. But not before Dalca saw golden blood run freely.

"Ugh," Becker grunted, looking down at the wound for a moment. Then his eyes rose as he looked to Dalca, who began circling around. "You shot me."

Dalca kept moving, putting some distance between himself and Wagner. No point in the two standing too close, making an easy target. "Are you really surprised?"

Becker's slips softened into another smile. "Not particularly."

And with an almost lazy motion, Becker flung his hand around in an arc, golden drips of blood flicking out through the air. Dalca didn't give it a second thought, until he saw the first drops suddenly shoot forward, flying at Wagner at deadly speeds.

The wizard got his shield up in time, but it did him little good. He grunted in surprise as the bronze blood pierced his empowered shield, almost as if it hadn't existed, before thudding into his chest and arms.

The impacts drove him backward, and the wizard stumbled over a pew before falling to the church floor.

Recognizing the danger just before it struck, Dalca dove, the wet golden bullets flying past overhead as he hit the ground. He turned it into a roll, and came up on his feet on the far side of the caretaker.

"Impressive," Dalca said, not taking his eyes off the old man. "Last time I saw you, you had less magical power than a pile of troll dung."

Becker's eyes narrowed at that, his friendly countenance fading. "You are as insufferable as ever, Standartenführer Fürst."

And just like that, the kind man Dalca and Jean had met faded. The hair on Becker's head wafted away, slipping from his scalp like dandelion seeds in a stiff wind. His wrinkles, so warm and joyful, faded back into a younger, familiar face more accustomed to glowering. The aged stoop disappeared, as Hauptsturmführer Jürgen Schröter stood before Dalca's eyes.

"That's a face I thought I'd never see again," Dalca said.

"As is yours," Schröter snapped, any softness fading with the false persona. Schröter glowered at him, his eyes narrow and beady. "If you think you can claim its power for yourself, you're mistaken."

"Why does everyone think I want to get tangled up with that thing?" Dalca asked, genuinely perplexed.

"Because it is a God," Schröter replied, clearly having bought into the demon's lies.

"You have no idea what it is," Dalca stated scornfully while retraining his gun on the man. "You're a pathetic excuse of a summoner that used the work of others to call up a has-been demon."

Schröter grew furious at that, but he didn't move. He just let out an odd shout, one that seemed to reverberate through the small chapel as it pulsed outward.

Caught flat-footed, Dalca was hit with the unseen wall of power that accompanied the sound. He managed to get a shot off as he flew backwards, crashing through a stone column to the left of the room before bouncing off the wall. The force of it wasn't quite equal with Wagner's basement-destroying strikes, but it was close.

And worse, it seemed to have a mind of its own. After Dalca hit the wall, the force ricocheted off the pained glass, shattering the windows as it slung Dalca back across the room. It was as if someone — or something — were playing a giant game of pinball. And Dalca got to be the ball.

Pews were strewn about as the force thrashed through the small room. Dalca struck another support column, and managed to sink red-black claws into the stone as he slid by. His grip held, allowing him to pivot around the column. But a swirling wooden bench came around the side, striking with unbelievable force in the midst of hurricane winds.

Dalca was thrown again, and ended up crashing into the wall. When he looked up, it was to see another bench hurtling toward him. He dove to one side, leaving the massive oaken seat to shatter against the stone wall. The impact left an impression in the quarried stone.

An angry shout put an end to the storm of power, as Wagner finally decided to join in the fight. "Chunli!"

The shrapnel flying around the room suddenly dropped, ceasing its swirling dance as the summoner was hit with a powerful blast from the wizard. Dalca rose and moved from beneath the arched hall to one side of the room, and back into the open area of the small chapel. As he did, he spotted Wagner, who was just pulling himself up on a column.

Schröter, to Dalca's surprise, was still standing. And unlike himself, the summoner hadn't been tossed through a wall by that spell; Wagner's blast must have been weakened, as Dalca couldn't imagine that Schröter was more powerful than he himself was.

The blast had sent the summoner into the stone altar, which had cracked under the assault from the wizard. But Schröter wasn't showing any signs of injury, as he thrust his hand toward Wagner.

Another torrent of unseen energy lashed out, which the wizard narrowly avoided as he dove to one side. It slammed into the column where he'd been leaning, shattering the stonework before continuing on toward the wall, which buckled under the blow.

For his part, Wagner got tangled in the wreckage of the pews. He was still trying to stand as Schröter shifted his focus, training his palm on the wizard again.

"Kálo Falo," Dalca gasped, winded from his whirlwind trip around the room. Since he wasn't quite ready for the wizard to die, Dalca summoned up his black shield, placing it between the two men. The next blast of energy glanced off the dark wall, which cracked under the force of the blow. But despite the impressive power available to the summoner, the shield held.

The blast, deflected by his spell, shot across to the other side of the room, where it shattered another two columns. Dalca shot a concerned glance up at the ceiling, but it remained in place for the moment.

Turning his attention back to the summoner, Dalca stumbled out from beneath the side alcove, his hand thrusting forward. "Kálo Villámo."

Black lightning rimmed in ultrascarlet shot out of his palm, lancing across the room in a zigzagging pattern. The unraveling spell struck Schröter in his outstretched arm, which disappeared into a bloody cloud as it was destroyed.

Schröter screamed, more in anger than pain, as he looked down at the stump of his right arm. The spell had destroyed everything from his bicep down. Dark golden blood spurted from his veins as he stared in shock at the wound.

Dalca stumbled forward, ready to unleash another blast. He cringed as he took a step, the movement jostling a rib that felt like it might be broken. It was enough to cause him to hiss in pain, and his attack was delayed.

Dark laughter drew his attention from his side and back toward the front of the room. When he looked to Schröter again, it was to see the man leering at him. "You cannot harm me; not in the presence of my God."

Dalca's gaze shifted to the man's arm, where the profuse bleeding had stopped. Only, it hadn't. It took Dalca a moment to understand what he was seeing. When he did, it chilled him to his core.

The blood-flow hadn't been halted, so much as it had been directed. The bronze-infused fluid was almost copper in color as it dribbled out from the man's exposed vein. But instead of dripping to the floor, it was slowly flowing down into the shape of a skeletal arm.

There were no muscles upon it, nor was there any skin. The metallic blood hardened into brazen bones, while more stretched thinly into tendons and cartilage that allowed it to move. The temperature in the room dropped as the magical construct drew heat from the air to fuel the metal's movement.

In just a matter of moments, Schröter's arm had been replaced with a skeletal limb of tarnished gold.

"Now you understand my God's greatness," Schröter spat as he lifted the brazen arm. "Now you will see what I have become!"

The summoner prepared another blast, one that Dalca wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to dodge. Not with his chest cavity throbbing in pain. As Schröter began to unleash another force spell, he started to move to one side. But another surge of power took the summoner out, Wagner's blast of kinetic energy striking Schröter in the waist and sending him toppling backward.

The summoner's attack shot up and overhead, raking at the wall and arched ceiling. Dalca finished his dive as rubble rained down from above. Bouncing off the devastated pews in a way his broken rib loved, Dalca slid away, somehow managing to avoid getting brained by falling stone.

Surging to his feet while gasping for breath, Dalca looked to the front, where he caught sight of Wagner as he disappeared behind his shimmering shield wall. Schröter's next attack struck it a second later, the assault crashing into it, before pummeling both wizard and wall.

"Kálo Kardo!" Dalca screamed as he drew his sword. The black blade thrummed with power, an ultrascarlet nimbus enshrouding it as he channeled the unraveling spell into the metal. Grimacing at the pain that stabbed through him, Dalca leapt, his enhanced strength and speed helping him close on the summoner, who was still facing the downed wizard.

Schröter was just beginning to turn as Dalca arrived, his dark sword sweeping down to cleave the brazen arm off. The unraveling spell cut through the thin metal, although not as easily as it should have.

The summoner screamed again, feeling more pain at the loss of his false limb than he had at the departure of the one he'd been born with. But Dalca didn't stop to enjoy the sound of the man's agony; he simply dropped his sword, releasing the spell on it as he did, and seized Schröter so that he could slam him into the cracked altar.

The man looked up at Dalca in alarm and fury, enraged that his god's gift had been taken from him. Dalca had no doubt he was preparing another attack. He could almost feel the odd power working through the man. It wasn't a mortal sort of power, so the thorned manacle Dalca had in his pocket wouldn't do much against it.

Besides, Dalca didn't want to cut the man off from the power. He wanted the power itself.

Schröter's eyes went wide as Dalca's teeth appeared. He tried summoning up another blast, but his concentration broke as Dalca's head shot down to his neck, savagely tearing into the man.

As the summoner screamed, Dalca drank down the brazen blood pumping through his veins. The taste was something horrible, and almost made Dalca wretch. But he knew that he couldn't afford to do that; not yet.

Instead, Dalca drank all of it, draining the man of every last bit of his blood. And with it, his power.

The liquid sat heavy in his gut, heavier than it should have been. Heat blossomed in his stomach, burning away the sanguine fluid almost as quickly as he drank it. With the blood destroyed, only the power would remain.

Except, there was more to Schröter's blood than normal. Despite the fire in his gut incinerating most of what he drank, the bronze in the fluid remained. It sat heavy in his stomach, sloshing wetly as he absorbed Schröter's power.

Dalca's nausea grew, until it finally became too much for him. He tore his teeth away from Schröter's neck, releasing the man as he stumbled away. Then there was no stopping the surge of bile as it tore its way up his throat, splashing golden upon the stone floor as he ejected the metal from his body.

If the flavor going down had been bad, coming back up was much worse. Dalca kept his internal temperatures boiling, making sure the metal remained liquefied. Cursing and spitting, he remained bent over until the last of it was gone.

When it was over, Dalca licked at his sleeve, trying to rid himself of the flavor. As he did, he looked around, spying Wagner a short distance away, looking on in revulsion.

"You…" the wizard started, sounding disgusted.

"I had to," Dalca spat, his voice as bitter as the taste in his mouth.

Wagner didn't seem inclined to believe him, and looked ready to fight as he rose. "I may not have cared for the man, but letting you devour him was never my intention."

As he spoke, Wagner started drawing in power. Dalca could feel it event at a distance.

"You don't understand," Dalca said, looking down at the dead summoner. "I had to."

"Just like you had to drink from me that night," Wagner hissed, his simmering rage beginning to boil over.

"No, that was for fun," Dalca admitted freely. As he did, he focused the heat still within his body toward the rib that had broken. He winced as his muscles tightened around it, shifting it back into position. When it was in the right place, he poured power into the fracture. He grunted in pain as the break was crudely fused back together. It wasn't a permanent solution, but it would do for the moment. "This is all business."

Wagner didn't look convinced. "Enough of your lies, monster. I—"

The wizard didn't have time to blink. One second there was a good three meters between them; the next, Dalca was slamming Wagner into the wall, a clawed hand at his throat as the other slipped a manacle onto one wrist.

"Yes, I'm a monster," Dalca hissed around his sharp teeth. Wagner gasped in pain as the manacle sapped the power he'd been drawing in, but he managed to meet the serpentine eyes that glared at him. "And if you think I'm ashamed of that, you're a fool."

Wagner gagged as the clawed hand tightened around his throat. Dalca could still feel him drawing in power, despite the manacle. One wouldn't be enough to suppress all of his ability.

"There is nothing I'd like to do more than rip your throat out and devour the blood that spilled from your veins," Dalca growled, his breath hot on the wizard's neck. "I would finish what I started so long ago, making sure that there was nothing left this time."

Just as suddenly as he'd struck, Dalca moved away from the wizard, putting distance between the two. Wagner gasped as his breath was restored, and he slipped to the floor. His eyes were wide and wild as he looked to Dalca, who stood calmly a dozen feet away.

"But I won't," Dalca said softly. "Mostly because I can't. But also because I need you." He nodded at Schröter's body. "Just like I needed his power."

Even though Wagner was on edge, he refrained from an immediate retaliation. The wizard glanced toward the fallen summoner, and then back to Dalca. "What are you talking about?"

Dalca rolled his eyes. "Are you a moron? Haven't you put it together yet?"

Wagner frowned, clearly not appreciating the insult. But he clearly hadn't.

"This thing was born of our power," Dalca explained in disgust. "In mine. In yours. In his," he finished, nodding at Schröter. "As such, only our power can destroy it."

Wagner's head cocked to one side as he considered Dalca's words. "That's why you spared me back in the sanitorium," Wagner realized. "Not because you've gone soft; because you need me."

Dalca let loose with a barking laugh. "Soft? Wizard, I would gut you and your apprentice in a heartbeat if there weren't more important matters to attend to." Dalca's gaze slid down to the wizard's. "Did you not recognize the power Schröter was slinging around?"

The wizard frowned again, while remaining seated on the floor. "It was kinetic force. Powerful."

"Yes," Dalca said with a nod. "Just like yours."

Wagner blinked in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Dalca shook his head in disgust. "Your power was used to bring this thing forth; your strength is kinetic energy. My power was used to fuel the fires; this thing uses heat magic to fuel its movement, to make the metals malleable."

"You're saying its literally using our power against us?" Wagner asked in confusion.

"Not our power specifically. It's not drawing on our reserves or anything," Dalca corrected him. "But it's a product of our power. And as such, we're vulnerable to it."

A knowing look flitted across Wagner's face. "So that's why you're doing this. You're afraid this thing can hurt you."

"It can," Dalca admitted. "As can its acolytes. In ways I hadn't even realized." No need to tell Wagner the rest of why he was there. "But just as we're vulnerable to our own power, so too is it."

"And you just absorbed a third of the power that created it," Wagner concluded.

"Exactly."

If Dalca was right, then the middling latent talent of Schröter was necessary to destroy the demon. There wasn't much, just as there hadn't been so many years ago. Dalca had to make sure to hold that power in reserve; he could burn through it all too quickly. If he did so before the demon was destroyed, there might not be any stopping it.

"So we have to work together," Wagner finally said, understanding the situation once it'd been spelled out for him.

"Yes," Dalca said with a nod.

"Alright," Wagner said. His rage, his burning desire to see Dalca dead, finally subsided. For the moment. "But where is—"

A loud crashing noise interrupted his words, as the far wall of the chapel exploded inward.

"—it," Wagner finished, while looking at the two bodies that had tumbled through the new hole in the wall.

Dalca blinked in surprise as well, as a lithe form stood over the other. The woman still on her feet stood just over five feet tall, her skin a mottled navy. She was nude, revealing an attractive feminine humanoid form, save for the gliding wings on her back and the long barbed tail flicking behind her.

Her inhuman face looked up toward Dalca and Wagner, her solid black eyes widening as she realized she'd stumbled upon them.

"Mara," Dalca said, his tone somewhat disapproving.

The tall water vâlvă looked down at the woman she stood over, who was just coming to. Her two illicium bobbed atop her head as her gaze returned to them. "Sorry, my lord."

"I don't recall giving you permission to use all of your power," Dalca said, crossing his arms in front of him and frowning at the quite-obviously-too-tall fairy.

"You said to keep the human apprentices alive," Mara replied, her melodic voice richer in her large form. A thin dark eyebrow arched up. "This one was too much for them. And my restrained power could not compensate for her infused blood."

That was a generous interpretation of his orders. Dalca's eyes shifted down, to observe the blond head of Jöhanna Becker. The woman was just beginning to stir. Mara's tail swished around, slashing at the woman's neck. The barb on the end sliced through it with ease, before stabbing back down. A disturbing thunk sounded as it sank into the stub of the woman's neck.

When Mara's tail rose again, Jöhanna's head sat atop the barb, its brazen blood dripping gore across Mara's tail. Her eyes were still wide from the shock of her death. "It was necessary."

"Mmm-hmm," Dalca mumbled. He wondered if that were the case. Mara couldn't technically lie, but she'd learned how to stretch the truth so far that it no longer resembled anything honest.

But it'd taken both him and the wizard to finish off Schröter. The man's own power had been minuscule, but the power of the demon's blood had been significant. While Dalca was fairly confident he could have defeated the man on his own, it wouldn't have been easy.

Of course, Mara had defeated his daughter single-handedly.

"Alright," Dalca finally said, conceding the point. "Where are—"

His question was answered as the two apprentices appeared at the doorway in the back corner of the chapel. Jean's eyes were wide as she took in the wreckage, while Jonson's blushing gaze was on the nude fairy. Both looked unscathed.

"I take it you got all of them?" Dalca asked, changing his question.

"Everyone present," Mara confirmed with a nod. "Although Herzog is not here."

"Hmm," Dalca said thoughtfully, frowning. "Alright. You stay up here, just in case he and any others show up. Wagner and I will go down and finish things."

Jean looked ready to protest, but Mara's tail swooshed, flicking Jöhanna's head in her general direction. The girl blanched as she watched the blond ponytail flip past her, and her protest went unsaid. "Very well, my lord," Mara said for the others.

"Put some clothes on," Dalca ordered her as he turned to Wagner. "The boy's eyes are about to pop out of his head."

He caught the startled glance on Jonson's face, along with the disgusted look on Jean's as she scoffed at the obviously perverted boy.

Dalca found Wagner looking between him and Mara in confusion. Whatever he wanted to ask, he instead focused on the mission. He watched as Dalca undid the manacle from his wrist, which hadn't even been locked. "Head down?" he asked, rubbing at his flesh where the steel thorns had bit at him.

"Down," Dalca confirmed with a nod, before gesturing toward the altar. "If you'd be so kind."

Wagner looked confused, but stumbled over to the stone altar while Dalca retrieved his sword. Finding the discarded Luger amidst the rubble was harder, but he located it by the time the wizard had caught on to what Dalca had seen beneath the cracked stone base. When Dalca eventually returned to the front of the small chapel, weapons in place, Wagner had just finished shattering the altar with a powerful force spell.

Revealed beneath it was a stone stairwell leading down.

"Master Wagner?" Jonson called, clearly unnerved by the sight of Mara undressing the dead Jöhanna to don her clothes.

"Stay here, boy," the wizard grumbled. He cast a glance at Dalca. "Let's go."

Wagner started down the stairwell, taking the lead. Dalca snapped a sarcastic stiff-armed salute, before starting after the man.