Amelle folded her hands, mimicking Sebastian's attitude of prayer, but the man did not so much as twitch. His eyes were closed, his lashes casting long shadows on his cheeks. Here, in the Fade, he looked as she remembered from before. He had the appearance of health, of strength. His cheeks were smooth and his hair combed. She hoped she could take that as a good sign. Prayed she could take it as a good sign, even.

"Sebastian?"

His lips still moved silently, and he did not acknowledge her.

"Sebastian."

After several seconds ticked by with no response, the cat let out a loud, demanding yowl. Sebastian straightened with a jerk, as if he'd been doused with cold water. He stared at her, then at the cat, then back at her.

"Amelle?" he asked, still looking at her as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes. She peered at him more closely. Something strange and strained lingered in his face, and his gaze was not entirely… focused.

If she'd been pressed to describe it, she'd have said it looked as though Sebastian were trapped between two worlds.

Which, was, perhaps, all too accurate a description.

She smiled carefully, almost tentatively. "Hello, Sebastian."

He blinked. "You're… here." Then he glanced down, tilting his head in confusion. "And you have a cat."

The spirit leapt gracefully from her shoulder back to the floor, where he rubbed affectionately against Sebastian's knees.

"It would appear I do, yes."

He reached down and ran his hand along the animal's back. "I didn't know you had a cat."

"Well," she replied, tilting a wider grin at him, "He's not mine, exactly. I have quite a knack for picking up strays. Ask my sis—"

Before she could finish, however, Sebastian's gaze snapped up to hers, and this time there was nothing unfocused about it. It was, however, bordering on the terrified. She could see the whites of his eyes all the way around his pupils, and she had to stop herself from reaching out to check his temperature.

"You shouldn't be here," he insisted, picking up the cat—who gave an indignant meow at the treatment—and pushing him into Amelle's hands. She scrabbled to grab hold of the little creature. Compassion sent her as baleful a glance as a cat could manage. "It's not safe."

Amelle resisted the urge to turn and glance toward the demon still wearing Elthina's face. It's not safe, she thought, but not for the reasons you fear. "Sebastian," she said, "we're fine. I'm fine."

He shook his head, but something of the earlier confusion returned to his expression, and he glanced around. Finally he settled on the looming statue of Andraste, and she saw him visibly shift back toward calm. "Perhaps you're right," he said. "I've not seen many templars—" Here again he paused, his brow furrowing. "No. I've seen no templars. Nor any of the sisters. Only Her Grace, and the child…"

"That's strange," Amelle said. "Isn't it?"

At first, he said nothing. He stared at the statue, gaze fixed and unblinking. Then, finally, in a voice thick with the kind of emotion it pained her to try to name, he said, "I am sorry about your sister, Amelle."

Startled, she parted her lips to reply, only to have Compassion extend a pawful of claws into the unprotected flesh of her left hand. Instead of speaking the words she'd meant to speak—Kiara is fine, Sebastian—she yelped and dropped the cat into her lap. Unlike another feline would have, Compassion did not turn tail and bolt. Ears twitched, fur remained rumpled, and very slowly the cat turned his head to stare in the direction of the Grand Cleric.

His world, Amelle thought. Not mine.

And the sound of her cry had been enough to break through Sebastian's momentary fog. He was looking at her again, statue forgotten.

Ignoring the pain in her hand, Amelle held Sebastian's gaze and said, "Can I tell you a story about her?"

A muscle clenched in his jaw and a shadow passed over his features, but finally he nodded.

"I have always had a knack for picking up strays, as I said. I was forever bringing home lame animals and nursing them back to health. We learned, rather unpleasantly, about Ki—my sister's allergy to rabbits that way. Well, the fur," she clarified, watching Sebastian carefully to make certain the blankness didn't return. "I'm fairly sure she's not allergic to the meat."

If he noticed her use of the present tense, he said nothing. But he didn't look away, and the tension in his jaw eased.

"The rabbit… it had been caught in a trap," she admitted, rather shamefacedly. Something about either her reply or her expression made him let out a soft breath of something almost, almost like laughter. It was so much a Sebastian gesture, her heart squeezed and it took a great deal of blinking to keep tears from falling.

"I see," he said, a ghost of amusement—so different than the pain of mere moments before—in his tone. "You brought home somebody else's dinner, then."

Amelle offered him a sheepish shrug. "I was young. I saw a rabbit caught in a trap, and it was… screaming." She paused and tilted her head at Sebastian. "Have you ever heard that sound?"

He fell into a thoughtful pause—thoughtful, but thank the Maker not blank—before slowly nodding. "Aye. It is… I would rather offer clean shot and a swift death any day than to hear such a cry from any living creature."

"You understand, then. I brought it home, and we hid the rabbit in our room—we shared, as children. I kept it in a basket under my bed." She smiled a little, remembering. "That first night, she was up sneezing until dawn. Her eyes were all but swollen shut, and her skin was mottled, and I thought she was dying. So I had to get Mother. Even though Kiri begged me not to."

The nickname made him pause and look at her, and for a moment she feared she'd pushed too hard too quickly. A flicker of misery—of loss—twisted his features, and she continued hurriedly, afraid of losing him once more to the darkness of whatever emotions held him.

"In any event, we both knew I'd get in trouble if Mother found another wounded animal in my care. So I kept trying to drag Kiri out of the bedroom, but she was too concerned to leave the rabbit. Even as she sneezed and sneezed. Mother heard us—or Carver ratted on us—but when she saw the rabbit, she only sighed and said, 'Amelle, again?' And Kiara, nose dripping, eyes running, throat raw, said, 'We have to make it better, Mama,' and it was… well, pathetic, really. Hard to argue with someone that pathetic."

"She… helped you, then?"

"She did. We moved the rabbit out of our bedroom, though. Papa was away on one of his trips. It would have taken him a minute to put the rabbit right as rain. Its injuries were… very serious, and it took some time longer than any of us anticipated." She paused. "For a while, we were worried we'd wake up some morning to find it had perished overnight."

"But it didn't?"

She didn't think she was imagining things—he looked almost hopeful. And since hopeful was a far cry from numb or miserable or broken, she smiled warmly, and said, "You know us Hawkes, Sebastian. Always taking up lost causes. Fighting the good fight."

"You were successful then? You healed it?"

"It wanted to be healed," replied Amelle, keeping her voice soft, but allowing her tone to become gently pointed, as she pinned Sebastian with a gaze. After a second or two he looked away, and she didn't think she was deluding herself to think it was because he caught the second meaning. With a tiny sigh, she sat back on her heels and shrugged, deciding it might be better if she carefully changed the subject. Frankness was a fine thing, but it would do Sebastian no good if Amelle caused him too much distress, and she didn't want to push him back toward the place she'd found him in. "Sometimes I think Mother wished the daughter she'd named after the noble Amell line was a little more, well, Amell-like, instead of crawling through the forest, bringing Maker-knew-what to heal and make whole again."

"And how old were you?"

"Oh, no more than ten. Maybe eleven. I came into my powers when I was eight."

"A healer at a young age, then."

"Hardly. I was… learning. I seemed to have a natural inclination toward simple, basic healing spells, and Father encouraged it. It took time and practice — years, in fact — to become any sort of proper healer."

"It is a noble pursuit, to be one who heals the sick and injured."

"I am… so glad you think so."

He glanced down at his hands. "Would that I had such a calling."

Amelle worried at her bottom lip, hesitating. He seemed poised on a precipice, and though he'd heard her words—and understood, she felt certain—he still seemed as like to fall into darkness as light.

"I spoke with Grand Cleric Elthina," she said, somewhat lamely, "and she, uh, asked me to talk to you." It wasn't the truth, but neither was it exactly a lie — the demon pretending to be her all but dared her to speak with Sebastian.

All the same, she saw Compassion give her an odd look, strangely out of place on the cat's face. He seemed to be arching an eyebrow at her as if to say, Really?

"She… did?"

Amelle shrugged. "One doesn't pray when things are well, Sebastian. And you are praying… quite a bit."

He grimaced, but didn't disagree. He didn't look up from his hands. After a second or two, he closed his fingers into loose fists. "I fear there is unrest in my spirit, Amelle. The things I've seen. The things I've done."

She looked down at the cat, who butted his head against her leg as if to say, Go on, tell him.

Feeling even more certain they were poised at some crossroads from which there could be no return, knowing it likely she'd only have the one chance, she tried to choose the right words. The demon was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't mean it wasn't watching. "Sebastian… what's the last thing you remember? Before arriving here, I mean."

He opened his mouth as if to answer, but stopped. "I… don't recall." A frown furrowed between his brows. "That's… odd."

"Not really. Try harder. What do you remember?"

"I saw your sister in the garden. On the—I'm sorry, Amelle."

Amelle shook her head. "No," she said gently. "That happened here. I want to know what happened before."

"That happened here," he echoed, a trace of the glazed confusion once again slipping into his gaze. Before she could curse herself for saying the wrong thing, he shook his head, and his gaze returned to her. "Everything was dirty. I was cleaning. I thought it the least I could do. After everything."

"After everything," she repeated. "What, though? What is everything?"

After a moment, Sebastian's eyes—always such an intense shade of blue—went out of focus slightly, but before she could think to do anything—to reach out, to shake him, to scream—he brought his hand to his breastbone, rubbing the area absently.

"Something…" he paused, closing his eyes, and his face became a mask of concentration. "Pain. A… sword — two templars. Fire. Screaming."

Amelle gave a slow nod. "Things… went badly in Kirkwall, Sebastian. You were injured. I… I've been trying to heal you, but you're… you're being terribly stubborn about it." She paused. "Not too unlike that rabbit."

"You worried whether the rabbit would even survive."

Amelle thought fleetingly of Kiara, determinedly feeding Sebastian drop after drop of broth, massaging his throat to make sure every bit was swallowed, even as tears fell from her eyes. Her heart ached and she reminded herself yet again that she could not fail. "I—" Stopping, she cleared her throat. "I know. You need to remember, Sebastian. You need to try. It… it won't be pleasant, and I'm sorry, but you must try. Please."

She waited and watched as Sebastian lowered his gaze, as if looking inward. He seemed almost to be wrestling with something — his own memory, perhaps — and the frown he wore deepened.

A frown was better than nothing. A frown was better than vacuousness. She thought—she hoped—she could work with a frown.

"The chantry… Anders."

Compassion flinched, pressing himself against her thigh. Amelle looked down and saw his eyes were closed, as if in pain. She reached out and stroked the spirit's furry head with her thumb, then looked back at Sebastian, swallowing hard at the knot forming in her throat. She couldn't speak; all she could manage was a shaky nod.

Sebastian looked up and all around him, blinking hard, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "No, it can't be," he breathed, shaking his head. "We're… we're here. I spoke to the Grand Cleric not five minutes ago, Amelle. You're mistaken; it can't be—"

"It happened, Sebastian," she said gently, reaching out hesitantly and taking his hand. "I'm sorry, but it—"

He yanked his hand away and glared at her, color rising in his cheeks. "Then what manner of illusion is this?"

She took a deep breath. "We are… in the Fade. You created all this. This chantry is… yours. All of Kirkwall is yours."

"I'm… dreaming?"

"Not…" Amelle paused, and was certain her discomfiture was evident on her face. "Not exactly."

And as she watched his face, she saw the memories fall into place like so many puzzle pieces. "I'm… dead?"

"No!" she cried, starting forward and shaking her head violently. "No, no. No. Not dead, Sebastian. You are not dead. You're merely… taking longer to heal than I would like."

After a second or two, he nodded. "When I do wake, will I remember this at all?"

Well, at least he was planning on waking. That was a step in the right direction. "Maker, I hope not," she sighed, running a hand through her hair. "So…" she began, more hesitantly, "what do you remember?"

He looked away. "Everything. What Anders… did. And Hawke… she spared him." There was no mistaking the bitterness in his tone. "And the things I said… by Andraste, I was so angry."

"You felt betrayed," she answered softly. "But he betrayed us, too, Sebastian. She did what she had to do, given an utterly impossible situation."

"I know," came Sebastian's words. He sounded so… bleak, so hopeless. Tired. "I was so angry at her. I'm… still angry, Amelle. Maker help me, but I am. I thought… I thought if I prayed…"

"The Maker might provide some answers?"

He shook his head, looking utterly wretched. "The Maker might forgive me."

Amelle blinked. "Forgive you."

"I vowed to amass an army and bring it down upon Kirkwall—upon the city that has been my home for fifteen years—to level that city to the ground because of one mage. The vows I've taken in my life have been to better myself. To make myself a better man. A worthy man. A vow of vengeance has… no place — should have no place in my heart."

"You were angry."

"Does that make it all right?"

Amelle sighed hard. "Sebastian, tell me: is it the Maker's forgiveness you want, or… ours?"

"I dare not presume—"

But Amelle said, "Look around you," cutting him off as she gestured up at the chantry's high ceiling, and around at every flickering candle, every gleaming statue. "This place is beautiful. Kirkwall is beautiful. Everything is clean and bright and whole and perfect." Amelle leaned forward, bracing her hands against her thighs. "You made it this way. You're trying to fix all of Kirkwall. But… in the end, all this is… false. You aren't really fixing anything. If you want to… mend things, you—you have to come back to us and… work for it. We all have work to do in that respect. We all have things to mend in our lives right now. Even Kiara."

Sebastian followed her gaze, and for a moment seemed almost to acquiesce. But then he shook his head and looked away, pained. "It's too late. I saw what happened to her. I know she's—"

"No," Amelle insisted. "What you saw—whatever you saw—it was a trick. She's fine. Battered and bruised and a little bit broken, but she's fine."

For one moment—one heartbreaking moment—his face was with suffused with such gratitude, Amelle knew he wasn't lost to her. No one who could feel emotions such as those could be a truly lost cause. Then, almost as suddenly as it had come, the brightness was gone again. "Then I am glad," he said tonelessly, "but it is even more important I stay."

Amelle felt her temper beginning to fray and her patience starting to run out. "Sebastian," she snapped. "You are in the Fade. Nothing is real here. Any efforts you're putting forth are for nothing. You are changing nothing. You haven't even changed yourself. It's all an illusion, nothing more — you haven't rebuilt the chantry, you haven't made Kirkwall's streets safe, you haven't done anything. You haven't even eaten anything since we found you, save a bit of broth. Do you want to do something, or do you want to waste away and die?"

His head whipped around to face her, blue eyes blazing. "It would be no less than I deserved!"

"What?" she shouted back. "Have you lost your mind?" She pushed to her feet, towering over the kneeling Sebastian, glowering down at him. "I am not letting you die! Do you have the first idea how hard I've been working to keep you from dying? There is too much — you have too much to do!"

The fire in Sebastian's eyes, though clearly angry, gave Amelle hope — there was life in him yet. "And you presume to decide this for me?"

"Yes, well, I thought it was a better option than giving up. Choosing to hide in the Fade when there is a life to be lived is… it's for the weak. I keep telling you: this is an illusion. Do you want to be food for demons and Maker knows what else? Do you want to vanish into obscurity because you didn't have the spine to stand up and live? I'll ask you again: do you want to die?"

He stood, then, and Amelle realized suddenly how much taller Sebastian was than she. She stood her ground and glared up at him, even as he retorted with brutal sharpness, "Would it not be better for all if I did?"

Amelle threw up her hands and, in her utter frustration, landed a hard kick on one of Sebastian's armored shins. She feared it hurt her more than it hurt him, but it was enough to make him blink, and some tiny fraction of the anger faded from his expression. "Maker, you are an idiot! No, it would not be better for anyone if you did. We aren't all hovering around your bed rooting for your death. Do you think I'd come into the Fade to attempt to talk sense into you for the perverse enjoyment of watching you suffer later? Think, Sebastian. There are things in the world you need to fix. And there are people in the world who want to fix things with you. Please. Let them have that chance. Give yourself that chance."

Sebastian turned to the side, looking over the side of the dais, gazing out at the rest of the chantry, spread out before him, empty and clean and devoid of life. All at once his anger seemed to ebb away, as if he didn't have the strength to sustain it. He looked nearly sad as he took in every detail, every candle, every book, every inch of polished brass, all products of his own memory.

"And how long have I… been here?"

"Nearly two weeks. Twelve days. We're… worried."

Closing his eyes, Sebastian bowed his head. "And what must I do to leave?"

Amelle peered over the edge of the dais. "In theory, all we have to do is walk out that door. But there is a chance we may encounter… difficulties." She paused. "This means you're willing to leave?"

He looked away and it sounded as if the words were being pulled from him. "I… cannot spend the rest of my life, however short, in an illusion."

"Good," she murmured. Vengeance had once again taken on Elthina's appearance, and glided into the nave, looking up at them both, the very picture of kindness and patience. Amelle sighed. "Do me a favor and remember that you said that."

"What do you mean?"

Amelle scowled downward. "I have a feeling it's going to soon become very important that you want to leave."

Sebastian followed Amelle's gaze downward, his eye falling on the Grand Cleric. "There is something you aren't telling me," he murmured softly, arching an eyebrow.

Amelle barely had time to nod before the thing below them spoke in Elthina's voice.

"You have decided to leave us, then, child?"

Sebastian glanced at Amelle, then back again. "The time has come for me to make a decision, Your Grace," he said, making his way down the stairs, approaching the demon. "I daresay it's too long past time, in fact."

"You are quite certain?"

Sebastian nodded. "It has been… made clear to me that I can do more good beyond these walls than within."

The demon canted Elthina's head at Sebastian. "You plan to rejoin those you left?"

Amelle remained silent, watching Sebastian out of the corner of her eye. He looked… confused. Given the time and place, sending a quick prayer up to the Maker didn't seem like an entirely bad idea. She only hoped He was listening.

"Aye." His answer came cautiously. Warily. "It is… the right thing to do."

"I confess myself surprised that you would return so freely to those who betrayed you."

"There is forgiveness to be sought," he replied evenly. "And given."

"Forgiveness."

Something about the tone in which the word was delivered appeared to give Sebastian pause. "Indeed."

The demon narrowed its eyes as its tone grew colder. "You would seek to forgive the ones responsible for so much destruction? For so much death? For my death?"

Amelle wasn't sure whether it was the words or the tone they were delivered in, but something made Sebastian start and stare.

"You are not Her Grace."

The thing began to chuckle again. "And so the charade draws to a close. I confess myself disappointed. I had rather hoped you'd stay on a more permanent basis."

Here, Amelle stepped forward. "He wishes to leave with me, demon. Honor our wager and stand aside."

The black mist began gathering again as the demon laughed, and Amelle drew her staff, swearing viciously under her breath. Sebastian followed suit — marginally surprised to find his bow and a quiver of arrows slung on his back at all — and looking even more alarmed at the change in the Grand Cleric.

"She was a demon?" he asked, stepping backward as the demon took shape. "All this time?"

Amelle gave a grim nod. "Another excellent reason for you not to stay."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think you'd believe me, for starters. You have to admit, 'Good afternoon, Sebastian, you're in the Fade and, oh, by the by, the Grand Cleric is a Vengeance Demon,' doesn't exactly have the ring of sanity to it, wouldn't you agree?"

The thick, shadowy fog enveloped the demon's borrowed form, stretching upward and growing taller, broader and — Amelle knew — sharper.

Sebastian turned sharply and stared at her, eyes going wide. "Did you say Vengeance demon?"

"Indeed. Lucky you, you nearly had one of your very own." Amelle looked back at Sebastian, sounding far more confident than she felt. "Now, listen to me. We will get out of this. But you must trust me. No matter what you see, no matter what happens, that," she pointed at the demon, "is your enemy. If we don't defeat it, neither of us are going back." Amelle thought suddenly of Fenris, watching over her. She thought of what would happen — what she'd made him promise to do if she didn't wake up, or, Maker forbid, she woke up altered, and her determination hardened.

The demon stood menacingly tall over both of them, its armor looking sharper and even more deadly than before. It spoke, and its voice was laced with whispers of clashing steel:

"You may have won our wager—"

Sebastian looked at her, whispering sharply, "You made a deal with a demon?"

"A bet," Amelle hissed back. "A bet is not a deal. It is a bet."

"You thought making a bet with a demon was a good idea?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Better than leaving you here to die, I should think. And, you know, a tiny bit of gratitude would not go amiss right about now."

"—and so you may take this human away from this place."

"Oh," said Amelle, feeling suddenly relieved, and not a little surprised, that the demon was in fact going to hold up its end of the wager. "Oh. Well, that's—"

"After you have defeated me in battle."

Amelle grimaced. I should have known better. I really should have known better. "Oh, bugger," she breathed. "Very well. A battle it is, then."

Vengeance chuckled, and the sound of it sent a chill scraping down Amelle's spine. "A little mage, a priest-prince, and a cat. Oh, this will be entertaining."

The cat looked up at her then and she saw a flash of worry in his bright green eyes. "Amelle…"

Sebastian started and blinked down at the cat. "It… talks?"

"It's… he's a spirit, Sebastian. A Fade spirit. He guided me to you."

He arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Did you make a wager with this one as well?"

"I assisted Amelle of my own volition," Compassion replied mildly. "And I wish to continue to do so. But I cannot, wearing such an appearance…" the cat looked again at Amelle and back at Sebastian. "I must warn you. You will be distressed at the other face I wear. I promise you, I only wish to help, and can do so much more effectively if I am not hindered by size and shape both."

"Distressed," he echoed softly. There was the slightest shift in his posture, and Amelle would have sworn Sebastian had just braced himself. "Very well… spirit. If you are truly offering it freely, I will be grateful for any assistance." He shot Amelle a concerned look, but she only nodded encouragingly as the cat's form vanished in a flash of pristine white light. When the light faded, Compassion once again resembled Anders.

As the spirit had predicted, Sebastian was… distressed.

Blue eyes widened in equal parts shock and betrayal, and he took a step back, rounding on Amelle. "Blessed Andraste, what is the meaning of this?"

"He is no more Anders than that,"she said, jabbing a thumb at the Vengeance demon,"was Elthina. It's the Fade, Sebastian. If you want, we can argue metaphysics later. Right now, we have actual monsters to fight."

The demon threw back its head and laughed, a horrible noise that made Amelle want nothing more than to clap her hands over her ears. With that laugh, the ground shook, and from between the stones in the floor, rage demons bubbled brightly forth, roaring and lumbering toward them.

A shield shimmered into place around Sebastian as Amelle rushed forward, Kiara's voice loud in her head: You won't make any progress if you don't get in there. Let Sebastian cover you; it's what he does.And, sure enough, arrows whizzed by her, landing one after another in the rage demons as Amelle swung her staff, sending jolts of lightning and cold at the demons. They lurched back, away from the ice and frost, only to find themselves peppered with arrows. Amelle kept her spells coming, firing them off as fast as she could, flinging waves of intense cold from her hands as the staff shuddered with lightning and fire at turns. Compassion kept shields in place as the floor glowed with paralyzing glyphs.

Yes, it was much easier to fight a rage demon with help.

The last fiery creature screamed a death cry as its molten heat finally guttered out and Amelle whirled around, looking again for Vengeance. It had moved to the far east corner of the chantry, and Amelle bolted forward, gathering her mana as she ran, calling up enough energy to send fire raining down from above. She stopped suddenly, flinging her hands up as energy flowed through her. The spell made her fingertips burn, but when flames fell from above, hitting the demon — as well as arrows, finding their mark with the accuracy she'd come to expect from Sebastian — Amelle allowed herself a brief, fierce smile. Then she raised her staff and fired upon the demon, trying not to think too hard about the fact that it hadn't even attacked yet, and was looking not terribly worried about what she was doing.

Doubt had already begun to creep in before the demon even drew its weapons — a longsword from its back, and the mace at its side — and then, in a blur of sharp edges and steel, Vengeance rushed forward, swinging its blades with force and speed Amelle had yet to experience from any other adversary. She barely held on to her staff as the blade crashed against it a fraction of a second before another shield shimmered into place, protecting her. Her staff was, amazingly, still whole, but Amelle could still feel the force of the blow in her arms.

Icy fear sluiced through her as she tried to think, tried to plan, but the demon moved too fast, its moves too calculated, giving her no time at all to formulate any strategy or call forth anything but purely defensive spells.

Stop, she thought, and again, that voice sounded all too much like Kiara's. Okay, think. I have Sebastian's bow at my back and Compassion's defensive spells protecting me. Don't worry about anything but an attack. Maker help us, I'm the closest thing we've got to a vanguard. Maker's blood, why didn't I bring Fenris?

Drawing in a quick breath, Amelle flung her hand forward, white light hovering at her fingertips before streaming out and forming a tall cylinder around the demon, holding it still, pressing in upon it until it twitched. While it was trapped, however temporarily, she called upon the lightning again, and, like a whip, sent out a long, twisting chain of flashing, crackling energy. One particularly well-aimed bolt sizzled as it hit the demon's armor, turning it black.

The fiend roared and flung its arms out, the air rippling as it did, and in only a second the protective barrier sputtered and faded out. Amelle cursed under her breath and darted back, slamming her staff into the ground and calling up a bright red glyph, which sent Vengeance stumbling backward, but did not put nearly as much distance between them as she'd wanted.

From behind her she heard Sebastian cry out, "Amelle, out of the way!" She threw herself to the side, narrowly missing the mace as it came swinging down. But only a sliver of an instant after she moved, Sebastian's bowstring let out a twang, and the arrow hit hard, lodging itself in the armor and, to Amelle's unending shock, seeming to have caused the faintest stress fracture.

"More of those, Sebastian!" she yelled over her shoulder as another of Compassion's shields formed a protective dome around her. She summoned another wave of lightning, throwing her arms up and her head back and calling it until energy danced wildly all around them, jagged white bolts snapping down from the sky.

For some reason, the lightning she cast seemed drawn to the demon.She gritted her teeth, hard, and summoned another long, twisting chain of energy, aiming it at the blemish Sebastian had caused. The bolt struck true, and for the barest moment the demon glowed with crackling, flashing light.

"Amelle! Move!"

She did. Another of Sebastian's arrows whistled past, landing almost exactly in the spot he'd weakened before. She tried to summon another storm, but the spell wouldn't come. Instead, she slammed the staff down, calling forth a wavering green light that settled directly in front of the demon, freezing it in place the moment it crossed the barrier.

"Hit it with everything you can!" she hollered back, conjuring the hottest, brightest fireball she could; it glowed almost white with heat before she threw it forward. As the immobile demon roared, Amelle whipped her staff around with a flourish and surrounded the demon with a thick wall of ice and frost, even as the armor glowed and smoked with the heat.

There was another crack.

Then the demon burst out of its prison and came at her in a blur of armor and sharp edges. She raised her staff to block the longsword, but the mace caught her in the stomach and she cried out, stumbling back — Fade battle or not, it still hurt.

She heard Sebastian yell again and three arrows arced out above her head, landing solidly in the fractured armor with force enough that the demon took an unsteady step back, then another, giving Amelle time and space enough to get to her feet and ready another spell.

Compassion called upon another paralysis glyph, freezing the demon in place, giving Amelle the opportunity she'd been waiting for. She called on her mana, letting the energy and power rush and pound through her before raising her hands and focusing that energy above until lightning shot down from the sky. Again, the bolts seemed strangely attracted to the demon's armor. As the storm raged, as Sebastian's arrows made the air sing, Amelle sent waves of the hottest flame and the coldest ice she could muster.

Casting spells repeatedly the very moment her body had recovered from the initial spellcasting it in the first place drained her mana, and strained her concentration. Weariness pulled at her. She set her jaw and flung a final bolt of lightning, hitting the largest crack in the demon's armor the very moment one of Sebastian's arrows hit home.

She leaned on her staff, breathing hard, willing her body to recover, to do something, butshe didn't even have the energy to muster a tiny rejuvenation spell.

As it happened, she didn't have to.

The glyph faded away, and the demon began to scream; the sound seemed to travel into the very foundation below their feet. Everything shook with the noise, until dirt and pebbles began raining down from above.

"Quick!" Amelle cried. "The door!"

Not only did the stones shake with the noise, but Vengeance shook as well, trembling more and more violently as deeper, more jagged cracks ate away at its armor. One piece broke off, then another, and another. This revelation only made the demon scream louder, longer, and the sound was agony, but Amelle couldn't turn away, couldn't not watch.

As the cracks and fractures juddered through the demon's armor — and the demon itself — pieces began to fall. Small ones at first, and then larger ones, until the enraged roar grew louder and louder and louder, shaking the creature from the inside out.

Shards of armor burst outward in a sudden, glittering, starburst of metal, tiny, sharp pieces flying outward. Pieces that could still cut, still maim.

Sebastian's voice bellowed out from behind her. "Amelle! Run!"

But before they could move, Compassion stepped forward and lifted one hand, closing its eyes. Shining shards of metal froze in midair, and with a gentle pulse, almost like a heartbeat, the pieces disintegrated into fine, sparkling sand, falling harmlessly to the stone floor.

"It is done," the spirit said, turning to them both. "Vengeance is defeated. You may now return safely to your own realm."

"No," said a child's voice behind them, sweet and sad. "Wait. You promised. Don't you remember? You're not going anywhere. You promised."