A/N: Monday (it's still Monday for twenty minutes!) is still the weekend, isn't it? -shot- Oh, and the game Al and Paan were playing last chapter was Egyptian Ratscrew (in my head, though most of your guesses could be true), which is pretty much a more complex version of Slapjack or Snap. I'll still make an effort to update this once a week, but I'm getting really busy now.

Edit: I forgot to save this document a final time last night and uploaded the wrong version . -facepalm- This is the RIGHT version.

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

"Kill him."

It took a moment for the meaning of the words to reach Alfred. The Daemons approached him, growls in their throats and their green eyes glowing. A shock shot through Alfred, spurring him into motion. As he turned to flee, the Daemons raced forward.

Alfred had a bit of a head start, but the heavy thud of paws behind him grew closer. He couldn't risk a glance back, but a warm huff of breath on his neck was enough.

The ground turned broken and rough under Alfred's feet as he ran along the lower side of the hill. Broken boulders littered the torn soil. Spotting his chance, Alfred leapt at one. His wings only managed to lift him enough to land on top of the boulder, but it was enough. As one of the Daemons pounced at him, he pushed off into the air.

The Daemons raced into the air after him. Alfred swung to the side, spinning out of the path of the shadowy masses. They crashed back down to earth. He chanced a glance behind, only to be met with those horrible fangs leaping up after him. Their heavy landing seemed to have had no impact on their jumping skills.

Alfred lurched forward, hugging the rolling hills. He matched the Daemons' pace, as they gained no ground. One threw back its head and gave a strangled sounding scream. The sounds chilled Alfred's blood and sent uncomfortable twinges over his just-healed arm. He forced himself away from the sound, over the crest of a hill when the sound came again, this time from the front. Three more black hounds waited on the crest of the hill, hackles raised, dusty shadows swirling around them.

Alfred panicked. He banked hard, skidding face first along the ground. Ignoring the new bloody taste along his lip, he scrambled to his feet and sprang into the air. He hovered, glancing from side to side. He was surrounded. Heavy drops of rain landed on his head. The storm was breaking. There was no way out.

As the Daemons approached, Alfred tried to calm his panicking mind. The terror running through him wasn't letting him think straight, just like in his first battle. There had to be some way out; there was no way he was going to die here.

Alfred's eyes widened as a Daemon leapt at him. He shot straight up, into the sky. He mentally kicked himself.

"Stay up out of it, Alfred, you moron!" he said, remembering Gilbert's advice. The Daemons glared up through the rain, their eyes glowing even in the fading light. They might be able to jump, but they couldn't fly. Alfred sighed in relief. He was safe, out of reach.

He wiped some water off his glasses, and a small smirk graced his face. The Daemons waited below. They weren't so scary, not from up here. He drifted down closer. A Daemon crouched, then pounced up at Alfred who spun just out of reach. He let out a loud laugh.

"Poor Daemons can't catch the little human?" he taunted. Another leapt for him. Alfred yelped and shot upwards. Once his heart settled, he drifted back down.

"That the best you can do? How terrifying, the big bad Daemons—"

His voice was cut off by five screams. Alfred covered his ears against them, knees curling into his chest. When it was over, he looked down through the rain. The five Daemons were there, though they sat, gazing up at Alfred with what appeared to be only mild interest.

Alfred didn't hear anything through the rain, but one minute he was hovering, unharmed if unnerved above the hills, the next, he was hurtling through the rain towards the ground. He shoved his feet under him, slowing his momentum until he was in control again, just above the ground. He looked up. Within the dark clouds, another figure moved with the same swirling movements as the other Daemons. He had no time to examine it further as a growl from below caught his attention. The five hound Daemons raced towards him.

Alfred turned and shot away. The rain was falling harder and Alfred was having trouble seeing. His lungs burned and he felt fatigue slip into his limbs. A gust from above snapped him back to attention. He swung to the side as glittering talons closed around the space where Alfred had been. However, he was not quick enough to miss the heavy wing that slammed down on top of him.

Somehow Alfred managed to stay airborne. He looked up at his attacker. It had the general shape of a hawk, thin body and long wings, with a Daemon's size and swirling form. The same pupil-less, green eyes caught his and it cried out, a mix between hawk and human.

It dove after Alfred. His mind could focus on nothing but flight. He spun and weaved, avoiding the worst of the hawk Daemon's assault. He was fading fast. The shadows and little green lights danced across the corners of his eyes. He occasionally sank back towards the earth, only to be forced to shoot up again by the leaping jaws of the hound Daemons.

His exhausted body couldn't support him anymore. Once again he fell towards the green hills, through the rain, and the violent wind, and the cries of Daemons. He opened his eyes to see the Daemons below hesitate. They had come to the crest of a hill, but the other side dropped of into a cliff. It's face was broken, crevices running up and down, some looking deep enough to shelter in.

He managed to right himself again, though hovering in place took up a great deal of concentration. The Daemons on the ridge anticipated his plan and howled a warning to their kin in the sky. It swooped down, and blocked the cliff face from Alfred. He tried to swerve around it, but it cut him off at every turn, lashing out with its talons.

Alfred halted, hanging in the air. He was out of ideas. Relative safety was in sight and out of reach. Maybe it would be easier just to wait until the Daemon lunged at him, ending it all. He brushed the water off his glasses.

"No," he whispered to himself. "Not yet. It's so close. Just one last thing to get past."

The Daemon attacked. Alfred's blue eyes steeled themselves in the dim light. He let himself drop out from under the creature, who, carried by its own momentum, couldn't twist to finish off Alfred.

He seized his chance. With a final burst of energy, he launched himself at the cliff face. He located a crevice and prayed it was deep enough to offer some protection. He was lucky. He slammed himself through the opening and into a hollow behind it just as the Daemon collided with the rock. It flew back, shrieking and tore at the entrance of the hollow with its claws and beak.

Alfred shoved himself as far back as he could get, muscles burning with the effort. He shook as the adrenaline ebbed out of his system. He didn't have his jacket, just his tunic which was now dripping with the cold rain. He drew his knees up to his chest, trying to block out the grating sound of claw against stone and occasional scream of frustration from the Daemon.

"I'm going to die here, aren't I?" He found talking to himself comforting, a familiar sound in all the chaos.

He felt something hard press into his back. He reached around and unslung the satchel that contained his lyre. Francis had promised to teach him a new piece that day. Momentarily forgetting the Daemon, he drew it out, images of a fractured instrument flashing through his mind. To his amazement, it was, for the most part, unharmed. A bit damp where the oil skin had ripped and battered around the edges, but it was still in fine working condition. A loud crack sounded through the small hollow. The Daemon was making progress. Alfred shuddered against the nightmarish sound.

There was no reason why he shouldn't play. The Daemon knew where he was already. He rubbed he damp face with the back of his hand. He was cold, and dripping, and still his heart thudded against his chest. It wasn't too much to ask for a bit of comfort, was it?

His fingers found their places. They began to move in Alfred's favorite ballad, about a hero who saved a princess from the clutches of an evil king. It was romantic, and though the key had a minor lit to it, it was hopeful, especially the parts detailing the hero's bravery. A small smile shown across Alfred's face as his fingers gain confidence. There was still the odd twang of a missed note, but the music filled the small hollow.

It was only when he finished that Alfred realized the screams of the Daemon's had silenced. He let the sound fade and listened. Wing beats. It was still out there. But why wasn't it attacking?

Alfred forced himself to his feet. Still clutching his lyre, he peeked out of the crevice. The Daemon hovered there, but something was different about it. Its form wasn't as smoky as before and its glowing eyes were wide with curiosity. Even as Alfred emerged, it made no move to attack, just waited.

Alfred plucked a few strings of his lyre. The Daemon's eyes widened as it drifted a bit closer.

"You like this?" Alfred asked.

The Daemon made no response, but Alfred took its stillness as confirmation. He settled himself on the ledge and started the chords of another lay. He didn't try to sing along to the music; it took all his concentration just to stop his fingers from slipping. He leaned back against the broken stone, beginning to relax. The overhang of the cliff shielded him from most of the rain.

He played well into the night. The Daemon never once moved from its position. Alfred has exhausted most of his musical knowledge when it jolted from its position. It turned to the top of the cliff and chirped in recognition.

"What are you doing?" The smooth voice sent a cold tingle of fear down Alfred's spine. "Why haven't you returned? Is it that hard to kill a pathetic human?"

The Daemon trilled up to the high Daemon, its birdlike voice a stark contrast to its human scream.

Pride stirred in Alfred's chest. "You think I'd go down that easily?" He shouted before he knew what he was doing.

A dark figure leapt down the cliff and landed right in front of Alfred. His cloak was pulled up over his head. He turned to the Daemon hovering in the air behind him.

"Explain yourself! Why isn't he dead?"

The Daemon chirped and whistled. The High Daemon turned back to Alfred and pushed back his hood, flicking drops of water everywhere. His busy eyebrows tugged into a frown above his confused eyes.

"She's not making any sense. What did you do to her?" he said and crouched down, grabbing Alfred's tunic and glaring at him directly in the eyes.

"I played for it—her. That's all, I swear!"

"Played?"

Alfred drew his thumb across the strings of his lyre. "Yeah. I think she likes it."

Most of the hostility drained out of the High Daemon's eyes. He still frowned but he stared at Alfred as if seeing him for the first time.

"Play," he commanded.

"What?"

"Play, and I'll let you live."

"Not much of a choi—"

"I could kill you now if you prefer."

Alfred shut up and hesitantly began his favorite ballad again. He risked a glance up at the Daemon, startled when he saw a small half-smile appear. The melody faded into the night. Alfred looked at the Daemon, waiting for a response.

"You're not all that good, are you?"

Alfred flushed. He opened his mouth to retort when the Daemon cut him off.

"But I enjoyed it. I want you to come play for me again."

Wait, What? Alfred could only stare with wide eyes and sputter.

The Daemon returned to his scowl. "Are you really as thick as you look? You will come back to play for me." He looked out at the rain, then settled into a sitting position. "Once a fortnight." He nodded to himself.

"And if I don't?"

The Daemon considered this. "I'll find you."

"If you can't?"

"I will. You will come." He paused. "Won't you?"

It was crazy, stupid to enter into such an agreement. Arlya would be angry. All of the gods would be angry. But Alfred saw his own loneliness reflected in those eyes, and something reckless bubbled up in him. Besides, he rationalized, it's not as if I have much of a choice.

"Alright. I'll come," he said.

"Good." The small smile returned to the Daemon's face. "Swear on it."

He picked up a sharp stone from the floor and slashed it across his own hand and gestured for Alfred's.

Alfred gulped then held out his hand. He winced as the stone slashed his palm. The Daemon clasped them together.

"Do you swear to return once a fortnight to play your music for me?"

"I do."

"Then I swear to let you leave here as you are."

The Daemon released Alfred. "Play some more."

Alfred's hands ran over the strings, picking out melodies against the rain. His entire attention occupied, he didn't notice as the Daemon leaned in, gazing at Alfred with inscrutable eyes.

An hour passed, then another. Alfred's head nodded once, twice as exhaustion began to overcome him.

"You can stop. Sleep."

Alfred could only nod. He curled his knees into his chest and began to doze off. Sleep was almost upon him when he realized he lacked a vital piece of information.

"What should I call you?" he asked.

"Come again?"

"Call you? I can't just call you Mr. Daemon."

"Arthur."

"What?"

"Arthur. You may call me Arthur."

Alfred frowned. He hadn't expected such an ordinary name.

"Alright, Arthur. I'm Alfred."

"A pleasure, I'm sure."

Alfred was already asleep. Arthur frowned at him, then returned to staring out at the rain, already missing the clumsy music.

The grey morning light woke Alfred. He glanced around the hollow to find that he was alone.

"Did… Did that really happen?" A glance at his hand told him all he needed to know. The slash across his palm was just scabbed over. The events in his memory had most certainly taken place.

He stepped out into the morning light and tried to stretch out his stiff body. The land below the cliff was covered in a thick fog and the sky was just as overcast despite the heavy rain the day before. The whole landscape looked soft, as if covered by a thick cotton blanket. He flew up to the top of the cliff and sat down, wondering how he would find his way home. He wanted his bed and he wanted to be warm.

He let out a sigh, wondering if he would get rained on again. The wind was light, holding none of the violence of last night. He tilted his head back to watch the clouds when he heard it: a distant shout over the mists calling his name.

"Alfred!" He scrambled to his feet and ran towards the voice.

"I'm here! Over here!"

Arlya appeared in the mists. Alfred ran up to her and threw his arms around her. She stroked his damp hair and took a careful inventory of his injuries. She knew who had done this to her boy, and he would pay.

"Come, my baby, let's go home."

Alfred could only nod as he was whisked away.

All the gods were gathered in the summit of Caelei save one, who was serving out a punishment down in the mortal realm. She was not missed.

"Is that everything, Arlya?" asked Parkram.

"Yes. He told me everything. His bargain with the Daemon is particularly concerning."

"How often must he go down? Once a fortnight?"

"That is correct."

The sun god frowned at his wife. The news was concerning. The new Daemon War was breaking and now one of his vulnerable pawns had sworn in blood to meet with one of their most powerful enemies on a frequent basis.

"There is nothing we can do to lift it?" he asked.

"Nothing I have tried has been able to lift it. But there is one way, one drastic measure that could free him."

Francis interrupted her, his voice unusually high. Before she could state her proposal, he said, "Maybe it is a good thing this has happened. Perhaps Alfred can gain us some information of the Daemons. Perhaps we should tell him the prophecy?"

A general murmuring broke out. Finally a sandpaper voice broke through.

"I do not believe we should," said Circalous. "The prophecy is coming true without his knowledge of it. I see no reason to tell him."

Francis shrugged at the prophet god. "You know best."

The court turned to other matters of the mortal realm before Arlya brought up Alfred again.

"As I have said, there is one way to release Alfred from his oath."

Pakram eyed her, frowning. "What do you propose?"

"We make him on of us. A god."

The court exploded. Gods jumped to their feet, all shouting at once.

"Make a human a god? That's never happened before!"

"There's a first time for everything. He could be useful."

"I will not lower myself among humans!"

"We're not lowering ourselves. We're raising him."

"Silence!" shouted Pakram. "Every idea brought to this court must be given fair evaluation. Arlya, explain."

The Goddess stood and strode to the center of the ring of thrones.

"If we grant him godhood, Alfred's humanity, his human essence will die. This is the part of him his oath is bound to. Lose of humanity, lose of obligation. Not to mention the other benefits. Alfred has proved his worth. But he is still a human, not only are humans short-lived but they are fragile. One misplaced swipe and he'd be lost to us. He heals faster than us; he was up in a day of the attack on the mining town while Francis and Gilbert are still not fully recovered, but a god will not die. Without this protection, he will wither before the war even truly begins. He must be protected, and godhood will grant him that."

A couple of gods nodded in agreement.

Pakram looked around. "Any other views?"

This time it was Gilbert who stood. "Alfred is useful, no one will deny that. But what Arlya fails to realize is that he is not irreplaceable. There are other humans who exist now, and who will exist in the future who could easily be more useful than he is. Godhood is no light option, Arlya. What if something goes wrong with him? As you said, a god can't be killed! Besides, Alfred is too much of a child to consider it at this point. I want to win this war as much as you, but the risks of raising a human to godhood are too great. He may not even survive the process."

Paan didn't even bother leaving her chair. "I'm for it," she said. "Alfred is fun. I'd like to keep him around. Plus, what's life without some risk?"

"Is your enjoyment all you think about?" accused Circalous. "He is here for one purpose, to destroy the Daemons. So far, all has been going along with the prophecy. Keep him as he is."

The room descended back into shouts and wild gestures. Finally Pakram held out his hand to silence them all.

"We will vote on it."

"Without Pacarni?" asked Paan.

Most of the gods shrugged. Waiting for Pacarni to return would take too long.

"Around in a circle then," said Pakram. "I am for it. Arlya?"

"For."

"Heracles?"

"For."

"Gilbert?"

"Against."

"Daka?"

The war goddess spat, "Against."

"Vahnic?"

"Against."

"Paan?"

She considered it for a few moments. "For."

"Circalous?"

"Against."

"We have reached a tie. Francis?"

All eyes turned to the god of love. He flicked imaginary dust from his clothes and shifted from foot to foot.

"Francis?" said Arlya. "He's your friend. You would hate to lose him, wouldn't you?"

Francis closed his eyes. He saw his young human friend; yes he wanted him to stay safe. But he saw Alfred with his lyre. Francis couldn't lose the music again. He scuffed his boot against the floor. "Against." Arlya stared at him, betrayed.

"That is settled then. He will not become a god."

Arlya stood and glared at the rest of the court. "What are you thinking? Alfred is human, he will age, and he will die, and that will be another victory for the Daemons!"

Heracles stood and placed a hand on her shoulder. "There is more than one way to keep a mortal alive. Since you cannot make him a god, find another way."

"Such as?"

"Freeze his age."

"Is that what you did with Kiku?"

"Yes. He is still mortal, but he does not age. The same might work for your Alfred."

"How does one go about freezing a mortal's age?"

The sleepy god stared ahead for a moment before replying, "A charm is usually the most effective. They're complicated, but I can help you with the preservation spells."

Arlya looked around the court. "How does this offer stand? We freeze his age, but keep him mortal."

There was a general assent, so Arlya swept off to design the magic. She stopped by Alfred's room. He was still sleeping, face pressed into his bandaged-wrapped hand.

"Don't worry, my baby. Soon, soon."

A/N: Hope you enjoyed chapter three. Constructive criticism, encouragement, suggestions, edits are all loved.

I'm trying to rewrite my summary to be more catchy, so any advice there would also be great~

Thanks to Z again.