The doors to the Council Chamber exploded inward with a thunderous crash, sending shards of wood and dust flying across the room. The force of the explosion reverberated through the chamber, debris filling the air as pieces of the intricately carved walls crumbled like ash. Malbonte's head erupted in excruciating pain as his mental link with Shephamalum flared violently, like a sun igniting behind his eyes. He screamed, unable to contain the sheer agony, his vision blurring from the intensity. He hadn't felt anything this powerful since Fencio had performed the ritual to reunite the two halves of his fractured soul.
Amidst the chaos, he vaguely registered Vicky's concerned voice, trying to reach him, but her words were drowned out by the uncontrollable surge of his dark power. Disoriented, he lashed out unintentionally, sending a demon councilor flying across the chamber. The room fell into a stunned silence as the dust settled, and all eyes turned toward the solitary figure emerging from the wreckage.
A woman, dressed in a revealing leather outfit, stepped forward, her heels clicking on the shattered marble floor with a rhythmic finality that sent piercing pain lancing through Malbonte's head with each step. She casually stroked a rat perched on her shoulder, its beady eyes gleaming in the dim light. Her presence sucked the air from the room, leaving an oppressive, suffocating sensation in its wake—a palpable aura of decay and death surrounded her. Her glowing red eyes flickered with a malice that cut through the Council like a blade, marking each of them as prey.
Councilor Alvin, always one to overestimate his own importance, stepped forward with a haughty expression. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice wavering slightly despite his bravado.
The woman's lips curled into a twisted smile, distorting her face into something cruel and malicious. Her power spread through the chamber like a poisonous miasma, infecting the air with dread.
"I am Plague, the great and terrible!" she declared. "Horsewoman of the Apocalypse."
And that was when Malbonte realized that the herald of doom he had long been expecting had arrived at last.
Alvin, undeterred, took another step forward, summoning his power. His voice shook with anger as he thundered, "Who allowed you to break into the citadel?!"
Plague threw her head back and laughed, then snapped into deadly seriousness like a marionette pulled by strings.
"You, a mere louse, dare to speak to me in such a tone?!"
She raised a delicate hand, and with a flick of her fingers, Alvin exploded in a shower of blood and flesh. The chamber was splattered with the remains of the overconfident councilor, and horrified screams erupted from those who hadn't yet fully processed what had happened.
Malbonte remained motionless, watching Plague with cold, calculating eyes. His body still trembled from the residual pain of Shephamalum's assault, but his mind was already working, analyzing. Vicky stumbled back, falling to the ground in shock, but his focus was on Plague, who stared at him with an unsettling mixture of curiosity and amusement. She could feel his power, just as he could feel hers. She seemed to be waiting for his reaction.
Do something… Vicky's desperate voice echoed in his mind, her thoughts unconsciously reaching out to him. She had no idea he could hear her. She didn't understand why he wasn't reacting. But Malbonte wasn't going to lift a hand against Plague. He would bide his time; he would lose otherwise.
Plague's gaze swept the room, a predator assessing her prey. "No one else wants to fight me?" she pouted. "How boring. Such sensible, timid pups. Perhaps I should just kill you all now."
Flight Ranger Andy stepped forward, reacting to her taunt. However, before he could even launch an attack, Plague's dark energy struck him, disintegrating his wings in an instant. He fell to the ground, convulsing in pain.
Before the room could fully register Andy's fall, Lou transformed into his massive dragon form, roaring in defiance.
"Shapeshifter… Baby dragon…" Plague smiled gleefully. "Go on, then," she taunted.
Lou charged at Plague, his powerful leathery wings fully unfurled. With a wave of her hand, Plague sent a cloud of foul darkness at the dragon, stopping him mid-flight. Boils and sores erupted all over his body, and he dropped to the floor in a heap, his massive form writhing in agony from whatever foul disease Plague had infected him with.
Malbonte's heart sank as Vicky moved forward, defying all logic, her desire to protect others overriding her sense of self-preservation. She couldn't bear to stand by while others suffered.
Plague's voice dripped with disdain. "Hmm… another human?!"
"What do you want?" Vicky asked.
"What do I want? Chaos, despair, blood, and ashes!" Plague once again broke into wild, maniacal laughter.
Malbonte felt Vicky reach for his power, the one thing he had begged her not to do. His jaw tightened, a low growl of frustration rising in his throat.
Plague rushed at Vicky with incredible strength, her power crackling in the air. Malbonte's power surged instinctively, casting a shield around Vicky just as Plague's attack crashed into her with a force that sent her crashing into the wall. Fearing Vicky's fate would mirror the others who had challenged Plague, Malbonte had intervened on instinct, though he had recovered enough sense to make his shield just subtle enough to go unnoticed—just enough to dim the lethality of the blow without catching Plague's attention.
Vicky didn't stay down, however. She slowly pulled herself up, not taking her eyes off Plague. Malbonte tensed yet again, taut as a bowstring.
Plague only laughed in response. "Still conscious?! What a brave, strong girl!" She waved her hand, her power surging toward Vicky in a wave.
This time, Vicky blocked the attack by conjuring a protective dome. Malbonte let out a small breath. Vicky tried to move once again, but blood gushed out of her stomach. The sight of the injury made Malbonte's chest tighten, but any direct intervention would give away too much. He reached out through their bond to check the extent of the damage, but sensed with relief that her body was already healing.
The renewed silence in the chamber was broken by the crunch of glass underfoot, announcing the arrival of more figures. Malbonte looked up to see the formerly dead Lucifer, Satan, Fencio, and Torendo stepping through the wreckage of the chamber's entrance, evidently plucked from nonexistence by Plague. Now that was a twist Malbonte had not foreseen.
Plague's eyes sparkled with excitement as she turned to face them. "Shall we play?" she asked, her tone gleeful.
Then, with a sudden snap in yet another quicksilver turn of her mood, she swept her arm across the room and commanded, "Throw them all into the dungeons!"
Her retinue of resurrected henchmen moved to obey, though none dared approach Malbonte. He watched helplessly as Vicky was dragged away, his heart clenched in fury and frustration. But at least she was alive. For now.
Plague approached him then, her gaze intense as she circled him like an appraiser assessing a commodity, her eyes shining with twisted amusement.
"The infamous Malbonte…" she murmured, contempt dripping in every syllable. "I expected more from the great liberator of demons and half-breeds. Is it that you didn't fight me because you're too weak?" She tilted her head, studying him like a cat would its prey. "Or perhaps," she purred, "you'd rather stand by my side?"
Malbonte met her gaze without flinching. "I'm willing to help you," he replied, his tone even.
Plague smiled cruelly. "Why would I need your help, pup?"
Malbonte's lips twisted at the deliberate taunt, but he ignored the jab and replied, "Because out of everyone here, I'm the only one best positioned to help you find everything you need. I ruled Heaven and Hell for ten years."
Plague's eyes sparked with interest. "It's good you acknowledge that your rule is at an end," she said, licking her lips. "Very well. I'll allow you to help me, pup." She stressed the last word to reiterate the power she held over him. Then, an ugly smile contorted her face. "But if you betray me, I'll crush you beneath my heel like the vermin you are."
Malbonte allowed a small, tight smile to tug at his lips—calculated, controlled. The smile didn't reach his eyes. Inside, his disgust simmered, but he kept it buried beneath layers of careful deceit. He had to play this game carefully. For now, he would work with Plague, but his true goal hadn't changed—he would destroy Shephamalum, and Plague along with him.
*—*
The dungeon at the base of the Council buildings was a dank labyrinth, void of light save for the occasional flickering torch casting long, ominous shadows. The air reeked of decay and was thick with the oppressive weight of power-dampening spells. As Malbonte walked the narrow corridor, the cold stone walls seemed to press in on him, the gravity of what lay ahead weighing heavily on his mind.
This was the first time in months that Malbonte had managed to slip away from Plague and her ever-watchful minions to visit Vicky. When Plague first discovered their decade-long relationship, she had lashed out, demanding answers, unwilling to accept that a former human had risen to such heights. Malbonte had barely convinced her that their ruling partnership had been purely pragmatic and largely based on Shepha's wishes, and that their personal relationship was merely a convenience. It wasn't like Plague could call on Shepha to verify his claim—she had killed the god, after all. Moreover, Malbonte had proved too useful to Plague for her to escalate the situation further. She had, however, extended Vicky's imprisonment beyond that of other strategic prisoners like Mimi and Dino, who were now more or less free and outwardly obedient to Plague.
The only thing that had stayed Plague's hand from killing Vicky outright was the discovery of her vital role in the grand design—her link to the Book of Life. The Mother of Life, a sentient manifestation of the Universe, had been chained up by Shepha and Shephamalum in the distant past. Plague's goal was to break the seven seals of the book and liberate the Mother.
However, only half-breeds, who held the power of both Light and Darkness within them, could break the seals binding the Book of Life. Plague herself had been released when the first seal was broken by Titu, a half-breed child summoned from nonexistence by Torendo through the Mirror of Nonexistence. The seal to release Death had called to Malbonte—Shephamalum had ensured this by the relentless torture he had subjected him to.
When Plague discovered that hundreds of half-breeds were hidden in Hell's Catacombs under Sonnelion's protection, she ordered a search to find candidates capable of breaking the remaining five seals. But only two—Astaroth and Christopher, twin siblings—had been chosen by the Book. The rest were rejected.
In an unexpected twist, the Book had reacted to Vicky's aura, though not as strongly as it had to the half-breeds. While she wasn't a half-breed herself, the diluted immortal blood of angels and demons still flowed through her veins, passed down through generations of her human ancestors. This explained the weaker response. The situation was precarious—Vicky might not have the strength to break the seal on her own. If she failed, Plague would kill her, or she might die in the attempt.
In a moment of inspiration, Malbonte had suggested having Vicky and her mother, Rebecca, work together to break the seal. Combined, their power would be enough to succeed. Plague agreed, if only because finding suitable candidates had proven difficult. Malbonte received this news with grim satisfaction. It secured Vicky's survival for now, though Plague would keep a tight hold on her. But Malbonte would remain ever vigilant.
Why bother, my boy… Shephamalum's voice slithered through his mind, mocking him as his footsteps echoed in the stone corridors. Have you grown too sentimental in your freedom? Malbonte clenched his jaw, not reacting otherwise. As a favor to you, I'll even spare her life once I am free, and give you my blessing to be together.
Malbonte scoffed and pushed the whispers back with difficulty. He had no illusions about any future with Vicky. She was the one being he still cared about, and he would ensure her survival. He owed her that much. But their relationship? That was over. She was now his greatest weakness—the easiest target for Plague. And beyond that, Vicky would hate him once she understood the full extent of his plans.
He felt her energy before he reached the door to her cell—weak, flickering, but still there. As the door creaked open, the sight before him tore through him like a sharp blade.
Vicky was a hollow shell of herself. The vitality that had once radiated from her was gone. She was emaciated from starvation, her wrists and ankles bruised and raw from the power-suppressing shackles. Her once-bright eyes were now dull, barely registering him as he stepped inside. The sour scent of decay clung to the damp air, crawling into his lungs with each breath.
How had he let this happen?
Malbonte stood frozen for a long moment, rage and guilt clashing violently inside him. Then she looked up, somehow alerted to his presence.
Her voice barely a whisper, she murmured, "It's you…"
The quiet wonder in her voice shattered Malbonte's defenses. He knelt beside her.
"Yes," he whispered, his voice cracking with the effort to hold back the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
Vicky tried to lift her hand, her fingers twitching weakly, but the heavy iron shackles weighed her down. No more words came. Malbonte's heart twisted painfully. He could feel her struggling for breath, her head tilting ever so slightly toward him. He gently laid his hand over her chest, feeling the faint thrum of her heartbeat. She was cold—far colder than he'd expected. He let a sliver of his power flow into her.
It was dangerous—Plague could never know—but leaving her like this wasn't an option. Vicky shuddered as the energy coursed through her, her body trembling as warmth seeped back into her limbs. She sighed softly, her head falling limply against his hand, but he could feel the faint spark of life rekindling within her. Her eyes fluttered open, her voice no more than a rasp.
"You're so warm…" A fragile smile touched her lips, barely there, but it sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing over him.
She leaned into his touch, instinctively seeking his warmth, her head resting fully in his hand. Malbonte allowed himself to stay like that for a long moment, savoring the connection, knowing it might be one of the last times he could offer her comfort. He wanted to tear off the shackles, destroy the walls, and fly her to safety, but the game he was playing demanded patience. He needed to bide his time.
"You'll be free soon," he promised, though his heart ached with the knowledge of how little he could offer right now.
Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled his hand away, watching as her face twisted in pain from the loss of his warmth. He stood, the weight of his decisions pressing down on him like a leaden shroud.
"Hold on," he whispered, though the words were as much for himself as for her.
With one final glance, Malbonte turned and left the cell, closing the door quietly behind him. Each step away from her felt like a betrayal, but in order to win, he had to play his role perfectly.
*—*
Malbonte stood beside Plague in the grand council chamber, casting a quick glance at the horsewoman perched imperiously on the throne he had once occupied. Her sharp eyes, full of calculating malice, swept across the room, gloating in the hopeless misery of the assembled immortals. She thrived on their despair, like a predator savoring the scent of helpless prey.
Malbonte's eyes swiveled to the door as they opened and Vicky was led into the chamber by Pike. Tension knotted in his chest the moment she appeared—pale, fragile, but freshly showered, her clean clothes hanging loosely over her skeletal frame like a shroud. Her steps wavered, as though the ground beneath her was uncertain, and damp strands of hair clung to her hollowed cheeks. Malbonte forced himself into stillness, swallowing the surge of guilt that gnawed at him, suppressing the pain of seeing her so diminished from the vibrant woman she once was.
Vicky was ushered forward, her eyes scanning the room, confusion clouding her expression. Malbonte could see her trying to piece together why these powerful immortals deferred to Plague. Her long imprisonment had dulled her senses, and although the shackles had been removed, she hadn't yet recovered. She was still too weak to recognize the intricate web of manipulation Plague had spun, exploiting everyone's deepest weaknesses.
Vicky's gaze locked onto his for a brief moment, and she stumbled. Pike, the acolyte who had brought her in, caught her just before she could fall. Her body sagged against him, unable to stand on her own. Malbonte kept his face an indifferent mask, though the knot in his chest tightened painfully.
Plague leapt up from her throne, pressing her clasped hands to her lips with exaggerated joy. "Oh, my little bird! I can't even tell you're immortal! You've lost so much weight," she smirked. "You aren't such perfect creatures after all."
Malbonte responded dryly, "She was imprisoned without food or water for three months. It's no wonder."
Vicky's eyes shot to him, burning with fury and confusion. Behind them, he could see the hurt caused by his cold indifference. Thankfully, she didn't seem to remember his visit to the dungeon.
"So, did the little bird like her cage? Or is she ready to spread her wings?" Plague mocked.
"If not for the chains, it wouldn't be so bad," Vicky rasped, the familiar spark of defiance lighting in her eyes.
Plague burst into laughter, reveling in Vicky's resistance. She particularly enjoyed it when people defied her, as it made their later submission all the more satisfying.
Vicky straightened herself, pulling away from Pike, though she wobbled precariously. She turned to Malbonte, her voice edged with challenge. "You're stronger than many. Why don't you fight back?"
Malbonte remained silent, his face impassive. Plague was the kind of enemy Vicky had never encountered before, and therefore did not understand. Open resistance didn't work with such beings. When you were used to dealing with gods who were many magnitudes more powerful than you, you learned how to bide your time—as he had with Shephamalum. Vicky hadn't learned that lesson yet.
Plague twirled a lock of hair around her finger, feigning thoughtfulness. "Of course, Malbonte's strong, but he's still nothing like me."
Vicky tried to take a few more steps forward but stumbled again, collapsing onto one knee. Plague chuckled softly, watching as Vicky's frail body trembled with the effort of trying to rise.
Malbonte's resolve cracked. He couldn't bear to remain still any longer. What kind of coward would he be if he continued to let Plague gloat over Vicky's misery and humiliation? He strode toward Vicky and extended his hand. Their eyes met—their connection surged, freezing them both in place for several long seconds.
Plague slammed her hands down on the armrests, her voice sharp with fury. "Did I give you permission to help her?!"
Malbonte didn't move, keeping his gaze fixed on Vicky. "You're getting too worked up," he replied coldly. "There are things we must do. I don't want to waste time on her."
Plague grumbled, settling back in her seat. "Such a responsible pup."
Malbonte's hands flexed at his sides, the desire to lash out simmering just beneath the surface. He watched as Vicky tried once more to rise on her own. Not wanting to test Plague's patience further, he grasped her elbow and pulled her up, the jolt of contact reverberating through his entire body. Her skin felt cold, too fragile under his touch. He held on longer than necessary, as if reluctant to let her go. Then, abruptly recalling himself to the present situation, he withdrew and returned to his place beside Plague.
"Are you done?" he asked, framing his interference as impatience with her games.
Plague's eyes narrowed at him, but she didn't press further. "Don't tell me what to do. Let me have my fun."
As he sat, Malbonte and Plague exchanged a heated glance, neither bothering to hide the hatred between them. There was no pretense in their relationship. The others in the room were bound by Plague's invisible chains, forced to comply to protect their lives or the lives of their loved ones. But not Malbonte. He had chosen this path, offered himself as a willing pawn, and had already proved his value. The only other exception was Torendo, who was playing a similar game, secretly working to free Shephamalum. But unlike Malbonte, Torendo was entirely Shephamalum's man. And though Malbonte held his ground beside Plague, he knew he was walking a fine line—one that kept him dancing on a knife's edge, precariously balanced at the mercy of a madwoman.
Vicky turned to Malbonte, her eyes blazing with disappointment. "You were a ruler, and now you're her pup. How is this possible? I don't recognize you."
With an aloof, impenetrable tone, Malbonte responded, "You're naive and foolish. Keep talking, and you'll end up with more than just a leash. Maybe you might even get a muzzle."
Vicky gaped, pain and disbelief etched in her countenance. He had never spoken to her with such callous cruelty even when they had been on opposing sides. A bitter taste settled in his throat, but this was necessary. He needed her to grasp the precariousness of her situation.
Plague gave a rapturous sigh of near orgasmic delight.
"Such a bad boy," she purred in approval. She then rose from her throne and approached Vicky with a catlike, playful gait. "Now everything has changed, little bird. You'll have to obey," she circled Vicky to stand just behind her.
"A few rats may have escaped the ship and hidden away, but they are no hindrance to me."
Plague's tongue flicked over Vicky's earlobe in a slow, deliberate mockery of intimacy, before pulling away with a dark, gleeful laugh.
Vicky recoiled in disgust, wiping her ear, but she continued to argue with Plague, unwilling to believe that the entire immortal world had, at least outwardly, surrendered and bent the knee to the horsewoman. Her initial confusion gradually hardened into determination.
Malbonte knew her well enough to sense when she was about to act. That shift in her demeanor set off alarm bells in his head. Don't! Not here… Not now…
But Vicky was already tapping into his power. Malbonte could feel the dark tendrils winding through her veins, calling out to him, soaking into her very bones, turning her eyes pitch black. The energy urged him to reconnect with the sundered part of his essence, tempting him to move in synchrony with its rhythm. Every instinct in him screamed to intervene, to stop her, but he held back, fully aware of the consequences that would follow if he acted.
Plague narrowly dodged Vicky's attack, but it grazed her cheek, the minor injury healing almost instantly. Vicky, drained of all energy, collapsed to her knees once more.
Plague laughed. "How cute," she taunted, her voice dripping with sickly sweetness. She turned toward Malbonte, a new glint in her eyes. She had recognized his energy. The last time Vicky had tried to harness his power, it hadn't registered with Plague as Malbonte's since he hadn't wielded it directly. But now, after studying his aura more closely, she had come to recognize its unmistakable signature.
"I don't know how I didn't realize it right away…but there can be no doubt." Her eyes flicked to Vicky before turning back to Malbonte and demanding, "Why didn't you tell me that she has your power?"
Malbonte pursed his lips and looked at Vicky with bitter condemnation at her rashness and pride in challenging Plague.
Plague's voice grew menacing. "You need to get it back. I need strong helpers. What do you say?"
Malbonte reluctantly replied, "I will say that I have long wanted to get my power back, but I didn't know how." It wasn't exactly a lie, though it had been years since he had truly wanted his powers returned.
"No problem, pup. You could've just asked."
Every time Plague called him 'pup,' the word grated against his very bones. It was a calculated jab, a reminder of the power she wielded over him, but he swallowed his fury, burying it deep as he always had.
Plague approached Vicky and pressed her hand to her forehead with such force that Vicky staggered, her head tilting back.
"No!" Vicky tried to pull away, but Plague's grip was relentless, her other hand quickly securing Vicky's head in place. Desperation filled Vicky's eyes as she turned toward Malbonte, pleading for help, but he remained tight-lipped, forcing himself into cold silence. Every ounce of restraint was required to keep from intervening. He had warned her not to use his power, but he hadn't explained why. The secrets he had kept from her—the things he couldn't say—had prevented him from being more explicit. Now, he was about to witness the bitter consequences of those omissions.
Plague's fingers dug mercilessly into Vicky's jaw, her grip tightening with sadistic pleasure as she forced Vicky's head upward. "This will hurt," she said, her voice a mix of delight and cruelty, reveling in the misery she was about to inflict. Vicky trembled like a bird caught in a net, her wings fluttering helplessly.
"Don't look so surprised, little bird. You knew this was coming," Plague whispered, her breath hot against Vicky's skin before the agony began.
Vicky's guttural screams echoed through the chamber, her body convulsing violently as the horsewoman extracted the dark power from Vicky's forehead with unrestrained glee. With agonizing slowness, the thread of Malbonte's essence unraveled and slithered back into him, piercing his chest like molten iron, searing into his veins with raw, untamed energy. Malbonte shuddered as he felt the full force of his own powers for the first time. Yet, it didn't feel like victory. It was his energy, but the weight of it was like an unrelenting chain tightening around him. With each pulse of returning strength, it felt like a vital part of himself—the part that had been tied to Vicky—was slipping away. As the connection between them finally snapped and Vicky slumped to the ground in slow motion, an unbearable emptiness crashed into him, utterly paralyzing in its finality.
He caught Vicky's elbow as she fell, raising her and supporting her weight with his arm. Their eyes met, and hers blazed with fury—her anger and pain a stark reflection of the betrayal she felt.
In that moment, Malbonte finally understood why he had never sought to reclaim his powers from Vicky in all the years they had been together. It hadn't just been about the power itself—it was about the bond, the connection that had formed between them, grounding him in ways he hadn't fully recognized. That connection had reassured him, tethering him to her warmth and presence, even in the quiet moments when he wasn't consciously aware of it. Now, with that bond severed, it was as though a vital part of his soul had been ripped away, leaving him adrift in an empty void.
The loss was immediate and visceral, as if the very foundation that had kept him steady had crumbled beneath his feet. He had always known their bond was special and unique, but only now did he realize how much of his own being had been intertwined with hers, and how perfectly she balanced his darkness. Now, all he was left with was the raw, untamed force of his power, surging through him like a tempest, unmoored and destructive.
His gaze remained fixed on Vicky's, and fresh waves of guilt crashed over him. He had done this to her. He had withheld the truth, had kept her in the dark about the real dangers of wielding his power under the new circumstances. And now, he was paying the price for that failure, watching helplessly as she suffered for his choices.
There was no going back now. He couldn't undo what had been done. The weight of his decisions, of the path he had chosen, pressed down on him like a leaden shroud, suffocating and final. He could feel the darkness clawing at the edges of his mind, whispering that this was the inevitable outcome—that he had been a fool to believe he could have ever kept her safe. Shephamalum's sinister murmurs grew sharper, like a thousand needles pricking his skin.
But even in the midst of his tumult, Malbonte's resolve solidified. He hadn't lost his will to fight; if anything, the loss sharpened his determination. Shaking off the cloud of despair—sweet fuel for Plague—he vowed to keep Vicky safe, no matter the cost. And he would see his original goal through to the end—destroying Shephamalum. He was back where he had begun, and this time, the stakes were final.