Malbonte lay sprawled on the ground, arms and legs outstretched, gazing at the sky. The clouds drifted lazily, mirroring the boredom he felt. Months had passed in the maze, broken only by occasional visits from his parents. The memory of the solstice festival haunted him—a moment of terror, a burst of uncontrollable power. He knew he had done something terrible, though he hadn't meant to. His parents didn't say the maze was his punishment, but Malbonte couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps it was. He saw the worry etched on their faces, even though they never spoke of it directly.
The patter of small feet approached, disrupting his thoughts. He turned to see a little girl standing over him, her face filled with curiosity.
Malbonte bolted upright. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" she retorted.
"I have to be here."
"That means I have to be here too," she repeated, playfully.
"You're stupid," Malbonte snapped.
"And you're mean!" she shot back.
Her words hit him like a slap. He flinched, sudden tears welling up. "I'm not…"
The girl immediately turned contrite. "Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you!" She stretched out her pinky, her voice softening. "Eragon says that's what they do on Earth when they want to make up."
Malbonte stared at her outstretched finger, confused. After a moment of hesitation, he lifted his hand and hooked his pinky with hers.
"Okay," he muttered.
They shook, sealing the truce with the strange earthly tradition.
"How nice," a voice interrupted.
Both turned as a woman emerged from around the corner, her dress swishing softly as she moved.
"Who is this, Bont?" she asked, her voice sharp, concerned.
"I don't know," Malbonte replied.
The woman's eyes widened as recognition dawned. She stepped forward, grabbing the girl's hand with urgency. "You're Eragon's sister."
"And you're the mother of Mal-bon-te!" the girl countered, still playful.
"Yes, she's my mother. So what?" Malbonte said defensively.
The woman gasped, horror flickering across her face. "Be quiet, Bont! What have you done?"
The girl yanked her hand back, glaring at the woman. "My brother will get angry. Do you know how powerful he is?"
Malbonte's mother fell to her knees, gripping the girl by the shoulders. Her voice trembled as she pleaded. "Please, can you keep it a secret that you saw Bont here?"
"My name is Malbonte!" he said, frustrated at his mother's insistence on calling him Bont.
"Not now, Bont!" she snapped, before turning back to the girl. Her eyes were wide, desperate, imploring. "Will you keep it a secret? Please?"
Heavy footsteps cut through the tense air. The woman froze, her body stiffening as she turned toward the source. Relief and fear warred in her features as a demon stepped into the clearing.
"She won't keep secrets," the demon said, his voice laden with a deadly finality.
***—***
Malbonte sat at the massive oak desk in his office, surrounded by a controlled chaos of maps, scrolls, and open books—some abandoned mid-inquiry, their pages marked by hastily scrawled annotations. The clutter mirrored his mind: methodical in its disarray.
His quill hovered over a blank parchment in front of him, the ink pooling at its tip. His lips curled into a faint smile as he started writing, each pen stroke a promise of reckoning:
"I do not desire war. But there is no cure for a fish that rots from the head down. All that remains is to cut its head off. I have warned all who bear this decay. You are not exempt. I will cleanse your souls with blood."
Satisfied, Malbonte signed it and set the quill down.
"Why are you warning them?" Austie asked, interested. She had been silently reading over his shoulder as he wrote.
Malbonte leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly against the wood. "It's not just a warning—it's a declaration," he said. "A herald of the new order. One that begins with fire and blood."
With a flick of his wrist, he murmured an incantation that transposed the words he had just written onto a stack of parchments on the desk, each addressed to Heaven and Hell's most prominent leaders.
"Besides," he turned to look at her and smirked, "I'm curious to see what kind of lice start scurrying out of the woodwork when tossed into the firepit."
He stood and approached the summoning circle Fencio had chalked earlier onto the stone floor. His fingers wove through the air, shadows coiling around them like living tendrils. The sigils on the pattern flared to life; the air thickened with energy as he spoke in the language of darkness:
"ROKKOTO ENIRVAS!"
The summoning was swift. The air rippled, and one by one, subantras emerged—beings of haunting beauty and primal violence. Their forms were a chilling blend of plant and predator, their eyeless faces twisted in perpetual snarls. Legends spoke of their creation through a dark ritual meant to resurrect a dead lover—a ritual that had gone catastrophically wrong.
The foliage-like armor of the creatures shimmered with hues of green, pink, and gray, and stingers tipped their powerful tails. They moved with predatory grace, their talons clicking against the stone floor, filling the room with menace. One tilted its head, brushing the edge of the summoning circle with a claw, as if awaiting instruction.
Malbonte stepped forward. The creatures invoked no fear in him. Speaking in the language of darkness once again, he handed them the prepared scrolls. The creatures took them with surprising care, and bowed before dissolving into tendrils of shadow that vanished into thin air.
"What did you tell them?" Austie asked, her voice a mix of fear and awe.
"They'll deliver my message to the rotting heads," Malbonte replied coolly. "And when they return, so will the rest of their flock."
He turned to the window, scanning the camp below. Soldiers moved with quiet efficiency, the new paddock and stables prepared for the subantras standing ready. Reinforced with ironwood and layered with containment sigils, the structures were designed to withstand the creatures' immense power.
As dusk fell, the subantras returned in droves, their arrival sending ripples of unease and excitement throughout the camp. Soldiers paused their tasks, watching with a mix of dread and fascination as the creatures landed with predatory elegance.
Malbonte emerged from his chambers, his maroon wings cutting a striking silhouette against the twilight. He approached the creatures and spoke commandingly in the dark tongue. The subantras shifted subtly, bowing their heads in unison before moving into the paddock obediently. The onlookers remained silent until the last subantra had entered and the gates were shut and securely latched.
"These creatures are bound to my will," Malbonte declared. "Stay away from them, and they won't harm you."
As he returned to his chambers, the camp buzzed with renewed energy. Demons were no strangers to monstrous beings, but the subantras invoked a primordial terror that could not be easily dismissed. Their presence served as a stark reminder of their leader's undeniable power—a fact that emboldened his followers while deepening their uneasy respect.
***—***
That night, as sleep claimed him, Malbonte was pulled into another vision. This one was different; it carried a vividness, an immediacy that left no doubt—it was unfolding in the present.
He was in a dimly lit bedroom, two canopy beds set on either side. One sleeper lay undisturbed, their breaths soft and rhythmic, but his gaze locked onto the other. Rapunzel was awake, staring directly at the corner where he stood, as if waiting for him.
Seeing her again sent a maelstrom of emotions vying for dominance—rage, curiosity, and something unwelcome, a vestige of Bont's lingering affection. He shoved the latter aside, unwilling to give it space. He crossed the room in a blur, the space between them closing in an instant.
He reached her bed, clamping his hand firmly over her mouth before she could cry out. His weight pressed her into the mattress, and he could feel the thrumming power emanating from her—his power. It confirmed what he already suspected.
"Why did you steal my powers?" he demanded, his voice low, intense. "Why are you sending me visions?"
Rapunzel's wide, terrified eyes locked with his. Her body trembled beneath him like a trapped butterfly, breaths shallow and frantic. In that moment, she didn't seem like a powerful sorceress capable of absorbing his energy and wielding it to kill Satan. She looked helpless. Mortal.
Her terror should have pleased him. Instead, it left him feeling unsettled. And then, unbidden and unwelcome, one of Bont's memories surged to the forefront of his mind. He remembered the ballroom, remembered Rapunzel beneath him, her breath hitching as he kissed her, her soft laughter echoing like a melody. The memory ignited a sudden, disorienting heat, his pulse quickening as though his body conspired against him.
Malbonte recoiled. He released his grip on Rapunzel and stumbled back into the shadows, retreating from both the vision and the torrent of sensations overwhelming him.
He was back in his bed, breathing hard and trembling from his visceral reaction to Bont's memories of their affectionate intimacy.
Rapunzel's terrified face lingered in his mind, a reflection of the monster she must see him as. A flicker of shame crept through him at the way he had confronted her. But the vision had been unexpected and his temper had gotten the better of him.
Malbonte sank back onto his pillows, and stared at the glowing embers in the fireplace. He attempted to calm his mind and rationally analyze the encounter. The more he thought about her reaction, the less likely it seemed that she had stolen his powers intentionally. She was no Fidero. She was a girl caught in circumstances she couldn't possibly understand, let alone exploit.
At the moment of the ritual, he, Rapunzel, and Lucifer had been mere pulses of raw energy; interconnected vessels, capable of transferring energies back-and-forth. Could her absorption of his powers have been accidental, due to their shared bloodline? After all, none of his powers had transferred to Lucifer, despite the demon's involvement in the ritual.
Every curse, every enchantment, had a counter-spell. It came into being the very instant a spell or curse was cast, obeying a cosmic law of balance. Malbonte had spent centuries piecing together the conditions for his own release, painstakingly unraveling the web of enchantments that had bound him. It had been no small feat. One of the keys had been "the blood of a daughter of a Seraph born on earth"—a rare and vital ingredient.
Malbonte had planted moles at the Citadel, setting them to track the lineages of mortal descendants of fallen immortals through the records at the Memory Islands. When he learned of the death of a mortal descendant in his own bloodline who had been accepted into the Academy, leaving behind a daughter on Earth, he knew his time had come at last.
Malbonte had observed Rebecca's drive and ambition with satisfaction. His plan had unfolded perfectly. He had manipulated events to elevate Rebecca to the position of a Seraph, ensuring her daughter would meet the conditions for the ritual. It wasn't an outcome he could have replicated easily; only someone of immortal lineage could have reached such heights as an Unclaimed. Otherwise, he could have pulled off a similar maneuver many times over in the past centuries.
The ritual had worked, and yet… something had gone wrong, resulting in the partial transfer of his powers. The sheer magnitude of the dark energy ought to have obliterated Rapunzel—it would have destroyed even a birthright demon.
Yet, not only had she survived, she had thrived. She had wielded that stolen energy to kill Satan himself—a feat that drew a snort of dark amusement from Malbonte. The late Satan, with his arrogance and vanity, would have demanded exhorbitant concessions in exchange for his cooperation. Malbonte was well rid of him. Besides, instituting change in Hell would be far easier with a new leader at the helm. Especially someone who was receptive to ideas of balance.
Still, the anomaly rankled. Why had his power transferred to her? Why hadn't it destroyed her? And, more pressingly, what was causing these visions linking their minds across time and distance?
***—***
Three demons stood motionless before Malbonte in his office, their postures erect, their gazes flitting between him and the chaotic tableau on his desk. Maps, scrolls, and battle plans were laid out with figurines of demons and angels marking strategic locations. Red ink traced supply routes and marked fortifications.
Malbonte's maroon wings shifted slightly as he leaned over the desk, his eyes scanning every detail with cold precision.
"There is only one thing that interests me," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "Victory. And there are only two things that will bring it to me." He straightened, his gaze turning toward the shadowy corner in the room. "Tell me, is there anything new you can offer?"
The question wasn't meant for the demons in front of him. It was directed at the figure lingering, watching from the shadows. A moment later, Fencio stepped into the light. His face was a mask of calm, but his eyes betrayed the simmering bitterness that always lurked within.
"The Academy," Fencio began. "We should cut off their provision routes. Starve them into irrelevance."
Malbonte didn't respond immediately. His dark eyes fixed on Fencio, gauging. "Why would I waste my time on the Academy?" he asked, his voice scornful. "The Citadel is what matters. Not that insignificant kennel."
Fencio's jaw tightened, but he persisted. "A puppy may be small, but even he can gnaw at you if he's furious and cunning," he replied smoothly. "It's better to let him become so weak that he can't bite."
Malbonte's lips curled in a cruel smile, dark amusement glinting in his eyes. He stepped around the desk and closer to Fencio, his wings fluffing as if to remind the angel of the entity standing before him. "I like your rage, Fencio," he said, his voice a low, menacing purr. "It drives you, fuels you, makes you useful to me." He paused, his smile fading into something colder. "But remember: the moment that rage consumes you, the moment it becomes a hindrance…" His voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken threat hanging in the air.
"I know," Fencio replied, his voice tight, fully cognizant of the precariousness of his position.
Malbonte studied him for a moment longer, then turned his attention back to the desk. His gaze swept over the maps again, his fingers tracing the red lines marking the Academy's supply routes. Finally, Malbonte gave a sharp nod. "Cut off the provision routes."
Fencio wisely kept his silence. Malbonte, however, saw far beyond the angel's personal agenda. He wasn't simply indulging Fencio's whims. Targeting the Academy was merely a single step in his grander game, a calculated move to weaken his enemies in the chessboard of war.
***—***
That night, Malbonte felt the now-familiar pull of another vision. This time, he did not resist. The world around him shifted, and he found himself at the Academy in real-time again.
He didn't enter Rapunzel's room, but hovered in the shadows of the building across from hers. She appeared at her window, her gaze scanning the night. She must have sensed his presence.
Malbonte stepped partially into the light, his form illuminated just enough for her to see. Her eyes locked onto his and widened slightly in recognition. For a moment, neither moved. A tangible tension stretched like an invisible cord between them. He half-expected her to cry out and summon the Academy's defenses against him.
But she didn't.
She flew out to meet him. Without question or hesitation, she followed as he led her to a secluded gazebo nestled within the grounds. Malbonte couldn't help but wonder: where did this sudden trust come from? Did she feel the same inexplicable pull that he did?
For several moments, they stood looking at each other in silence. The moonlight cast an ethereal glow on her delicate features, highlighting the tension in her expression. Her eyes held a mix of defiance and unease, her posture betraying a wariness she couldn't quite mask.
She shivered and broke the silence. "They could spot you," she said softly. "If you think I'll hide you—"
"You must return my powers to me," Malbonte interrupted her.
Her eyes widened. "I don't know how."
"You could die," he said bluntly. "This power is too great for an unclaimed."
"Or I could destroy you," Rapunzel snapped, then recoiled as though surprised at her own boldness.
"I don't think that is possible," he scoffed, then took a step forward.
Instinctively, Rapunzel retreated a step, her arms wrapping around herself. "I don't know how to return your power," she repeated. "Stop coming to me at night."
Malbonte noticed the slight tremor in her voice and body. He took another deliberate step forward, closing the distance between them. "You're afraid of me."
She glared. "Aren't you clever?" she asked and took another step backward.
Malbonte gave her a searching look. "Then why don't you scream? Why don't you run from me?"
The question hung in the air. Malbonte advanced closer; Rapunzel backed away until her shoulders hit a column of the gazebo. Cornered, she straightened up, attempting to mask her fear with bravado.
"I know you won't touch me," she whispered. "You need me."
Malbonte tilted his head, studying her. His eyes roamed over her figure, lingering on the way her delicate nightgown molded alluringly to her curves. His breath hitched, remembering the sight of her naked breasts. The outline of their peaks strained enticingly against the flimsy fabric like ripe berries ready to be plucked. He was seized with the desire to bend down and suck on them, he would swirl his tongue around the pebbled ridges through the fabric of her gown and gently bite down…
Malbonte clenched his fists, fighting to suppress the intrusive thoughts.
"Not that much," he murmured, dragging his eyes up to her face with difficulty. "My power flows in both of us. It draws me here time after time seeking to connect with you."
Rapunzel blushed. "What do you mean by connect?"
"I don't know," he admitted, his voice dipping low. "I don't know how to get my power back. Maybe that means killing you." The words were meant to intimidate, but his hand betrayed him; it reached automatically to brush against her cheek. Rapunzel inhaled sharply. He grasped her chin, tilting her head so she had to meet his gaze. She blushed harder.
"Or maybe something else…" His voice deepened as his eyes dropped to her lips. She trembled under his touch, but did not lower her eyes or attempt to free herself. He felt the overwhelming urge to kiss her—to see if her lips tasted as sweet as the times he remembered kissing her as Bont.
Coming to his senses, Malbonte abruptly let her go and stepped back into the shadows. Without another word, he willed himself out of the vision, the gazebo, and Rapunzel.
He was back in bed, panting. Something had changed between his first and second vision-induced visit to the Academy. There was something new and elusive in Rapunzel's manner that confused and excited him. A hint of…intimacy, perhaps?
Had she experienced visions of his past? Perhaps the vision at the cliff's edge? The idea unsettled him. He had never expected anyone to witness those moments of his pain and torment. They were his alone, locked away for centuries.
And yet, the revelations weren't one-sided. Only days earlier, he had seen Rapunzel as a young girl, completely absorbed in painting. The subject of her art was nothing extraordinary—a still life of simple objects—but the way she worked, the splash of colors skillfully blended by deft brushstrokes, breathed life into the mundane. Her passion had mesmerized him.
Did she feel the same mix of intrusion and interest when seeing his memories? The same unsettling pull? The questions accumulated, stirring up emotions he did not want to entertain. He tried to push them aside and harden his resolve. Yes, she had been the vehicle of his freedom in more ways than one, but that did not change anything. He needed to focus on retrieving what was his and not lose himself in foolish daydreams.
***—***
The sortie that had set out to steal the Academy's food supplies had returned empty-handed. Across from him stood Safrai, an archdemon with sharp, angular features. His head was bowed, his hands clasped tightly behind his back as though to steady his nerves.
"Explain," Malbonte demanded, his voice as sharp as a whipcrack.
Safrai swallowed hard. "My lord, we reached the supply cache as planned. But—" He hesitated, the words catching in his throat under Malbonte's piercing glare. "The pallets were empty. By the time we realized they were decoys, the real cache was nowhere to be found. We searched the surrounding area for tracks or magical traces, but there was nothing. It was as if they knew we were coming."
Heavy silence blanketed the room. Malbonte's gaze bore into Safrai, who shifted uneasily but dared not look away. Slowly, Malbonte turned to the map on the table, his fingers tracing the carefully marked route in crimson ink, now a mocking symbol of failure. The countermove was too precise to be coincidental.
"Leave," he said finally, his tone icy. Safrai hesitated for a fraction of a second before bowing deeply and retreating.
Once alone, Malbonte stared at the map unseeingly, his mind going through the possibilities. Was there a traitor in his ranks, who was feeding information to the Academy? Or…was it something more insidious? The memories of his recent visions surfaced unexpectedly.
He sucked in a sharp breath. If the visions were a two-way connection as he suspected, then Rapunzel was not merely a passive observer of his past, but also of the present. She could act. React. Warn.
Could she have overheard his strategy for intercepting the supply lines during a vision? The idea was both infuriating and intriguing. This connection between them, unbidden and unwanted, was growing more potent and dangerous by the day.
The door creaked open, and Fencio entered, his eyes gleaming. "My lord," he began, a suppressed excitement evident in his tone, "there is news."
Malbonte silently indicated for him to continue.
Fencio stepped closer, his voice dropping slightly as though the walls themselves might listen. "Seraph Crowley has reached out. He wishes to act as an informant."
Crowley—the former Principal of the Academy who had, from reports, been forcibly replaced by Rebecca. Malbonte's lips curved into a cold, dangerous smile. The game pieces were shifting into position.
"Excellent," Malbonte said crisply. "Let's see how useful a deposed head can be."
Fencio bowed deeply, satisfaction written all over his face as he turned to leave. Malbonte's sharp voice halted him.
"You seem particularly pleased, Fencio," Malbonte observed, coolly. "Do you enjoy seeing Rebecca's former mentor betraying her?"
Fencio straightened, his expression slipping into something darker. "I do," he admitted. "She betrayed everyone who ever supported her. It's fitting that Crowley, of all people, should turn against her now. It's poetic justice."
Malbonte let the words hang in the air. Then, he leaned forward, his wings shifting behind him. "Justice has nothing to do with your satisfaction, Fencio. Revenge is sweet, but it clouds your judgment if left to flourish unchecked. Crowley's betrayal is an opportunity, not just a vendetta for you to settle."
Fencio's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "I understand."
"Good," Malbonte said with a faint smile. "Now go. I expect a full report on what Crowley offers."
Fencio bowed again and left the room. As the door closed behind him, Malbonte sat back, a glint of amusement in his eyes. Fencio's reaction to Crowley's offer was predictable, but it was also an indication of his fixation on Rebecca. Hatred had its uses, but only when properly directed. The man's usefulness had its limits, and Malbonte had no qualms about disposing of him before those limits were reached.
Turning back to the map, Malbonte sharpened his focus. He had not foreseen the broader implications of his shared visions with Rapunzel. She might have been a factor in this failure, but if Rapunzel thought she could thwart him with her stolen insights and stolen powers, she would soon learn that his resolve was far stronger than hers. He would not make the same mistake twice.
***—***