The Traitor's Gambit

Idris walked slowly through the vibrant streets of Eridoria, the sun casting golden rays that danced upon the cobblestones beneath his feet. The air was thick with the sounds of laughter and chatter, a symphony of life that filled the bustling market square. Children darted between stalls, their exuberant shrieks mingling with the calls of vendors hawking their wares—fresh fruits, glistening fabrics, and shimmering trinkets that caught the light like the stars he once soared among.

He paused, momentarily lost in the scene. A woman with a basket of ripe pomegranates smiled at him, while a group of guards, their armor gleaming in the sun, strolled by with an air of authority. Idris felt warmth on his skin, but a chill settled in his heart, tugging at memories long buried.

Absorbing the details around him—the rustle of leaves, the scent of spiced bread, the laughter of children—Idris instinctively looked up at the sky, a brilliant blue canvas streaked with white clouds. For a fleeting moment, he was transported back to the time before, when he soared through the heavens, his wings catching the wind. The rush of flight made his heart race.

But that was before.

"Ugh..." Ember's voice pierced through his reverie, drawing his attention. "Can you guys at least say something? All this negative energy is killing me."

"I don't see the reason for us to talk." Elianore replied dryly, her smirk revealing disdain. "We are two factions—the good guys and the bad guys. The only thing that should speak for us are our blades."

Idris shifted slightly, trying to focus on Ember's frustration and the tension between the two women. "I don't see why you guys have to fight?" he interjected. "Can't we just focus on the mission?"

"We can," Dorian chimed in, irritation evident in his tone. "But that's only if bitch face learns to shut u—"

Suddenly, a sharp clanging echoed through the air, startling Idris from his thoughts. The sound was jarring, a metallic clash that reverberated in his ears, pulling his attention away from the colorful market and the rising tension.

As he turned to Dorian, his heart raced, but what he saw next stole his breath. Elianore was behind him, her blade pressed dangerously against Dorian's neck. A small streak of blood trickled down the side, glistening in the sunlight.

Idris blinked, disbelief flooding his senses. How had she moved so fast? The shift was instantaneous, as if she had been a shadow that materialized from nowhere. He felt a strange fascination bubbling within him, mingling with a surge of anger. Her agility was breathtaking, almost mesmerizing, but it also ignited a blaze of resentment in him.

He couldn't stand it. This woman, so effortlessly lethal, wielded her speed like a weapon, and in that moment, Idris felt the weight of his own helplessness. Her skill, her grace—everything he admired about her only deepened the chasm of his own inadequacy.

He stood frozen, the tension in the air thickening like a storm cloud ready to burst. Just then, Ember's voice pierced through the chaos, sharp and frantic. "I'm sick of you all!" she screamed, her frustration echoing off the cobblestones. The words struck a chord in Idris, snapping him back to the moment, but before he could process her outburst, his gaze shifted instinctively.

In that instant, he caught sight of Kael, a towering figure whose presence commanded attention. With fluidity that belied his size, Kael rushed toward Elianore, his massive hammer raised high, the sunlight glinting off its polished surface. Idris barely had time to breathe as Kael thrust the weapon forward, the air crackling with the force of his blow. Wait, a weapon? Idris didn't remember him having a weapon of any sort. Could it he his magic?

Elianore reacted in a heartbeat. With a deftness that was almost otherworldly, she flipped through the air, twisting elegantly to evade the impending impact. She landed in a crouched stance, her lilac eyes narrowing as they locked onto Kael, an intense fire burning within them. A low hiss escaped her lips, the blade in her hand glinting dangerously in the sunlight. But it made him wonder what her intentions were? Was she really that much of a killer?

Kael, undeterred by her escape, charged again, his muscles coiled like a spring, ready to unleash his fury. It was as if he had forgotten everything else, consumed solely by the need to confront her. Elianore mirrored his aggression, stepping forward with a predatory grace that sent a shiver down Idris's spine.

"Stop!" Idris shouted, his voice booming through the marketplace, a desperate plea that echoed off the walls and mingled with the din of the crowd. But as the words left his lips, something within him ignited—a surge of raw power that coursed through his veins like wildfire.

In that moment, the world seemed to freeze. A rapid explosion erupted from his core, sending shockwaves through the air. Debris flew in every direction as the ground trembled beneath them, the force of his magic unleashing a tempest that turned the market square into a scene of chaos. A cloud of dust and smoke erupted, swirling like a tempest as the wind howled past them, carrying fragments of the vibrant world into oblivion.

Idris felt the heat of his magic burning beneath his skin, a fierce reminder of the power he wielded. His knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists, the energy crackling at his fingertips, demanding release. He was stern now, his presence demanding attention. He could feel the eyes of the crowd upon him, the weight of their expectations pressing down, but all he focused on was the need to quell the storm that had erupted around them.

"Enough!" he shouted again, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. The force of his command reverberated, the air crackling with energy as the debris began to settle, swirling around them like forgotten whispers. Idris stood tall, his heart racing, the remnants of his magic still thrumming in the air. Even without his wings, he was still powerful enough to kill them, he could feel it.

"Looks like pretty boy there carries quite the punch," Ember broke the tension in the air, rushing straight to him as quickly as she could, her hand reaching out for his. A faint tinge hued his cheeks, a soft lilac he could almost feel, as his eyes met hers. "Let's get married!"

"What!?" He couldn't believe her. He knew she was being sarcastic, but he had never heard a girl tell him that before. He loosened his hand from her grip, stumbling backwards a bit. "I don't even know you."

"Does that matter?" She asked, a grin visible. "We can ditch this mission, I stop trying to kill you, and we can get settled, have babies who'll be just as powerful as you're!"

Idris growled, drifting his attention from her, staring at Elianore who was busy fixing her blond hair. There was a hint of mischief in her eyes, one so raw, he could hardly ignore it. What was she up to? He wondered. Turning his gaze back at Ember, he mumbled, "Can we talk about this later?"

"Sure..." She said with a confidential smirk.

He sighed, shifting his attention back to Dorian but there was something about him that he didn't quite understand. The small cut which had been on his neck was healed, the wound patched up like that of a baby, fresh without blemish. But he didn't sense him use any magic did he? Could it have meant he had healing magic? It didn't quite make sense.

Apart from growing up in Eden, even for Angels like him, they could hardly use Healing Magic. It took him years to master the Seal of Elyon, even with his high aptitude for magic. What more a human? He sighed once more, catching a glimpse of Kael, with his wild features, holding up a grip. The hammer that he once wielded, was gone just like that. What was his magic also?

It had to be Summoning Magic.

With a deep breath, he made his way towards Elianore, hoping to see if she was hurt. To his own surprise, she wasn't. Not even a scar rested on her skin. Her lilac eyes met his, and he felt his insides twist. She was beautiful in the eyes of the beholder, but deep inside, she was just a monster. A killer, who hands were stained with the blood of a thousand.

"Are you hurt?" He asked.

"What do you care?"

"I'm just concerned about you." He mumbled.

"I don't want your concern." She said softly, her eyes staring back at where Ember and the others were standing. There was something about them that she failed to understand. They were acting normal, as if nothing had just happened between them. Why?

"Do all girls have to be pretty hard?" He blurted without thinking, and her eyes met his again. She grabbed his hand, dragging him several feet backwards from where they stood. "Would you care explaining to me why we are standing here?"

"I have a question I'd love to ask you." She started.

"Yes?"

She lowered her tone. "What are your goals?"

He was silent for a moment, eyes staring into hers for a minute long. "I want to find the Reaper, kill the man who killed my friends, stripped off my wings and left me enslaved."

She chuckled. "Is that all?"

"Yes, why?" But he knew it was a lie. He couldn't bring himself to tell her, that he wanted to also kill her for all the angels she killed.

"Because I have a plan....and I want to know whose side you're on?" She said softly.

"Your side, eventually." He mumbled without thinking, and she smirked.

"Good." She mocked. "I guess you're not all feathers in your brains, after all."

*

Magic, his uncle taught him about it. It was always about putting your intent on an object, to create an effect. All it took was one's will power, and their ability to sustain their desire. Powerful mages were once seen being able to rewrite reality, manifesting their thoughts and doing more than what was seen. But for Idris, it was going to be quite difficult. Without his wings, he was reduced to nothing. He could hardly conjure the spells he used to, he could hardly unleash his magical pressure to intimidate his foes. He was just a Slave now, working under a master.

Now, they were all standing, all eyes waiting for the bride that was said to come. Ember stood near him, mumbling the lyrics of a song he hadn't heard in a while. Her eyes were just switching across the streets, studying the people who kept moving to and fro in a repeated sequence. There was no one there, just them, and it was beginning to sting. Maybe they arrived a little earlier, and they had to wait a while. She grinned, her eyes meeting with his.

"Pretty boy," She said softly. "I have a question for you."

"Make it fast." He mumbled.

"What type of girls are you interested in?" She asked, and his brows cocked. What kind of a question was that? She bit her lower lip, her eyes expecting an answer from him, an answer he wasn't willing to give just yet. Through the corner of an eye, he saw himself staring at Elianore before switching back to face her.

"I haven't decided yet," He said. "As long as she's powerful I guess, I can work with that."

"You mean, you're not even interested in boobs?" She asked, her own hand going down her chest. He shifted uncomfortably, removing his eyes from where her hand was. But something in him wanted to keep staring, seeing where it'd all go. "Or how beauty?"

"What kind of a guy wouldn't be interested in boobs?" He grunted. "And enough with your slutty questions. They're giving me bad thoughts!"

Her hand slid down his chest, and he could feel her slender fingers trailing down his chest, sliding down to his belly. A shiver raced down his spine, his eyes staring into her playful ones. "Am I turning you on?"

He snatched her hand from him, his grip firm on her thin wrist. His eyes, stern, gazed into hers and she chuckled excitedly. "And if I say 'yes', would that turn you off?"

"I thought that maybe we could have a little fun, find a private corner...." She mumbled, pouting her lips afterwards.

He growled. "Listen, Ember or whatever your name is, I'm not interested in you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She held back a laugh. "That's what they always say at first until they fall into the ditch."

"Good thing I'm not one of them...."

As they exchanged banter, a glimmer of gold caught Idris's eye, slicing through the mundane gray of their surroundings. He turned, and there it was—a coach that seemed to have stepped right out of a fairy tale. The vehicle was an elegant carriage, its exterior adorned with intricate carvings that shimmered in the dim light. Deep mahogany wood gleamed with polish, while gilded accents framed the windows, catching glimmers of reflections as it rolled forward.

The wheels, large and ornate, spun smoothly over the cobblestones, and the sound they made was almost melodic—a soft thrum that harmonized with the rhythm of the bustling street. Draped across the sides were rich fabrics dyed in deep royal blue, flowing elegantly like waves caught in a gentle breeze. A plume of white feathers crowned the driver's seat, adding an air of fantasy to the already surreal sight.

As the coach drew closer, Idris noticed the man guiding it. He was strikingly pale, almost ethereal, with skin that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light. His hair was dark and slicked back, contrasting sharply against his ghostly complexion. He wore a tailored coat that hugged his lean form, the fabric shimmering faintly as he moved, exuding an aura of authority and mystery.

When the coach came to a halt mere feet from where Idris and Ember stood, the driver's gaze flickered toward them, his sharp features illuminated by the soft glow of the street lamps. There was something captivating about him, a magnetic pull that made it hard for Idris to look away. He felt a strange sense of recognition, as if this man belonged to a world Idris was just beginning to understand—a world of fate.

Ember's eyes widened, her playful demeanor shifting as she leaned slightly closer to Idris, her curiosity piqued. "Who is he?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

"I don't know," Idris replied, his gaze still locked on the pale driver. "But he definitely doesn't look like he's here for just a wedding."

The driver stepped down from the coach with an elegance that was almost otherworldly, his movements fluid and deliberate. He scanned the crowd, his expression inscrutable, as if assessing the very fabric of their souls. The moment felt charged, a silence enveloping them as everyone around seemed to hold their breath, waiting for whatever would unfold next.

"Maybe we should go talk to him," Ember suggested, a spark of mischief in her eyes.

Idris hesitated, the weight of his quest pressing down on him. "What if he's not what he seems?"

"Or what if he is?" she countered, a sly grin creeping onto her lips. "You're not scared, are you?"

With a resigned sigh, Idris felt the pull of destiny tighten around him. "Fine. But keep your distance if things get out of hand."

"You shouldn't be worried for my sake." She mumbled.

"I wasn't." He corrected her.

Idris stepped forward, the cobblestones feeling cool beneath his feet as he approached the pale driver. A sense of urgency propelled him, but as he drew closer, something struck him as odd. The man appeared almost emaciated, his frame alarmingly thin, as if he had been starved for an eternity. The hollowness of his cheeks and the sharp angles of his jaw gave him an unsettling air, making Idris question his initial impulse to engage.

"Are you the one who brought the bride?" Idris asked, trying to mask his unease.

The man turned his gaze toward Idris, his eyes a striking shade of gray, reflecting a depth of knowledge and sorrow. "And who might you be?" he replied, his voice smooth and gentle, with an undercurrent of something unspoken.

"Escorts from Lord Lawrence. We are here to take the bride," Idris stated firmly, trying to project confidence despite the growing tension in the air.

A faint smile crept onto the man's lips, tinged with something Idris couldn't quite place. "Ah, Lord Lawrence... I am pleased to hear of his involvement," he murmured, as if the name held significance beyond mere formality.

The man extended a pale hand towards the ornate door of the coach, his fingers poised over the doorknob. Just as he was about to grasp it, a sudden whoosh sliced through the air, causing Idris to instinctively flinch. An arrow zipped past them, embedding itself with a sickening thud into the wooden door.

The pale driver's demeanor shifted instantly; he pivoted gracefully, his body moving with a fluidity that belied his frail appearance. His eyes narrowed as he focused on a figure perched above on a nearby building, a man silhouetted against the fading light, clad in dark attire and wearing a mask that obscured his features. The archer held a quiver of arrows, poised to strike again.

In a heartbeat, the pale man reached into his pocket, his movements quick and precise. He pulled out a slender dagger and, with a flick of his wrist, sent it hurtling toward the masked figure. The dagger found its mark, striking the masked man squarely in the face, causing blood to spurt forth as he staggered back, losing his footing and tumbling from the roof.

Idris watched in a mix of awe and horror as the masked man collided with the ground below, the sound of his impact echoing through the street. The pale driver stood poised, ready to react, his expression now a blend of determination and concern.

"What was that?" Ember called out, catching up to Idris, her eyes wide with shock.

"Looks like we've drawn some unwanted attention," Idris replied, his heart racing as he glanced back toward the fallen archer.

The pale driver sighed, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the fallen archer. "I wonder why Lord Lawrence sent such weak escorts," he mumbled under his breath, a hint of disdain creeping into his tone. His gaze flicked to the blood pooling around the body. "The bride could have been ruined because of you."

Just then, Dorian, Elianore, and Kael appeared at the edges of the scene, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. Dorian's brow furrowed as he took in the sight of the bloodied ground, while Elianore's eyes widened in realization of the danger they had stumbled into. Kael, always the pragmatic one, scanned the area, his instincts honed for threats.

"What happened?" Dorian asked, stepping forward. "Who was that?"

The pale man let out a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. "You should protect the bride with your lives," he said, his voice carrying an authority that seemed to resonate with the urgency of the moment. "But I'm too old to be fighting these battles anymore."

Before anyone could respond, a cracking sound echoed through the air, sharp and unnatural, pulling everyone's attention to the lifeless body on the ground. They watched in horror as the corpse began to twist and contort, the fabric of its clothing tearing apart as something monstrous emerged.

With a bone-chilling growl, the figure rose, revealing itself to be a grotesque demon. Its skin was a sickly gray, stretched taut over a skeletal frame, and from its back sprouted jagged horns that curled menacingly. The creature's eyes glowed with a malevolent light, and its mouth opened wide, revealing rows of sharp teeth.

A flicker of flames danced at the back of its throat, casting an eerie glow that illuminated the surrounding darkness. The demon unleashed a roar that shook the very ground beneath them, and with a mighty exhalation, it spewed forth an ocean of fire that surged toward them like a wave of destruction.

"Get down!" Kael shouted, instinctively pushing Elianore away from the oncoming blast as the others dived for cover. Idris felt the heat wash over him, a scorching wave that ignited his instincts to fight or flee.

As the flames roared past, the pale driver moved with surprising agility, positioning himself between the demon and the group. He raised his hands, calling upon some unseen power, and a barrier of shimmering light materialized in front of them, absorbing the brunt of the inferno.

"Stay close!" he commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. "We can't let it reach the bride!"