Saretha let the darkness envelop her. As far as she knew, no-one had set foot in the cavern for many thousands of years until she found the place, following the lines of power that converged upon it, and discovered the ruins hidden below the forest.
Clumps of luminescent fungus pooled on the floor, their bluish light giving the cavern a strange underwater feel. They picked out the angular carvings that spelled out a language long-dead, the tongue of a civilisation that had fallen so completely in aeons past that pockets of ruins like this were all that remained. Statues worn smooth with age lined the tunnel that led to the ritual cave, so eroded they looked more like stalagmites than images of a long-lost people.
Saretha loved the place. It was hidden, and it was hers. Ever since her training at the Monastery of the Opening Eye she had never been alone, always wandering through lands full of ignorant people who needed defending or competing for attention with the other initiates. It was only when she was alone that she could deal with these forces in her own way. She didn't want anyone else observing – solitude was part of the magic, in more ways than one.
The tunnel opened up into a large cave, lit by pools of bioluminescence. In the centre was a circle of stones, menhirs cut from some dark purple stone that must have been quarried elsewhere and brought here by the slaves of that ancient civilisation. Something had once been worshipped here, powerful and revered enough for slaves to carve the ritual cave out from beneath the forest and set up the stones. But the cave was used for something else now. Saretha wondered at the weight of years that must be on her, and at the obscure rituals that must have taken place there. Did the ancients have magic of their own? Did they once summon something from beyond the mortal world into that circle of stones, to honour it, or plead with it? Did they make bargains with those powers? Did they fear them? If history was anything to go by, the truth was probably a combination of them all.
Saretha had chosen this place precisely because of the circle, and the power that flowed around it. Because in the circle, chained between two of the menhirs, was her quarry.
It snarled as it saw her. Saretha felt a thrill of fear, but chased it away. The demon couldn't hurt her. Not now. Not after she had spoken the words that had summoned it here.
'You. Bitch.' The demon's voice was so low and powerful it was like an earthquake. 'What is the meaning of this? Do you not know what I am?'
'Yes, I do,' said Saretha as she walked towards the stone circle, remembering all the lessons she had learned with the Opening Eye. 'You are Thorgulian. The Butcher. You have killed many thousands of my people.'
'Many thousands and one!' spat the demon. Saretha could see it clearly now. It stood with its arms splayed out, ensorcelled golden chains binding its wrists to the stones. It was huge, head and shoulders taller than a man, and its skin was a deep, burning crimson. Its face was long and cruel, its hair a shaggy purplish mane that couldn't hide the gnarled ram's horns that grew from its skull. The muscles of its chest were heavy and corded, straining against the bonds. Its cloven hooves stamped on the stone floor and it lurched forward - but gold, like any monk knew, was magic, and the demon could not break the chains.
'Ha! Just another one of your hunters,' continued the demon. 'Did the League of Illumination send you? The Dawnlight Brotherhood? Or are you here on your own, a little girl looking for revenge?'
'No,' said Saretha. She was inside the circle now, close enough to see the sweat glistening redly on the demon's skin. Its face might have been that of a handsome man, the chin slightly too pointed, the eyes set too deep, and too black, the teeth flashing like a predator's, all transposed into demonic red. 'The Opening Eye sent me forth.'
'The monks?' Thorgulian laughed. 'Scholars and poets. They know everything until the time comes to face us.'
'Not me,' said Saretha. 'Things have changed since you were last summoned forth, Thorgulian.' She was standing right in front of the demon now. It smelled of cinnamon and ash, of the hot winds that blew across the wastes of the Taint, the endless realm of demons. 'You see, the Monastery of the Opening Eye teaches its monks of many paths that can help us conquer your kind. Some of us seek out knowledge. Some learn to fight.' Saretha stood on tip-toe so she could whisper into the demon's ear. 'But me... they taught me what real magic is.'
Saretha laid her hand on the demon's chest. Its skin was hot, like the fires that burned in the lowest reaches of the Taint, and she could feel its bestial heart thudding. She let her hand slid down, over its pectorals and onto its belly, down further until she felt the thatch of hair covering its groin.
Her hand reached the flesh that hung between the demon's legs. It was big, bigger than a man, burning hot. She felt Thorgulian flinch as she took him in her hand. Physical combat, or torture, or some contest of wills – it had been prepared for all those things. But not this.
It growled, deeply like a cornered animal.
'Do you really believe, said Saretha softly, 'that you can ever defeat us? Every evil you commit, a hundred more of us swear ourselves to the cause.'
She was kneading him now, her fingers moving up and down the velvety skin. She could feel the demon's blood pulsing beneath her palm.
'And for every one of us you defeat,' replied Thorgulian through clenched teeth, 'a thousand more are born into the Taint. And more and more of your people bring us forth, call us into your world to do the work of demons.'
