Ryelle woke to moonlight streaming through the narrow window of their guest quarters. Lorne's restless pacing filled the room with purposeful movement, his heavy footsteps a counterpoint to the distant sound of wind moving through the mountains.

"Still nothing?" Ryelle asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"No. If she's been captured..."

"We have to assume she has," Ryelle said, sitting up and swinging her legs from the bed. "The question is, where is she now, and can we get to her."

Lorne nodded. "Agreed. We'll wait another hour in case she returns, but if not..."

"We move."

The next hour passed like water trapped in stone, slow and unrelenting. Ryelle felt her divine power pulsing within her, eager for action but constrained by caution.

Her powers felt... constrained here, muffled by whatever forces were reshaping the castle's inhabitants. Not inhibited—she could still call on her abilities if needed—but less readily available than usual, as if her link to Ebonheim required deliberate effort to reach.

As the deadline for Kaela's return came and went with no sign of their missing companion, she felt Lorne's patience shifting into battle readiness.

"Arm yourself," he said. "We're going in."

A knock at their door interrupted his next words. Lorne crossed the room in three long strides, Ryelle close behind.

Sir Garrett stood outside, his armor's gleam dulled by the moonlight. Beside him, one of the castle's guards regarded them with pale, cold eyes.

"Commander Ardeunius requests your immediate presence in the great hall," Garrett announced. "A matter of mutual interest requires discussion."

Lorne's expression hardened, but his voice remained calm. "What kind of matter?"

"Clarification of misunderstandings. Resolution of complications. Establishment of proper protocols for future cooperation."

The bureaucratic phrasing couldn't disguise the underlying threat. They'd been discovered, their investigation exposed, their companion captured. Now came the reckoning.

"We'll be along presently," Lorne said.

"Immediately," Garrett corrected. "Commander Ardeunius does not prefer to wait."

They followed Garrett through corridors that felt different in the moonlight—narrower, more oppressive, as if the stones themselves had drawn closer together while the castle slept. Their footsteps echoed with hollow precision, the sound bouncing off walls that seemed to swallow other noises.

The great hall stretched before them like a maw carved from shadow and torchlight. Ancient banners hung from the rafters, their colors muted by smoke and age, while weapons lined the walls in silent testimony to battles fought and won. But the space felt wrong, contaminated by the same metallic wrongness that had been seeping through the castle like infection spreading through a wound.

Commander Ardeunius stood near the head table, his posture rigid but his eyes carrying flickers of something that might have been distress. Brother Marcus flanked him on the left, while Captain Belenton held position on the right.

Behind them, arranged in careful formation, stood two dozen knights of the Order. Their faces held identical expressions of blank attention, like masks carved by the same hand.

"Commander," Lorne said, offering a formal nod that acknowledged rank without surrendering dignity. "You requested our presence."

"Requested." Ardeunius's voice carried the weight of someone testing unfamiliar words. "Yes. Though circumstances have... evolved... beyond simple requests."

Ryelle felt her divine heritage stirring, responding to some threat her conscious mind hadn't yet identified. The air in the hall tasted of metal and cold spaces, and shadows seemed to cling to certain figures in ways that defied the torchlight's reach.

Captain Belenton stepped forward. "Your companion proved most illuminating during her evening exploration. Miss Shadowhawk possesses admirable dedication to her craft, though her methods require... adjustment."

Ice formed in Ryelle's stomach. "Where is she?"

"Receiving appropriate guidance," Marcus replied. "She will be returned when her education reaches satisfactory completion."

Lorne's hand drifted toward his sword hilt. "Education in what, exactly?"

"Cooperation. Compliance. Recognition of superior organizational structures." Belenton stepped closer, his own hands never straying near his weapons.

"The same education that would benefit your own understanding."

"Our investigation was authorized," Lorne said carefully. "Joint Defense Assessment, approved by your commander and mine."

"Investigation." Ardeunius repeated the word as if tasting poison. The struggle in his eyes intensified, and for a moment, something recognizably human flickered through his expression. "Yes. Investigation of... defensive capabilities. Assessment of... regional security measures."

"Yet your methods demonstrated concerning patterns," Marcus interjected. "Unauthorized access to restricted areas. Examination of sensitive documentation. Engagement with personnel who lack appropriate security clearances."

Elena. Ryelle felt sick at the thought of what might have happened to her since their meeting.

"Where is Sir Elena?" Ryelle asked.

"Receiving additional training in proper information security protocols," Belenton replied. "Her previous performance indicated deficiencies that require correction."

The wrongness thickened around them like smoke from wet wood.

She tried to focus her sight, to pierce through the veneer of normalcy and see what lay beneath. The ability had been growing stronger lately, moments when her perception shifted and revealed truths hidden from ordinary vision. But here, in this place thick with wrongness, the power felt sluggish, constrained.

"You're talking about our allies like they're broken equipment," she said.

"Equipment can be repaired when it functions improperly," Marcus said. "Personnel can be improved when they display inefficient behaviors. Both processes serve organizational stability."

The words felt rehearsed, scripted, as if Marcus was reciting lines from a play he'd performed too many times. But underneath the mechanical delivery, Ryelle sensed something else—a hunger that made her divine essence recoil.

Lorne's purple eyes hardened. "And if we refuse your... improvements?"

"Refusal indicates flawed understanding that requires additional guidance," Belenton said. "However, your cooperation would expedite the process considerably. Your unique capabilities could serve valuable functions once properly directed."

Ardeunius shifted in his chair, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His mouth opened as if to speak, then closed. For a moment, his eyes met Ryelle's, and she saw something struggling beneath the surface—a drowning man fighting to reach air.

"Marcus" he said, his voice strained, "perhaps... perhaps we should proceed more cautiously. Our guests have come in good faith. Surely... surely there are ways to address concerns without... without extreme measures."

Marcus turned toward Ardeunius with the sharp attention of a predator noting weakness in prey. "Commander, your reluctance demonstrates continued inefficiency. Additional guidance may be required to achieve optimal performance standards."

"I am the commander of this Order," Ardeunius replied, but his voice lacked conviction. "I determine appropriate protocols."

"You are the designated authority figure," Belenton agreed. "However, authority requires proper direction. Proper direction ensures mission success. Mission success demands elimination of all destabilizing influences."

The exchange felt like watching someone argue with their own shadow—words spoken to maintain the illusion of command while real power lay elsewhere. Ardeunius still held enough of himself to question, but the corruption's grip tightened with each moment of resistance.

"You speak of stability," Lorne said, his tactical mind working to buy time while Ryelle struggled with her sight. "But what you describe sounds like control. What authority demands such... unity?"

"Regional coordination requires elimination of variables," Marcus replied. "Variables create unpredictability. Unpredictability endangers mission parameters."

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Whose mission?"

The question hung in the air like a blade poised to fall. For just an instant, the practiced responses faltered, and Ryelle caught glimpses of something else beneath the surface—features that shifted like water, shadows that moved against the light.

"The mission serves those with wisdom to guide properly," Belenton said, but his voice carried a different resonance now, as if spoken through something that only approximated a human throat.

"Commander," Ryelle said, addressing Ardeunius directly. "You fought beside Ebonheim against the Asuras ten years ago. You chose to base your operations here because this castle had been cleansed of demonic influence. What would you say to someone who told you that demons had returned?"

Ardeunius's face went rigid. The internal struggle intensified, visible now as competing impulses warred across his features. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the hall's chill.

"Demons," he said slowly, each syllable forced through clenched teeth, "are the... primary threat... that the Order exists to... combat."

"Theoretical demons pose hypothetical concerns," Marcus corrected smoothly. "Current demons represent immediate dangers that require coordinated responses. Your theoretical questions serve no productive purpose."

But Ardeunius wasn't listening to Marcus. His eyes remained fixed on Ryelle, and she could see something awakening behind his gaze—memories, perhaps, or instincts that the corruption couldn't completely suppress.

"If demons were here," she pressed, "in this castle, wearing familiar faces, what would you do?"

"I would..." Ardeunius's voice cracked. "I would... we would..."

"You would follow established protocols for threat assessment and response," Belenton interrupted, moving closer to the commander. "Protocols that prioritize organizational stability over individual conclusions drawn from insufficient evidence."

The captain's proximity seemed to intensify whatever force was clouding Ardeunius's mind. The commander's expression grew slack again, the human spark dimming like a candle starved of air.

Ryelle felt desperation clawing at her throat. Kaela was somewhere in this castle, subjected to whatever process had stolen these men's souls. Elena too, probably.

And if she and Lorne didn't find a way to break through the corruption soon, they'd be next.

She reached for her divine power, trying to pierce the wrongness that surrounded them. Her Divine Sight had failed her before, showing her only shadows and suggestions when she needed clear truth. But desperation sharpened her focus, and fear gave her motivation she'd lacked in previous attempts.

The torchlit hall wavered around her as she pressed her consciousness outward, seeking the source of the metallic scent and the wrongness that clung to the corrupted knights like invisible chains.

Shadows. That's what she saw first—dark shapes clinging to Belenton and Marcus like parasites feeding on light. Not the ordinary shadows cast by torchflame, but something deeper and more substantial, as if pieces of night had taken root in their flesh.

The shadows moved wrong, flowing against the direction of the flames, reaching toward other figures in the hall with tendrils that pulsed like living veins. They whispered things she couldn't quite hear, words that made her teeth ache and her divine essence recoil.

She pushed harder, forcing her perception deeper through layers of deception and misdirection. The shadows began to thicken, taking on texture and substance. What she'd taken for darkness was something else entirely—not absence of light but presence of something that existed where light had never been allowed to reach.

Belenton turned toward her, and she saw his face through her enhanced sight. His features rippled like water disturbed by stones, revealing glimpses of something else beneath. His pale eyes weren't pale at all—they were holes, voids where eyes should be, looking out from a face that belonged to something that had never been human.

"Your investigation has concluded," he said, and his voice carried harmonics that made the torches flicker. "Cooperation ensures optimal outcomes for all involved parties."

Marcus moved to flank them, and through her Divine Sight, Ryelle saw the distortion around his form intensify. His monk's robes hung on a frame that shifted and changed when she wasn't looking directly at it, as if his true shape was too large or too wrong to be contained by human proportions.

"The process is quite painless," Marcus added, his words carrying the same wrongness as Belenton's. "Resistance creates unnecessary complications that delay eventual acceptance."

Lorne stepped protectively closer to Ryelle, his hand now openly resting on his sword hilt. "And if we choose the complications?"

"Then you choose inefficiently," Belenton replied. "Inefficiency requires correction through appropriate guidance."

Guards moved to block the hall's exits—six knights whose movements displayed the same mechanical coordination they'd observed throughout their stay. But through her enhanced perception, Ryelle could see that not all of them carried the same shadows. Three moved with the fluid wrongness of the corrupted, but the other three showed signs of the internal struggle she'd witnessed in Ardeunius.

Still fighting. Still human, despite whatever had been done to them.

She pushed her Divine Sight further, seeking the true forms hidden beneath layers of deception. The effort made her head pound and her divine essence ache, but she could feel herself approaching some kind of breakthrough. The shadows around Belenton and Marcus were thickening, taking on shapes that her mind rejected as impossible.

"Ryelle," Lorne said quietly, noting her expression. "What do you see?"

"Lies," she said through gritted teeth. "Lies wearing familiar faces."

Belenton cocked his head, studying her with those void-black eyes. "Perception requires calibration when it produces inaccurate conclusions. Your sight shows you what you expect to see rather than what exists."

"My sight shows me what hides behind masks."

She pressed harder, forcing her perception through the last barriers that concealed the truth. Pain lanced through her skull like lightning, but she held on, pushing past the limits of what her developing abilities had previously achieved.

The hall exploded into clarity around her.

Belenton's human shape fell away like a discarded cloak, revealing something that belonged in nightmares rather than the waking world. His true form stood nine feet tall, composed of shadows given substance and malice given form. Six arms ended in claws that gleamed with their own dark light, and his face—if it could be called a face—held features that shifted and changed like smoke given the memory of flesh.

Marcus's deception proved equally complete. His monk's robes concealed something spider-like in its proportions, with too many joints and appendages that folded in directions that hurt to perceive. His human head sat atop a neck that stretched and twisted with boneless flexibility, and his mouth held teeth that belonged in the deep ocean rather than on dry land.

Mayakara.

The word came to her from some deep well of inherited knowledge. Greater demons of the Asura hierarchy, shapeshifters capable of wearing human forms so convincingly that they could fool anyone without divine sight to pierce their disguises.

"Demons," she said, her voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "You're demons. Asuras."

Belenton's voice carried harmonics that made the torches flicker. "Clever little godling. Though cleverness often creates more problems than it solves."

"The Order of the Burning Shield exists to hunt demons," Ryelle continued, backing toward Lorne. "You've been feeding on the very people sworn to destroy your kind."

"We have been improving them," Marcus corrected, his monk's face betraying nothing to the assembled knights. "Removing inefficiencies that prevented optimal service. Creating unity where chaos previously reigned."

Ardeunius made a sound like a man choking on broken glass. His human features contorted as competing impulses warred within him.

"Demons," he said, the word torn from his throat like a confession under torture. "Demons in the... in the castle. In the Order."

"Theoretical demons," Belenton said dismissively. "Hypothetical threats that serve no productive purpose."

Several knights shifted restlessly, their eyes sweeping the hall as if searching for threats they couldn't identify. The wrongness Ryelle had been sensing was affecting them too, even if they couldn't see its source.

"You've been here for months," Ryelle said, piecing together the scope of the deception. "Slowly replacing the real knights with corrupted versions, building an army that serves your purposes instead of its original mission."

"Building efficiency," Marcus corrected. "Creating order from chaos, purpose from confusion."

"Beneficial for who? Your masters in Corinth?"

Both demons went rigid at the mention of Corinth, confirming suspicions that had been building since Elena's intelligence about external coordination.

"Corinth represents regional stability," Belenton said, but his voice carried less conviction than before. "Cooperation between allied settlements serves mutual interests."

"Allied settlements don't require demon infiltration to secure cooperation."

Ryelle could see the corruption's hold weakening as more knights began to look around the hall with confusion and growing alarm. Whatever spell or compulsion the Mayakara had been using drew its power from deception, and exposure to truth was acting like acid on invisible chains.

But she could also see that the demons weren't going to allow their operation to be exposed without a fight. Both Mayakara were tensing for violence, their true forms shifting into combat positions that promised swift and brutal retaliation.

Desperation drove her next action. She couldn't win a direct confrontation with two greater demons—not here, not alone, not without weapons designed for demonic combat. But she might be able to break the spell completely if she could force them to reveal themselves to all the knights simultaneously.

She charged.

Not at both demons—that would be suicide—but at Marcus, whose spider-like form was positioned closest to the group of knights still struggling against their corruption. If she could force him to respond in full view of his supposed subordinates, the truth would be undeniable.

Lorne shouted her name, but she was already moving, her kanabō materializing in her hands as divine power flooded through her limbs. The weapon's iron head blazed with inner fire as she brought it around in a devastating arc aimed at the demon's center mass.

Marcus flowed aside with inhuman grace, his form blurring as he evaded her strike. Claws raked toward her throat, and she barely managed to interpose her weapon's shaft between his talons and her neck.

"Aggressive behavior requires correction," the demon said, pressing his attack with clinical precision. "Compliance ensures minimal trauma during adjustment procedures."

She gave ground, using the kanabō's reach to keep his claws at bay while backing toward the group of knights. Behind her, she could hear steel ringing against steel as Lorne engaged Belenton, buying her the time she needed to execute her desperate plan.

Marcus pursued her relentlessly, his multiple limbs striking from angles that should have been impossible. She blocked, parried, and dodged, but couldn't maintain the defensive pattern indefinitely. The demon's speed and flexibility gave him too many advantages in close combat.

But she wasn't trying to win the fight—she was trying to position herself for a single, decisive action that would expose the truth to everyone present.

She let his next claw-strike through her guard, accepting a shallow cut across her ribs in exchange for the opening she needed. Pain flared as demon-forged talons parted leather and flesh, but the wound brought her close enough for what she had planned.

Drawing on every scrap of divine power at her disposal, she opened her mouth and exhaled.

Dragon's breath erupted from her throat in a torrent of silver fire, washing over Marcus at point-blank range. The demon shrieked in pain and fury as the draconic flames disrupted whatever magic maintained his human disguise.

His false form burned away like parchment in a forge, revealing his true nature to every person in the hall.

Shouts of alarm and horror filled the air as men who had been struggling against invisible bonds suddenly found their minds clear enough to see the truth. Others—the fully corrupted ones—broke formation and converged on the exposed demon.

"DEMONS!" Ardeunius roared, his voice carrying the authority of a man reclaiming his own soul. "DEMONS IN THE CASTLE! ALL KNIGHTS—ATTACK!"

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.