A Bhutava stumbled through her path. Ryelle used its shoulders as a springboard, launching herself away from that descending axe in a tumbling roll that carried her away from immediate retribution.

She came up in a fighting crouch, legs braced against roots and loam. Stone shards shot toward her from where the Bovikara had split the clearing. The scarred one coiled its massive form, preparing to lash out in some new trick of demon magic.

Power flared inside her, rising like a cresting wave. The fire that had wavered with exhaustion returned in sudden, fierce clarity, and she rode that momentum without questioning its source.

Flame exploded from her palms in a continuous gout of silver and green. It met the oncoming storm of stone and earth, parting that force with ease. Plants bloomed in its wake—vines and mosses that choked the open passage through which Asura had poured.

She didn't have time to question such things, and she was beyond caring.

Around her, harpies fell from the sky as those shadowy archers—Morrian assassins, Kaela called them—found their targets one after another. Liselotte's battle song became a furious dirge, its counter-melody peppered with the shrieks of younger warriors who fell, winged by crossbow bolts and crippled by whatever poison coated their tips.

Ryelle's heart hammered in her chest. Power pulsed through her veins like wildfire, burning hotter than before.

A crossbow bolt meant for her heart passed through empty air as she twisted aside. Her return strike shattered the shooter's weapon and the arm that held it. Another assassin tried to flank her from behind, but thorny vines erupted from the ground beneath its feet, wrapping around legs and arms with crushing force.

The scarred Bovikara charged through the chaos, impatience overriding its partner's strategy. Ryelle met its rush not with strength or fire, but with serpentine motion that borrowed from the demon's own flexibility. She flowed around its axe strike, under the morning star's arc, and her fingers found the pressure points Liselotte had taught her to seek.

Draconic claws punched through scaled hide, finding the nerve clusters that governed movement. The Bovikara's lower left arm went limp, its grip on the morning star loosening. Ryelle twisted, using the demon's own weight against it, and hurled it into the wall its partner had shaped.

Stone cracked under the impact. The intelligent commander hissed something in the demons' tongue, probably a curse or command. But its partner was already rising, three functioning arms still more than most opponents could handle.

Around the clearing, the battle's rhythm shifted. Morrian assassins who had been coordinating perfect strikes found themselves disrupted by vegetation that grew faster than they could compensate for. Their poisoned crossbow bolts struck bark and vine instead of harpy flesh, while thorns sought them out with predatory hunger.

Ryelle didn't wait for the scarred Bovikara to regain its footing. She moved like water finding cracks in stone, like fire following the paths of least resistance. Her strikes came from unexpected angles—a palm-heel to the base of the skull, an elbow to the floating ribs, fingers that found and pressed the points where armor gave way to vulnerability.

The demon swung its axe in desperate arcs, but Ryelle was already elsewhere, her movements guided by instincts that belonged to the hunt itself. She caught its wrist as the weapon passed, used the demon's momentum to spin it off-balance, and drove her knee into its solar plexus.

The intelligent commander tried to shape the battlefield again, raising walls and barriers to limit her mobility. But plants followed where she led, roots boring through stone faster than it could be shaped. The clearing became a maze of growing things, vines and thorns that responded to her will rather than the demon's earthcraft.

A crossbow bolt hissed past her ear—one of the surviving Morrians had found a clear shot. But the vegetation responded to the threat, branches swaying to intercept projectiles while flowers turned toward the assassin's position with obvious malice.

Ryelle pressed her advantage. The scarred Bovikara, hampered by its damaged arm and struggling to maintain balance on ground that shifted beneath its feet, couldn't mount the coordinated assault that had nearly overwhelmed her earlier. She struck its weapon arm at the elbow, divine strength shattering the joint and sending the axe tumbling away.

The demon tried to grapple her with its remaining functional limbs, but she twisted away, spun inside its defenses, and clamped her hand on the horn at the side of its bull-like skull. That too cracked under the force of her grip, and the demon's red eyes clouded with pain and confusion.

Her hands closed around the demon's throat, fingers tightening with the promise of a slow, ignoble end. Its remaining arms battered at her, but the strength that coursed through her body shrugged those off with ease.

When the Bovikara realized it could not escape this fate, it tried another plea. "Mercy, godling. Bovikara remember those who let them live. I shall serve."

"Tell me about your human allies," she said, her voice carrying no heat despite the flames that wreathed her form. "The Morr clan. Who hired them?"

The demon's eyes flickered toward the shadows where surviving assassins crouched among the branches. Fear warred with loyalty behind its mask of indifference.

"Xellos," it whispered. "Promises... elevation... if we succeed."

"Succeed at what?"

"Regional... control. Remove... obstacles. Harvest... quintessence... from..." The demon's voice faded as life fled its body, its essence devoured by the power Ryelle now wielded.

Silence returned to the clearing, broken only by the crackle of cooling ash and the distant cries of Shadaksha fleeing toward whatever sanctuary they could find. The surviving Morrian assassins had vanished as suddenly as they'd appeared, leaving only empty branches and the memory of poison-tipped bolts.

Ryelle walked through the aftermath, her fire-garden already beginning to fade as the power that had sustained it returned to whatever deep wells it had drawn from. Ordinary flowers pushed through the ash—daisies and wild roses, innocent blooms that belonged to a forest healing rather than one at war.

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She found Liselotte near the clearing's edge, propped against a tree with one wing spread for balance. Crossbow bolts protruded from her shoulder and thigh, their wooden shafts dark with poison that had left purple stains on her flesh.

"Alive?" Ryelle asked, kneeling beside the Harpy Queen.

"For now." Liselotte's voice carried the careful control of someone managing considerable pain. "The poison burns, but harpy constitution is... resilient. It will pass."

Around them, surviving harpies began to gather. Mesyori landed with visible effort, her wounded wing folded awkwardly against her side. Gwynelle limped from the undergrowth, supported by Korvain whose shoulder bore its own crossbow bolt. Others moved with varying degrees of difficulty, wings battered and feathers smoldering from the attacks they'd endured.

"You knew those humans," Liselotte said, fixing Ryelle with a steady gaze.

"Morrian assassins," Ryelle said, pulling one of the bolts from Liselotte's shoulder and inspecting it. "They're a mercenary clan from beyond your borders. This poison is one of their trade secrets, an alchemical concoction that works quickly on most humanoids. You're all very lucky."

Liselotte watched her face, and Ryelle could feel the weight of that scrutiny as she moved to the next bolt. Around them, other harpies did their best to tend wounds and comfort each other.

"You're holding back," Liselotte said after a moment. "Who's the one responsible for all this?"

Ryelle considered the Harpy Queen's expression, weighed her options, and decided that the time for evasions had passed. "A lesser god named Xellos. His domain lies within Corinth, the settlement between your territory and Ebonheim's."

Surprise flickered across Liselotte's face, quickly masked behind a neutral mask. "A lesser god. Within my reach. And you knew? Knew this lesser god could be responsible?"

Ryelle winced as the next bolt came free. Liselotte hissed between her teeth, but didn't cry out.

"Xellos has been a thorn in Ebonheim's side for almost a decade now. We suspected he had a hand in some of what's been happening lately, but we couldn't act without proof. And until now, we had no idea the Morrians were involved."

Liselotte's eyes narrowed. "The timing, however, is what concerns me. Your arrival in our territory. The discovery of these demons. This attack. The human assassins. How do I know you weren't followed here?"

"I think I was followed," Ryelle admitted. "But I don't think I was the real target. I think the demons were after you. Xellos wants power, and I don't think he's picky about where he gets it."

She gestured toward the ashen remains of their conflict. "He must have promised them something in exchange for their cooperation. And the Morr clan must have some stake in things too—maybe he's hired their services directly, maybe someone else is playing us all for fools. But this has been brewing since long before I got involved."

Liselotte's expression hardened, her crimson eyes flashing with fury that wasn't directed at Ryelle but at a target beyond. "Then I will kill this Xellos and burn his domain to the ground. Make an example of him for all the other gods who would dare to play such games within my reach."

Ryelle hesitated, torn between her desire to avoid conflict and the knowledge that if she didn't address this, there would be consequences beyond her ability to repair. "Liselotte, you can't just wage war on a settlement like that. There are rules about this sort of thing, and I can't... Ebonheim can't afford to get directly involved."

The Harpy Queen's laughter held an edge that promised pain for anyone who tried to stop her. "These rules mean nothing to me, little godling. My kin have been harmed, my territory invaded. No one escapes my wrath."

She stepped forward, rising to her full height, wings spreading to frame her tall form in majesty. "Ebonheim may not be able to afford the consequences, but I can. I have more than enough strength to challenge this god and his lackeys."

The remaining Harpies raised their voices in agreement, their collective power giving form to Liselotte's conviction. Their song flowed around Ryelle, filling the air with the promise of vengeance.

"Don't do this," she said, her own tone soft but firm. "Corinth itself might not have been involved, but you'd be punishing everyone when the innocent vastly outnumber those responsible. I know you're angry, and rightfully so, but please, listen to me."

She met Liselotte's eyes and held them, pleading with words and expression alike. "Give us some time to investigate. To find a better solution. Attacking like this will just draw more attention, and that might be what Xellos wants."

Liselotte's jaw clenched, muscles working as she visibly struggled with the urge to destroy that which had harmed her flock. Around them, the other harpies stirred, their combined will lending weight to her own.

Ryelle continued, keeping her voice calm despite the turmoil she sensed building within Liselotte. "We have a chance to get ahead of things. To turn this around. But if you go charging in, if you drag Ebonheim into open conflict with another settlement, that chance slips away."

A pause, heavy with unspoken emotion. Then Liselotte spoke again, her words clipped as though she were barely controlling herself. "How long?"

"As long as I can manage," Ryelle replied, not daring to look away from that crimson gaze. "I can't promise results on any specific timeline."

Liselotte closed the distance between them in two long strides, until their faces were inches apart. Ryelle could feel the heat radiating from the Harpy Queen's body, see the tension in every line of her form. "You ask much," Liselotte whispered, her breath stirring Ryelle's hair. "Much that I do not wish to give."

Ryelle met that stare without flinching, trusting instinct rather than training to guide her response. "I know. But it's necessary. Please."

For a long moment, neither moved. Then Liselotte stepped back, her expression inscrutable once more. "So be it. But know this. Should your efforts fail, should this Xellos or his minions show their faces here again, I will take matters into my own hands. And neither you nor Ebonheim will stop me."

Ryelle felt a weight lift from her shoulders at those words, tempered by the promise they carried. "That's only fair. And if you do need to do that, I promise to shield you from any consequences from my side."

Liselotte considered that, then nodded sharply. "Good. Do what you must, little godling. We will await word."

As the Harpy Queen turned away to tend her kin and prepare their departure, something in the shadows at the clearing's edge stirred, drawing their attention toward movement that seemed too purposeful for fleeing wildlife.

Ryelle felt her exhausted reserves stir, her awareness expanding outward to encompass the surrounding forest. But she found no trace of demons or human assassins lingering after their retreat.

The shadows thickened, taking on shapes that belonged to neither forest nor sky. And from their depths came the sound of slow applause, ironic and mocking, as if the watcher had enjoyed the performance but found the ending predictable.

"Well done," a familiar voice called from the gathering darkness. "Truly impressive. I couldn't have asked for a better demonstration."

Liselotte's feathers bristled, pain forgotten as she snarled at the intruder. Around the clearing, surviving harpies spread their wings in threat displays that spoke of desperate readiness for one more battle.

Ryelle stood slowly, calling what remained of her fire to dance around her fingertips. Silver flame answered, but guttered like candles in a windstorm.

The shadows parted, revealing a figure she'd hoped never to see in circumstances like these.

Xellos stepped into the light, his divine radiance unmarked by any sign of haste or concern. Behind him, the darkness held shapes that might have been more demons, or might have been something worse.

"I do hope you haven't exhausted yourselves too thoroughly," he said, his tone carrying the same pleasant courtesy he'd always shown in Ebonheim's presence. "It would be terribly disappointing if you couldn't put up much of a fight after all this. A true shame, really."

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