Page 55 of His Darkest Devotion

Turning, we join the others. The Matriarch stands atop a small outcrop, scanning the horizon with practiced calm. At her nod, purnas begin forming units behind makeshift barricades. Humans gather in flanks, hearts pounding, while a few orcish warriors scowl impatiently. In the distance, thunder rolls. Or perhaps it’s the echo of gargoyle wings beating the air.

We don’t have long to wait. A scout rushes up, panting. “They’re here. Gargoyles cresting the western ridge, at least fifty. Possibly more behind them. And from the east, banners of the Overlord’s legion, accompanied by Red Purnas in crimson robes.”

A chill grips me.Bladrik is making his move. The Overlord and Red Purnas, too.

Elira steps forward, illusions coiling around her ankles like restless serpents. “Positions!” she calls, voice trembling with authority. The allied force shifts, purnas’ staves aglow, novices forming illusions to conceal part of our ranks. Humans tighten their grips on spears, faces pale. My heart thuds against my ribcage as I take my place near Elira, every nerve braced for chaos.

The sun dips lower, bathing the valley in bloodred light. Then we see them: massive silhouettes, gargoyle forms leaping from rock to rock, wings half-spread. At the same time, a column of Dark Elf soldiers emerges from the eastern slope, red-robed figures among them. I spy the Overlord’s crest fluttering in the gloom.An unholy convergence.

A hush falls, broken only by the rasp of breath and the distant roar of gargoyles. The line between friend and foe has never been clearer: monstrous gargoyles seeking vengeance, the Overlord’s forces craving domination, and we—a ragtag alliance fighting for survival.And me, a hybrid straddling both worlds.

I sense Elira’s hand tremble on her staff, illusions swirling in a bright halo. She looks at me, eyes shining with final resolve. “This is it, Vaelin,” she whispers, voice carrying an odd tenderness. “Thank you for returning. For standing with us.”

Emotion constricts my throat. “I promised,” I rasp.And I will not break that promise again.

A thunderous roar splits the sky as gargoyles descend the ridge, their war cries echoing across the valley. Far opposite, the Overlord’s horn sounds, and his troops surge forward, Red Purnas chanting malevolent spells. Caught between these converging threats, our allied lines brace. My gargoyle side flares, surging at the presence of so many of my monstrous kin. My teeth clench, fear colliding with a fierce protectiveness for Elira and her people.

Elira raises her staff. “Hold!” she shouts, illusions rippling out to camouflage our flanks. The allied purnas chant protective wards, novices unleashing illusions of spiked barriers. Humans grip spears, hearts pounding. Orcish scouts crouch, weapons ready. The final confrontation looms.

I step forward, drawing my blade.This is the moment my entire life has led to—resisting the Overlord, denying the gargoyle warlord, choosing my own path.The ground vibrates under stampeding forces. Through the swirl of illusions, I see monstrous forms leaping in, and behind them, the glint of Dark Elf steel.

Elira stands at my side, eyes aflame with resolve. Our alliance is fragile, our odds grim, but the spark of unity across purnas, humans, orcs—and one half-gargoyle enforcer—might be the key to defying fate.

As the roar of battle ignites, I sense the stirring of destiny. Despite the fear that thrums in my veins, I grip Elira’s hand briefly, letting that single contact steady my soul. Then we break apart, each ready to face the onslaught. The prophecy culminates, our hearts battered yet undaunted.I will not bow to my monster side, nor to the Overlord’s chains.

With a final breath, I surge forward into the fray, illusions swirling, wards igniting, and the thunder of gargoyle roars enveloping us all. The finale has begun.

17

ELIRA

Ifeel the earth tremble beneath my feet as our makeshift army pours onto the ancient battleground—a vast plateau ringed by jagged cliffs, etched with the scars of an age-old conflict. Runes carved into crumbling stones glimmer faintly, remnants of the old wards my ancestors once used to seal away the gargoyles. Now, with monstrous roars echoing across the wind-scoured rocks, that ancient power resonates in my bones like a distant drumbeat, warning of the doom that could unfold here again.

At my side, Vaelin grips his sword, grim determination etched on his face. He glances my way, and I see the agony of his gargoyle blood flickering behind his eyes—an unspoken war he fights within. I ache to reach for his hand, to ground us both against the storm building around us, but I hold my focus on the battle lines forming. Now is not the time for tenderness, though I sense the warmth of his resolve in every stolen glance.

We stand at the forefront, flanked by purnas from my coven—some from the main body, others from smaller enclaves that have come to join us. A handful of orc warriors prowl behind, sniffing the air warily, their tusked expressions set in scowls. Humans clutch makeshift spears, spines rigid with fear. And somewhere off to our left, Olyssia organizes another squad, her fiery hair catching the morning light as she confers with orcish scouts over the terrain. I swallow, praying we can stand firm when the chaos ignites.

The wind shifts, carrying a faint stench of sulfur and decay. My heart pounds.The gargoyles are close,I think. Glancing toward Vaelin, I see a flicker of tension in his posture, as though he too senses them. But the gargoyles aren’t our only threat. Beyond the far edge of the plateau, the Overlord’s dark-elven banners flutter in the wind—sleek black pennants slashed with arcs of silver, accompanied by the crimson robes of the Red Purnas. My stomach clenches at the sight.The Overlord and Red Purnas, united in cruelty.

Lightning fractures the clouded sky, thunder rolling a heartbeat later. It’s as though the world itself braces for what’s about to happen. The Matriarch stands a short distance away, staff raised high, illusions swirling around her. She meets my gaze, nodding once—a silent signal. We are as ready as we’ll ever be.

I exhale sharply, calling illusions to me. They swirl around my ankles, flickering like spectral serpents across the broken stones. My coven sisters and brothers draw on their own magic—some brandish staves that crackle with elemental forces, others whisper incantations of protection, weaving half-seen wards into the air. Every muscle in my body tenses as we brace for the approaching armies.

A roar reverberates from the western crags. The first wave of gargoyles emerges, bounding across jagged rocks with terrifying speed. Their massive frames reflect the lightning overhead, wings folded or half-spread. My illusions spark in my periphery, responding to my surge of fear and determination.They’re bigger than I imagined. There must be dozens, maybe hundreds.And overshadowing them all, I spot a mountainous figure with a crown of stone horns. The Gargoyle Warlord. Bladrik. My blood runs cold.

At the same time, from the east, the Overlord’s soldiers march in disciplined ranks, halberds glinting. Red Purna purnas weave shimmering spells overhead—scarlet illusions that flicker like embers in the rain-damp air. My jaw tightens.They’d prefer to pick us off while we’re distracted by the gargoyles.

Shouts erupt among our allied lines. My novices clench their staves, illusions winking as their nerves threaten to destabilize the spells. Olyssia’s voice rings out, rallying the younger purnas. Vaelin steps nearer, pressing the back of his hand lightly against mine in a silent show of support. I meet his gaze, and for one breath, I see everything we’ve fought for—his battered trust, my battered heart, both entwined. Then the first gargoyle leaps forward, bellowing a challenge that echoes off the cliffs.

“Steady!” I call, illusions rippling around me in a curtain of pale light. Several purnas beside me plant their feet, readying spells of binding or illusions meant to confuse. Thunder booms once more, and in a heartbeat, the gargoyle vanguard slams into our forward line.

Chaos detonates.

I fling out illusions in a wide arc, twisting the visual field in front of the gargoyles so that the rocky ground appears to drop away. A few gargoyles snarl in confusion, slamming their claws into illusions that break like mist. But others, guided by primal cunning, see past my tricks and surge forward, wings flaring. One of them—a hulking brute with scarred flanks—plunges straight for me, claws extended.

Vaelin intercepts, sword flashing. Steel meets stone flesh in a shriek of sparks. The gargoyle roars, staggering back from the impact. Vaelin doesn’t relent—he thrusts again, ignoring the shards of rock-like hide that splinter under his blade. My heartbeat gallops with both fear and admiration.He’s unstoppable.But behind Vaelin, another gargoyle leaps from the side, aiming to flank him.

I whip my staff around, summoning a bolt of pure force that slams the second gargoyle off course, sending it skidding across the shattered rocks. My illusions swirl with adrenaline, flickering in and out as I pivot, scanning for more threats. All around us, purnas and humans clash with gargoyles in a brutal melee. Harsh growls and screams fill the air. Electricity from Olyssia’s staff crackles in the distance, illuminating the twisted forms of gargoyles struck by her elemental flames.

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