I never thought I'd find myself standing in the center of a demon academy courtyard, waiting for angels to rain holy fire down upon us, but life's full of surprises lately.
The gauntlet pulses against my skin, Estingoth's eagerness for battle bleeding into my own consciousness. Students and faculty form concentric rings around me—a living shield I never asked for but desperately need. Their faces are grim, determined. Most of them have never fought angels before. I have, though only the one, and I barely survived.
"You don't have to do this," Caleif says, materializing beside me. Her true form is showing more prominently now—the ember-like hair moving with unseen currents, her eyes fully crimson. "There's still time to retreat to the lower chambers."
"And then what?" I ask, flexing my fingers as power builds beneath my skin. "Keep running until they corner me somewhere with fewer allies? No thanks."
The sky above the academy darkens unnaturally, clouds swirling into a vortex that pulses with golden light. My mouth goes dry as the air crackles with celestial energy.
"Here they come," Valen announces unnecessarily, his crimson robes billowing around him as he takes position at the front line.
I glance at the students—some barely teenagers by the look of them—and guilt twists in my gut. "Get the younger ones inside," I tell Caleif. "They shouldn't be part of this."
"They already are," she replies softly. "The moment you walked through those gates."
Before I can respond, the vortex tears open like a wound in reality. Blinding light spills through, forcing me to shield my eyes. When my vision clears, they're hovering above us—a dozen angels in gleaming armor, wings spread wide against the darkened sky. At their center floats a figure unlike the others, clothed in robes of shifting white and gold, face obscured by a hood that seems to contain pure light rather than shadow.
"The Purifier," Estingoth's voice resonates within my mind, tinged with something that might be fear.
The angelic host descends in perfect formation, touching down at the far end of the courtyard. Students back away instinctively, creating a no-man's-land between us. The hooded figure steps forward, and the air around them ripples with power.
"I am Raziel, Voice of the Purifier," announces the angel at the hooded figure's right. His voice carries unnaturally, reaching every corner of the courtyard. "We come seeking the abomination who bears Estingoth's taint. Surrender him, and the rest shall be spared."
Valen steps forward, his own power manifesting as dancing flames around his hands. "The Academy harbors no abominations, angel. Only students under our protection."
"Your protection means nothing," Raziel replies coldly. "The human-demon hybrid has violated cosmic law by bonding with a forbidden artifact. He must be cleansed."
All eyes turn to me, and I feel the weight of their expectations crushing down. My palms are sweating, and despite the bravado I showed earlier, fear threatens to paralyze me. What if I'm not strong enough? What if people die because of me?
"You're not alone," Caleif whispers, her hand finding mine. The contact sends warmth through my system, steadying my nerves.
I step forward, the gauntlet pulsing brighter with each beat of my heart. "I'm right here," I call out, my voice steadier than I feel. "No need to threaten everyone. You want me? Come and get me."
The hooded figure—the Purifier—tilts their head slightly, as if studying me. Then, with a gesture so quick I almost miss it, they send a bolt of golden energy streaking toward me.
Time slows. I raise the gauntlet instinctively, channeling Estingoth's power to create a shield of crimson energy. The bolt strikes it with apocalyptic force, the impact sending shockwaves through the courtyard. Windows shatter. Students are knocked off their feet. But somehow, I remain standing, my shield holding.
"Impossible," Raziel hisses, genuine surprise in his voice.
I lower my arm, the shield dissipating into wisps of red smoke. "That the best you got?" I taunt, though my entire body is trembling from the effort of deflecting that single attack.
The Purifier steps forward, finally speaking in a voice that sounds like multiple voices layered together—male and female, old and young, all resonating with terrible power. "You have no understanding of what you've become, child. The artifact you bear has corrupted countless souls. It must be destroyed, along with any who have bonded with it."
"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly thrilled about the situation either," I reply, trying to mask my fear with sarcasm. "But we've reached a sort of understanding, Estingoth and I. So how about you back off and let us figure this out ourselves?"
The Purifier raises their hands, hood falling back to reveal... nothing. Where a face should be is only radiant light, so bright it hurts to look directly at it. "The corruption has already spread too far. I sense the angel-blood bond as well. Azazel's work, no doubt. You are becoming a nexus of forbidden powers, a threat to the balance between realms."
"That's rich coming from someone about to start a war in a school," I shoot back.
The Purifier makes a sound that might be laughter, though it raises the hairs on the back of my neck. "War was inevitable the moment you bonded with the gauntlet. I merely hasten the inevitable."
They gesture again, and the other angels draw weapons of pure light—swords, spears, bows that materialize from the air itself.
"Last chance," Raziel announces. "Surrender the abomination, or face celestial judgment."
Valen's response is a ball of hellfire that streaks toward the angelic host. It's swatted aside effortlessly, but serves as the signal everyone was waiting for. The courtyard erupts into chaos as demons and angels clash in an explosion of supernatural power.
I lose track of Caleif in the melee, focusing instead on the Purifier, who floats serenely above the battle, those empty light-filled eyes fixed on me. With a thought, I channel power through the gauntlet, feeling Estingoth's battle knowledge flowing into my muscles. I move faster than I ever have before, dodging blasts of celestial energy as I close the distance.
An angel blocks my path, sword raised high. I duck under his swing, the gauntlet connecting with his midsection. The impact sends him flying backward, golden ichor spraying from his mouth. Another comes at me from the side, and I spin away, unleashing a blast of crimson energy that catches her in the wing. She spirals to the ground, shrieking in pain.
"You fight well for a novice," the Purifier observes, still hovering just out of reach. "But you cannot win this. The gauntlet's power comes at a price—one you've only begun to pay."
As if triggered by their words, pain lances up my arm. The dark veins that had stabilized after the ritual begin to spread again, creeping past my elbow toward my shoulder. Each pulse of power through the gauntlet accelerates the process.
"What's happening?" I gasp, stumbling as the pain intensifies.
"The corruption advances," the Purifier replies, almost gently. "With each use of its power, the artifact claims more of you. Soon, there will be nothing left of Kamen Driscol—only Estingoth's heir."
"No!" Estingoth's voice roars in my mind. "Fight it, Kamen! The integration should have stabilized the transformation!"
But something's wrong. The balance we achieved is slipping, Estingoth's consciousness pushing against mine with increasing pressure. I fall to one knee, clutching my head as two souls battle for dominance within a single body.
Through pain-blurred vision, I see the Purifier descending, a sword of pure light materializing in their hand. "I take no pleasure in this cleansing," they say, raising the blade. "But the cycle must be broken."
The sword arcs downward, and I know I can't dodge it—can barely even move as the internal struggle consumes my strength. This is it. After everything, I'm going to die on my knees in a courtyard full of monsters.
Then a blur of ember-red interposes itself between us. The sound of celestial steel piercing flesh reaches my ears, followed by a gasp of pain I recognize immediately.
"Caleif!" I scream, watching in horror as she slides off the Purifier's blade, crimson blood—so much darker than human blood—pooling beneath her.
Something snaps inside me. Not just anger, but pure, unrestrained rage unlike anything I've ever felt. The gauntlet responds instantly, power surging through my system like molten metal. The transformation accelerates, dark veins spreading across my chest, up my neck, but I don't care anymore.
I rise to my feet, my vision tinted crimson. The Purifier steps back, sensing the change in me. "Interesting," they murmur. "The demon girl's sacrifice has triggered something unexpected."
"Her name," I growl, my voice deepening to something barely recognizable, "is Caleif."
I launch myself at the Purifier with impossible speed, the gauntlet blazing like a crimson star. My fist connects with their chest, and for the first time, I hear the angel make a sound of pain. The impact sends them tumbling backward through the air, their perfect composure finally broken.
I don't give them time to recover. Drawing on everything Estingoth has taught me, I channel power not just through the gauntlet but through my entire body. My skin hardens, muscles expanding with supernatural strength. I can feel myself changing, becoming something neither human nor demon, but I embrace it willingly if it means avenging Caleif.
The Purifier regains their balance, hovering just above the ground. "Yes," they say, and I swear I hear satisfaction in that multi-layered voice. "Show me what you truly are."
I roar—a sound no human throat could produce—and charge again. This time they're ready, meeting my attack with their light-sword. The weapons clash in a shower of crimson and gold sparks, the impact sending shockwaves through the courtyard. Around us, the battle between angels and demons pauses as all eyes turn to witness our confrontation.
We trade blows with inhuman speed, each impact threatening to shatter the very ground beneath us. I'm vaguely aware that I shouldn't be able to match a being like the Purifier, but rage and Estingoth's power carry me beyond my normal limitations.
"You're becoming the very thing you fear," the Purifier taunts as they parry another strike. "Look at yourself, Kamen Driscol. Is this what you wanted?"
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a shattered window—my face partially transformed, skin darkened to obsidian where the veins have spread, eyes glowing with crimson fire. I barely recognize myself.
The moment of distraction costs me. The Purifier's blade slices across my chest, cutting through my transformed skin. Pain explodes through my system, and I stagger backward, golden light burning in the wound.
I stumble backward, golden fire searing through the wound on my chest. Each breath sends fresh waves of agony through me, but I refuse to fall. Not while Caleif lies bleeding on the ground.
"You see now," the Purifier says, that faceless light shifting in what might be satisfaction. "Celestial energy is anathema to demonic corruption. Even your transformed skin cannot withstand it."
"I don't care," I snarl, forcing myself upright. The wound burns like acid, but I push the pain aside, channeling it into more power. "I'll kill you for what you did to her."
The Purifier tilts their head. "Such devotion to a demon. Perhaps there is more humanity in you than I thought."
"Humanity?" I laugh, the sound harsh and unfamiliar even to my own ears. "I'm embracing what I am now. And what I am is going to tear you apart."
Estingoth's voice resonates through my consciousness, stronger than ever. "Use my rage, Kamen. Let it fuel you."
I don't hesitate. For the first time, I willingly surrender to the transformation, letting it flow through every cell of my body. My muscles expand with supernatural strength. The ground cracks beneath my feet as my weight increases. The gauntlet's crimson light spreads, enveloping my entire arm in blazing energy.
The Purifier raises their sword, but I can see uncertainty in their posture now. "This changes nothing," they insist. "The corruption will consume you completely."
"Maybe," I concede, flexing my transformed fingers. "But I'll make sure you're not around to see it."
I launch myself forward with explosive force, moving faster than I thought possible. The Purifier barely raises their shield in time. When my fist connects, the impact sends shockwaves rippling through the courtyard. Students and angels alike are knocked off their feet by the concussive force.
The Purifier's shield cracks but holds. They counter with a blast of golden energy that catches me in the shoulder, spinning me around. I use the momentum to my advantage, completing the turn and driving my elbow into their midsection. For the first time, I hear them gasp in genuine pain.
We break apart, circling each other like predators. I'm dimly aware of the battle resuming around us, demons and angels locked in supernatural combat, but my focus remains entirely on the being before me.
"You fight well," the Purifier acknowledges. "But you cannot sustain this form for long. Already your life force drains to fuel these powers."
They're right. Beneath the rage and Estingoth's strength, I can feel myself weakening. The transformation is burning through my energy reserves like wildfire. But I don't need to last forever—just long enough.
I feint left, then drive straight forward, closing the distance before they can react. The gauntlet connects with their chest, and I unleash everything I have—every ounce of power, every spark of rage, every fragment of pain. Crimson energy explodes outward, enveloping the Purifier in a cocoon of destructive force.
Their scream isn't human—it resonates on multiple frequencies simultaneously, a sound that makes blood leak from my ears and eyes. The light within their hood flares blinding-bright, then dims to a sputtering glow.
I stagger backward, nearly spent. The transformation is receding, my body returning to something closer to human as my strength fades. But the Purifier is worse off. Their perfect form is cracked and leaking golden light, their wings drooping toward the ground.
"Impossible," they whisper, the layered voice reduced to a rasp. "The gauntlet was never this powerful."
"It's not just the gauntlet," I manage to say through gritted teeth. "It's me. It's Estingoth. It's all of us together."
The Purifier struggles to rise, celestial energy flickering around them like a failing light bulb. "This victory... is temporary. The corruption will claim you in the end."
"Maybe." I turn my back on them, staggering toward where Caleif lies motionless. "But today isn't that day."
I collapse to my knees beside her, gently cradling her head. Her skin is ashen, her ember-red hair dimmed to rust. The wound in her chest still leaks dark blood, but slower now—too slow. She's dying.
"Caleif," I whisper, brushing hair from her face. "Why did you do that? Why would you sacrifice yourself for me?"
Her eyelids flutter, crimson irises focusing on me with effort. "Because..." she coughs, blood speckling her lips, "you're worth it. I've watched you... fight your nature... choose your path. That's... rare."
I clutch her hand, feeling it growing colder by the second. "Don't talk. We'll get help. The academy must have healers—"
"Too late," she interrupts, her voice barely audible. "Listen to me. The Purifier... isn't wrong. The gauntlet will... consume you... if you let it. But you're stronger... than Estingoth was. You can... control it."
Tears blur my vision, falling onto her face. "I can't do this without you. I don't know how."
A ghost of a smile touches her lips. "Yes... you can. Remember... what I taught you. Balance... is key."
Behind me, I hear the sounds of battle shifting. The angels are retreating, carrying their wounded leader. But I can't bring myself to care about victory now, not with Caleif's life slipping away beneath my fingers.
"Don't go," I beg, feeling pathetic and powerless despite all the strength I just displayed. "Please."
Her hand squeezes mine with surprising strength. "Not your choice... or mine." Her gaze shifts beyond me, seeing something I can't. "Interesting... so that's how it works..."
"What? What do you see?" I ask desperately.
But her eyes have gone distant, the light fading from them even as I watch. Her hand goes limp in mine, and something fundamental seems to leave the air around us—some vital energy I hadn't even realized was there until it was gone.
"No," I whisper, pulling her closer. "No, no, no."
The rage that fueled me moments ago is replaced by a hollowness so profound it threatens to swallow me whole. I barely notice as Valen approaches, his robes torn and bloodied from the battle.
"Kamen," he says gently. "The angels have withdrawn. We've won, thanks to you."
"Won?" I look up at him, tears streaming down my face. "Does this look like victory to you?"
He kneels beside us, checking Caleif's pulse with practiced fingers. His expression confirms what I already know. "She died with honor, protecting someone she believed in. There are worse ways to leave this world."
"I don't care about honor," I snap. "I care about her."
The gauntlet pulses faintly, Estingoth's voice subdued in my mind. "I'm sorry, Kamen. I know what it is to lose someone you love."
Love. The word resonates through me like a struck bell. Had I loved Caleif? I don't even know. We never had the chance to find out, and now we never will.
Students gather around us in a solemn circle, many wounded from the battle. Some weep openly. Others stand in respectful silence. I realize with a jolt that Caleif must have been important here—a respected figure, not just my guide and protector.
"What happens now?" I ask, not really expecting an answer.
Valen sighs heavily. "We tend to our wounded. We honor our dead. And we prepare, because the Purifier will return. They never abandon a mission."
I look down at Caleif's peaceful face, committing every detail to memory. "Then I can't stay here. I've brought enough death to your academy."
"You would dishonor her sacrifice by running?" Valen's voice sharpens. "Caleif Lynria believed you belonged here. She died defending that belief."
His words strike me like physical blows. "What am I supposed to do? Wait for them to come back and kill more people? Kill more of your students?"
"You're supposed to learn," he replies firmly. "Learn to control your power. Learn to be what Caleif saw in you."
I want to argue, to lash out, to blame someone—anyone—for this loss. But deep down, I know he's right. Running won't solve anything. It will only ensure that Caleif died for nothing.
Gently, I lay her body on the ground and rise to my feet. The transformation has completely receded now, leaving me exhausted and aching in every joint. The wound on my chest still burns with celestial fire, but the pain seems distant, secondary to the hollowness inside me.
"Alright," I say finally. "I'll stay. I'll learn. But not just to control this power—to use it. Because when the Purifier comes back, I want to be ready."
Valen studies me for a long moment, then nods. "Come. We must prepare Caleif for the rites. As her protégé, you have responsibilities in the ceremony."
As we carry her body into the academy, I feel something shift inside me—a resolve hardening into certainty. The Purifier thought they were cleansing the world of corruption, but all they've done is ensure that I'll become exactly what they feared most.
I look down at the gauntlet, the crimson light now dim and steady. "We're going to make them pay," I promise silently. "All of them."
And for once, Estingoth has no words of caution—only quiet agreement radiating through our bond.