Which is responsible for the absence of life in the vicinity and oppressive silence. Stretching my awareness further, I find that what little of nature remains nearby is shadowed by death—ripe with toxins and leeched of vitality.
All beyond my grasp to heal, so I do what I can and grant them the peaceful death they deserve, withdrawing their souls from their flesh and letting their spirits pass into God’s care.
Once done, I get back to dealing with the issue at hand.
My leathers give with the movement as I bend to lay my hand against the earth.
This time, the vibration is not subtle. It surges up my arm, deep and insistent, rattling in my chest like a second heartbeat. I force my focus downward—past the shifting plates, toward the source buried far below.
The gate.
The moment I make contact with its presence, I recoil.
Large.
Far larger than any fracture born of natural upheaval.
Slowly, I stand while flexing my fingers to rid them of the abhorrent sensation.
My gaze travels across the gaping tear. The cliff face on this side is jagged and violently split, while the opposite edge is soft and crumbling, the earth there collapsing inward as though it has already begun to surrender.
Unstable.
Cautiously, I circle the perimeter, measuring each step, noting where the soil gives too easily or threatens to fall away entirely. But it is not the land itself that holds my attention.
It is the tracks—scattered at first, singular, then clustering where multiple demons escaped, leaving behind impressions no man or animal could make. Evidence of passage.
The smaller tracks aren’t what troubles me the most.
No. It’s the one I find on the southern edge of the crevice.
Boots with no tread.
Taking a knee, I trace the impressions with my finger, measuring their depth… their length… their width. The weight required to make them is considerable—enough to drive them far deeper than my own.
Heel to toe.
The spacing between each suggests long strides taken without haste.
I follow the trail for several yards—long enough to be certain—then double back.
First things first.
Close the gate—or, at the very least, contain it long enough to buy us time. Then I’ll track the demons down.
Reaching outward with my awareness, I sweep the surrounding area, ensuring I am still alone. Only then do I let my cloak dissolve into ether and disappear from sight while calling my true form forward.
My wings unfurl.
They spread wide with a low rush of displaced air, stretching to their full span. Their color stands in stark contrast to the light of day—midnight black, the inlaid gold nearly swallowed by the onyx, save for where the sun catches and holds it in brief, gleaming traces.
Though it’s been days since my arrival, the ache from the arduous journey lingers—a dull reminder held in muscle and joints that protest any movement.
I raise a hand to remove my mask next… then think better of it. The stench alone is reason enough to keep it in place. But more than that, my identity must remain hidden from all but God and my brothers. They are the only ones who know what I truly am, and that I took the place of another.
After drawing my curved blades from my back, I stride toward the edge and let gravity claim me.
A heartbeat, and then my wings catch air, softening my fall as well as guiding my descent.
