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Treviso glittered beneath a veil of lantern light and a dusting of stars. The city, usually so calm and quiet during the day, had come alive at night as merchants, Crows, and townspeople alike flocked to the night markers. Lucanis Dellamorte moved among them like a shadow, his eyes hard and focused as he walked from the markets to the wealthier Financial District.The night air here was alive with the hum of conversation, the faint haunting melody of a waltz, and even more distantly the shriek of raucous laughter.
The sound had a malicious edge to it, like nails on a chalkboard.
He paused and sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling as he caught a familiar coppery scent. Even if he had not tortured the location of the Venatori gathering - held under his nose in Treviso of all places! - from a cultist, he would have sniffed it out himself. There was a permeating stench of blood which mingled unpleasantly with the smell of the canals. All he had to do to find the Venatori and their little Gala was follow his nose.
His lip curled as he caught sight of the Gala entrance. The wealthy Venatori patrons had gone all out and Gala's entrance was bedecked in twisted garlands of roses and magical twinkling lights. It looked enchanting. It smelled vile. A festering blight disguised as an glittering ball.
His hand briefly tightened on the hilt of his knife under his cloak, but with a force of will he instead drew a silvery invitation gilt with gold and ruby. He slipped into a larger crowd of tittering well-dressed men and women - cultists no doubt - and pulled his hat down lower to cover his features. The closer he got to the gala, the more the prickling behind his eyes bothered him as the blood magic in the air grew stronger.
He stepped forward, the forged invitation sliding from his fingers into the waiting servant's hand. The man barely glanced at it before waving him through the gilded doors, his expression haughty and bored. Music spilled into the night, all violins and laughter, as though the people inside were celebrating something truly special.
The capture of their greatest enemy? The beginning of a new era? The chance to resurrect their blighted God?
Lucanis smiled grimly and stepped across the threshold. The stench hit him first. Perfume. Wine. Blood. Then the itching behind his eyes burst into a painful headache as a tide of blood magic washed over him and Spite churned uneasily.
His expression never changed.
Disgusting Venatori filth, the demon hissed. Smells like greed and desperation.
"Agreed."
No one heard him speak. Nobles and Venatori alike drifted through the ballroom in embroidered silks and jeweled masks. They laughed as servants knelt beside them, offering their arms up for them to cut and draw blood as needed. They drank from crystal goblets stained crimson and gorged themselves on delicacies.
How easy it would be to poison their wine, he thought as he scanned the room. To slip a toxin into the food. Viago would no doubt have just the thing, but-
A woman screamed somewhere beyond a velvet curtain and his attention was jerked back to the present. The guests applauded and a wave of laughter rippled out as the woman screamed again.
A familiar scream.
Anya.
Lucanis's jaw tightened and he pushed behind the curtain. Intel had been scarce - just fragmented whispers gathered from frightened informants and intercepted messages. Nothing solid. Nothing but rumour. Anya Mui - Rook to most - his wife, had vanished three days ago. Lucanis had used every resource available to him as First Talon, but try as he might the Crows couldn't find her. Even the Shadow Dragons had come up empty.
Then, this morning, a single message had arrived: The Crown Jewel of Antiva will be on display at the Treviso Moonfall Gala.
It had caused a flurry of activity - the Crown Jewel of Antiva was Anya's stage name, and if the Venatori were putting her on display it could only mean they intended this Gala to be her final performance.
A spectacle.
A sacrifice.
Tonight.
Lucanis had spent the day hunting Venatori, interrogating them, and gathering information piece by piece. Cut by cut. Ripping the truth from them with Spite guiding each slash of his knife. Making them pay in blood and pain for whatever they had done to her.
The scream sounded again, and Lucanis moved through the crowd like a shadow. His eyes moved ceaselessly over the room, taking in everything and missing nothing. He saw enough to ensure every soul in the building would die before dawn.
In one corner there were blood magic demonstrations on Dalish prisoners chained down for easy access to their skin. In another corner servants were forced to perform for the amusement of drunken aristocrats, and punished painfully for any mistakes they made. He saw Venatori mages showing off their craft while guests placed wagers on how long victims would remain conscious.
The ballroom echoed with cruel laughter.
Lucanis watched it all from under the brim of his hat. Not surprised by what he saw, but still appalled at the casual cruelty and the indolent satisfaction on the faces around him. They deserved to die.
Burn them, Spite piped up, his tone vibrating with eagerness. Make them pay. Bubbling flesh. Charred bone. Screams and pain.
"Eventually."
The demon almost pouted. Now. We want. To see. Them burn.
"Soon. First we find Anya. Then we make them pay."
Spite growled within him, but relented.
Then Lucanis saw the stage and everything else vanished. Every thought. Every plan. Every logical thought. Gone.
Spite hissed. The demon's fury mirroring his own as they stared in appalled horror at the spectacle unfolding. At the crowd surrounding the lone figure. The glint of ceremonial daggers. The splash of crimson blood streaked on pale flesh. A platform had been raised in the center of the grand hall, draped in red velvet like some obscene operatic stage. And there, in the centre, was Anya.
For a heartbeat Lucanis couldn't breathe.
Her deep red hair spilled over her shoulders in tangled waves. Diamonds glittered at her throat and wrists. Someone had dressed her in a gown that shimmered beneath the chandeliers, transforming her into the centerpiece of the evening.
A mockery.
A travesty.
An insult.
Chains suspended her above the stage and Venatori guests formed a queue below. Each approached with the eager anticipation of someone waiting for a dance or children playing a game of pin the tail of the halla. Knives flashed, skin was sliced, and blood oozed into waiting vessels or greedy hands.
Anya barely reacted to any of them.
That frightened Lucanis more than anything. She was too still. Too quiet. The woman who argued with gods and dragons alike, who threw herself into impossible battles with a grin…was gone.
Her head hung low.
Her eyes stared at nothing.
Empty.
Defeated.
Something inside Lucanis cracked. The rage that had been simmering all evening spilled over into red hot fury. A violent burst of hate for every last Venatori in the room and their cruel display of the woman he loved. The fury building inside of him enough to make his vision blur red.
One of the Venatori laughed as he stepped onto the stage. Another guest applauded and laughingly pretended to be Anya. A third demanded his turn, his eyes greedy as they moved over her body.
Lucanis watched. His hands found his knives. The hall became silent in his mind. The music faded. The laughter disappeared. All he could hear was his own heartbeat as seconds passed in what felt like hours.
They were dead.
They were all dead.
How? How should. We kill them? Spite asked, the demon's anger crawling across his skin like hot needles.
Lucanis considered. "The slow way."
He liked that thought. Of letting them linger in misery and fear as they died a slow and inevitable death.
But there were too many.
He considered his options and amended his answer. "The painful way."
Yes. Spite practically purred. Make them hurt. Make them scream.
Ideas flooded through him.
Leave them trapped with their own demons.
Hang them from the same chains.
Make them beg.
Make them bleed.
None seemed sufficient. No punishment could equal what had been done to her. Nothing was enough.
Then Spite offered a simpler solution.
Fire. Burn them. Trap them.
Lucanis looked around the ballroom at the silk banners, the velvet curtains, the oil-fed lanterns and the tightly packed crowd. It was perfect. The ballroom was the product of people who believed themselves untouchable, and it would be their undoing.
He smiled a terrible smile.
"If they think me a demon for what I did to the Wig Maker," he murmured, "just wait until after tonight."
Spite laughed.
Together they moved. No one noticed. Why would they? The Jewel of Antiva was an display for all to enjoy, why would anyone notice a man who moved like a shadow and blended seamlessly into the crowd? One door was barred. Then another. Then another. Lucanis stalked through servant corridors and hidden passages, sealing every escape route he could find. No one would get out if he could help it - they would burn like vermin.
Along the way he freed every prisoner he encountered. Every servant. Every slave. Ignoring the drunken complaints of Venatori who's fun he ruined as he ordered the innocent from the room. Most needed no encouragement. Wild eyed and terrified they slipped away while the Venatori turned their attention to Anya.
By the time Lucanis returned to the ballroom, only the guilty remained. The gala continued. Beautifully unaware. Lost in a drunken revelry and the certainty that this time they had won.
Spite's delight vibrated through his bones. Now?
Lucanis nodded. "Now. Burn the Gala."
Spite cackled gleefully as the first curtain ignited. Flames raced upward. The second followed moments later. Then the third. Fire leapt eagerly from silk to silk. Velvet to velvet. Lantern to lantern. Faster and faster, as though it had life and energy of its own, encouraged by Spite and his recent mastery of fire.
The smoke spread across the ceiling, and finally someone noticed. A scream pierced the music. Panic erupted. The orchestra stopped in an almost comical burst of terror as Spite’s fire swept towards them.
Lucanis watched as guests surged toward the exits and found them sealed. Pounding fists replaced laughter. Venatori shoved one another aside. Trampled one another. Clawed desperately at doors that refused to open.
Shrieked.
Screamed.
Pleaded.
The fire spread faster now and the smoke rose up in a choking layer of haze. Lucanis walked through the chaos. Calm. Purposeful. His eyes locked on Anya as he moved towards her, already planning the best way to break her chains and get her free.
Spite revelled in every moment. Listen to them scream.
"I am,” he told his demon as panic and fear rose in waves around him. “Believe me, I am.”
Beautiful.
Lucanis couldn't agree more. "Very."
A Venatori mage finally noticed him and rushed forward with a weapon drawn, his face twisted in desperate rage. Lucanis was faster. His blade cut through the smoke with barely a ripple and the man's blood painted the floor moments later.
Lucanis advanced through smoke and fire alike, dropping all pretense of being one of them as his power burst outwards and his wings unfurled. Violet light erupted around him. A surge of demonic energy which sent a shower of purple sparks through the air.
Anya finally looked up and their eyes met across the hall. Eyes like a storm tossed sea clashing with his violet orbs. She was still exhausted. Still hurting. But she was alive.
He saw it in her gaze, the moment her emptiness shattered and hope flared. Small. Fragile. But there.
Lucanis reached her in a storm of falling embers and seized her chains, Spite pouring power through him as he ripped them free. Anya nearly collapsed but he caught her before she could fall and cradled her to his chest, clinging to her as though he were the one in peril and she had saved him.
For a moment she simply stared at him - as though she couldn't quite believe he was real. As though this might yet turn out to be some Venatori trickery designed to break her.
"Lucanis?"
Relief hit him harder than any blade ever had at the sound of her voice. "I'm here."
Anya closed her eyes and clung to him, burying her face in his neck, her words muffled. "You came."
“Always.”
Around them, the gala burned. Venatori shoved and screamed and fought one another for scraps of survival. None would find any - he had made sure of it. Any hope they found would be futile, a brief delay of the inevitable.
It was beautiful. Terrible. Horrible. Wonderful.
He wrapped an arm around Anya's waist and gathered her close as his wings flared and he shot upwards, bursting through the domed glass ceiling and into the night beyond. The burst of fresh air fed the flames and he heard screams below as the fire burned brighter. Hotter. Enough to bubble flesh and char bone - exactly as Spite wanted.
Lucanis didn't stay to watch. The Demon of Vyrantium had got what he came for, and Treviso would remember this night for generations. All he cared about was the woman in his arms and keeping her safe.