The courtyard transformed around Ebonheim's presence. Moonlight bent toward her like iron filings drawn to a lodestone, tracing shimmering patterns that danced around her body. Divine power suffused the air, palpable as steam after a thunderstorm.

Marcus recoiled from the blazing radiance, his spider-limbs folding against his torso like a dying insect. The confidence that had carried him through their battle evaporated like mist before sunrise, replaced by something Ryelle had never seen in a demon's features before—fear.

"Goddess," Marcus said, his voice stripped of its earlier mockery. "You are far from your city. Your power is... diminished. We did not expect—"

"You expected nothing because you planned nothing worth my attention." Ebonheim's voice carried weight that pressed against the courtyard's stones like the memory of earthquakes. "But here you are."

She stepped forward, and where her feet touched the paving stones, light bloomed beneath them like flowers made of starfire. Marcus scuttled backward, his form compressing into something more defensible, but his retreat spoke of desperation rather than strategy.

Ryelle felt Ebonheim's power washing over her wounds, divine essence knitting torn flesh and restoring strength that the demon's claws had stolen. The pain receded like morning mist touched by sunlight, leaving only the memory of agony and the sharp clarity that followed its absence.

"The other one," she said, pushing herself to her feet with renewed vigor. "Belenton. He's still inside fighting Lorne and the others."

Ebonheim nodded without taking her eyes off Marcus. Power gathered around her like heat-shimmer above summer stones, visible distortions that made the air itself seem to bend and flow.

"First things first," she said.

Divine will shaped reality around them. Ryelle felt something settle over the courtyard like invisible chains, a weight that pressed against dimensions she couldn't name. The sensation made her divine essence prickle with recognition—Ebonheim was severing this space from the pathways that demons used to slip between realms.

Marcus felt it too. His alien features contorted with something approaching panic as he tested the barriers now surrounding them. His form blurred as he attempted to fold himself through spaces that no longer connected to anywhere else.

"Caged," he whispered, and his harmonics carried the sound of silk tearing. "Trapped like vermin in a burning barn."

"Vermin," Ebonheim agreed. "Though barns serve useful purposes. You do not."

Marcus gathered himself into a compressed coil of malice and shadow. If escape was impossible, then only violence remained—desperate, futile violence that might at least wound his captor before inevitable destruction claimed him.

He launched himself at Ebonheim with everything he had, six limbs striking from angles designed to overwhelm mortal reflexes. His claws moved faster than lightning, cutting through air that screamed in protest.

They struck something harder than steel and more yielding than water. Divine power flowed around Ebonheim like invisible armor, turning aside blows that could have shattered stone. Marcus's claws scraped against barriers that gave just enough to absorb impact before deflecting his strikes into harmless arcs.

"Futile," Ebonheim said, not even moving as the demon expended himself against her defenses. "But expected."

She gestured—barely more than a shift of her wrist—and Marcus flew backward across the courtyard as if struck by a titan's fist. He hit the far wall hard enough to crack the ancient stones, then slid down to sprawl among rubble that had once been decorative carvings.

Before he could recover, invisible force pinned him against the damaged wall. His limbs spread wide, held in place by power that treated his inhuman strength like a child's tantrum.

"Now," Ebonheim said, turning toward the castle. "The other one."

She raised her hand toward the great hall's windows, fingers spread as if grasping something only she could see. Divine will flowed through the gesture, reaching into the castle's interior with purpose that made the mountain peaks themselves seem to lean forward in anticipation.

Inside the hall, battle still raged. Ryelle could hear steel singing against claw, voices raised in fury and pain, the crash of furniture being hurled or destroyed. Lorne's voice cut through the din, barking orders that spoke of tactical desperation.

Ebonheim's fingers closed.

Stone exploded outward from the great hall's wall like water from a burst dam. Blocks that had stood for centuries tumbled into the courtyard, followed by a dark shape that twisted and writhed as it flew through the air.

Belenton crashed into the paving stones beside Marcus, his six-armed form creating cracks that radiated outward like spider webs. He rolled to his feet with inhuman grace, but his pale eyes held the same fear that had claimed his companion.

"Two rats," Ebonheim observed. "From the same nest."

"Goddess." Belenton's voice carried harmonics of desperate diplomacy. "We serve purposes beyond mere destruction. Information valuable to your domain's security. Terms might be—"

A gesture silenced his words, locking his jaws together with audible force.

"I have sensed your terms. They involve corruption, slavery, and the theft of minds that belong to others." Divine radiance gathered around Ebonheim like storm clouds preparing to break. "I find them wanting."

She floated across the courtyard's wreckage, her form passing through debris as if it didn't exist.

Ryelle approached carefully, her kanabō retrieved from where it had fallen. The weapon felt different in her hands now—lighter, more responsive, as if Ebonheim's presence had awakened something in its core.

"They've been here for months," she said. "Influencing the Order. Replacing some of their knights with corrupted versions while twisting others into obedience. I don't know how widespread the corruption is."

"We shall find out soon enough."

Ebonheim touched the air as if stroking an invisible map, trailing points of starlight that glowed in her wake. Her expression shifted into one of distant concentration, power flowing around her like smoke from a forge-fire.

Divine will moved like lightning through the castle's interior, making contact with every knight still wrestling with invisible bonds. Ryelle could feel her goddess's essence spreading through hallways and chambers, revealing deception and dispelling illusions that had been set like traps along each corridor.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Those who had been freed continued to fight, their weapons now guided by strength of purpose rather than desperate reflex. Those who remained trapped felt Ebonheim's presence like a blade cutting through the shackles that confined their minds, granting clarity and freedom to act as their hearts demanded.

Even those beyond saving—fully corrupted by demonic influence—felt a brief moment of stark terror before her radiance burned away their shadows like paper shriveling on a funeral pyre.

What remained after the divine fire passed was a castle full of injured, confused, and furious knights who now knew exactly who to blame.

"No more servants of deceit within these walls," Ebonheim said, her eyes returning to the two bound Mayakara. "Only two rats seeking any exit they can find."

She took another step toward them, and Ryelle followed. The courtyard's wreckage seemed to reshape itself as they passed, broken stone re-forming into something stronger and more durable.

Trapped, pinned by divine force, the two demons exchanged a glance that conveyed all the futile hatred that creatures of darkness could muster when faced with inevitable destruction.

"End them," Ryelle said. Her grip tightened on the iron-headed kanabō. "Send them back to their realm with a message for whatever sent them."

"I agree," Ebonheim said.

And snapped her fingers.

Divine radiance exploded outward from Ebonheim's hand. It swept through the courtyard like sunrise come at the speed of thought, washing over stones and broken wood alike. Ryelle threw up a hand to shield her eyes, but divine sight pierced the blinding glare to show her what was happening.

The demons burned like parchment in a forge. Their false flesh peeled away in layers, revealing the shadow-stuff beneath, which in turn dissolved under divine fire that recognized no distinction between matter and malice. They tried to maintain their shapes, their identities, but Ebonheim's power unpicked them thread by thread until nothing remained but echoes of anguish that faded into mountain wind.

Silence settled over the courtyard like snow after a storm.

Ryelle lowered her hand and gazed around at the aftermath. The paving stones now glowed with a faint, silver radiance that pulsed in time with her own divine essence. The castle's eastern wall—broken by their battle and the retrieval of Belenton—had already begun repairing itself, blocks reforming to fill gaps as if guided by invisible masons.

"Kaela," Ryelle said. "She's somewhere below the castle—dungeon levels or a cavern underneath. We need to find her."

"Stay here. Recover your strength." Ebonheim's radiance began to fade as she pulled her power inward, but her presence still made the air hum like distant thunder. "This won't take long."

She walked toward the castle's entrance, her steps leaving faint impressions in stone that glowed with residual divine energy. The knights who saw her approach pressed themselves against the walls, their faces showing the mixture of awe and terror that mortals felt when confronted with the raw power of gods.

Ryelle managed to prop herself against one of the courtyard's ornamental pillars, watching as Ebonheim disappeared into the castle's interior. The quiet that surrounded her now carried no fear—no scent of hidden malice or waiting claws. Instead, it tasted of winter mornings and the scent of snow, clean and clear as only the highest peaks could be.

She heard footsteps approaching long before Lorne appeared. His blade was sheathed, his armor dented from the fury of demonic blows, but he moved with purpose rather than exhaustion.

"Well," he said, surveying the courtyard. "You're a mess."

"Likewise." She pushed herself away from the pillar, wincing at the tenderness that still lingered beneath her flesh. "Is everyone—"

"Dealt with. Whatever Ebonheim did, it cleared out the last of the corruption. Some were beyond saving." A shadow passed behind his eyes, there and gone like clouds before the moon. "Those were dispatched."

"They would have appreciated the mercy."

Lorne nodded. Silence settled between them, broken only by the sounds of other knights moving through the corridors beyond—checking fallen comrades, clearing away debris, restoring order to what had been chaos moments before.

Ebonheim emerged from the castle's entrance, supporting Kaela's weight with one arm while carrying a crystalline object in her free hand. The artifact—if that's what it was—looked like a shard of black ice wrapped in silver wire, and its presence made Ryelle's divine essence recoil in instinctive revulsion.

Kaela looked pale and shaken, but her eyes held the clear focus of someone who had escaped a terrible dream. She moved under her own power once Ebonheim released her, though her steps carried the uncertain rhythm of someone still adjusting to freedom.

"Is it over?" Kaela asked, looking around the courtyard at the scattered debris from the battle.

Lorne rushed to her side and hugged her tightly.

"The immediate threat, yes." Ebonheim crushed the artifact in her fist, reducing it to powder that dissolved in the mountain wind like ash from a cold fire. "But this was just one symptom of a larger problem."

Ardeunius emerged from the castle, his armor torn and bloody, but his eyes clear for the first time since their arrival. Behind him came Elena, her sword sheathed and a look of quiet relief settling on her face.

"Goddess Ebonheim," Ardeunius said, dropping to one knee in the courtyard's center. Elena followed suit, lowering her head in respect. "You have my gratitude for what you've done here."

Ebonheim studied him for a long moment, her divine senses searching for any remnants of the corruption that had bound him for so long. Apparently satisfied with whatever she found, she gestured for him to rise, her voice carrying neither condemnation nor absolution.

"Tell me what you remember," she said. "All of it. From the beginning."

Ardeunius straightened, his weathered face showing the strain of someone trying to reconcile months of false memories with returning clarity. His hands worked at his sword belt, the nervous gesture of a man who had discovered that his most fundamental beliefs had been compromised.

He closed his eyes, accessing memories that clearly caused him pain. "Six months. Maybe seven. It started small—new protocols for information security, enhanced training programs that required isolation from outside contact." His voice grew steadier as he spoke, as if recounting the facts helped him process the reality. "Brother Marcus arrived first, claiming to represent a scholarly order interested in our anti-demonic techniques. Captain Belenton came later, supposedly transferred from another chapter."

Elena touched his arm, providing silent support.

"It seemed like reasonable improvements," Ardeunius continued. "I authorized everything, but the more we implemented, the more... strange things became. My knights started acting different—more efficient, more focused, but colder too." He shook his head as if trying to dislodge the last of the cobwebs that had clouded his mind.

"When did you first notice something was wrong?"

"I..." He paused, his eyes going distant as if reliving moments from long ago. "There were moments when I found myself giving orders I didn't remember deciding to give. Times when my men would reference conversations I couldn't recall having."

"And you never considered that these gaps in your memory might be signs of demonic influence?"

Ardeunius's expression darkened, self-recrimination clouding his eyes. "Not until it was far too late."

"The corruption spread gradually?"

"Like poison in a water supply. Knights would volunteer for advanced training sessions and return... different. More focused, more compliant. We thought it was improved discipline." His voice carried the bitter weight of a man forced to reevaluate everything he knew. "I encouraged it."

Ebonheim's expression softened slightly. "You couldn't have known. Mayakara are among the most dangerous shapeshifters in the Asura hierarchy. They're masters of infiltration."

"Mayakara?" Elena asked. "What are those?"

"Greater demons capable of wearing human form so convincingly that they can maintain the deception for years if necessary." Ebonheim's gaze swept over the gathered knights, appraising their injuries and exhaustion. "They study their targets extensively before attempting infiltration, learning mannerisms and memories that allow them to pass even close inspection."

"Then how many others might be out there?" Ardeunius asked. "How many of our allies might already be compromised?"

The question hung in the air like smoke from a funeral pyre. If demons could infiltrate an organization specifically trained to hunt their kind, what protection did anyone have against such deception?

"That," Ebonheim said, her voice taking on edges that had nothing to do with warmth or growing things, "is a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, we tend to the wounded and begin the work of healing what was broken."

But her eyes, when she looked toward the valley that held Corinth, held the promise of questions that would demand answers.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.