Devourer

Yale grumbled as he pushed another body into the cart. It was an emancipated thing, there just wasn’t enough food to feed everyone. Somehow word got out that there was food in the capital because of the Averlonian Empire. So instead of fleeing south more people had come to the capital. Which meant there was now a horrific overcrowding problem.

Yael moved away from the cart and nodded at another human soldier who began pulling the cart to the fire pits. Yael shifted the fabric that doubled as a cheap face mask around his neck and grimaced at the thought of the useless thing.

The idea was to keep the smell out but honestly, at a certain point, it wouldn’t matter because the stink will get into your clothes. All of your clothes…

Yael looked towards the Averlonian Safety Zone and sighed at the sight of the massive blue bubble surrounding it. The dead were too numerous, and that meant disease. When you burn so many bodies you get this horrible smog that makes people sick. Combine that with the already starving people, and you get epidemics of disease. More dead more disease, more disease more dead, and on and on it spins. So that barrier kept everything out and made the inside livable.

“Thanks Yael, you take care of yourself.” the soldier said as he let out a rasping cough.

“That cough isn’t getting any better, Marcus.” Yael said, Marcus was a Divonian Soldier who despite everything did not desert his post. For all the problems of having such an undermanned military, the one silver lining was that those who remained and didn’t desert were loyal.

“I’m fine, still got my strength and got my food. I’ll be alright.” Marcus replied as he let out another rasping cough.

Yael clicked his tongue at the sight, his parlour was getting worse. The smog and disease was getting to him. Even some of the weaker Cherubim were showing slight signs of sickness. But for the Cherubim recovery was usually quick, just a few days and they would have fought off the disease. Yael was stronger, he always has been, so the smog just served to stink up the air for him, and the diseases did nothing.

“Come here.” Yael said as he beckoned towards Marcus. Marcus paused as he gave Yael a questioning look before approaching.

“[Heal].” Yael intoned quietly and a small gold light emanated from his hand. He had to keep the power of the spell down to make it subtle but it worked. A quick glance around showed no one had noticed.

Marcus took a deep breath and hacked up some yellow phlegm that was clogging his lungs until now. He spit again to clear his mouth and he gave Yael a grateful nod.

“Thanks, that’s much better.” Marcus said.

“Don’t tell anyone I did that. Inquisitors get pissy when we waste mana.” Yael grumbled.

“Glad to see High Heaven values my life.” Marcus replied wryly with a crooked smile.

“Don’t start.” Yael said with a sigh and a furrowed brow.

“Right, sorry.” Marcus replied with a laugh.

“See you around Marcus.” Yael said and Marcus nodded.

“See you angel.” Marcus replied and he turned away.

“Not an angel…” Yael muttered quietly to himself as he too began walking away.

As Yael trudged through the makeshift refugee camp, he felt the invisible weight of judgment pressing on him, a presence as heavy as the despair hanging in the air. He knew they were watching. The Seraphim Inquisitors, with their piercing golden eyes and unsparing doctrine, had warned him time and again. Healing the sick and the weak was seen as a reckless waste of his power. To them, every spark of celestial energy expended on these wretches was a drop stolen from the war effort, a vulnerability they couldn’t afford.

The Inquisitors had no patience for compassion in war. They called it sentimentality, a weakness unbecoming of one of divine heritage. But Yael had argued, fiercely at first and more resignedly as the months dragged on, that these people were as much victims of the demons as any soldier on the battlefield.

“They harbor demons among them!” one Inquisitor had hissed at him during a heated exchange weeks ago. “You would pour your strength into healing only for them to betray us when the time comes. They are corrupted and your mercy weakens not just you, but all of us. Obey your orders, Cherubim, you are no Angel, know your place.”

Yael could still hear the venom in their voices, the disdain in their glances. To the Seraphim, Cherubim were already lesser beings, their lack of flight a symbol of their inferiority. His actions had only given them more reason to look down on him, to dismiss him as unfit for the divine work of war.

But as Yael walked through the camp now, he could see none of the demons they feared, only humans clinging desperately to what remained of their lives. A woman vomiting in a filthy corner. A child lying limp in their father’s arms. The Seraphim Inquisitors’ words echoed in his mind: "If we lose you, it will be because of your own foolishness. Soldiers cannot be spared, not for these husks, not for their despair. You will regret this."

He felt the consequences of their warnings in every step. His energy reserves were dwindling, his usually radiant glow now a faint shimmer. Still, his stubborn heart would not allow him to walk past the suffering.

As he knelt beside an old man coughing blood into a rag, Yael hesitated, hearing the phantom voice of one inquisitor in particular stern and unyielding. "When demons rise among them and strike you down, who will be left to protect those truly innocent? If the demons win, then this place will be the entire world."

Yael’s hands glowed faintly as he placed them on the man’s frail chest, willing the worst of the sickness to ease. He would not let fear dictate his actions. Yes, demons might be hiding here, preying on the weak, but the alternative of standing idly by while humans perished was something he could never accept. If he lost himself to exhaustion, so be it. If the Seraphim abandoned him for disobedience, he would endure it. Someone had to try to save these people, even if the heavens themselves would not.

When he rose again, trembling slightly, he caught sight of two inquisitors standing at the edge of the camp. Their tall, armoured forms glinted coldly in the dying light, their wings were ablaze with divine fire as if they were trying to ward away the darkness. But perhaps in a fit of cruel irony the ones they were meants to protect shied away from that light and preferred the safety of the shadows. Yael noted that wherever the Inquisitors went, the humans gave them wide berths. They were terrifying to them. Omens of divine wrath come upon a sinful race. As for the Confessors? The berth they were given was wider still.

Yael continued through the camp, his tasks were complete for the day. He was stronger than most Cherubim and his abilities of Arcane control was better than even some angels. Although he lacked the power of the Seraphim, he was their superior in terms of fine control. His old instructor once told him that if he was born a Serpahim, he would be a candidate for one of the Elite Units of Heaven.

Alas, as his instructor quite bluntly put it, “If only you were not born as you are, what wasted potential.” Those words sting till today, especially considering Yael had no idea who his parents were. As is the fate of most Cherubim children they begin their lives under the scornful gazes of their parents and soon find themselves abandoned without even a name.

Just as he was about to turn in for the night, he felt a desperate hand grab his leg. He looked down to see an emancipated mother grabbing onto his leg. In her arms she cradled a young child, who looked to be on the verge of death. The child was ill but that was not all. The boy was all skin and bones. Just from a simple glance it was just a matter of what will kill him not if he will die.

“Master Yael…” the woman said, her voice cracked and weak.

Master Yael… only to the desperate would the word Master and his name be used in the same sentence…

“My child is sick.” the woman said.

“I know, but healing him will not save him. He is too weak, he will be ill again before the end of the week, that is if he lives that long without food.” Yael replied, although his words were harsh but he did not mean to be cruel. It was the truth that was cruel and it was truth he could do little about.

“I know… I just want him to pass peacefully, a final kindness before the end. I beg you, kind soldier of the Seraphim,” the mother said as Yael saw tears drip onto the black mud below.

Yael knew it would not be wise to heal the boy. It would just reduce his suffering not save him. Magic was in short supply, demon incursions were common and with the desperation in this place fresh recruits were plentiful for the cultists. When you have nothing left, bargaining your soul may seem like a good proposition.

Then again, Yael hasn’t pulled his favours with the Averlonian Safety Zone in awhile…

What will you do… Master Yael…

Yael flinched as he heard that familiar almost mocking voice behind him. He turned to see none other than a Hive Hound staring right at him.

“Ego.” Yael said as he turned to face the creature.

“Master Yael.” Ego replied with a low chuckle.

“I just had a very interesting chat with someone else, the fool had alot of silly ideas about who we are. But I suppose that is irrelevant, what is relevant right now, is what you will do.” Ego said as he sat on the ground and watched.

Yael bit his lip and hesitated for a moment before making up his mind. At the end of the day, he was marked. The very fact that the Averlonian were willing to work with him and they would actually break the mold to help him has marked him for suspicion. This made him useful for both sides which gave him alot of leeway. But the war had to end at some point,

And it all honesty, so would he. If the Seraphim won, he would most likely be put on trial. If the Seraphim lost he would be dead…

Yael made up his mind the moment he considered it, he was just trying his best to find some reason to go against it. But as usual, he came up blank. He couldn’t just leave the child to die. He couldn’t save everyone, but he could save him.

Yael froze for a moment, hearing the boy’s faint, raspy breathing. Yael grit his teeth and reached to crade the boy’s thin, trembling body.

“I will take him somewhere safe. I am sorry I…” Yael began but the mother just smiled and shook her head.

“Go, with my blessing. I know my fate, I have made peace with it.” the mother said in almost resigned fashion.

“I wish you good fortune and may we meet again.” Yael said and the mother nodded.

“To you as well. Thank you young, Seraphim.” the mother said as she leaned heavily against the side of her shelter, her body relaxed as if her last burden had ended.

“Shall we? Young Seraphim.” Ego said with a low chuckle.

“I am no Seraphim.” Yael snapped back and Ego just laughed in response.

“Indeed you are not.” Ego replied almost smugly.

The child’s head lolled weakly against Yael’s shoulder, his damp hair sticking to his fevered brow. His face was streaked with dirt, but beneath it, his pale complexion spoke of how close he was to slipping away.

“You’re going to be okay,” Yael murmured softly, his voice a fragile beacon against the oppressive silence of the camp. The boy made a faint sound, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, and one small hand clutched weakly at Yael’s tunic.

The weight of him was hardly anything, yet Yael’s limbs trembled under the strain not from the child’s physical mass, but from the emotional burden he carried. As Yael turned toward the camp’s edge, his sharp eyes caught the Inquisitors once more. Their armor gleamed coldly in the fading light, and one of them stepped forward, his golden eyes narrowing.

“Yael,” the inquisitor barked, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the camp like a blade. “You cannot leave. Your duty is here among the living. That child is as good as dead.”

Yael didn’t stop walking, but he turned his head slightly to meet the inquisitor’s gaze. “If my duty is to the living, then I’ll see that he lives. My duty is to all of them.”

The Inquisitor’s voice grew harsher, his tone thick with authority. “You are risking more than your life, Cherubim. The demons grow bold in this fetid pit. Your weakened state will make you an easy target and when they tear you apart, another soldier is lost. We cannot afford your sacrifice for one boy.”

Yael halted. For a moment, the only sounds were the distant cries of the camp and the boy’s labored breaths.

“Then call me weak. Call me a fool. Call me whatever you want. But if we let him die, what are we even fighting for? If we cannot bear the weight of even a single boy, what chance do we have…” Yael replied softly in resignation.

The Inquisitor’s jaw tightened, his silence thick with disdain. But he didn’t move to stop Yael, nor did his companion. Without another word, Yael turned away. Each step took him farther from the camp and his divine kin, the boy’s fragile body cradled protectively against him. He could feel the child’s uneven breaths against his chest, each one a quiet reminder of how little time they had.

“Stay with me,” Yael murmured to the boy, his voice low and soothing. “We’ll make it. Just hold on.”

He could feel the faint hum of the boy’s fevered pulse against his own, and he knew every delay, every misstep, could cost him. Yael had fought battles against demons that tore through flesh and cities alike. But this this quiet act of defiance, of carrying one fragile, dying boy through a world determined to destroy him, felt like the truest fight of all.

“I suggest you move quickly, he does not have much time.” Ego said from the side.

“And besides, how do you know the Averlonian Empire will even accept him? They didn’t for the rest of these wretches.”

“They haven’t turned me down yet.” Yael replied.

“I suppose that is true.” Ego said with a laugh.

As they ran, towards the great blue barrier Yael heard signs of fighting suddenly erupt. He looked up and saw Seraphim shoot into the air, their weapons out and blazing with divine fire.

Yael grit his teeth at the sight, of all times, why now?

Then a demon burst out of a nearby shack, hurtling right towards him. Yael could barely react before white blur tackled the demon. In one swift movement, Ego pinned the demon under him and closed his large jaws around the demon’s head. His jaws closed with little to no resistance, popping the demon’s head like an overripe grape.

Yael flinched as Ego ripped what’s left of the demon’s head off and swallowed it whole. Ego turned to look at Yael his face face dripping with blood.

“So what will you do? Leave that one behind and join the fight or will you press on?” Ego asked with a tilted head.

Yael hesitated, for a moment but in the end just moved to put the boy down. Demons could kill alot more than one boy, and he was no fool.

“Hmmm, smart, tell you what, how about I bring that one over there. If they don’t turn you down, they definitely won’t turn me down.” Ego said and Yael looked at him with mixed feelings. He knew the Hive could protect and save everyone. He had read the reports, the Averlonian Empire had food reserves to last decades with no drop in quality of life. If rationed, a century was not inconceivable.

If the Averlonian Empire decided to annex Divonia, all this suffering would be over. But he knew that Heaven would never allow it. An empire ruled by an Ancient would not step any further into this land. So the people must suffer, and the innocent must die.

“I’ll go get the mum, later.” Ego said with a grin and Yael gave him a hesitant nod.

“It’s not that far anyway.” Ego added as he glanced at the safety that blue barrier promised.

Afterall, we are almost there…

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