The Seven

The dust still hung heavy in the air, and I could barely keep my knees from buckling beneath me. My body screamed with exhaustion, but I forced myself to focus, my gaze flicking to the dwarf standing so effortlessly between me and that creature.

Rowan Hale.

The stories didn’t do him justice, and there were plenty of them. Roderick had told me all about Rowan’s legendary exploits—slaying beasts thought invincible, taking on missions no sane person would accept, walking away unscathed from things that would destroy anyone else. He wasn’t just a monster-hunter; he was the monster-hunter, the one even the veterans whispered about in awe.

Roderick once called him “the best there is.” I’d rolled my eyes at the time, because of course Roderick would idolize someone who charged headfirst into danger. But now, seeing him here, calm and composed in the face of a demon, I couldn’t help but wonder if my brother had a point.

Still, even the best have their limits. I could feel it, just faintly—his mana. Or rather, his lack of it. Roderick had mentioned that Rowan was sparing with his spells, and now I understood why. His mana pool was shallow, nowhere near mine. This man didn’t win battles with flashy magic or overwhelming power. He won through precision, efficiency, and sheer skill.

It was impressive. Even humbling.

The ground shuddered again, snapping me from my thoughts. I turned toward the destruction, toward the demon that refused to die.

The creature stood amidst the rubble, his grotesque body pulsing with light that made my stomach churn. The swollen flesh of his form was now radiating a glow so bright it seemed to challenge the sun itself, his every movement leaving a glistening, slimy trail in his wake.

“Guess I’m too late for the Dragon,” Rowan said, his voice calm but sharp as steel. My eyes flicked back to him as he adjusted his grip on the lance. “But a demon? That makes this trip worthwhile.”

He spared me a glance, one that lingered just long enough to catch me off guard.

“That’s Mammonel. The Greed Demon.”

My stomach twisted again at the name. “How do you know that?” I asked, forcing myself to stand a little straighter despite the ache radiating through my body.

Rowan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached up and brushed his thick braid aside, revealing the mark behind his ear. The same mark I bore.

“Because I killed his sister,” he said simply, as if it were a fact as mundane as the weather. “Same as you.”

I stared at the mark, my mind racing. Of course. He’d been through this too.

Mammonel’s grotesque form shuddered violently, and his twisted voice filled the air. “Ah, the killer of my sisters. Lustera’s butcher.” His bulbous eyes locked onto Rowan with a hatred so palpable I could almost feel it radiating from him. The demon sneered, his bloated form pulsing with fury. “I’ll tear you apart, dwarf! I’ll avenge her, piece by miserable piece!”

Rowan didn’t flinch. His lance shifted slightly, and the runes etched along its surface began to glow faintly. He exhaled, steady as stone, his voice unwavering. “You can try.”

“Is that kid still alive?” Rowan asked, his tone clipped but calm, his dark eyes darting toward Kael’s crumpled form.

I glanced over at Kael. He was still breathing, though faintly, his chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. “Yes,” I managed, my voice rasping.

“Then keep it that way,” Rowan said, his voice as cold and steady as stone.

Before I could respond, he moved. One second, he was standing beside me, and the next, he was gone, a blur of motion that defied the bulk of his armored frame.

“Wait!” I tried to call after him, my throat tightening as I reached for my staff. “You don’t know—”

Too late. He was already there.

Rowan appeared in front of Mammonel, his lance a streak of silver light as it drove forward with unerring precision. The creature didn’t even have time to flinch before the weapon pierced its bloated, pulsating body.

Mammonel let out a wet, guttural roar, the sound reverberating through the wreckage. Gone was the giggling, mocking demon from before. This time, it was hurting. Rowan twisted the lance, and I saw dark, viscous liquid ooze from the wound like tar, hissing as it hit the ground.

Mammonel shuddered violently, its swollen mass convulsing as it tried to recoil. For the first time, the demon looked truly vulnerable, its grotesque form sagging as though the weight of its own body had turned against it.

Rowan stepped back, his lance gleaming with the same sickly, black residue that seeped from Mammonel’s wound. His eyes never left the creature, his movements precise and controlled as he adjusted his stance, readying himself for whatever came next.

I tightened my grip on my staff, my mind racing. Rowan had managed to wound it—actually wound it. But if Mammonel’s abilities worked the way I feared, this fight was far from over.

Rowan moved like a force of nature. His lance whirled and thrust with precision, every strike deliberate, aimed for weak points in Mammonel’s bloated, pulsating body. The sickening, oily glow from the demon dimmed slightly with each wound Rowan inflicted, tar-like ichor hissing as it spilled onto the ground.

Mammonel let out a shrieking hiss, its twisted mouth curling into something between a snarl and a smirk. It didn’t retaliate immediately, instead shifting its grotesque bulk, circling Rowan like a predator testing its prey.

Rowan didn’t falter. He lunged forward, driving the tip of his lance into Mammonel’s side. The weapon pierced deep, another gout of foul-smelling ichor spilling out. Mammonel shrieked again, its massive body shuddering, but its bulbous eyes gleamed with something more than pain.

It was thinking.

I could see it, the way the creature shifted and adjusted, almost like it was testing Rowan. Each attack it absorbed seemed less a hindrance and more a calculated measure. Was it... baiting him?

Rowan wasn’t one to be baited. His movements were measured and controlled, his strikes swift but never overextended. Still, I could sense Mammonel’s intent, the subtle way it kept turning its body, exposing vulnerable areas—areas Rowan’s lance never failed to exploit.

Then Mammonel’s strategy revealed itself.

The demon lunged, its grotesque mouth opening wide as it spewed a stream of thick, black goo directly at Rowan. He barely had time to react, spinning his lance in a rapid arc to deflect the worst of it. The goo splattered against the ground, sizzling and bubbling where it landed, releasing a noxious cloud of fumes.

Mammonel surged forward, using its bulk to drive Rowan back toward the rubble. It lashed out with a stubby, malformed arm, aiming to crush him under its weight. Rowan sidestepped with practiced ease, his lance darting forward to impale the limb mid-swing.

Another shriek, but this time Mammonel retaliated immediately, spewing more of the viscous goo. Rowan raised his free hand, conjuring a small but sturdy barrier that absorbed the brunt of the attack.

I stood frozen, my staff clutched tightly in my hands. My eyes darted between the two combatants, my mind racing. Rowan was holding his own, but Mammonel wasn’t fighting to win—not yet. It was biding its time, looking for an opening, a chance to unleash something devastating.

I couldn’t just watch. I had to think, to plan. How do you destroy something that absorbs and amplifies attacks? If brute force wouldn’t work, then what would?

Rowan drove the lance forward again, the runes glowing brighter as he infused it with magic. The tip struck Mammonel’s chest, and for a brief moment, the demon seemed to falter, its body convulsing violently.

But then it retaliated, faster than I thought possible for a creature of its size. One massive arm swung in a wide arc, and though Rowan managed to block the brunt of it with his lance, the force sent him skidding back.

Mammonel didn’t press the advantage immediately. It straightened, its grotesque body glowing brighter, its oozing wounds bubbling and closing. It sneered at Rowan, then at me.

“Keep watching, little mage,” it crooned mockingly, its voice resonating in the pit of my stomach. “You’ll see what happens when even the best falter.”

I tightened my grip on my staff, my mind racing faster. If Rowan faltered—if Mammonel landed a single amplified counterattack—this fight could end in disaster. I needed to find a way to tip the scales.

Rowan didn’t break eye contact with Mammonel, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of hesitation in the way his grip shifted on the lance. “You’ve got an idea?” he asked, his voice low, steady.

“Not a great one,” I admitted, glancing briefly at Mammonel, who still stood at a distance, pulsing with sickly energy.

He arched a brow, but didn’t press me further. Instead, he straightened his stance, still as a mountain, waiting for me to continue.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. “This creature doesn’t just take the hits,” I said, gesturing toward Mammonel. “It absorbs them. Amplifies them. Everything you’ve done so far—every stab, every cut—it’s storing that. And when it’s ready, it’ll send it all back in one devastating blast. It’s not just a tank; it’s a trap.”

Rowan didn’t flinch, but I could see the gears turning in his mind.

“I’ve seen it happen,” I continued. “Kael hit it with everything he had, and it turned that power right back on him. And you? Your lance is hurting it, yes—but it’s also feeding it.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and he glanced toward Mammonel. The demon was still, watching us with that unnerving grin, its bulbous eye twitching as if it could hear every word we spoke.

“So,” Rowan said finally, “what’s the plan?”

“I was thinking of overwhelming it,” I said, my grip tightening on my staff. “A spell so powerful that its body won’t be able to absorb it all. It’ll overload, break the cycle, and stop it from retaliating.”

Rowan’s gaze snapped back to me. “And you can do that?”

“Yes,” I replied, firmly.

He studied me for a moment, his sharp eyes weighing my words. Then, with a small nod, he shifted his stance, planting his lance into the ground. “Tell me what you need.”

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“It’s not just about the spell,” I said quickly, glancing toward Mammonel, who was still watching us with twisted glee. “I’ll need time to cast it. It’s going to take... a lot.”

“Then you’ll get time,” Rowan said, his voice steady and resolute. He reached up, adjusting the grip on his lance. “Do what you need to do. I’ll keep it busy.”

“Be careful,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Rowan’s mouth twitched, the faintest ghost of a smirk. “Always.”

He moved forward without hesitation, his lance glowing faintly as the runes etched along its length pulsed with energy. I turned my focus inward, gripping my staff tightly as I began to summon the raw power I’d need for the spell.

This was going to hurt—a lot. But if it worked, it would be worth it.

Rowan danced around Mammonel with calculated precision, his lance flicking out in quick, deliberate strikes that kept the creature occupied. He didn’t aim to do damage—he knew better now. Instead, he was a constant, needling presence, forcing Mammonel to lash out, to expend its energy in fruitless attempts to catch him.

Mammonel’s bulbous eye twitched erratically, its grotesque body glowing brighter with every strike it absorbed. I could see the faint pulses of energy radiating from its slick, swollen form. It was growing more dangerous with every passing second, every ounce of power Rowan’s careful jabs fed it.

I tightened my grip on my staff, my knees shaking as I poured everything into the spell. At the tip of my staff, a massive blue orb formed, shimmering with unfiltered mana. It pulsed with raw energy, growing larger and larger until it was bigger than me, casting the entire area in its eerie, brilliant light. My breath came in short, sharp bursts, and I felt the strain deep in my core.

Focus, Thalia, I told myself. This had to work.

Rowan caught my eye from across the battlefield. He saw the orb. His gaze flicked back to Mammonel, and I saw the moment he understood. Without hesitation, he conjured a quick spell, the runes on his lance glowing faintly before his entire body blurred, moving at impossible speed.

Mammonel jerked its head in confusion, its grotesque mouth curling into a snarl as its prey darted out of reach.

It turned, looking for Rowan—only to stop dead when its bulging eye caught sight of the blue orb.

“Supernova,” I whispered, releasing the spell.

The orb surged forward, blindingly fast, before slamming into Mammonel’s massive body. For a split second, there was silence.

Then the world erupted.

The explosion was cataclysmic. A brilliant, searing light engulfed everything, forcing me to shield my eyes. The ground beneath us trembled violently, the shockwave tearing through the air with a deafening roar. Stones and debris were hurled outward like shrapnel, trees splintered and cracked, and the very earth seemed to groan in protest under the sheer force of the blast.

Rowan appeared at my side, his face pale, beads of sweat dripping down his brow. He raised his lance, and a shimmering shield of golden energy flared to life, enveloping the three of us. The shield wavered under the onslaught, cracks spidering across its surface, but it held. Barely.

I leaned heavily on my staff, every ounce of strength focused on staying upright. My vision blurred at the edges, the drain of the spell leaving me lightheaded and hollow. But I couldn’t look away.

When the light of the explosion began to fade and the dust started to settle, I tightened my grip on my staff, forcing myself to stand upright. My breath was ragged, my vision still swimming, but I refused to falter.

And then I saw it.

Mammonel was still standing.

Its grotesque body was torn apart in places, chunks of its mottled flesh blasted away to reveal twisted, sinewy innards and jagged bone beneath. But despite the damage, it tilted its head back and began to laugh—a deep, wet, gurgling sound that clawed at my ears.

“That,” Mammonel rasped, its voice brimming with manic glee, “was delicious! The best meal I’ve ever had.” Its one bulging eye twitched as it fixed on me, its smile stretching impossibly wide. “Oh, little mage. I want more!”

I felt my stomach twist, but I didn’t flinch. I had expected this. I knew it could absorb even a spell like Supernova. My eyes darted to its pulsing, glowing core, now shining brighter than ever before. Mammonel was a living bomb, ready to unleash a blast greater than anything it had endured.

It raised its bloated arms, its entire body swelling grotesquely, the glow intensifying until it was nearly blinding. “Now,” it roared, its voice shaking the air around us, “taste it back!”

The light surged, and the ground trembled violently beneath my feet. This was it.

I slammed the base of my staff into the ground, forcing out every last shred of mana I had left. “Mirror Shield!” I shouted, my voice raw.

A translucent dome of energy erupted around Mammonel, shimmering like water caught in sunlight. The edges blurred and rippled as they sealed, encasing the demon within its own barrier.

“What—?” Mammonel’s glee faltered for a moment, its bloated body pressing against the confines of the dome.

Then it exploded.

The force was beyond anything I’d ever seen. The light from the blast was so intense it turned the world white for an instant, the sound so deafening it felt as though it had torn through my very soul.

But the Mirror Shield held.

The explosion, amplified by Mammonel’s own abilities, ricocheted endlessly within the dome, the energy crashing back onto itself over and over, magnifying with every rebound. Mammonel’s screams of rage and agony were drowned out by the roaring maelstrom of its own destruction.

When the light finally began to fade and the sound ebbed into a haunting silence, the dome dissolved into nothingness.

Mammonel was gone.

No body. No twisted remains. Nothing but scorched earth and a faint, acrid smell lingering in the air.

I staggered, my knees buckling as I leaned heavily on my staff. My chest heaved with every breath, and my vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges.

“Did it…” I whispered hoarsely, but I didn’t need to finish the thought.

Rowan stood beside me, his lance planted firmly in the ground to steady himself, his sharp eyes scanning the aftermath. He didn’t speak for a long moment, then finally gave a small nod.

“It’s over,” he said simply.

My legs gave out, and I sank to the ground, the exhaustion crashing over me in waves. For the first time since this nightmare began, I allowed myself to breathe.

Mammonel was gone. For now, that was enough.

And I closed my eyes.

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was the ceiling. Plain wood, sturdy but unremarkable. The faint smell of herbs and something cooking in the distance filled the room. The bed beneath me was small, but soft enough to make me wonder if I was dreaming again.

Then I heard a chair scrape against the floor.

Turning my head—slowly, because everything hurt—I saw Kael sitting next to me, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly like he was praying. Except Kael didn’t seem the praying type. His face was drawn, his usual bright, carefree expression replaced with something tight and uneasy.

It suited him about as well as Roderick in a dress.

Before I could say anything, his head shot up, and his eyes met mine. He froze, wide-eyed for a moment, and then he practically leapt out of the chair.

“You’re awake!” he exclaimed, his voice louder than necessary in the small room. “Thank the gods, thank you, thank you! I thought you were—” He cut himself off, shaking his head and running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m sorry! I—I passed out, and I—”

“Stop shouting,” I muttered, my voice rough and weak. My entire body ached, especially my back. I shifted slightly, wincing as pain shot through me.

Kael stepped back, his hands raised like he’d been caught stealing. “Right! Sorry! I just—uh—yeah, sorry.”

I let out a low groan, my hand clutching at my staff, which someone had kindly placed beside the bed. My fingers curled around it like it was the only thing grounding me to the world.

Emptying my mana pool. This was the first time I’d pushed it that far, drained every last drop. My body felt hollow, a dull ache pulsing through my bones and muscles. It was like my entire being was screaming in protest for what I’d done. People had died from this. From exactly this.

“Great,” I muttered to myself. “I didn’t die, but I feel like I should have.”

Kael leaned forward again, his hands fidgeting. “You... you okay? I mean, you look like—uh—well, not great. But not dead either, so that’s... good?”

I managed a weak glare. “You really know how to comfort someone.”

He cracked a nervous smile, the first sign of the old Kael I’d seen since I woke up. “Well, you didn’t die saving my butt, so that counts for something, right?”

“Barely,” I grumbled, shifting again to try and get comfortable. It wasn’t happening. My body was screaming too loud to let me forget what I’d just been through.

Kael’s expression softened, and for the first time, I noticed the genuine worry in his eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the floor. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “For saving me. I know... I mean, I didn’t exactly help much back there.”

I sighed, letting my head fall back against the pillow. “You’re not dead. That’s enough for me.”

A knock at the door interrupted us. Before Kael or I could respond, it opened, and Rowan stepped in, his presence filling the small room instantly. He wasn’t one for pleasantries, apparently.

“You’re alive. Good,” he said simply, his sharp eyes scanning me as if confirming his own statement.

I tried to push myself up, but my body protested violently. Instead, I settled for leaning slightly on the headboard, glaring at him through the haze of exhaustion. “Glad I have your approval.”

Kael gave Rowan a hesitant nod, standing awkwardly as if unsure whether to stay or leave. Rowan paid him no mind, his focus entirely on me.

“No time to waste,” Rowan said, leaning his lance against the wall. He folded his arms across his chest, the runes faintly glowing along his armor. “You’ve killed two demons now. That means only two remain.”

The room seemed to grow colder at his words, and I felt my stomach twist.

“Two demons,” I echoed. “Lucian and... Astoroth.”

Rowan nodded gravely. “The last of the Seven.”

Kael glanced between us, his brow furrowed. “Wait, what are you talking about? Seven what?”

Rowan sighed, as if he’d rather be anywhere but explaining this. “The Seven Deadly Demons,” he said. “Ancient, powerful entities tied to humanity’s darkest impulses. Each one represents a sin. They don’t just feed on it—they amplify it. Twist it. Use it to spread chaos and destruction.”

He gestured to me. “You’ve killed two of them. Lavael, the Envy Demon. Mammonel, the Greed Demon. And I’ve killed Lustera, the Lust Demon.”

I nodded, my memory flashing back to the twisted faces of the demons I’d faced. “And Astoroth killed Belephas and Baelzeth, didn’t he?”

Rowan’s lips thinned into a grim line. “Yes. The Wrath Demon took them down. Belephas was the Gluttony Demon, Baelzeth was Sloth. Both gone now, consumed by Astoroth’s own violence. That leaves two: Lucian, the Pride Demon, and Astoroth himself.”

Kael blinked, leaning back against the chair. “Wait. So these things... they’re not just monsters? They’re... I don’t know, like rulers or something?”

“Not rulers,” Rowan corrected, his tone sharp. “Parasites. They infect everything they touch. They push people to ruin, to madness. But they are stronger than anything else you’ll ever face. Killing even one is no small feat.”

Kael’s gaze flicked to me. “She’s killed two.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “And that’s why they’re hunting her now.” He pointed to the mark behind my ear. “That’s the proof. You’ve disrupted their balance. They won’t stop until you’re dead.”

I clenched my fists, ignoring the aching protest of my body. “Lucian’s already made his move. He sent Mammonel after me. But Astoroth... what’s his deal?”

Rowan’s expression darkened, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of unease in his eyes. “Astoroth is wrath incarnate. He doesn’t scheme like Lucian. He doesn’t play games. He destroys everything in his path. Cities. Armies. Entire civilizations. He’s power without restraint.”

Kael swallowed hard, his usual bravado replaced with quiet apprehension. “And Lucian?”

Rowan’s jaw tightened. “Lucian is different. Subtle. Manipulative. He doesn’t need brute strength because he makes others do his work for him. He’ll use pride to twist your mind, to make you doubt everything you know. And when you break, he’ll strike.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, the weight of Rowan’s words pressing down on me. Two demons left. Two of the strongest.

“And you?” I asked, opening my eyes to meet Rowan’s. “What’s your plan?”

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “I’ve killed one before. I’ll do it again.”

Something about the way he said it sent a chill down my spine. Rowan Hale wasn’t afraid of demons. But that didn’t mean he was safe from them, either.

I squinted at Rowan, his stoic demeanor doing little to mask the weight behind his words. “How come you know so much about the Seven? You’re not exactly the chatty type, and it’s not like there are books lying around about them.”

Rowan leaned back against the wall, his hand resting on the hilt of his lance. “Because I’ve met them,” he said simply.

Kael’s eyes widened. “You’ve met all of them?”

“Not all at once,” Rowan clarified, his voice calm but heavy with memory. “Over the years, during my hunts. I’ve crossed paths with each one in some form. They’re not like ordinary monsters; they don’t just show up to fight unless it suits them. They’re... deliberate.”

I couldn’t help but feel a chill at his words. “And you killed Lustera,” I said.

He gave a single nod. “I got lucky. She underestimated me, and I struck her down before she had the chance to retaliate. It wasn’t easy, but it was the one and only time I had the upper hand against one of them.”

Rowan’s gaze drifted, as if recalling something distant. “I met Lucian once,” he continued. “He didn’t even engage. Just stood in the distance, watching me. Studying me. It was like he was playing a game only he understood. I kept expecting him to attack, but he didn’t. He just smiled and disappeared.”

Kael frowned. “That’s... creepy.”

“Lucian’s pride is his weapon,” Rowan said, his voice sharp. “He doesn’t need to fight because he thinks he’s already won. And more often than not, he’s right.”

“And Astoroth?” I asked, my tone careful.

Rowan stiffened slightly, his grip on his lance tightening. “I met Astoroth once, too. It wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t even a confrontation. I saw him... and I ran.”

Kael blinked, clearly startled by the admission. “You ran?”

Rowan nodded, his jaw tight. “Yes. Because there was no chance. No strategy. No plan. Just death. He radiates destruction, a force so overwhelming you can’t think, can’t breathe. Facing him head-on is suicide.”

Kael hesitated, then asked quietly, “Is he really that strong?”

Rowan turned to him, his expression dark and unyielding. “Yes.”

The room fell silent, the weight of Rowan’s simple answer sinking in like a stone. Even Kael, always brimming with confidence and energy, looked subdued.

I leaned back against the bed, my body aching from the ordeal I’d just survived. Two demons left. Two monsters that even someone like Rowan Hale—the best of the best—spoke of with trepidation.

Great. Just great.

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To be continued