The city square lay beneath a chilling semblance of celebration, red and silver banners sagging from cracked stone buildings, fluttering in the wind like lifeless arms. Braziers dotted the cobblestone paths, casting jagged shadows across the townsfolk, who moved with an unsettling, ritualistic calm. They shuffled in silence, gaunt and hollow-eyed, each face etched with the marks of hunger. Jiron felt like an intruder among the walking dead, people who seemed too far gone to remember what true life felt like.
The town itself was decaying, a body slowly eaten from within by a malignant force. At the heart of the square loomed a statue of Countess Lirael, her cold marble features draped in a silvered moonlight that gave her a haunting beauty. She stood with one hand raised, frozen in a gesture that could have been blessing or command. Beneath her, dry, brittle flowers lay strewn across the ground, offerings from worshippers too afraid to refuse her unspoken demands.
The people seemed enraptured by her, eyes glazed with a reverence that bordered on madness. Jiron shuddered, sensing a darkness deeper than what bound this town to her.
"Strange festival, isn't it?" A familiar voice whispered by his side. Sila, the demon maid and sometime-lover, appeared beside him she was draped in dark silks and a golden collar emblazoned with Lirael's symbol. She wore her usual smirk, but her eyes were more dazed and wary.
"What are they celebrating exactly?" Jiron muttered, eyeing the gaunt townsfolk, some with hollow cheeks, others with the vacant stare of the deeply malnourished.
"It's the Festival of Devotion," she replied, her voice carefully even. "They honor Countess Lirael as their protector, their savior."
Jiron glanced at the children clinging to their parents, too weak even to fidget. "Honor? They look more desperate than grateful."
Sila's gaze flickered, her half-smile faltering. "Without Lirael, they'd have fallen to Lord Dazriel's dictatorship along ago. She… saved them." But her words held no warmth, and her face tightened as she spoke.
Even Dazriel's dictatorship left us in better conditions than this. He thought to himself as he pressed his hand into his pockets.
"And what does she take from them in return?" he asked.
Sila's eyes darkened and she remained silent as she stepped back into the crowd. Her withdrawal left him feeling even more uneasy. He slipped into a nearby alley, as a parade of people quickly marched past him and his attention was caught by the scent of incense that began to fade behind damp smells of rot. There must have been some dead bodies, since he found it strange the people survived so long during the famine.
Here, the sounds of the festival dulled and were replaced by something altogether different—a low, rhythmic chanting, punctuated by whispers and stifled moans. He was confused of who could possibly participate in any form of sex with this smell as he placed his arm across his nose while it got stronger.
As he moved toward the sound, he noticed a dim light spilling through the crack of a door slightly ajar. His pulse quickened as he edged closer so he could peer through the opening. Only if he minded his because because he felt his stomach lurch at what he saw.
Inside a room, male and female, lesser demon townfolks and great demons in the court alike were knelt in reverence. They were surrounded by crudely painted portraits of what looked to be—
"Lady Kaprice," he muttered before he quickly shut his mouth the smell getting inside almost making him puke. Many renderings of her liking hung haphazardly against the walls with each one depicting her in exaggerated, almost grotesque beauty. But it was the center of the room that caught his horrified attention.
In the middle of the cramped space stood a naked figure, trembling under the dim light. The figure wore a mask—an imitation of Kaprice face, its expression frozen in a mix of ecstasy and disdain. The mask's features were carved to mock the countess's beauty, each detail twisted just enough to make it hideously grotesque. With a wig that was fully white despite her hair still having some black and its skin was poorly painted brown. They gazed up at the mask figure wi to adoration on their face. Many of them moving their hands inside themselves in frenzied worships as they moaned themselves into ecstasy.
Jiron's stomach twisted as he realized what they were doing. Their hands moved over their bodies wi to their faces twisted into expressions of ecstasy and pain with mutters of incoherent prayers. What was eve stranger they still called out Count Lirael's name though they were looking at images of Kaprice. The air was so thick and stifled now as the air became fouler.
A woman on her knees at the figure's feet pressed her lips to the ground, tears streaming down her face as she whispered, "I give my life for yours, my hunger for your grace. Bless me, Countess Lirael."
Others followed suit, some sobbing as they knelt, others murmuring Countess Lirael's name with trembling voices. Some consumed by a zeal so deep it twisted their faces into a horrid mix of rapture and despair.
Jiron fought the urge to retch. He wanted to storm in, to tear his lady's face from the figure's face to end this depraved ritual in her image. Instead, he forced himself to back away. This wasn't something he could shatter with just brute force, he well knew that when magic was involved. This affected the heart of everyone in this county and he was afraid the same would happen to them if they stay any longer.
He turned as he slipper back where he came. Just desperate to leave from the horrors he was seeing as he could still hear their chants in his ear. But as he turned the corner, he almost collided with a tall figure who had appeared behind him without a sound. A demon servant, dressed in fine, dark robes, met his gaze with a chilling lack of expression and he was missing a hand. The demon extended a folded note, his movements slow, almost mocking.
"From Lady Kaprice," he said, his voice a dull, emotionless murmur.
Jiron snatched the letter, his hands trembling as he unrolled it and read Kapri's familiar handwriting.
Jiron,
We've uncovered something Countess Lirael would kill to keep hidden. We found a tome — The Unseen Bonds of the Demon Lord. It describes an intimacy pact between Lirael and Lord Dazriel, a bond formed not from love, but compulsion. The pact is more than a mere alliance—it's a tether that feeds off the devotion of the people. Every act of suffering, every ritual, every grotesque prayer fuels the bond between them, binding the town in eternal servitude. They don't just worship her; they feed her.
We're in danger.
– K.
Jiron's heart raced, the letter's implications chilling him to his core. He should have known since Kapri spoke as if Lord Dazriel really didn't want to come. That became he couldn't, and for some reason a small group was starting to mistake Kapri for Countess Lirael.
The demon servant dissappeared, and he looked back towards the square. Everything seem more grotesque even Sila who was celebrating just as much. He noticed an elderly man approached the edge of the square with his body emaciated with wild fervor in his eyes. His arms raise up as he muttered praises through cracked lips, and a rippled of eager whispers spread across the square. The children around him watched, their expressions blank as their fingers moved to mimic the adult's desperate gestures, imitating the same depraved worship.
When Jiron looked in the direction off out of town, he barely saw a figure lying out the window in the distance, from Countess Lirael estate. A woman—her black hair with the white crown flowing in the cold wind and she wore a white nightgown, with the moon's fragmented phrase gleaming on her body making her look ethereal. He knew that woman was Lady Kaprice, but he was sure, for some reason, they though she was Count Lirael.
Suddenly, the old man collapsed and the townfolks grabbed their chest as they muttered in pain and cries similar to heartbreak as they gripped their chest. The children, didn't seem affected as they looked around before mimicking the adults surrounding them.
"Not the children, huh?" he thoughts to himself. Jiron knew he couldn't linger any longer before he strayed further from the town.
He tried to ignore the sounds that grated at his temple. Even more so the soft gasps of ecstasy from afar. Even as he left, he ended up feeling a pull—first sign that he wasn't clear of the influence either.
•••
Jiron crept through the castle's shadowy hallways, his steps cautious but purposeful. His mind raced as he neared what he thought was Kavi and Nyxith's room—a plan within reach. He reached for the door, but the sense of wrongness in the air was immediate. Something was off.
He quietly turned the handle and slipped inside, only to freeze in surprise. There was Kapri sat upright in bed as her eyes locked on his with a malicious smile. The soft moonlight revealed a look of expectation on her face as if she had been waiting for him. It was terrifying, and he wanted to leave quickly.
"Sorry, wrong room," Jiron muttered, his hand still on the door as he had already start backing out. Kapri was quicker than him.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him back inside effortlessly as she closed the door.
"Where are you going, Sergeant Jirony?" she whispered, her voice a low, teasing murmur in his ear. His body tensed as he struggled to pull away against her vice like grip. "You scared?"
"H-Hell yeah, you're under a demon's spell, Lady Kaprice" he stammered, but he was already moving toward the window, dragging her along as he tried to escape. "And you're strong as shit."
"No, don't leave. I got something to tell you," she whined, her voice light and pleading. It ease the sense of her hurting him though she still didn't allow him to go.
He stopped, his frustration mounting. "How do I know you aren't misleading me for Count Lirael?"
Kapri released him, taking a step back with a sigh. Her eyes flickered with something darker.
"Unfortunately, I'm jealous enough to kill Countess Lirael," she explained in a lighthearted tone. "Fortunately, this can allow me to help you a little despite the pact forced loyalty. As long as it will lead me to destroy Lirael."
" Though, I still don't recommend you telling me much, since Count Lirael can get it out of me." she added.
Jiron processed her words, disbelief mixing with wariness. "Why would you be jealous of Countess Lirael?"
"I'll get to that," she said to him as she waved her hand dismissively at him.
"Fine, tell me something that could help us," he pressed, his mind still trying to piece together her cryptic words.
"Countess Lirael is still in the castle, but something's wrong with her," she said, tapping her fingers under her chin as if deep in thought. " Count Lirael is letting the Eludiría go to shit even though she's here. He has no experience running anything at all, and also he's married to his Countess Lirael."
Jiron blinked in surprise, piecing together the earlier details. "Married to his sister? And you're still jealous?" he chuckled. "What a weird kink?"
Kapri gave a small, amused smirk. "Don't be funny, you know I can't help that. Anyways, he says she's her sister, but I don't believe so. Hell, I don't even think he has any noble blood," she tapped her head with a knowing look. "His hair grows brown, but he dyes it white as if to match Countess Lirael's."
Her words were light as he calmly listened. "Something really bad happened to her, but she's very much alive," she added, her voice lowering as the weight of her statement lingered in the air.
Jiron stood frozen, his mind scrambling to understand the depth of what Kapri had just revealed. "So, in other words. We need to get the hell out of here?" he said.
"Of course, but unfortunately I won't leave. So, you'll either have to get Jugo or Lord Dazriel down here," she muttered. "Though, I don't recommend Jugo since he wouldn't do anything that would harm me, and Dazriel will not come here with his heart."
"So, we still have to do what we came here to do?" Jiron said shying as he leaned against the window.
"Bingo," she said patting his chest. "Good luck, and lead me to Countess Lirael well."
"Sure," he lied as he leaned against the window looking out of it. "Though, I'm sure you know I'm lying."
"Well…" she said with a chuckle before he jumped out the window.