The march toward Blackthorn Fortress was steady and disciplined. The warriors of the Moonfang Tribe moved with an eerie silence, their steps guided by years of experience in navigating the dense forest. The tension of the looming battle was palpable, but Zarphinion kept his focus forward, his mind sharp.
The soft rustling of leaves ahead made the warriors halt. Asira, ever at his side, shifted her stance, her golden eyes narrowing. "Something is up ahead."
Zarphinion signaled for the scouts to move forward. Within minutes, they returned with grim expressions.
"Slave traders," one of them reported. "A heavily guarded caravan, about two dozen prisoners in chains. They're heading toward the fortress."
A cold fury settled over Zarphinion. Slavery was a blight upon the land, a vile practice he despised. If these slavers were working with Blackthorn Fortress, then liberating the captives was not just a moral duty—it was a strategic necessity.
"We strike now," he declared.
The Ambush
Like wraiths of the night, the Moonfang warriors descended upon the caravan. The slavers barely had time to react before arrows rained from the trees, striking down the first line of guards. Screams echoed in the night as the warriors struck like shadows, their blades gleaming in the flickering torchlight.
Zarphinion launched himself into the fray, his sword a blur as it carved through the first slaver. Blood sprayed across the dirt as he spun to deflect a wild strike from another, his movements honed through relentless training. He parried, then drove his blade into the slaver's chest, kicking the body aside before seeking his next foe.
Asira was a tempest of shifting forms, her body twisting mid-air as she ripped through an enemy's throat in one fluid motion. She shifted again, taking on the appearance of one of the fallen slavers, causing hesitation and confusion to spread among their ranks. The hesitation was fatal.
The slavers, now panicked, attempted to regroup, but the Moonfang warriors were merciless. Kael led the charge through the center of their formation, cleaving through armor and flesh alike. One desperate slaver attempted to flee into the forest, but before he could take three steps, an arrow from Selene's bow pierced his skull.
Zarphinion met the last slaver head-on, dodging a clumsy axe swing before driving his blade into the man's gut. He yanked it free and turned, scanning the battlefield. Silence had fallen. The fight was over.
The captives, still bound in chains, looked on in awe and disbelief. Victory was theirs. But Zarphinion's attention was drawn to one prisoner who stood apart from the rest.
A Sinful Beauty
Among the ragged and weary captives, one woman remained eerily composed. She was breathtaking—long crimson hair cascading over smooth violet skin, eyes a deep shade of amethyst, framed by delicate black horns. She was a succubus, an exceedingly rare sight outside of the demon realms.
She stepped forward, her chains still binding her wrists, yet she moved with an elegance that defied her captivity. "You are the one who freed us?" Her voice was sultry, tinged with curiosity.
Zarphinion nodded. "You are free now."
A slow, knowing smile curled her lips. "And what if I do not wish to be merely 'free'?" She took a deliberate step closer, her gaze locked onto his. "What if I desire… to serve?"
Asira tensed beside him, her protective instincts flaring. "Who are you?"
The succubus inclined her head. "I am Lilith. I was captured while traveling through these lands, my powers sealed by these cursed chains."
Zarphinion studied her carefully. A succubus was a dangerous ally, yet he could sense the raw power beneath the surface. If tamed, she could become an invaluable asset. He placed a hand over her chains, channeling his power through them.
The Taming Sigil glowed as it bound them together in an oath of loyalty. Lilith gasped as the magic surged through her, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before she exhaled slowly, a wicked smile curving her lips.
"Mmm… that felt divine," she purred, stretching her arms as the chains shattered. "I am yours, Master."
Asira scowled. "He is not your—"
Zarphinion raised a hand, stopping her. "We will speak more later. For now, we march to war."
Lilith bowed with a playful glint in her eyes. "As you wish."
As the army resumed its march toward Blackthorn Fortress, Zarphinion knew that his path had shifted yet again. He had begun forging not only a rebellion—but a legacy.