Free Soul of Swords (Book 7) by Jonathan Moeller

given them their just fates.
    He looked at them and felt no remorse.
    He felt nothing at all.
    And for some reason that made him uneasy.
    Lucan had done terrible things since awakening from his stupor in Arylkrad, and his actions had caused the deaths of countless innocents. If he was successful, if he destroyed the power of the Demonsouled and freed the world of their curse, then their lives would have been well spent. He was doing what was necessary to make a better world.
    Yet he had killed so many innocent people. He should have felt guilt over it. Or, at least, regret over the necessity.
    But he felt nothing. Nothing but rage over Tymaen’s death, nothing but the raw certainty that his mission was vital for the good of the world. Was it a side effect of becoming a revenant?
    No. He had felt this utter certainty even before his death. 
    Lucan scowled and shook his head. He could not turn back now. He had gone too far, and there was too much blood on his hands. Necessary blood, to be sure, but innocent blood nonetheless. If he stopped now, it would have been shed in vain. 
    Tymaen would have died in vain.
    But if he succeeded, if he destroyed the Demonsouled, those men and women would have died to create a new and better world. And Lucan could not fail them now.
    He strode towards Knightcastle, filled with his purpose.

    ###

    The ancient creature stood unseen in the darkness and watched Lucan Mandragon walk to Knightcastle.
    “Always so close, Lucan,” said the creature, “so very close. But never quite there. Alas.”
    He walked through the shadows and reappeared next to Lucan. Lucan did not notice him. Lucan would never notice him.
    Until it was too late, anyway.
    The creature felt himself smile, smile has he had not smiled since he watched the cities of the High Elderborn burn so long ago.
    He was old, so old, and he had so many names. 
    The High Elderborn had called him the Hand of Chaos for the ruin he brought to their glittering kingdoms. The people of Northreach called him the Blightbringer, and in the kingdom of Briault (before he had arranged for its destruction) they called him the King of Ghouls. The barbarian nations of the middle lands spoke in whispers of the Urdmoloch, and some of more desperate and ruthless among them prayed to him. 
    But the name he preferred was the one used among the people of the Grim Marches.
    The Old Demon.
    For he was the firstborn and the strongest, the oldest and the greatest. His mother had been a nameless human slave, and his father an imprisoned demon god, summoned by the wizards of the Dark Elderborn in their pride and folly. The demon god had been destroyed in the attempted summoning, the Dark Elderborn scattered, and the High Elderborn destroyed. 
    But the Old Demon was still here. 
    Kingdoms rose and fell and empires collapsed into dust, but he endured. His children and grandchildren rose and carved domains of their own…only to fall when he slew them and sent their strength to Cythraul Urdvul where it had all begun. 
    Where it had begun…and where it would end.
    “Almost there,” said the Old Demon, watching Lucan. 
    For millennia the Old Demon had sired children and grandchildren and then slain them, their power gathering in Cythraul Urdvul. The death of the demon god had pushed the ruined temple into the spirit world, along with the remnants of the god’s power. That power had drawn the strength of the slain Demonsouled into Cythraul Urdvul, and after centuries of work a vast reservoir of power awaited there.
    Power enough to transform any who claimed it into a new god.
    The Old Demon intended to claim that power.
    Unless Skalatan or Mazael stopped him first.
    Skalatan did not concern the Old Demon, not greatly. Skalatan was powerful and clever, but like all his kind, the San-keth preferred plotting and working through tools rather than action. The Old Demon would deal with him when necessary. And Mazael…the Old Demon had crushed rebellious children