16/16.
in which you seal the bargain.

You look upon them:

Rows of undead stand at attention, alert as the day you fled. Their wounds smoke through tattered uniforms. The scent of sulfur follows as you move between the lines.

"They're in good shape." You chuckle, inspecting one of your thralls' faceless heads. They turn when you command. They clap their hands. They behead the soldier beside them, and the victim rises at your bidding.

Your elkhound's loyalty pales by contrast.

"Wᴏɴᴅᴇʀꜰᴜʟ." You blink, and It's beside you, hand on your shoulder. The Devil wears your mother's face. "I'ᴍ sᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴜᴅ. Yᴏᴜʀ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ʀᴀɪsᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴍᴀɴʏ."

"Why not?"

"Yᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ'ᴛ sᴀᴄʀɪꜰɪᴄᴇᴅ."

"I never..."

The Devil smiles. You remember midnight, six months prior, your elkhound panting through its bridle while the clamour of combat grew distant. Something stirred in you. It whispered: Your life is worth twenty of theirs.

You recoil, and the Devil dons the Priestess' skin. "You two were marked for this."

"But you've chosen me." You whirl towards It and grab Its sleeve. "We were both marked, but I'm the one you need."

"Dᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴘʀᴇsᴜᴍᴇ." The Devil dissolves in a whirl of mist. You hear Its voice in your blackened soul:

Pʀᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟꜰ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪs ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ, ꜰɪʀsᴛ. Sᴜᴄᴄᴇᴇᴅ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜰᴀɪʟᴇᴅ.

"Of course. What must I do?"

Rᴀᴢᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴀʟʟᴇʏ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ. Tʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄʀᴏss ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀɪɴs, ᴇɴsʟᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴsᴜᴍɪɴɢ. Eᴀᴄʜ sᴀᴄʀɪꜰɪᴄᴇ ʙʀɪɴɢs Mᴇ ᴄʟᴏsᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇʙɪʀᴛʜ.

A thought strikes. "And if my brother interferes?"

Hᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴘᴜᴘᴘᴇᴛ.

==>

1/16.
in which you're far too sluggish.

You haven't slept.
It's the guilt what keeps you up—the feeling like you should've known, somehow.

Who are you?

>_

2/16.
in which you're Eloa, the Sword Bearer.

You bade him leave because you were dying.
You thought it'd be best for his mind.

What do you do with your life these days?

>_

3/16.
in which you do odd jobs.

The waste left you with tremors, but you manage little bounties.
"Madame swordbearer? We've arrived."
Sunrise.

Where are you now?

>_

4/16.
in which you never wanted to return.

You step from the wagon and onto scorched, bitter soil.
The Valour-Upton Waypoint's seen better days.

What do you think happened here?

>_

5/16.
in which this is so unlike him.

You married a gentler man than this.
You search the ruins for hours, tearful, then numb.

What's that shadow in the corner of your eye?

>_

6/16.
in which you're being watched.

You're smarter than to look.
"I see you." It flutters in your peripheral vision. "Who's there?"

Why do they watch you?

>_

7/16.
in which it fears you.

A soft, hesitant hum. You grip your blade.
A faceless woman inches into view, carrying satchels.

What are you thinking?

>_