Hunting the hunters.

"Very well." you say, almost in disbelief. It was hard to accept that so much of what was happening was happening, but you felt you could only go along with it. Whatever you felt about the White Torch, their presence nearby threatened you just as much as it did Arinum, or any of your new demonic family. Perhaps it would be prudent to eliminate them...

“The Spider will lead the way. Good hunting, my children.” Arinum smiles.

“Father, it's been so long...” Akkhadia says, taking the demonic king by his wrist. “Let me reintroduce myself more fully. Care to help me, sisters?”

As Arinum leans back into his stone throne, he chuckles, the bass of it practically making the earth shake. His three daughters fight for the privilege of being the first to close their demonic fingers around his cock, finding their knees around his seat.

Part of you is compelled to watch the show, an affront to all forms of decency, until Corinne and Roland approach you.

“Come.” the Baroness says. “My mother has pointed the way to our quarry.”

-

Stopping only long enough for Roland to retrieve his sword, a fearsome-looking two-hander, from a tent the thralls had set up, the three of you depart.

“They are close enough to go on foot.” Corinne mentions. Neither of your cousins give much regard to your infirmity, simply expecting you to keep pace with them.

-

“So, Edward, are you like, really King of Itheria?” Roland asks, as the three of you trudge into the murky blackness of the woods. Corinne had put her mask back on as soon as you had left the Throne. You and Roland, on the other hand, were proceeding unmasked.

“I'm sorry?” you ask. It's not exactly a question you've heard before.

“I know Itheria's king is called Edward, but you're really him? You're not a pretender, or wearing a glamour or something like that? Cause I'm from Itheria. Are you like, the king of me and shit?” The Shark asks, seemingly puzzled.

“Arinum is the only king.” Corinne reminds him, staring blankly ahead. “All other crowned heads are pretenders.”

“...Yeah.” Roland agrees. “But you are King Edward, right?”

“Edward of Itheria was born twenty years ago, infirm, after his father ran afoul of a demon. And you're asking if this man who fits those characteristics exactly is he?” Corinne says tetchily.

“...Forget I said anything!” Roland says. It's funny, you'd never seen a shark blush before.

“So Edward, how do you like the alias Gramps provided?” Roland asks, breaking up the monotony of the walk. “The Lion, fairly fearsome, eh?”

“I-it's not bad.” you pant. “Though I question the purpose of masks when we've all removed them now.”

“It's the sort of thing you'll get used to.” Roland advises you. “What's a secret society without a little pomp and ceremony?” he may have a point there, you muse.

“But you like being The Lion? Because if that title's not to your liking, I'm happy to swap with you. I can-”

“Merde!” Corinne curses. “Not this again!”

“Hey, I'm sick of being The Shark!” Roland rants. “What did the other bastards in Senna call me? The Shark. What do the other mercenary captains call me? The Shark. I've been The Shark for thirty years, I'd happily be The Lion a few nights outta the year!”

“The Allsire gave us our appellations, and he intends for them to stick. Besides, there's a meaning behind each. You're a vicious predator on the battlefield, hence The Shark. Lions have been a symbol of royalty for centuries. Edward is a king. You are not. Ergo, Edward is The Lion.” Corinne says, the Morlandian's frustration mounting. You get the sense this is not the first time the cousins have had this row.

The three of you are silent for a few moments, until Roland chimes in again.

“One. Two.” He counts, slowly, deliberately.

“What is it now?” Corinne sighs.

“Just counting your legs, Spider.” Roland says sniffily, prompting a deep groan from Corinne.

“Arinum named me for the agility my greater concentration of demonic blood has granted me. For my ability to scale castle walls and my venomous sting.” she reminds her cousin. “Not for any number of legs I may or may not have.”

“Yeah, it's alright for you.” Roland shoots back. “My ma told me you like your nickname so much you asked yours to call you Spider even when we're not doing cult shit. If-”

“Silence.” Corinne says, holding up a hand, her mad eyes scanning the treeline. “Masks on.”

A knot of nervousness taking root in your belly, you oblige, fumbling on your silver mane, obscuring your identity.

“I hear them, not far ahead.” Corinne announces, her voice barely more than a whisper. “What's your command, O Lion?”

“Why is Edward giving the orders?” Roland hisses. “I've been leading troops for nearly ten years.”

“The Lion is leading because The Allsire said he is!” Corinne spits back.

“W-we need to get a closer look. See how many we're up against.” you decide. Corinne nods, getting low and making over the rise ahead, her bow in hand.

-

The White Torch have made camp for the night. They're a small band, roughly half a dozen humans.

“I make out six.” you tell your cousins.

“Seven.” Corinne corrects you. Gesturing with her bow, she alerts you to another demon-hunter, relieving himself a number of paces from the main camp.

“The blonde's their leader.” Roland observes, jabbing a finger towards a fearsome looking golden-haired woman, her hair worn in pigtails, a silver shortsword at her waist.

“How can you tell?” you ask.

“You sell your sword long enough, you learn who's paying the rank and file.” Roland observes.

“We should focus on the spell-casters first. I make out two of them.” Corinne whispers.

“Nuh-not spell-casters. Healers.” you recall. There's an older man by the blonde captain, and a wisp of a red-headed girl, resting in her tent. They're attired in the same brown vestments Rhona had worn. “Leave them for last.”

“How do you know that?” Corinne asks.

“Trust me, I just do.” you shoot back.

“Fine. What's the plan of attack, then?” Corinne asks.