Regret and Reconciliation

Zaida watched as the apprehended human was dragged by his arms into the tent. His body was slack. His armour had been torn from his form the moment the demons had him. His tunic and trousers were perforated in the places he had been cut, the still-open wounds on full display.

He had a light brown complexion – bruised purple, and streaked red beneath the places he had been stricken. His tight-trimmed black beard was caked where the blood had not been allowed to drip free. His clean-shaven scalp was in better condition than his face, hinting at the sadistic motivation behind his wounds.

A succubus and an imp strung him up by the wrists to a wooden post that had been dyed scarlet with ample use. Once he was secure, the two departed, leaving Zaida to watch over the human while Aberot finalised the preparations.

The gnoll stood with her arms crossed in the middle of the tent. She sported her leather armour and two-handed mace. Though her posture was proud and confident, her swaying and eyeing the ground betrayed her true disposition. This situation bothered her more than it should have. Something about the expectation of what was to come made her want to do nothing, rather than anything.

The human hung by his arms. His bindings were deliberately tied just too short to allow him to sit on the ground. Instead, he was suspended with his ankles and knees at rest, but with his shoulders straining under the rest of his own weight. Blood trailed from his nose and busted lip. His eyes were closed but twitched with what was either a fitful sleep, or vague consciousness. Distressed moans dribbled from his mouth with his unsteady exhales.

“Finished,” Aberot announced. The ogre gingerly lifted his handiwork and moved it to the device that sat pointed at their prisoner. The contraption was a collection of lenses that ended with a medium-sized mirror arranged to face its target. It looked like an incomplete telescope pointed at a looking glass; like a mad creator’s attempt to look into their own pupil. Between the lenses and the mirror, Aberot deposited a mannequin head dressed in a cowl.

“That was what the warlocks were commissioned to sew?” Zaida asked. It was her first time seeing the garment.

“Yes. Rather unassuming thing, isn’t it?” Aberot responded, only briefly looking up from what he was doing.

Aberot’s official title in the Demon Lord’s army was interrogator. There was not a great deal of prisoners taken by their kind, and fewer still that they had any interest in learning from. On those rare occasions when their master did want information extracted, Aberot was one of those called upon to do so. As Zaida had heard, he was quite good at reading humans, understanding more than their words, and persuading them through one of various means.

Looking at Aberot’s hulking and monstrous form, one might assume he used **** and agony to get what he wanted from his victims – and that was correct. He most definitely applied any number of stomach-churning methods to pry knowledge from the humans placed in his custody, but that was not all he did. As an experienced interrogator, he knew that cruelty was not the only avenue available to him. He could wield deception, diplomacy, and distress with equal skill. Zaida even knew of a rumour that he had once attained the information he sought by giving a human two hours of privacy with an incubus.

The gnoll was joining him that day as she had been asked to apprentice under him as an interrogator in training. Though, perhaps ‘asked’ is the wrong word, as any instruction one receives from a superior in the Demon Lord’s army is an order.

“And it’s going to do… what, exactly?” Zaida inquired.

“As I am told, this glorified loincloth – in concert with this doodad – will extract his identity.” As Aberot spoke, he waggled his fingers over the arrangement, using sorcery on it to ensure everything was set properly and to warm up its own magic, so to speak.

“Extract? Extract how?” Zaida rubbed her furry neck. “Is it going to transpose his face onto the mannequin? Is it going to pull out all his memories of who he is?”

Aberot shook his head without looking up. “What I have told you is exactly as elaborate as the warlocks were with me. But why would I need to know what will happen? I’m only the damned wretch that has to operate the thing.” The ogre stilled his hands, evidently finished with his setup. “Fortunately, they were less cryptic in their description of its utilisation.”

Proceeding, Aberot moved to the captive and knelt beside him with Zaida standing opposite. He snapped his dense fingers near the human’s face. “Hey, wake up. Come on, I saw how you fought. Don’t tell me this is enough to keep you down.” That was a lie. Aberot had not been on the battlefield when the siege party took this prisoner.

The human stirred, and very slowly came to. “W-What… w-who…?” Zaida could barely hear his voice.

“There we are,” Aberot said with a glint of approval. “Now, I understand that you’re not feeling well, but if you could just look this way for me…” The ogre gently took the human by the chin and adjusted his head until it was pointed straight into the nearest lens. “That’s it. Wonderful.”

When the man’s eyes landed on the device, his entire body flinched. His eyes did not deviate, and his breaths came heavier.

“What do we intend to do with his ‘identity’ once we have it anyway?” Zaida asked her mentor, giving herself an excuse to look away from the human’s strained expression.

“I can only speculate,” Aberot said as he stood back up. “But from what I have heard, I imagine its use will be infiltrative in nature.”

“What? Someone’s going to pass themself off as him and sneak into a human settlement?” Zaida tilted her head inquisitively. “Hello, it’s me – the one who was dragged away, dying, by the enemy. I am back, and unscathed. Please direct me to the nearest crucial leader,” she said in what she thought a human conversation voice sounded like.

“Again: I do not know what plans await it. Personally, I hope it fails,” Aberot admitted. “I’m a master interrogator, not a ritualist who allows arcane elements to do my work for me. I’ll not be happy if my duty turns into toying with lenses and enchanted apparel.”

It was then that the device began its function. Gradually, some sort of… aura began to drift from the human’s visage toward the lenses. It passed clean through the glasses as though they was not there before gathering and swirling around the cowl like a miniature storm cloud.

“Ahhh,” Aberot marvelled, “It works.” And with that, he turned to leave the tent.

“Where are you going?” Zaida asked after him.

“To eat,” he responded. “The midday meal will be served now.”

“What about me?”

“Keep an eye on him. Don’t touch the contraption, but if it fails on its own…” Aberot shrugged. “So be it.” Zaida continued to look at him expectantly. “I’ll bring you something to eat if I can,” he said, waving dismissively as he walked out.

The gnoll muttered curses and paced. How had this come to be? Was this her new life? She had been perfectly content with her role on the battlefield. Sure, she had never been a part of any raid that conquered a human settlement, but that was true for plenty of other demons. Was this meant to be punishment? She had never done anything to suggest any potential as an interrogator. She was a warrior; her role was to fight and kill humans – and she was good at it! Why would her superiors think she would be any better off hurting humans slowly and one at a time? Perhaps she had lost some sort of lottery…

Zaida was snapped from her train of thought by the grunt made by the human. He was still fixated on the lenses that were supposedly pulling his identity from him. It did not look pleasant for him. He was mostly still, apart from the occasional twitch or gasp. Bloody saliva dripped from his slack jaw. Tears sporadically trickled from his unblinking eyes.

The gnoll growled and turned her back on the captive. Why was this so difficult on her? She had seen humans come to harm before – she had been the one to bring them to harm. How many of those pretentious, self-righteous little worms had she ended with her mace? How many had she seen kill her own allies, even when they already had the demons in retreat? There was no reason in the world to spare pity on this doubtlessly despicable brute.

And yet...

Zaida peered over her shoulder at the man who continued to gasp and grunt. She looked to the near-closed flaps to the tent. She looked back to him. Letting out a sigh, she turned and marched toward the captive, grumbling darkly.

“Damnation of the hottest fires and despair of the deepest oblivion… By all that is cruel and vile… Suffering that is reserved only for the most irredeemable and contemptable…”

Cutting herself off with a clenched jaw, Zaida swiftly stole the head and cowl from its pedestal. Disrupted, the imbuement halted. The aura dissipated and the human shrieked before falling ****.

Zaida stood frozen, still wearing the resentful look born of her cognitive dissonance. The hand clutching the head was still raised, as though she had planned her actions only as far ahead as the motion to remove it, and no further. She looked about as if she expected Aberot to burst in and demand to know what she was doing.

Stillness prevailed though. Everything went on as it had been, with the typical ambience of a demonic camp seeping in from beyond the tent. Zaida relaxed her stance, but the tension remained in her.

What now? I am a proven claw for the Demon Lord, but I cannot endure an environment that subjects me to the suffering of battle with none of the motivation, she thought. I serve the Demon Lord by ending humans, not by torturing them.

You serve the Demon Lord by abiding their will.

I hunt my prey, and I deliver the swift end that removes them as opposition. The end that they… deserve. What am I doing here? ‘Extracting an identity’? I was not born for this purpose.

Your purpose is whatever the Demon Lord says it is.

If a human crosses paths with me, then they are to die as quickly as possible. If I am not meant to slay them, then… then… they are not meant… to die…?

What distortion of logic is this? How can this be the conclusion you arrive at? Higher thought was not intended for the likes of you. Silence this insurgency and redress your treachery!

I… I cannot do this. But what do I do? When Aberot returns, he will surely resume the extraction; speak nothing of what he will do to me in retribution for my insubordination. So long as the human is in our captivity, he is destined for suffering. I will do as I was meant to and put an end to him. When Aberot asks what happened, I’ll claim that he was a threat.

Zaida drew her mace and stepped toward the man. His torso rose and fell subtly with his weak breaths.

One good strike to the head, and the torment ends for him.

She raised her heavy, blunt weapon.

Come on. You’ve done this before. It’s easy, gravity will do most of the work. You just have to guide it.

Eyes fixed on the human, the gnoll hesitated.

Remember the fury you felt with every blow you suffered at the hands of his kind; at every ally killed.

The man stirred, his head lifting.

And what of the next one?

The thought stopped Zaida’s heart for a moment. She could kill this man and spare both of them any further trouble, but that would not be the end of it for her. This was to be her new place in the Demon Lord’s army. This ‘mercy’ killing would buy her how much time until she found herself in this position once again? A month? A week? Perhaps a day? No, that would not do.

Zaida let out a long groan that was so fraught with frustration that is devolved into a whimper at the end. The noise drew the attention of the prisoner. When he saw who was standing over him, he simply squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, too weak and too terrified to do anything more.

The gnoll returned her mace to her back. Dropping to one knee, she set the mannequin head aside, and got to work on the bindings. The moment they were loose enough, the human was dropped those remaining centimetres, his arms falling to his sides. He released whine of relief. He said nothing as she hoisted him onto one shoulder with little difficulty.

Zaida regarded the mannequin head and its supposedly magical cowl. She weighed the potential consequences of taking it versus leaving it behind. Ultimately, she settled on taking it in the hopes that its removal would at least delay any recreations of this horrendous experiment. Stuffing the fabric in her belt, the demon slipped out of the tent with her captive.

The gnoll escaped the camp with relative ease. Though it was the middle of the day, she was concealed by darkness. Wherever the Demon Lord’s army established a camp, storm clouds would gather overhead, reddening and severely blunting any sunlight that would otherwise shine. For perhaps the first time, this was to the army’s detriment, as while many varieties of demon were not inhibited by darkness, no such creatures were around to detect her.

Though Zaida did not want for motivation to leave the camp behind, she would have welcomed some contribution regarding her destination. Where was she to go? Even if she knew what options this forest provided, she struggled to imagine a form of civilization that would not kill her out of either vengeance or punishment.

The man on her shoulder coughed.

If nothing else, I should find a human settlement to deliver this poor soul to. Maybe while I’m there I could steal some food and get away with no one the wiser. Okay, slow down. You’re getting ahead of yourself here. First, focus on finding a settlement, period.

The man coughed again, this time for longer and more hoarsely. Zaida took him from her shoulder and held him out by the armpits like an infant.

“What’s the matter with you? You make it this far, and now you’re falling apart?”

The man coughed. Held as he was, Zaida felt the breath and spittle land on her face. She recoiled.

“In light of your condition… I’m going to ignore that. But if it happens again, I’ll drop you and leave you to find your own way out of this.”

“W-Water…” the human rasped.

“Hm, thirsty.” Zaida returned the injured man to her shoulder and looked about. “We’ll find you something. Just focus on holding together. I’ll take it as a personal slight if you die in my care.”

The gnoll trekked a short distance further before a sound caught her ear; rushing water. Following it, she arrived at a sizable stream. “As promised: water,” she proclaimed, pulling him from her shoulder and setting him on the bank. The two of them leaned down and scooped water to their mouths with their hands. Between the human’s dehydration and Zaida’s size, they drank similar quantities in the end.

Sated, the duo took a moment to rest. The man panted, winded after drinking so desperately. Zaida, meanwhile, studied him. His wounds were no longer bleeding, but that was about the only good news. Though he had the strong form of a warrior, everything else – from his slumped posture to his shivering – cried unwellness.

The demon snapped her head away, a faint sound having reached her ear. She climbed to her feet and held still, listening for the distant disturbance. She heard it again; the crash of many bodies tromping through the brush. It was far, but she picked up the gentle crescendo of it.

“They’re after us sooner than I expected,” Zaida announced. “And they’re in a hurry. If they brought beasts of pursuit, we won’t outrun them.” She looked at the man’s broken form and pondered her choices. “We need to split up. Humans like to settle on waterways, yes?”

The human looked up at her with uncertainty. Though this monster had helped him up to this point, he could hardly bring himself to protest separation from her.

Zaida scanned their surroundings and found what she was looking for; a fallen and decrepit tree. Drawing her mace, she used it as a crude axe to break away a longer and sturdier segment of its trunk. She heaved it to the bank of the stream then picked up the human. Awkwardly, she rubbed him against herself like some sort of living towel. Beasts of pursuit could track a human’s scent, hence, Zaida did what she could to transfer that scent to herself.

“Apologies if this gives you splinters,” she said as she set him down on the log. It was just big enough to hold the entirety of his crippled frame. With that, she gave the log a shove, sending it and its rider away with the current.

The stream would handle the human’s getaway, all he had to do was not fall in. Zaida, on the other hand, now wore the smell of a human and could hear the other demons drawing closer. If she did not hurry, they would be close enough to spot her in no time. Playing the decoy, she took off in a direction divergent from the stream.

The gnoll raced through the woods. The other demons must have had her scent, as the sound of their trampling advance grew no quieter – despite her best efforts to leave them behind. Satisfied that she had led them sufficiently astray of the stream, her priority was now to escape for herself.

The lodestar of her flight was the border in the sky where the hellish clouds gave way to aerial blue. The terrain was no ally to her that day though, and eventually she was **** to pause to catch her breath. Rather than stop in the open, she ducked behind an especially broad tree.

Listening over her own panting, she heard them coming. There must have been dozens of them. That was absurd. Why would they dispatch such a large **** to reclaim her and the human? Was she that important to them? Was he?

Was the cowl?

Zaida remembered the garment in her belt and pulled it free. Could they truly be so eager to reclaim this thing? Was it that powerful? If so, she could certainly use some of that power at the moment.

Not knowing what else to do, Zaida attempted to don the cowl. Apparently, it was intended for a wearer smaller than herself, as she could not fit the piece even past the eyes on her canine head. She was not sure how a disguise would help her in this situation. If the demons rounded her tree and found anyone on the other side, they were liable to kill them. Yet Zaida needed any help she could get, and if the cowl had magic in it, she wanted it.

“Come on, you mis-tailored sock,” she growled as she wrestled the garment down her head. “Stretch a little!”

There was a hair-raising ripping noise as the enchanted threads gave out in Zaida’s grip. She was left with a half of the cowl bunched in each fist. Before her very eyes, the piece continued to disintegrate; threads coming apart in her still hands. As it happened, she could feel the unmistakable sensation of sorcery spilling onto her from it.

“Uh-oh.”

The remnants of the cowl had vanished. Zaida stared at her empty hands as they shifted. Frozen in the terror of whatever unknown fate awaited her, she could only watch the transmogrification occurring. Her hands and arms shrank while retaining their dimensional proportions. Her grey and brown fur retreated into her flesh. The skin beneath that had once been a chalky-grey turned to a humanoid-black. Her small yet sharp claws were reshaped as short, flat fingernails.

At then end of it, Zaida felt lightheaded, and she tingled all over. She looked down at herself. She still had a torso, two legs and two arms, but the similarities did not go far beyond that. Her digitigrade paws were gone, replaced with plantigrade feet. If she had cared to look, she would have found a fifth toe on each foot – one too many. Interestingly, the alterations were not limited to her body. Her leather armour was now a set of clothes that looked as though they offered negligible protection.

Moving her head around as she was, she felt something bobbing at the back. Reaching up, she found not her mane, but a mass of – admittedly nice – hair tied back. She then noticed the absence of something she regularly ignored: her muzzle. Reaching for it, her hand passed through empty air. She felt her face. It was flatter now, and her nose was taller.

Zaida did not need to study herself any further to understand that she had turned into a human.

She was wondering how the cowl had done this to her when she remembered why she had destroyed it in the first place. She cast her gaze left, then right. She listened. Her senses were duller, but while she may not have realized it, they were still keener than that of a natural human. She saw nothing. She heard nothing. Where were the demons?

The former-gnoll emerged from her hiding space, taking her unaltered mace from its place on her back. Feeling its ostensibly increased size and mass, she realised that it was – in fact – her that was smaller and weaker. Still, she could manipulate it very nearly as well as she had before, so she was not concerned.

Creeping cautiously, she still found no evidence of what she had thought to have been her pursuers. That was, until she found their tracks anyway. Whole swathes of the forest floor had been packed down by feet and talons and hooves and whatever else the demons walked on. Zaida worried that her red herring may have failed, and that they might have followed the human down the stream.

Clutching her mace, the woman followed the obvious course taken by the hellish hunters. After some time without encountering anything, she replaced her weapon. Further still she followed the very, very beaten path.

Eventually she came upon a small but wide hill. It was so small as to almost be more of a mound. It looked as though it acted as the boundary of the forest, as Zaida saw no trees beyond it. She did not pause, continuing over the gentle slope and down the other side.

Finally free of the wood’s canopy, her eyes took a moment to adjust to the unfettered sunlight. When her vision settled, she was greeted with a walled settlement. Between her and it were a couple handfuls of human knights, standing as the victors – or at least the survivors – of a recent skirmish.

And they were all looking at Zaida.

“Hold there!” shouted one of the more prominent warriors. “Who goes there?”