Devils.
Until recently, I had thought them to be sky demons. But according to Lira, that single mistake of comparison could cost me my life, or at the very least, my dignity, if I ever said it aloud in front of someone from the demon race. To them, being likened to a devil was the foulest insult imaginable.
"Remember this," Lira had told me once, her voice quiet but firm. "Demons are people. Devils are beasts. Don't confuse the two."
And beasts they were.
Back on Arcadia, devils sometimes appeared alone, sometimes in small packs, and, on rare, terrifying occasions, in coordinated waves.
When one devil attacked the outer ring villages, it was left to us plebeians to defend ourselves. We fought them with pitchforks, scythes, and crude spears hastily carved from wood. Imagine trying to fend off a clawed predator with tools meant for turning soil; that was our reality. Every skirmish was bloody. For every devil slain, at least two villagers died, and countless more carried injuries that haunted them for life.
The devils I had seen shared certain features despite their differences: bright, almost glowing skin in hues no human bore; jagged horns curling from brows or temples; wings leathery and powerful enough to carry them through the skies; and fangs that gleamed when they tore into flesh. They hunted people like game, feasting openly on corpses.
Worse, they kidnapped women, snatching them up in clawed hands and vanishing below the lower clouds. No one ever saw those women again.
A devil wave, though… that was an entirely different nightmare. Tens, sometimes hundreds, swarming together with animal cunning. Even the inner dome of Arcadia had to act then, dispatching warships armed with gunpowder cannons and spellcasters who could rain destruction from the skies. Only an overwhelming force could repel a wave.
And here we were.
Not on an island, but aboard a passenger transport. Strong, yes, but not a warship. It had cannons and a handful of defensive enchantments, enough to repel a lone predator or two. But against a wave? Its escorts, three smaller ships flanking us, would have to shoulder the true burden. If the captain was calling for skyfarers to the deck, that meant the escorts alone would not be enough.
Lira and I raced through the corridors, boots striking polished wood as the alarm echoed around us. Lanterns rattled in their sconces. Other passengers rushed alongside us, most clutching weapons or wearing half-fastened armor. By the time we emerged onto the upper deck, at least ten others had gathered.
The thunder of cannons already filled the air, each blast shaking the planks beneath my feet. Smoke stung my nostrils. Off the starboard side, I spotted movement: a dark cloud of dots against the pale sky.
The wave.
I squinted, counting quickly. Thirty, maybe more. Large enough to cause devastation here, though Arcadia would have called it "medium-sized." Still, thirty feral predators tearing at a single ship could spell disaster.
One of the gathered skyfarers, a grey-bearded man with scars carved deep into his face, turned to address us. His voice carried the gravelly weight of command.
"Drinks on me to all who survive!" he barked. "We stop these devils here, or none of us see port again. Ranged fighters and mages, bring them down before they reach us. The rest of you, form a shield and hold the line."
His gaze swept the group, sharp and appraising. When his eyes landed on my twin holstered pistols, something in his expression shifted. Disappointment. A faint shake of the head, as though he'd already written me off.
The dismissal ignited a spark of anger in my chest.
While others readied blades or muttered incantations, I pulled free one pistol and leveled it toward the oncoming swarm.
The veteran's lip curled. He probably thought me a fool, waving around a "mana gun" that could barely sting an opponent. Most people couldn't muster more than a spark through these weapons. But he hadn't seen me fire.
Bang!
The shot cracked like thunder. A blue streak lanced across the sky, far sharper and louder than the toy-like pop he expected. It tore into the wing of a devil still half a mile away. The creature spiralled down toward the clouds below.
I'd held back, feeding only a fraction of my mana into the shot.
The veteran staggered, nearly deafened. His mouth worked open and shut, disbelief written across his weathered face. "What the fu—"
Bang!
Another streak. Another devil plummeted, wings shredded.
The recoil jolted me back a step. My control was improving, but still not perfect. Around me, the other skyfarers froze, weapons half-raised, staring as if I'd just grown a second head.
Lira slipped to my side, her grin both proud and mischievous. "Wait, baby. Let me help you out."
Her casual address drew murmurs.
"Baby?" one man muttered.
"Is he with that dark elf?" whispered another, not quietly enough.
Lira ignored them. She pressed her hand flat against my chest, closing her eyes. Mana gathered at her shoulder, congealing into shadow. A serpent of living darkness uncoiled down her arm, slithering across her hand, then wrapping itself around my legs.
"[Shadow Stick]," she intoned. "You won't be knocked off balance now. Fire again."
Bang!
The pistol kicked in my grip, but my stance held firm, anchored by Lira's magic. Another devil spiraled down in flames.
I drew my second pistol, eager to push further.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Blue beams lanced across the sky. But firing both weapons at once proved trickier than I'd expected. My aim faltered; only one shot in five connected. I cursed under my breath, holstered the second pistol, and returned to precision work with one hand.
One by one, devils dropped. Five more fell before the swarm adjusted.
The survivors hesitated mid-flight, wings beating furiously. Then, as if by shared instinct, they broke formation and dove into the cloud cover below. Vanished.
I kept my weapon raised, waiting, eyes locked on the horizon. No movement. They were gone.
Slowly, the deck exhaled.
Lira stepped close, resting a hand on my arm, her eyes glowing with pride. "I didn't realize you had that much range. Only greater attack spells can hit that far ordinarily. Well done, Max."
The grey-bearded veteran approached, still rubbing his ringing ears. He stopped before me, posture stiff with respect.
"Forgive me," he said, his voice loud as if he hadn't yet recovered his hearing. "I saw the pistols and thought—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "No excuse. You saved us. Thanks to you, none of us even had to lift a blade. All the credit is yours."
For a moment, the deck fell silent again. Eyes turned toward me, not with pity, or dismissal, but with something heavier. Recognition.