They made camp that night in a abandoned village that had been hastily evacuated by its Radiant occupants. The buildings were intact but empty, stripped of anything valuable or useful. It was shelter from the rain, at least, which meant the troops could dry their equipment and rest without drowning in mud.

Liam stood in what had once been the village's temple—a small stone building with faded murals depicting the Radiant Emperor receiving divine mandate.

Someone had tried to deface the murals before fleeing, but they'd only managed to scratch out a few faces before giving up.

"Appropriate symbolism," Koth said, entering the temple with a dispatch scroll. "The old gods running from the new."

"I'm a commander first, before a god," Liam said automatically.

Koth's scarred face split in something that might have been a smile. "Tell that to the Nameless Litany. Or the Fourth Order. Or every soldier in this army who watched you kill that battle-priest with your bare hands."

"Killing someone doesn't make you divine."

"No," Koth agreed. "But killing them the way you did—walking through holy defenses like they were paper, burning them with flames that consecrated wards couldn't stop—that makes an impression. They see you as god first, Commander second. "

Liam turned back to the defaced mural. Somewhere under the scratches, the Radiant Emperor's face still smiled benevolently, secure in the certainty of divine favor.

How many people had knelt in this temple, believing absolutely in prophecy and destiny?

How many of them were now refugees, fleeing before an army led by a college dropout playing dress-up as a primordial demon?

"What's the dispatch?" he asked, changing the subject.

Koth's expression sobered. "Scout reports from Kael'thra's advance teams. The enemy has established a defensive line fifteen miles ahead—significant fortifications across our most direct route to Sanctum Lux. At least five thousand troops, supported by battle-priests and what looks like siege weaponry."

Liam's mind immediately began calculating. Five thousand troops would take hours to dislodge, even with superior numbers. Hours they couldn't afford to lose. But bypassing them meant taking a longer route, which cost days instead of hours.

"Alternative routes?"

"Two options," Koth said, unrolling a tactical map that was already stained with rain and mud. "We can swing north through the Ashmark Hills—adds two days to our march but avoids the fortifications entirely. Or we can go south through the Thornwood—faster, maybe only adds twelve hours, but the terrain is murder for moving an army this size."

Liam studied the map. The Ashmark route was safer but eliminated any chance of reaching Sanctum Lux with time to spare. The Thornwood route maintained their desperate schedule but would shred his troops even further.

The third option was obvious but brutal: go straight through the enemy fortifications and break them by force.

"Casualties for a direct assault?" he asked quietly.

Koth's expression was grim. "Against prepared positions with siege support? We'd take minimum fifteen hundred dead, probably twice that wounded. And it would cost us most of a day anyway, between the fighting and reorganizing afterward."

Fifteen hundred dead.

The number sat in Liam's mind like a stone.

Fifteen hundred demons who would die because he chose the direct route instead of the safe one.

But the safe route cost them the war.

"We go through," Liam said.

Koth nodded slowly, as if he'd expected that answer. "I'll begin preparing the assault plan. We'll need artillery support, flanking maneuvers—"

"No," Liam interrupted. "We don't have time for a proper siege. We hit them at dawn with overwhelming force. I want three legions in the initial assault—enough to crush their center before they can properly respond. The rest of the army continues the march. We don't stop to hold ground. We just break through and keep moving."

"That's..." Koth paused, choosing his words carefully. "That's going to be messy, Lord Azra. Without proper support, the casualties could be significantly higher."

"I know."

"The troops are already exhausted—"

"I know."

Koth met his gaze for a long moment. "You're going to lead the assault yourself, aren't you?"

It wasn't really a question.

"Someone has to," Liam said simply. "If I'm asking them to die, the least I can do is be there as they do."

"The Queen won't like that."

"The Queen," Lilith said from the temple doorway, her voice carrying an edge of steel, "is standing right here and can speak for herself."

Both men turned. Lilith stood framed by the doorway, rain still dripping from her traveling cloak, golden eyes fixed on Liam with an expression that promised consequences.

"Commander Koth," she said without looking away from Liam, "please give us the room."

Koth saluted and departed with the wisdom of a veteran who recognized when to avoid getting between royalty and their arguments.

The temple fell silent except for the rain drumming on the roof.

"You're planning to lead a suicidal charge at dawn," Lilith said flatly.

"I'm planning to lead a necessary assault," Liam corrected.

"That will almost certainly get you killed."

"Possibly."

"Probably," Lilith snapped. "You're powerful, Azra, but you're not invincible. Five thousand entrenched troops with siege support and holy magic? That's an execution waiting to happen."

"Then I'll make sure the execution doesn't take," Liam said. "I've gotten good at surviving impossible situations. It's kind of my specialty."

"This isn't a joke—"

"I'm not joking." Liam's voice hardened. "I'm stating a tactical reality. We need to break through those fortifications by tomorrow night or we lose any chance of reaching Sanctum Lux in time. A proper siege takes days we don't have. A flanking maneuver takes time we can't spare. That leaves a direct assault, and a direct assault led by the Primordial Demon himself has a significantly better chance of breaking enemy morale fast enough to minimize our casualties."

"Or it gets you killed and destroys the entire foundation of this army's faith," Lilith countered. "What happens to the Nameless Litany when their god dies? What happens to the legions when the symbol that unified them is gone? You're not just risking your life, Azra. You're risking everything we've built."

"Then I won't die," Liam said simply.

"You can't guarantee that—"

"Yes, I can." He moved closer, holding her gaze. "Because I'm very good at not dying, Lilith. It's what I've been doing since the moment you summoned me. Every impossible situation, every near-death experience, every moment when logic said I should fail—I survived them all. Not because I'm invincible, but because I'm necessary. Because this role requires me to keep breathing, and so I do."

Lilith's expression was complicated—frustration and fear and something deeper that neither of them could afford to name.

"You're not immortal," she said quietly. "You're just a man playing a god."

"I'm a synthesis playing a role that's becoming reality," Liam corrected. "There's a difference."

"Is there?" She stepped closer, close enough that he could see the concern written in every line of her face. "Because from where I'm standing, you sound exactly like every overconfident commander who got themselves killed because they believed their own mythology."

"Maybe," Liam admitted. "But what's the alternative? Hide in the rear while sending other people to die for me? That's not sustainable, Lilith. The moment I stop leading from the front is the moment faith starts to crack."

"So you'd rather die gloriously than live pragmatically?"

"I'd rather do whatever it takes to win this war," Liam said. "Even if that means putting myself in danger. Even if that means gambling with my life. Because that's what leaders do. They don't ask their people to take risks they wouldn't take themselves."

Lilith was silent for a long moment. Outside, the rain continued to fall, and somewhere in the camp, soldiers were singing—a low, mournful demon war-chant that spoke of glory and death and the honor of dying for a cause worth dying for.

"Promise me something," she said finally.

"What?"

"Don't die tomorrow." Her voice was softer now, almost vulnerable. "Don't make me explain to eight hundred and sixty-three zealots why their god bled out in a field because he was too proud to fight smart instead of hard."

Liam felt something twist in his chest—an emotion he'd thought he'd burned away with everything else.

"I promise," he said quietly. "I'll come back."

"You can't know that—"

"Yes, I can." He reached out, and after a moment's hesitation, took her hand. It was warm despite the cold rain, solid and real in a way that cut through all the abstract calculus of war. "Because I'm not done yet. Because this story doesn't end with me dying in some nameless field fifteen miles from the goal. That's not how narratives work."

"Life isn't a narrative," Lilith said, but her fingers tightened around his.

"Everything is a narrative," Liam countered. "We just choose whether to be tragic or triumphant. And I choose triumph."

[Synchronization Index: +1%]

Another percentage point. Another piece of human doubt dissolved into demon certainty.

Lilith seemed to sense the shift somehow. Her golden eyes searched his face, looking for something—maybe the human actor she'd first summoned, maybe confirmation that he was still in there somewhere.

"I'll come back," Liam repeated. "I promise."

"You'd better," Lilith said, and there was something fierce in her voice now. "Because if you die stupidly, I'll drag your soul back and kill you again myself."

Despite everything, Liam smiled. "Fair enough."

They stood there for a moment longer, hands clasped in a temple dedicated to an enemy god, while outside an army prepared to march toward destiny or extinction.

Then Lilith pulled away, professional distance reasserting itself like armor sliding back into place.

"I'll coordinate with the rear legions," she said. "Make sure the supply line holds during the assault. Try not to get killed before I finish the logistics."

"I'll do my best."

She paused at the doorway, looking back. "And Liam? When you make it back—and you will make it back—we're having a conversation about your definition of 'acceptable risk.'"

Then she was gone, leaving Liam alone with defaced murals and the weight of tomorrow's necessary violence.

He stared at the scratched-out face of the Radiant Emperor and wondered what that long-dead ruler would think of the current situation. A human pretending to be a demon, leading a demonic army to break a divine prophecy.

The irony was almost beautiful.

Almost.

Liam turned and walked out into the rain, toward the command tent where Koth and the other officers would be waiting for assault plans and orders.

Dawn was six hours away.

And with it, fifteen hundred potential corpses that would buy them passage to Sanctum Lux.

The math was simple.

The execution would be anything but.

But Lord Azra, the Originator of Sin, was done hesitating.

Tomorrow, they would break through.

Or they would break trying.

Either way, the march continued.

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