Brant's Anger
Brant was in a dangerous mood. Nothing had gone according to plan. He had planned carefully, his designs had been perfect. He had attracted the attention of a major demon, he had found an ideal sacrifice. He had waited patiently, learned how to leverage the power of his own blood and the blood of beasts. He had corrupted the runner his “master” had bought from the druids, he had done it all right. He had sized an opportunity when it had presented itself. At the time he had congratulated himself on seizing on a perfect opportunity, and leaving that suggestion behind in the wood of the dry goods store, the one that convinced most people that the two had run off together.
And since that night it had all gone wrong. He could deal with the demon's selfishness, it was expected, in fact it was right that a powerful being should be disdainful of lesser beings. But Brant was wearing out under its tirades. It was worse that Daisy seemed to think he should be telling the demon what to do. If it wasn't offering great power what was the point of any of this?
Ugh, Daisy. That girl. The girl wasn't behaving correctly. She didn't cower, she didn't cry. She wasn't terrified or impressed, she mostly seemed to ignore him or ask for things reasonably. He could have hated her properly if she would whimper or show weakness or fear. He could have ruled her if she had shown respect. Instead she just...ignored him. Somehow even as her captor he still felt that he was beneath her.
And that benighted healer and wizard's apprentice. Stealing his notebook was a blow; his blood was in that book, his power had been in it. It had cost him an uncomfortable amount of blood to re-attract the demon without the rituals. They started messing with the book as well, he could feel it, feel his energy being disrupted and sucked away.
The first illusion should have been enough. Brant had studied geology, had spent time out in this canyon to learn how rock felt, how it looked, even how it smelled. Then that wizard had disrupted it and shown them a way. Why would that happen? What had he done wrong to let the wizard thwart him like that?
But Brant was resilient. The second illusion he created for Kaelyn was perfect. It posed no threat, gave no surface for her to attack or concentrate on. It was simple, and designed to keep her ever moving outward, not closer. It had cost him, but it should have worked. Then that priest walked through it, he felt that, every time one of Brant's illusions was pierced by Kaelyn he felt it in his stomach.
All of this built up to a huge sense of being slighted, of being wronged.
But it didn't cover the fact that, in his core, he knew he was still wrong. Daisy had done nothing to him. Nothing for him, either, she never loved him or noticed him, even when he had been so kind to her in the store. But part of him had to admit that none of this was worthy of death, and he was wrong. He hated that, hated her for being unfailingly right, for being blameless in this situation. He could have hated her so much more, so much more freely if she would just give him a reason, a sign of weakness or a sign of her own hatred or anger.
The point of demon worship is to be wrong, of course. Brant was actively trying to be evil and wrong and bad, but some part of him suspected it was all an act. He wanted to be noticed, and was settling for notoriety. He suspected that instead of being fierce and well known and evil he was meant to be quietly, unassumingly good. And that dissonance between being good and bad was driving him to be worse. Daisy might be harmless, but Kaelyn had been actively thwarting him, and that made her an enemy. He could direct all his hatred to her.
At this moment he didn't need a demon, but he did need power. This spell he remembered at least. his finger was still bleeding and that was good enough. A few words muttered between clenched teeth and his hand ignited, dripping flame now instead of blood.
They told you that you could make your hand burn and not be burned. What the demons didn't tell you is that you still felt the flame the entire time.
There were voices coming the other way, and in that moment Brant's rage froze into something useful.
”...without the Divine there is no nature, so your art must be considered a subsidiary of the Divine's art,” Ellis was saying.
“I have never argued that we can do our work without the Divine...” Kaelyn said and then they stopped, Brant saw the fear in their eyes. Finally. This was the right response. Fear and defiance. They knew he was powerful and acknowledged that he was a threat. But they still underestimated him. The fire falling from his fist re-formed, and an imp, a small lesser demon, all teeth and claws and flame and rage, stood by his foot.
“That one is a priest of the Divine,” Brant snarled, pointing to Ellis. “Attack.”
The imp growled and ran to Ellis, fangs flashing. It leaped and bit Ellis' arm which he had quickly raised in defense. Ellis grunted and growled in pain, swinging his arm to dislodge the imp. He spun around, slamming the imp into the wall. Ellis grunted in pain. The imp squeaked and disappeared in a final burst of fire.
Ellis' arm was streaming blood, and by the angle was broken after that final strike against the wall. He was sweating and holding it, his breath coming quickly. Kaelyn turned her back on Brant and opened her satchel to start helping Ellis, “Healer first,” she said under her breath.
It was the wrong move entirely. Brant had worked so hard to show her how powerful he was and she instantly forgot him to help this milksop priest. He too two steps and grabbed her hair, pulling her head backward and pressing his knife against her throat.
“Enough! Leave the fool to bleed out if he must. You come to find your friend, did you not? Very well, I'll take you to see her. One. Last. Time. The sun is nearly down. It's time. Come healer. Come see how Daisy dies.”