“You can count on me.” The Hekate charged Firefang with Cursed Flames and stored her most destructive spells in her Mouth of Menadion.
“I’m bringing someone too.” Lith said. “Ripha?”
A deep breath, and the Demon of Ripha Menadion emerged from his shadow, bearing seven elemental air and pure rage on her face.
“A Chronicler? I ate plenty of those and killed even more. I can add one more notch to my kill count.”
“Keep this for good measure.” Lith handed her Ragnarök, and the angry blade fit into her hand like a glove. “If the Tree tries anything funny, and I mean anything, strike first and ask questions second.”
Ragnarök didn’t like being wielded by anyone but Lith, but the rage and hatred burning inside the First Ruler of the Flames matched its own.
“Asking questions is not the second thing on the list of things I want to do to a World Tree.” Ripha growled. “It doesn’t even make the top ten, but sure.”
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