The curse demon gate was set on the crest of a gently sloping hill. The air was thick with infernal curse mana, drifting out in black tendrils like swamp miasma. Just looking at it caused my chest to prickle where red lines had once burned, and shivers to run down my tail.
"It's smaller than I thought," R'lissea said.
"It's on the weaker end of seventh," Fyren said.
Some movement on the edge of my gate caught my eye.
"There's the demonkin. Should we approach," I asked.
"Stay back, " Fyren said, striding ahead of us. "Frightened prey is prone to lashing out, and I won't have you caught in a crossfire."
Before I could react, he shed his humanoid visage, assuming his towering, twenty-foot-tall demon form. His aura abruptly surged, filled with flickering flames that danced from the molten lines drawn throughout his scales.
