"Fuck!! It's that bitch, the Red of War!!"
The Daemon cursed and its body flashed through the mountains, moving at a speed that turned the terrain into a blur, rock faces and ridgelines disappearing behind it before they could fully register.
It wasn't just afraid of her.
That wasn't the right word for it.
Traumatized was closer. A thousand times over, across a thousand different encounters, across deaths and returns and deaths again. The treaty between corruption and the divine kingdoms held firm on paper, both sides bound by agreements that kept full scale war at a specific distance.
But some of the monarchs' children were shameless.
They would cross those lines and dare someone to say something about it, absorb the punishment after the fact and consider it a fair trade.
Victoria was the most notorious of all of them.
It would rather face the punishment waiting for it on the other side than stand in front of that woman for another second.
The mountains blurred past.
