Fred Burkle grimaces as she stares into the gigantic maw of Illyria the Merciless, towering above them, blocking their only escape, her tendrils reaching out toward them. The creature moves with remarkable speed for something of its size, and Fred finds herself rooted to the spot against the cavern wall as it reaches for her.

Angel dives and knocks her out of the way. He calls to their companion, the tribal demon he calls Swal, but can’t reach him in time.

“Swal, come on!”

But Swal is on his knees in reverence. Angel watches in stunned silence. Fred looks out — Swal is praying to the creature.

“Great Illyria… Please forgive your humble servant.”

“Maybe if we just show her some respect she’ll listen to reason?” Fred whispers.

The tendrils wrap around Swal’s waist. He doesn’t resist, doesn’t shout, doesn’t question his deity as he’s slammed against the nearest wall and falls with a sickening crunch to the cavern floor. The tendrils ignore the body and reach out again — inches from Fred’s face. She trembles, whispering to the Goddess inside her.

“Now might be a good time to have a little talk with yourself, Illyria…”

Angel holds her tight in the dark, pinning her so she can’t move. The tendril comes closer—

And then a noise in the distance. A horn, Angel thinks. It blasts through the valley — once, twice, a third time. Illyria the Old One hears it and heads toward the sound, leaving Angel and Fred shivering in the cold cavern, shaken but alive.

They crawl out of their hiding place. Swal’s body lies abandoned and forgotten by its god.

Fred stares, horrified.

“She didn’t even think twice! She just smashed him!”

Angel looks at her. “Well, she is a demonic entity who holds dominion over everything she surveys. At least, she is in this time period.”

Fred scoffs. “She could still try to be a bit nicer.”

A groan from the “dead” body makes Fred gasp. Swal is alive.

“She goes to attend the calling…” he manages. By the time Angel bends down, the demon is gone — onto his next life.

Angel pieces it together. “That noise sounded like a war horn.”

Fred nods. “So, a call to arms. A gathering of troops.”

“All the demons in one place with one goal — to kill Illyria’s rival.”

Exiting the cave and overlooking the valley, Angel repeats that they cannot allow things to change from their intended outcome. As they leave, Fred no longer feels comfortable in the cave. Angel scans the distance for signs of the tribal march.

“She’s moving fast. We better hurry.”

Angel doesn’t turn. He’s struck across the jaw, collapsing to the ground. Illyria stands over him.

“Sorry, Angel. But this is not your trail to follow nor your problem to solve.”

He looks up, barely says her name — but she’s gone.

Angel rises slower than he’d like. He heads in the Old One’s direction, following the destruction she leaves behind. In a clearing, he’s nearly trampled by more demons — green-skinned, three-eyed, wrapped in colourful rags that once were tunics. One urges him to join them.

Another says, “We are all one tribe now. Tribal differences are as nothing before a calling.”

Angel yells after them, desperate to save their lives. “You do realise that if you’re eaten, the thing you’re fighting just gets stronger, right?”

The first demon turns. “Then we will pray that Illyria consumes us, so that we may lend strength to her supple arms instead.”

Angel shakes his head. He simply cannot get them to understand. Maybe he’s not meant to.

He hears a commotion and finds a group of the same demons — but they’re pointing weapons at their own kind.

“You’re not getting out of this!” one with a spear yells.

The leader of the threatened group shudders. “All right! Yes! We’re going! You don’t have to hurt anyone!”

Angel steps forward. “Where exactly are you taking these people?”

Two guards march the group away as their leader turns to Angel, full of attitude. “Who are you?”

Angel transforms, fangs bared. “Probably the last person you’ll ever see.”

What follows takes eighteen seconds. In the first two, Angel has taken down two demons, disarmed them, turned their weapons on their allies, and dropped three more. They lie in heaps — dead, dying, groaning, or silent.

Angel shifts back to human form. “I hope I didn’t misread the situation?”

The leader of the freed demons nods. He wants to know what Angel wants with them — Angel could be an enemy too.

“Honestly?” Angel says, pleading. “I was going to try to convince you to not answer that call to arms. Pretty much the opposite of what these guys wanted.”

“Okay.”

Angel looks skyward in relief. “Finally, someone who listens to me! You’ve made a good decision, really.”

“We’re pacifists! So, of course, we weren’t going to fight.”

Angel’s face falls. “I see.”

The demon continues. “We don’t wholly endorse your methods, but we do appreciate what you did for us. But Illyria isn’t going to like it. So maybe you’d better come with us.”

Angel follows them through the foliage to a clearing with a massive hollowed-out tree at its centre.

“If your clan is truly committed to non-violence, maybe you could help convince others. That’s what I’m—”

“No.”

Angel blinks. “Just no?”

“We tried to rid our land of violence. It didn’t work. You could say it had the opposite effect.”

They climb a carved stairway to the top of the tree. The night sky stretches above them. On the ground is a talisman etched into the floor.

“Looks like you’ve been doing some conjuring of your own.”

“More like luring,” the demon leader sighs.

“The thing eating all your warriors? You asked for that?”

The demon looks ashamed. “We convinced ourselves that it would set us free. The idea was that if we drew one of Illyria’s rivals to our land, she would have to fight it. And that being equally matched, they would kill each other. And afterwards, we would have no Master to serve. No Merciless God to appease.”

Another demon steps forward. “Turns out it wasn’t the best plan.”

Angel stares. “Your race seems to have a gift for understatement.” He looks at them all. “But you still won’t help me make it right?”

“We tried lots of things to get him to go away again. Everything we do just makes things worse. So we’ve taken a vote and decided to do nothing.”

He adds that they made things worse by giving Illyria a second rival. Angel looks confused — until the demon points into the valley.

Below, the Old One Illyria battles the giant demon — and the Illyria in Fred’s form is right in the midst of it.

Angel feels a stab of guilt.

“Yeah. But you’re not to blame for that.”

The demon looks relieved. “Even so, I think it is our fault that the other one is now so big. He was smaller when he first showed up. That was a mistake. We were just trying to make him go away. Guess we’re really not good with spells.”

Angel freezes. “And Illyria doesn’t know this demon has accidentally been magically enhanced?”

“Of course not!”

Angel doesn’t wait. He’s already sprinting through the foliage, heading toward the battle. The demon leader yells after him.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

Approaching the battle site, Angel tries to yell at his Illyria, trying to get her to back off. A group of tribal warriors, believing the vampire stranger will interrupt their defence of their Goddess, fire arrows toward him. Angel ducks as deadly shafts whistle past. Even Illyria and the demon turn toward him, noticing the stranger and beginning to advance.

The Illyria who came with him yells in fury. The Old One’s tendrils lash out and slap Angel aside, knocking him off his feet with no effort. It tries to strike him again and, when that fails, it uproots a tree larger than Angel. The Old One raises it like a stake and aims for him.

It slams the tendril down.

The wood strikes — and splinters.

Illyria has stepped into the path of the crude weapon, saving Angel’s life. The blow knocks the Goddess off her feet, and Angel races forward to catch her.

Illyria and the creature turn to each other, speaking in their native tongues — gnarling sounds, gnashing teeth, ancient fury.

“We have to get away from here,” Angel says, lifting Illyria and running. He glances back at the two giants, now quarrelling.

“What is she saying?” he asks.

“It wouldn’t make any literal sense to you,” the Goddess replies weakly. “But believe me when I tell you I was never good at holding my temper. I have to go back.”

Angel grabs her arm. “There are things you don’t know yet!”

Illyria tears her arm free and stomps away. “If I do not defeat them both tonight, tomorrow will be too late. That is all I need to know.”

But she doesn’t get far. She collapses to the ground, unable to stand.

“You’re wrong. You’re so very wrong,” Angel says, racing to her — but it’s not Illyria he finds on the grass. It’s Fred.

She doesn’t answer him. She screams, “Watch out!”

Seconds later, the Old One Illyria crashes into the ground a few metres away, missing them by inches. Angel doesn’t hesitate. He scoops Fred up and runs.

Twenty minutes later, he finally stops. Fred complains in his arms.

“You can put me down, you know. I’ve got two feet. I might as well use them.”

They’ve reached a small stream. Angel notices a nasty wound on Fred’s shoulder, dried blood caked around it.

“Maybe you better let me take a look at that,” Angel says, gently steadying her as he prepares to clean the cut. “Why did Illyria leave you in the middle of the fight like that? You could have been killed! And then where would she be?”

Fred shakes her head. “She didn’t exactly leave me. I felt her getting weaker, so I kind of… kicked her out of the way. It felt like she wasn’t making very good decisions.”

Angel rolls his eyes. “You could say that. I only wish I knew what to do now. We haven’t got much time, and we don’t even know where most of the demons are massing.”

He sighs and looks around. Fred’s face lights up.

“Did you remember to bring the scrying bowl?”

A few minutes later, they kneel beside the stream, surprised by the clarity of the water, staring into the bowl Fred found in the crypt.

“I hope we’re doing this right,” Angel says.

“It’s a bowl, right?” Fred reasons. “It must have been made to be filled. And water’s a lot easier to see through than milk. Or blood.”

Elsewhere — another time, another place — in the London home of Lavinia and Sophie Fairweather, the sisters are relaxing when, without warning, a hole in space and time opens between them and the front door. Angel and Fred’s faces stare through the shimmering portal.

Sophie drops her books. “Well! This is a surprise!”

Lavinia leans forward, delighted. “Are you using a scrying glass? How in the world did you get the reception this crisp?”

Fred humours them. “You wouldn’t believe how clear the water is here! It’s really astonishing.”

“Where’s here?” Sophie asks.

“More importantly, who’s that?”

Angel has noticed a demon in the room — one similar to the three‑eyed green tribe from earlier.

Sophie shrugs. “Oh, that’s just Arev. Weirdest thing, though. I’d always thought his kind were extinct. But he seems to make Lavinia sickeningly happy, so I don’t argue the point.”

“Interesting,” Angel notes. He turns to Fred, worry creeping in. “Looks like we already managed to change history a little bit.”

“I guess it’s good to know it can be done? I wasn’t sure. I mean, it’s logical but…”

Sophie’s patience snaps. “Look, you called us. The least you could do is tell us what you want.”

“We should have already been on our way,” Lavinia says. “I promised Arev I’d let him buy us dinner and we don’t want to lose the reservation.”

Angel sighs. “What we really need is something sort of like a fairytale.”

Sophie frowns. “You want us to tell you a bedtime story?”

“Where are you anyway?” Lavinia asks again.

“That’s not important. Just… maybe you can let us talk to Arev for a moment. He actually might know more about this.” Angel closes his eyes. Why is every conversation with the Aunts so exhausting?

Arev approaches the hole and peers in, wearing a red sweater that compliments his green skin. Angel finds it strange to see clothing on one of the tribe. Arev explains that his family were pacifists.

“Yeah, noted. What we need to know, Arev, is if you know any really old stories about an ancient battle, like where it might have taken place.”

Arev looks blank. His family would never have been involved in such things. Angel rethinks his question.

“So maybe a story about the kinds of places that should be avoided?”

A short while later, elsewhere in the valley, Angel and Fred look out at the tribe marching toward battle. Fred thinks back to Arev’s directions.

“There must have been some very serious historians in Arev’s family to have recorded this so accurately. Don’t know how we could have found it without him.”

“They probably started paying attention to details right around this time,” Angel says.

Fred walks closer to the mountain’s edge. Angel calls after her.

“Not yet! Fred, we have to—”

Her form shifts.

“Oh. You’re back.”

“We’ve failed, Angel,” Illyria says, grimly.

“Illyria, listen to me! You can’t kill that thing. It might be invincible.”

“Then I will have to kill my past self instead.”

Angel stares in horror. “What? No! If you do that what will happen to Fred?” He looks toward the Old One in the distance. “You are not thinking clearly.”

“I’m sorry, Angel. There is no other way. If I don’t, you’re both dead anyway.”

She points at the volcano in the valley, smoke rising from its peak. Illyria reminds Angel of the valley’s history — how her former self scorched the Earth.

“Have you forgotten the way I once ended everything?” she says. “If I end Illyria before she can awaken the Earth, something will change…”