Within three days, half of the group was dead.

The stupider ones fell prey to traps; getting impaled, strung up or crushed by swinging tree-trunks. The weak ones were unknowing human shields for his Host, protecting her at their own cost. Ira walked along after her, watching with amusement as they were picked off one by one.

His Host faced the tragedy of her comrades by becoming even more determined to succeed, in order to make sure they hadn't died for nothing. She stubbornly ignored the fact that that ship had already sailed.

Ira was quiet during the journey. Things were busy enough that he had no need to rile people up with sarcasm when they were already panicking without him. With every death, someone screamed and cried, saying things about burying them and respecting them. But his Host was on a time table; she was a powerful resource of the army who had essentially abandoned her duty before a decisive battle. She was most certainly being hunted down to be dragged back to camp.

As such, there were no funerals, no fancy stones or any kind words. There were a few minutes of silence before danger meant that they had to battle for their lives again.

Not only was the foresty mountain they were traversing full of traps, but it also contained human-eating monsters and beasts.

It was, simply put, a death trap.

One which his Host was gladly walking into.

It seemed they weren't very smart (most likely, they became fools in front of his Host) for only a few of them had bothered to pack water, not to mention food. Or medicine. Or even just simple gauze. Ira had no idea what it was about humans that made them so braindead in the face of infatuation, but he wanted no part in it.

That stuff was lethal.

The morning of their fourth day of walking dawned bright and early. It was summer, but this high up in the north, you couldn't tell. Everybody, including him and his Host, was bundled into warm coats and blankets as they trudged through the deep snow. There were only a handful of survivors, the smart and strong ones, now. And even Ira could tell that most of them had started to doubt this expedition. 

If not outright thinking of leaving.

After all, in the camp, they had been safe behind barriers. Here, they were out in the wild open on a suicide mission for an ungrateful arrogant woman that didn't even love them back. No, she only ever had eyes for the demonic Hero. She barely even spared them a glance when they died for her.

Any kind of love could fade from that.

Or turn into a burning hatred.

It was still a toss-up on what would happen to theirs. Personally, Ira was rooting for hatred, as it would be far more dramatic and amusing.

Thankfully, some people had been smart enough to grab a few tents they could all squeeze into during the freezing nights. Unfortunately, those people were now dead. Still, Ira appreciated the foresight they had had and honored them with a few kind words on the road. It was more than most people ever got from him.

Stretching all of his body to get get rid of the stiffness sleeping in such cold caused, Ira approached the fire in the middle of the camp. The smoke from it revealed their position to anyone looking, but it was too cold not to have one. Even with the risks. Ira sat down on a luckily placed log close to the flames and let his eyes drift over the tired members of his Host's followers. All of them looked exhausted, tired in a way that seeped into their very bones.

Ira hadn't cared enough to pay attention to what kind of fairytale it was his Host sold these poor suckers, but he imagined it wasn't this. This freezing temperature and high death rate.

Soon after, another man followed his lead and sat down. Ira observed him, the dark shadows under his eyes, the stubble on his chin and the slump of his shoulders. All of them looked like that. On the edge of giving up.

This was the moment that his Host chose to walk up.

Ira ignored the smile she deigned to give everyone, the way her blue eyes sparkled at being so close to her goal, and the way she sat down on a log the others quickly vacated. She was beaming at everyone around herself, obviously in an inappropriately good mood. Especially considering how many people had recently died for her.

Ira could already see the hatred starting to infect the people around her. They were soldiers, powerful ones too, and could take a lot of bad things. But, evidently, his Host's attitude in the face of their comrades' deaths was the last nail in the coffin. Ira was almost proud of them, for overcoming the blindness that was admiration.

After eating a breakfast that consisted of a few small monsters the soldiers had hunted, his Host cleared her throat and said, "We're losing daylight. If we pick up our speed, we can reach the fortress by nightfall. Start packing up."

Having said her piece, his Host returned to doing whatever it was that she did when she was just sitting around, not helping at all. Daydreaming, Ira supposed.

At the very least, she was completely useless as they cleaned up the camp and erased any trace of them ever having been there. The snow that had once again started to fall would take care of the rest.

As Ira halfheartedly packed up his tent, he found his line of sight to once more fall on his Host's followers. They were diligently working, but even he could see that they were suppressing rage while doing so. And Ira wasn't exactly good at figuring out human emotions. Pulling his scarf up over the lower portion of his face, Ira decided to ignore it. Whatever they were feeling was of no concern to him.

They left the camp shortly after.

Hours passed as they walked, two more getting caught up in traps and left to die because his Host didn't want to wait for them. She was determined that this was the day that she was going to reach the Hero, and prove her love for him.

The resentment was practically seeping off of her followers.

Well, Ira could sympathize. He hadn't liked it when he was used and discarded either.

Hatred was a common conclusion from that.

When they finally met a demon guard, it was a sudden thing.

Three more followers dropped dead on the spot, unprepared for the vicious attack by a humanoid demon with a birdlike appearance. It dropped down from the trees, riding the wind with brutal-looking wings. It held no weapons but used its claws and teeth to tear into the human band of soldiers.

As it wounded the more powerful members, his Host finally took action instead of just hanging back and fired off a beam of light that vaporized the demon on the spot. It was needlessly energy-consuming, needlessly flashy (she might as well have waved a neon sign saying "I am here!") and needlessly powerful. There was a smugness in her gaze when she looked at her followers after that as if she was proud that she had to save them.

Her followers steeled their gazes, and Ira could feel a new determination coming from them. They were definitely up to something.

The question was what.

Shaking his head slightly, Ira resolved not to care about it. He was just as busy trying not to die as the rest of them, because dying, much less by the claws of a demon, was actually painful. It was easy, yes, and not a problem for a being like him. But it was still a drag when it wasn't necessary. Especially in situations such as these, where it might be difficult to find a new body to possess if they all died first.

And he had to mention every time he died and possessed a new body in his reports and it was always so embarrassing to note that you had fallen prey to traps. There were people that actually read those things, after all.

Sadists, the lot of them.

Shuddering a little in disgust, Ira followed after the rest of them as they once again began to walk. The few people left alive huddled closer together, away from him and his Host, and Ira watched as they whispered to each other, making frantic motions all the while. Ira could have heard what they were talking about, but that was too much effort. If it was important, he'd find out eventually.

Until then, he'd just leave it.

Ira had the opportunity to use his knives and daggers nearly a dozen times more in the coming hours. Every demon that came at them was more powerful than the last and Ira always waited for his Host to kill them for him. The way she went from an overpowered woman to an exhausted one because she couldn't pace herself was entertaining.

Her followers died until they could be counted on the one hand. Ira watched them get torn to shreds, falling in pitfalls and bleeding out. None of their deaths looked pleasant, but Ira wasn't shaken from it. His Host's followers, on the other hand (the few she had left), were very clearly so. And by the looks they were throwing around, they very clearly blamed his Host for it.

Which she rightfully deserved.

This was, after all, all her idea.

By the time they finally reached the fortress, the stronghold of the demons, they were exhausted. Even Ira was tired from all of the walking and fighting.

The wall they reached was so high it seemed as if it reached the clouds. It was made of a black stone that seemed like it rose naturally from the mountain. Inside the fortress, Ira could see the Hero sitting on a throne, still golden-haired despite his new nature. At first glance, he didn't seem like a demon.

Then you noticed his heavy oppressing aura, and it was unmistakable.

It was his Host that found the way inside.

She pressed along the wall until a hatch was heard and a portion of it opened inwards. She didn't hesitate to step inside and Ira and the two followers left followed behind her. Despite the fact that she was tired and exhausted, it was as if she was given more energy being so close to her goal now.

They wandered through the hallways that oddly didn't contain a single guard, the only light coming from his Host's magic. She used it to light up the way, but it didn't make the place any less creepy.

Nobody spoke a word.

Their steps echoed in the silence.

Even the sound of them breathing was loud and attention-grabbing. The fact that there were no guards made it clear that the Hero was up to something (it seemed as if everyone was) but it didn't appear to worry his Host. She just kept going with a single-minded intensity that would be impressive in another situation.

Past corners and long winding hallways, they gradually made their way upwards thanks to strategically placed stairs, so spread out you could hardly notice them. Only the occasional window let them know they were there.

Eventually, they reached a set of large decorated double-doors. They were huge, going way up towards the high ceiling, and dark like everything else. His Host was the first one to approach them and with a frown, she slowly pushed them open. Ira had no idea where she got the strength, but her magic had to amount to something more than just a waste of energy, he supposed.

The doors opened to a large brightly lit throne room. And on the throne sat the Hero, looking just as handsome as a demon as he had when he was a human.

He smiled and said, "Welcome."