The guards watched in horror as their new War Chief writhed on the floor, blood pouring from her eyes, her hands still clutched around her throat as she tried desperately to breathe.

Her shadows had gone wild, lashing out randomly, unable to help her against an enemy they couldn't fight.

Nyx'ira's vision began to darken.

She could feel it happening, could feel the delicate structures being crushed by magical pressure.

Her right eye went first, the pain reaching a crescendo before suddenly... nothing. Just darkness where her right eye's vision should be.

Her left eye was failing too. The world had become a blurry mess of shapes and shadows, barely distinguishable through the blood and the damage. She had maybe seconds before she lost that one too.

With the last of her strength, Nyx'ira forced herself to nod frantically toward the contracts. She couldn't speak, couldn't explain, but she made the gesture as clear as she could.

Sign them. Sign them now.

Krath understood first. "The contracts," he said urgently, moving to the table. His voice boomed through the war room. "She wants us to sign the contracts!"

"But she said…" Zyx'ra began.

"Forget what she said! Can't you see what's happening to her?" Krath grabbed one of the glowing documents and pricked his finger without hesitation. His blood, thick and dark as oil, pressed against the line.

The contract flared with magical light and vanished.

Immediately, the pressure on Nyx'ira's throat eased slightly. Not gone, but lessened.

She could breathe again, ragged gasps that hurt.

The other guards understood then. They rushed to the table, each one grabbing a contract and signing as quickly as they could.

Each signature caused the pressure on Nyx'ira to ease a little more, the magical punishment recognizing that Jack's command was being fulfilled.

By the time the last guard had signed, Nyx'ira was sprawled on the floor, breathing heavily, blood still streaming from her ruined eyes.

The pain had lessened to something merely agonizing rather than completely unbearable.

She tried to open her eyes, to see if any vision remained.

Her right eye was completely dark. Gone. Whatever the contract's punishment had done to it, the damage was permanent.

Her left eye... she could see shapes. Blurry, indistinct, like looking through frosted glass, but she could see something.

Maybe five percent of her normal vision, maybe less. Enough to know light from dark, to make out vague forms, but nothing more detailed than that.

'I'm blind,' she thought distantly, the reality of it not quite sinking in yet. 'I defied his command, and the contract made me blind.'

Krath knelt beside her, his massive hands surprisingly gentle as he helped her sit up.

"War Chief, are you...?" He trailed off, not knowing how to finish that question.

She clearly wasn't okay.

Nyx'ira nodded weakly, not trusting her voice yet. Her throat felt like it had been scraped raw from the inside. When she finally managed to speak, her voice was barely a whisper, rough and damaged.

"Get... the rest of the contracts," she croaked. "Every demon... in the fortress. They all... have to sign."

"But you said…" Zyx'ra started.

"I was wrong," Nyx'ira interrupted, each word causing more pain. Her voice rasped like broken glass.

"We don't... have a choice. Not really." She touched her face, feeling the blood still wet on her cheeks. "The Soul Warden's commands... are absolute. The contracts... enforce them. Try to resist... and this happens."

The guards exchanged horrified glances. They'd signed their own contracts, felt the binding snap into place, but they hadn't understood the full implications until now.

Any attempt to defy or circumvent the Soul Warden's orders would be punished with this kind of brutal efficiency.

"We'll spread the word," Krath said quietly, his voice heavy with resignation. "Every demon signs. No exceptions."

Nyx'ira nodded, then regretted it as the movement sent fresh waves of pain through her damaged eyes.

"Help me... to my chambers," she managed. "I need... to rest."

Two guards moved to support her, guiding her carefully from the war room.

The rest dispersed to begin the grim task of distributing contracts throughout the fortress, of explaining to their people that they had no choice but to sign away their freedom.

As Nyx'ira was led through the dark corridors of the Thal'Gorin fortress, her ruined eyes weeping blood with each step, she thought about Jack.

About the Soul Warden who had killed their War Chief and bound them all with magical chains.

'You said you were reasonable,' she thought bitterly. 'You said we'd retain autonomy. But this... this is slavery. And I was a fool to think otherwise.'

But even as she thought it, she knew the truth.

She had no choice but to obey. The alternative was death, or worse, whatever other torments those contracts could inflict.

Because defiance had a price. And Nyx'ira had just paid it with her sight.

-----

Pho's castle stood at the edge of the valley, carved from black ice that never melted. The throne room was a testament to his power. Floors so cold that moisture in the air crystallized and fell like snow.

The Deathfrost Demon sat upon his throne, a massive construct of glacial ice.

His skin was a pale blue-white, like a corpse frozen for centuries.

Frost formed in the air with each exhale, and the temperature around him was cold enough to kill most demons within minutes.

His eyes, pale and lifeless as a winter sky, tracked the assassin stumbling through the throne room doors.

The demon was one of the five who had attacked Jack at the mine.

The only survivor. His breathing came in ragged gasps, ice crystals forming on his lips as he collapsed to his knees before Pho's throne.

"M-Master," the assassin wheezed, his voice shaking. "The others... they're all dead. The Soul Warden, he killed them all. We tried to…"

"I know," Pho interrupted, his voice like wind howling through a frozen wasteland. "Did you truly believe I wouldn't have eyes and ears everywhere in my own territory?"

The assassin's head snapped up, confusion and fear warring on his face. "You... you already knew?"

"I know everything that happens in this valley." Pho rose from his throne, each step was slow and terrifying. Frost spread from his footsteps, crawling across the floor.

"I know the Soul Warden discovered my mine. I know he revealed the titan to those fool clan leaders. I know this all happened because you led him to the mine."

He moved closer to the trembling assassin. The air grew colder with each step, so cold that the assassin's breath came in visible puffs that froze solid and fell to the floor and shattered like glass.

"I know," Pho continued, his pale eyes fixed on the kneeling demon, "that Vok'thar is dead. That both clans have been bound by contracts. That the Soul Warden has taken control of my carefully orchestrated war."

His voice dropped to something barely above a whisper, somehow more terrifying than if he'd been shouting. "I know everything."

The assassin's lips trembled. "Then... Why did you send us? If you knew we would fail…"

"I needed to test him," Pho said simply. "To see what he was capable of. To understand the threat." He stopped directly in front of the assassin, looking down at him with those emotionless pale eyes. "And you served that purpose adequately."

Hope flickered across the assassin's face. "Then... I can still serve you, Master. I can…"

"You can die."

Pho placed one hand on top of the assassin's head.

Ice erupted from the point of contact, spreading across the demon's skull. The assassin's scream cut off mid-breath as frost raced down his spine, through his veins, into every cell of his body.

Within three seconds, he was completely frozen. A statue of ice kneeling before his master, his expression locked in a rictus of terror and agony.

Pho removed his hand and stepped back.

"I have no use for failure," the Deathfrost Demon said casually. "And you, my dear assassin, failed spectacularly."

He snapped his fingers.

The frozen demon shattered.

Exploding into millions of tiny ice crystals that hung in the air for a moment before drifting down like snow.

Within seconds, there was nothing left but a fine layer of frost on the floor.

Pho returned to his throne, settling back into the glacial seat with the casual ease of someone who had just completed a minor chore.

His pale eyes stared at nothing, his expression thoughtful.

A smile spread across his face, small, cold, and utterly devoid of warmth or humanity.

"How delightfully naive."

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