True to my soul and my sword

Damon's gaze swept across the battlefield once more, taking in the grotesque stillness, the dozens of twisted bodies, the frozen screams etched into their faces, the scorched sigils carved into the soil like some cursed altar. The sad reality sank in.

What made Robert trust a demon of all things? Damon didn't need the full story to guess. He'd seen that look before, desperation so hopeless that it carved out a man's soul and left behind only hunger. 

Maybe Robert had been promised power, freedom, vengeance. Maybe he was a true believer in whatever lies Skal'Zarith had whispered through their connection. Or maybe the demon had muddled his brain right from the beginning, giving him no chance at all.

That sort of mind control should be easy when the difference between their levels was so vast, almost incomparable. The man was probably nudged into madness one whisper at a time until he offered up everything, even his clan, just to touch something more.