Chess: To the Victor Go the Spoils

The demon hissed. He now saw it as plainly as I did.

"Mate in four," I declared, unnecessarily. The demon's eyes flashed.

The game was all but over. The demon's King was situated to be forced through a series of closing moves, each subsequent Check driving it closer to its final, fatal position. There was nothing he could do. I had won.

Even so, the demon looked the board over for several long moments, hoping to spot some flaw in my design. There was none -- it was ironclad -- and so, finally, the demon looked up at me, nodded once, and slowly, grudgingly, tipped his King. The board disappeared in a whiff of vapor.

_Well played, human. Here is your prize._

And then she was standing before me -- shaken, trembling, but otherwise unhurt.

Before I could go to her, to comfort her, the demon moved, blindingly fast. He slashed the palm of her hand, deep, and she cried out. Her blood dripped from his nails.

_Do not think you are free. She is marked now. You are_ both _marked._

And then he vanished.