“She is not here,” the soul said. She wore a simple blouse and skirt. Her skin was the pale cream of a ghost, but it was real enough to touch. She almost looked alive.
“Do you know where she went?” Lily asked.
“I do.” The woman nodded.
There was a pause.
“Well?” Lily demanded.
“Well what?”
“Where is she?”
“Do you have an appointment?” the woman looked placid.
“Yes, we do,” Lily said. “Infiltrator Lilith, here to speak to Lady Josephine.”
At the mention of 'infiltrator', the woman stiffened. She smiled, her face open and honest, full of earnest politeness.
"I'm sorry, I don’t believe you’re on the schedule.” The woman, Lawrence guessed she was a secretary, put her clipboard under her arm. She shook her head. “I can make a note and tell her you stopped by. Or, you can lodge it with one of our infiltrators. I’m certain they’d be happy to accept your call.”
“So once I call that other infiltrator, they’ll tell me where Lady Josephine is?”
“No.” The woman’s smile grew. “Once you call them, you’ll need to fill out a form and email it to him. We can send you the form through your email. Once you send it in, it’ll take a few days for My Lady to get to it, after which she’ll have me call you to reschedule.”
“When is your next opening?” Lily said.
“Let me see.” The secretary made a show of checking her clipboard. She hmm-ed and mmm-ed. She flipped over one page. “It looks like her schedule is full for the coming week. Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait.”
“We don’t have a week.” Lily leaned on the counter. “She has an appointment with my faustian. It’s important.”
“I’m sorry.” The woman’s expression indicated she was anything but sorry. “You can lodge a complaint with our on-staff infiltrator.”
“Do you even have an infiltrator?” Lily snapped.
“Every Company has an infiltrator,” the secretary said, sweet. “It’s well-known how your species refuses to deal with anyone other than yourselves. This is why we keep one of your kind on-staff to act as a liaison. Unfortunately, he appears to be out for the moment. But I’ll let him know you called.”
“Listen, lady—”
“Excuse me, ma’am?” Lawrence interrupted. The woman turned her serene smile toward him. “I’m sorry. Lily isn’t a full infiltrator, she’s a half. I’m half-beast, by the way.”
“I can tell,” the woman said, not at all sarcastic.
Lawrence wondered if she had insulted him. He needed to think about it to be certain.
“So, we appreciate that you’ll tell this infiltrator we called. What was his name?”
“His name is Carl," the woman said. "Karlagonomatto.”
“Thank you, miss. And what was yours?”
“My name is Blanche.” The secretary revealed perfect teeth. “Don’t get any ideas about summoning me, kid. I’m under Contract and protected. If you try to take me away from this desk, Lady Josephine will skin you alive.”
“Noted. You, but not the infiltrator, right?”
“That’s right,” Blanche purred. She flashed a gracious smile at Lily, whose anger simmered. “Will that be all?”
“Yes, thank you.” Lawrence pulled Lily away with a firm grip.
“What were you doing?” Lily asked, not quite out of earshot. “I had it under control.”
“Super-polite people come in two flavors. One, they’re doing their best to help someone who needs it and appreciates them. Two, they’re being jerks on purpose and masking it with professionalism.”
“I don’t understand. She’s a girl, I’m a girl. We’re both fighting against men.” Lily grabbed Lawrence’s hand like she was worried he’d wander off by himself. “We’re on the same team.”
“I’m going to ignore the comment about men even though it’s sexist,” Lawrence said. He kept walking.
“Why? What’s there to be upset about? Everyone knows Maelstrom is a man’s world and we women make seventy pennies on the obol. Lawrence, you have no leg to stand on.”
“Doesn’t it worry you that trying to put yourself on a pedestal above men will only make men less likely to work with you?”
“No. Because men aren’t going to work with us at all, so we've got to.”
Lawrence stopped walking and gave Lily a long look.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just... I work with a bunch of women. I’m all for equality; I don’t see the need for you to have a pedestal when I don’t have one.”
“That’s because you can’t see it," Lily said. "When I was a kid, I wanted to play baseball. I went out to join the baseball team, but it was all boys. I was first in line, and I was the last to get picked. They wouldn’t even let me play. I bet you didn’t have any problems playing, did you?”
Lawrence took his hand away. When Lily grabbed for it again, he shoved his hand in his pocket. She reached for his arm. He shied away.
“What are you doing?” Lily frowned. “Wait. Why is there..."
She looked up. She heard the screams. She now realized they had come to the torture palace. Her mouth opened in a little 'o'.
“Lawrence.”
Lawrence marched forward. He passed beneath the door frame. He jerked his chin at the two fiends on duty, and received identical chin jerks.
“Faustian. Black Licorice. With Opener, freelance.”
“Noted.” One of the fiends made a note. “Step over here, please.”
Lawrence took a step forward. The fiend placed a hand against his chest. Lawrence felt a burning sensation, as if the demon branded his skin. Lawrence clenched his jaw. He shook, but refused to speak. The pain grew, threatening to overwhelm him. And then it was over. The fiend took his claws away.
"I branded a level one Mark of Ownership on you," the demon announced. "Everyone who passes me gets one. It’s how we keep track of who’s on the menu and who isn’t. You’re Faustian, you’re good. Stay out of the cells unless you want to become a resident. Summoning rooms are on the left. Black Licorice has one room, down at the end. You may have it for two hours. You can use up to five souls.”
“Thank you, sir.” Lawrence bent at the waist. He leaned as much as the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Nonetheless, the fiend seemed pleased.
“Always good to see a mortal who knows their place. Good boy. Run along.”
Lawrence swallowed his pride. He marched past the fiend. He left Lily to deal with the patriarchy in her own way. He followed the aisle due left. Signs pointed out where to go. The bulk of the space was set up like any old dungeon, and not the sexy kind. Machinists and drones worked the machines. Lawrence stared, fascinated.
The scene was morbid. Graphic. He wanted to look away but couldn't. Lawrence forced himself to keep an eye on the signs. While he walked, he thought about what Lily said. Lily’s sexism was easier to think about. It was easier than the B-movie horror scenes playing out in front of his eyes.
Lawrence found the labelled room. He entered and shut the door. Five souls, wrapped in barbed wire, stood in cages much too small. Sharp spikes lined the inside. Ectoplasm ran off them in rivulets, collected by braziers beneath their feet.
Five hundred units to start, plus another thousand over the two hours, if Lawrence used every drop. He raised his eyebrows. How much iliaster did he or Ferg say was needed to lower his COR with this amount? A lot, he remembered. Like... 940? Less than a thousand, but not a lot less. Whatever, it was a lot.
If he joined Infernal Innovations, he would have access to a place like this at any time he wanted. He could cast any spell he’d like, as often as he liked. The thought of all that power running through his fingers made him shudder.
A circle of silver plates with copper accents had been inlaid in the floor. Gold or platinum were the best, but this too was a fortune. Lawrence traced the inactive symbols. Beautiful and terrible. He began his dark incantation.
Lily entered a long time later.
"Oh, there you are,” Lily said without preamble. The door banging open was all the warning Lawrence got. He stuttered once with the chant and flashed her a look of annoyance.
“What? Did I break your concentration? It’s a spell. Just start again.” Lily slammed the door. Lawrence closed his eyes against the noise. Lily flopped down opposite him, uncaring. “Those guys were real jerks. Wouldn’t let me through without authorization. Said I had no business being here. As IF. I had to pull rank and call their boss; he was not pleased. You should of heard the tongue-lashing.”
It was ‘should have’ not ‘should of.’ Like, she should have knocked before entering. She should have been more polite to gatekeepers. She should have knocked before entering a summoning room. The LED sign outside was on. It had a big green box with white letters saying “IN USE.” DO NOT DISTURB.”
Lawrence closed his eyes. He took a deep, calming breath. He put the complaining souls out of his mind. He finished the chant. Then, he used a few handfuls of borrowed iliaster with what he saw as a moderate amount of will. He added a layer of binding words to the summoning spell, which would make his job easier.
“I never played baseball," Lawrence said after finishing the chant.
“Oh, you were a football guy?”
“Didn’t play football.”
A shape began to materialize.
“Oh, I get it. Soccer.”
“Didn’t play soccer.”
“Tennis? Racquetball? Whatever that sport with the sticks is where you throw balls. Cricket? Or is it lacrosse?”
“Cricket is a lot like baseball,” Lawrence said. Lacrosse is where people pass, throw, and ferry a ball down a field. It's much like football, but they use sticks with nets.”
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“Lame.” She took out her new dagger and a whetstone. She started sharpening it. “Which position did you play?”
“I didn’t play sports.”
Lily laughed.
It was too much. Lawrence still hadn't slept. Though he had plenty of resources, he felt mentally drained. His Sanity was running low, and his patience was at an end. He glanced at Lily, using his will to uppercut her chin. Her lower jaw slammed into her upper jaw, making her bite down on her tongue. She yelled, then glared.
“You scum are in big trouble, now,” Blanche the secretary crossed her arms. She stood with her weight on one foot, hips cocked to the side, leg bent, scowl fixed.
“Miss Blanche.” Lawrence did not look away from Lily. “Give us a sec. Lily. Don’t laugh at me.”
“You hit me,” Lily snarled. “With your will.” She leveled a finger. “I should teach you a lesson.”
“Lily, shut up," Lawrence pressed out with his will. Lily’s mouth clamped together. She made a high-pitched MMPH sound. Then her glare intensified. Lawrence did not care. He doubled down. “I haven’t slept in I don’t know how long. I don’t have the patience to deal with this. I never played sports, and I don’t appreciate you stereotyping me over it. I was never picked for the team, either. Not that I wanted to be on one. I was happier to sit at home and read. Old books have much more interesting things to learn. It's better than watching a couple of jocks butt heads.
More to the point, you're upset Hell's meritocracy favors men. Nod if yes.”
Lily nodded.
“Thought so.” Lawrence took a deep breath. He glanced at Blanche before speaking. “See the thing is: it’s all bull. It isn’t male-oriented. It’s demon-oriented. They hate us, ‘cause they ain’t us. Anyone can climb the ladder to greatness here. It takes guts, ambition, and ruthlessness. You have to be tough to survive here. Not male, not mortal, not alive, not anything in particular. Demons have the advantage and the numbers and the power, but the door is open. If you’re willing to climb. I’m willing. This is my thing and it’s the best I do. As for what I’m about to do here: keep your mouth shut. If I need you to talk, I’ll ask. Understand?”
Lily nodded.
Lawrence took another deep breath. He released the pressure on her. As soon as her mouth was free, a stream of profanity spewed. Lawrence tolerated it for as long as it took to focus his will. He pushed her mouth shut.
“Out,” he ordered. When Lily did not move, Lawrence rose from his place. He marched around the circle. He seized Lily by the arm and lifted her. She was heavy. She fought. “OUT,” he commanded.
Hissing, scratching, punching, and kicking. At last, the thing that made her leave was a directed blast of will, though it was only enough to stagger her. She stood in the room for a long moment. She jabbed her finger at him several times. She held her hands down as if parting something, then pushed outward.
“We’re done?”
Another nod. She left with her head held high. Lawrence let out a breath. He closed the door behind her. He put his back to it and looked at the floor.
“Rough day?” Blanche asked.
“You have no idea.” Lawrence closed his eyes.
“Still not telling you where she is.”
“I figured.”
“Then why summon me?”
“Just wanted to confirm she wasn’t on site."
“What about the appointment?”
“Lily’s an info-broker. She likes paperwork stuff." Lawrence sank to the floor. He opened his eyes. My interest in meeting Josephine is minimal. I’m sure she’s important, but not in the way I care. I don’t want to join Delightful Choir.”
“Then why make the appointment? Your captain set it up.” Blanche did not show sympathy.
“Logic dictates the answer is obvious. Just as logic dictates I know where Josephine is. Before I go, I need to do some things. And I had a question I wanted to ask. Main thing was to get the idiot to shut up. When that didn’t happen, I had to get her out of the room. I wasn’t lying about my patience. I’m beat. I need to sleep. I could kill…” Lawrence trailed off. Idle threats often backfired.
“You’re going to apologize to me for this,” Blanche’s tone gained an edge. “And then you’re going to send me back.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” It was Blanche’s turn to glare. “That’s aggression. You need to control it. You’re going to apologize and then send me back.”
Lawrence felt his anger ignite. It felt good. So did his hate. A lowly damned soul ordering him about? Who did she think she was? “Lady, I don’t care if you talk crap to Lily. Lord knows she needs some humility. I thought we were close, then she drags me around like a little kid.”
“You are a kid,” Blanche said. “You are an angry little boy on a power trip. Now you listen."
Lawrence tuned her out. He studied the woman. A soul, a ghost, a dead person. No mutations, unlike Black Licorice’s clerk. Blanche had been very polite. Lawrence recognized this as a sign of 'I could help you, but I don’t want to, and I’m going to be super-nice about it to rub it in your face.' It grated on his nerves as much as Lily's. But, he’d consoled himself with the knowledge he wasn’t the target. Wisdom made him realize he was an idiot.
He should apologize to Lily next time, if he ever saw her again. Lily needed some humility, but right Blanche needed it more. And Lawrence now had the perfect ritual.
----------------------------------------
“Rack Soul.”
Blanche screamed. A milky, syrupy substance ran out of her body. A collection of brass tubes and wires attached to her back collected it. Needles driven deep into her flesh drained the ectoplasm each time it manifested. The soul... thing... sucked up the ectoplasm, now ilíaster, and transferred it to a glass bottle. Lawrence forgot its name.
“Rack Soul.” More screaming ensued.
Lawrence’s new ritual was a gamble, if it was cast as Caster intended. Caster’s design rolled a die. The ritual took ten minutes to cast. It must be done inside a summoning circle to a willing soul. It required from one to four units of SOL to cast and made one to four units of usable SOL. Using it was a gamble. Lawrence hated it.
He made a few minor improvements.
“Rack Soul.”
This shortened the casting time to less than a minute, which was plenty long. Lawrence considered it long because he lacked the Skills or experience to shorten it. Furthermore, he increased the pain dealt. This made the soul take more damage and generate more usable SOL. He increased the efficiency by lowering the cost to one unit. Finally, the whole thing dealt what Caster termed ‘spiritual damage.’
“Rack Soul.”
Thousands of little red fireworks exploded within Blanche’s body. Each one made her writhe and twist. As she took damage, her stats decreased. If her MNT or FCE lowered to less than three—
“Enough,” she shrieked. “Please. No. Stop. No. I—I surrender. I—”
“Rack Soul.”
“AAAAHHHHHHH.”
She ‘broke.’ The other faustian omitted the threshold. Lawrence notated it in his journal.
“Please. No more. I’m sorry. Yes, you had an appointment. Yes, I misled you and kept you from it.”
“Did we miss it?”
Blanche’s face screwed up. Tears ran down her face. Lawrence wasn't certain if they were crocodile tears or not. He leaned towards crocodile. But, she was in a lot of pain. He opened his mouth to cast the spell again.
“Yes,” Blanche yelled. “Yes. You missed it. I’m sorry. She was waiting for you in her tent, and I sent you out. I’m sorry. Please, stop hurting me.”
“Where is she now?” Lawrence's tone was even.
“In the dungeon," Blanche gasped. "The first wave went missing. We lost contact. The second wave set up a base camp. They were under attack. The third wave went down before you summoned me. The demons descended in parties at first. Several parties grouped together into a single wave. The most recent one is a continuous mass of demons. Something dark is down there.”
“Darker than an army of demons.”
“Y-yes.” Blanche hugged herself. She laid on the floor in the fetal position.
“I appreciate your honesty, Miss Blanche,” Lawrence said.
"Merci, patron. Oh, merci." Blanche raised her head.
“But it’s not going to save you.”
“NOOOOOO.”
“Drain Intelligence.”
KNW +5. MNT +5.
“Noooo.”
“Rack Soul.”
Blanche collapsed. She did not move. If MNT or FCE dropped to zero, the soul collapsed. Not “dead again,” unconscious. Death for a soul existed on a spectrum. The more torture she endured, the more she’d waste away. The far end of the spectrum was a faint wisp of non-sentient light called a wastrel.
“Drain Intelligence.”
KNW +5. MNT +5.
Lawrence examined the smooth skin of his hand. A lump crawled over his stomach, up his side, over his shoulder, down his arm, across his wrist, and finally to his palm. The lump of flesh opened sideways. Lawrence saw a tooth-filled mouth and a whip-like red tongue. The mouth rotated so it opened up and down. The tongue waved around the air as if tasting.
Lawrence extended his hand towards the unconscious soul. He crossed the ward. He placed his hand on her shoulder, gentle. He felt the tongue move over her shoulder. After undergoing torture, Blanche’s shirt turned sleeveless. Her shoes vanished. After a few more sessions, she might be naked again, but with featureless Barbie doll anatomy. After a few sessions, she might lose even her femininity. She would become just another genderless, nameless soul among countless others.
The alien mouth began sucking. To Lawrence, it felt like having a vacuum cleaner in his palm. Pieces of pale ectoplasm ripped off Blanche’s body. She did not scream. Her stats would take time to recover. She didn't have time.
It took less than a minute. Lawrence vacuumed up all the soul-stuff composing Blanche.
“Status.”
He received replenished resources, a minor stat boost of +1 to his lowest stat, and nothing else. His hunger filled from Starving to Satisfied, but it wasn’t enough. His Hunger status went back down to Hungry. An aching sensation entered his gut. Already, he felt himself growing hungrier. He wanted to feed. To eat. To—he looked at the souls, or rather what they represented: demons. Lots of demons. Millions of meaty, ichor-filled, low-leveled, slimy-yet-satisfying demons.
Lawrence disconnected the souls from the torture devices one by one. Then he ate them. It felt like indulging in a sweet treat. The raw iliaster tasted good, as good as slimy, pus-like, nasty soul-stuff can, but it satisfied the demon in him. Like sugar, he would grow hungry soon. They were not as filling as eating a full demon. Worse, he gained nothing. No stat boosts, no skills. Not a complete waste, but close.
The souls did not like someone eating them. Well, most of them didn’t.
“What are you doing?” the last soul wailed.
“I’m, uh, killing...” Lawrence stretched the word out over multiple syllables, “...You?”
“Kill me,” the soul begged. “Kill me and end this torment.”
“Okay.” And Lawrence did. When he finished he opened the door. He found a cage not six feet from the path. Its bars were set close together, with iron thorns sticking out every which way. They had packed Damned in like sardines. The thorns pricked their white flesh. A trough around the cage collected the pus, and at which desperate demons might drink and handful.
Lawrence slipped his hand through a gap in the thorns. He spread his fingers. The mouth vacuumed up the nearest soul. And the next. And on it went. One after another. Once the souls realized what was happening, they crowded around.
“Kill me,” one cried.
“No. Kill me,” another elbowed the first out of the way. The second soul jammed his head into Lawrence’s palm. He disintegrated into a pile of white pieces like a pile of melted Lego bricks. The first soul dove headfirst into Lawrence’s palm. More souls crowded.
“I’ll kill you all if you want,” Lawrence promised. He stuck his other hand through the cage. “Keep your voices down.”
The souls grew quiet. It took a while for Lawrence to eat them all. He stopped counting after ten. Not every soul wanted to die again; some pressed themselves against the opposite wall of the cage. The iron thorns cut their flesh. Iliaster ran off their bodies like droplets of blood. Cracks in the floor collected in a trough under the cage. The trough sat on an incline, so the soul-stuff ran into a central trough between the cages. Not one drop went to waste.
“Hey,” a deep, throaty voice called. “What are you doing?”
Lawrence looked in the voice’s direction. A drone stood on a platform. He brandished a black, single-tailed whip.
“You. Come here.”
The drone pointed his whip at Lawrence. Lawrence became aware his hands had stopped eating. He looked in the cage. A few souls remained. Lawrence took his hands out. Both mouths moved across his palms, over his wrists, up his arms, and settled somewhere under his shirt. The drone was still looking at him. Lawrence turned his back on the drone and walked away.
“You,” the drone shouted. “Stay. Come back.”
Lawrence lengthened his stride. He made a beeline for the summoning room. He looked over his shoulder to see the drone sprinting towards him. Lawrence entered the room. He closed the door. He drew the revolver from his ankle holster. He stood next to the door and raised his weapon. He jammed some earplugs into his ears.
Heavy feet pounded down the aisle. The door flew open and slammed into the wall.
“Aha,” the demon yelled. “Huh?”
Empty room. Empty soul-burners. Empty circle.
“Where’d he go?” The demon walked through the door. Lawrence fired. The gun was small-caliber, but the gunshot still made his ears ring. The demon dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. Lawrence looked outside. He didn’t see anyone. The damned whining muffled, noise, but the gunshot resonated loud and clear. He needed to leave.
One mouth moved to a shoulder blade on his back. The other sat on his left hip. Neither seemed willing to return to his palm. Lawrence filched the demon’s pockets for a few coins of small value. He took the whip, grimacing as his hand touched the sweat-slicked handle. He wiped the handle on the demon’s spawnleather pants.
The whip was eight feet long. Lawrence gave it an experimental swing. It made a satisfying crack. It wasn’t enchanted; its purpose was causing pain, not killing. Lawrence did not care. He had a whip.
He ate the body using one of his mouths—presenting an elbow, where the mouth sat. He ignored the available Skills but kept the stat increase.
+2 PWR
It wasn’t much. The demon had few levels. Lawrence shook his head. He left the torture palace. He did not see Lily on the way out. Lacking direction, he went back to Black Licorice’s main tent. He turned in all the gear he did not want. The clerk gave him a look of naked suspicion.
“What?” Lawrence asked.
“Most of this came from Malefice, didn’t it?”
“Is that wrong?”
“We won’t be able to use it right away without getting caught.” The big-brained woman made a note. “I’ll send whatever has an emblem to the enchanter for disenchanting. The rest we’ll keep for now. We’re getting back on the airship and taking off. We’ll remain anchored nearby, but we won’t be able to help you.”
“Why are you taking off?” Lawrence asked.
“It isn’t safe to remain on the ground with so many factions.” The clerk scooped the gear into a suitcase of holding. “You can sleep here if you want, but we won’t be able to help you when something happens.”
“You mean when thieves break in and try to kill me?”
“Among other things, yes honey. We have a barracks tent you can use. I recommend sleeping under one of the bunks, on the ground. And put some pillows under the sheet so it looks like a body. When the bed gets stabbed, you’ll have a second to react.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“I’m not a ma’am,” the woman grew cross. “I’m thirty-four. I’m not old enough to be a ma’am.”
“Sorry.” Lawrence looked at the table. The woman’s glare burned into him.
“Whatever.” She shook her head. The two halves of her enormous brain jiggled.