Chapter 2

Pandemonium, Grim Horde Capital

Saturday, March 19, 2050

“It took you long enough!” My wrists were still raw from the leather straps, and I had to carry myself carefully to avoid irritating a new set of flogging scars on my back. They'd been half healed by Father's magic, but they were still tender. They joined a distressingly large number of their fellows I’d accumulated over the years.

“Would you like to go back?” Father’s eyes betrayed no emotion as he studied me. I bit back the response I really wanted to make. It could wait until we were home.

I hadn’t been back to my father’s house in Pandemonium since I was thirteen. The small mansion was one of the few buildings we'd bothered to erect since we demons remade Rome in our own image, and having spent decades in human lands, I can see now it was a bit of a dump. Goblins are decent tinkerers, but they have no eye for aesthetics. At least it was better than the rundown buildings most had to contend with. Not much had changed in my absence. Ever since we lost Mother to an unsolved poisoning, the house had gone from a home to a tomb. The furniture was aged, and the paint needed to be touched up.

I picked at some peeling wallpaper. “This place is a wreck, Malthus. You need better help.”

Father’s face flushed with anger. “That’s Father to you, you insolent thing!” He raised his hand as if to strike me. I just looked him in the eye and waited for him to back down. He did, rubbing his wrist, as though some injury had held him back. “Why can’t you take anything seriously?”

I shrugged and idly went back to the wallpaper. “Maybe I wasn’t hugged enough as a child.”

Father laughed at that. “Knowing Aleksandra, that’s possible.” He got that distant look he always did while talking about her, as though he could see her off to my right. “Do you know how your mother and I met?”

It had been many years since I’d heard the tale, but I knew it all too well. He’d been a young scout during the early years of our invasion of Earth. “Through the gates to the Other World in Alaska, then across the Bering Straight into Russia.” She’d shot him when he arrived at her family farm in Ukraine because, "I was so stricken by her beauty that I forgot to cast a defensive spell. It was a shame she had the rifle to spoil love at first sight." Then, she'd nursed him back to health and insisted she go with him. “She knew who was winning, my smart little darling!” The tale droned on in exactly the same way it always did.

There was no derailing him, and truth be told, I had missed the old softie a bit. Just a bit, mind. So, I put on a pleasant look and started nodding. Finally, his lips stopped moving and I replied, “Good story.” Without a pause, I changed the subject before he could continue waxing philosophical about Mother. Frankly, I was too sober to think about her. “So, I’m here and not in prison. Whatever you cooked up in closed chambers must have been good.” I walked over and started pouring myself a drink. I wasn’t sure what was in the bottle, since the label had faded, but it smelled strong enough.

“It's still the morning,” he protested.

“I need it after that ordeal.” I took a sip of the brew. I briefly wondered if it had gone bad. The bottle was covered in dust, and the taste was off. I took another sip anyway. Booze was booze, and I had fresh pain to dull. “What happened to Pandemonium? You’re all so concerned about me drinking or having a little fun with a willing girl. The place I remember wouldn’t have even tried me.”

He grabbed the bottle, though he knew better than to take my glass. “You got roaring drunk and tried to steal a general's family crest! That's what Girdan really cared about, for all he pretended his little strumpet had any virtue left to lose."

“Oh, Fera was a treat. You know, she did this thing with…”

He cut me off. "Stop. Have some self-respect and remember who you speak to.”

"If you wanted me to have manners, you should have shipped me off to a charm school instead of the army after Mother… left us." My voice caught at the end. I hadn’t though to her for so long. Father’s damn story was making me nostalgic.

Father let out a long sigh. "You would never have made it anywhere but where I put you. Girdan needed an aide, and I thought it was the best place for you. You’d have orcs and goblins to fool, instead of the devils at that boarding school. You can put up a brave front all you want, but other devils can smell grief and weakness a mile away, and you were full of both. Girdan tolerated it as a favor to me. Your peers would have picked you apart, especially with your mixed blood.”

“Yes, well, whose fault was that?” I’d gotten enough guff over the years for my parentage. Fortunately, I was a devil, through and through, and not given to weakness like Father was. He needed to stop projecting his feelings on me. “Things would have been easier if you’d gone with a nice devil girl instead of the first human trollop who…” I’d so rarely seen Father truly angry that his glare stopped my fool tongue.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Mind your words. Were you not my son, you’d have found out what’s happened to everyone else who has ever disrespected my wife. Do not push me.” He kept his obvious rage out of his voice, which made it all the more terrifying.

“Yes, of course. I forgot my place. You’re right, it is too early for the sauce.” I set aside my glass, keeping my hands where he could see them. I know when I’m licked. Father hadn’t talked his way into his position of influence, after all. I didn’t apologize, though, since I wasn’t about to expose my own weakness.

And just like that, his anger vanished. At least, it appeared to. With devils, the base emotions are never far from the surface. The sting of my lash marks were proof enough of that. My father was no different, no matter the mask he wore. “Girdan made a fine attempt to make you a proper devil. You just need to have your rough patches smoothed out. If it can be done." He put a hand on my shoulder, which I’m ashamed to say I flinched from.

Our Father Below, I wanted to tell him where he could shove his unworthy sentiments. Instead, I gently removed his hand. "Yes, well, I got a fine education from him. I saw the best devils in action and learned how to negotiate the best price in the red-light districts from the orcs. I didn’t pick up much from the goblins, but then, they are just a step up from vermin."

"Watch yourself,” he said. “That sort of talk might be good enough behind closed doors, but we devils can’t afford to be too haughty. After all,” he said, pointing out the window to a group of orc youths pelting a mammoth cart with eggs, “there’s fifty of them for every one of us. They've always outnumbered us, even in the Old World, and they breed like rabbits. If they ever realized their numbers, who knows what they could do?”

I shrugged. “Revolt. But, we put the goblins down in Spain easily enough. I was there.”

“Only because it didn’t spread. That’s what worries me. Without regular conquest, they tend to get restless,” said Father.

“I’d have thought Britain would be enough for them. And once we get Ireland, that’s the last of Europe, unless you count Iceland and the Faroes,” I replied.

“Exactly,” Father practically shouted. “Then what do we have to keep them busy, besides sending them to the Asian front? They haven’t even managed to get across the Straights of Malacca yet. Japan and Australia aren’t going to fall to a bunch of rowboats. We're at least a decade away from being able to launch an invasion, assuming we can keep them from bombing every shipyard we try to establish. We got lucky that the English Channel was so narrow, and it still took us fifteen years to do it.”

“Lucky? I was there, old man. You tell me it’s luck when you have the Royal Air Force strafing your leaky rowboat!” I could tell I was wearing his nerves again, so I backed down. “However, I see your point. That was the last big one we’re likely to have for a while.”

“That brings me back to the deal we worked out. Now stop interrupting; you're quite distracting,” said Father.

"Guilty.”

He sighed, then straightened up again. "If you can play your cards right, we might be able to get the big prize a little faster. If you do your part, all is forgiven.”

"The big prize?" I paused. It was common slang in the armed forces, but… “You don’t mean Japan. You can’t mean Japan.”

He smirked, clearly glad to have me off guard. "What other big prize is there? They’re the industrial heart of the Anti-Demonic League, and the source of their best wizards. They've been propping up the humans for decades. We've never had an agent on the islands. If we can get you in there and you can find us some useful intelligence, we’re one step closer to ultimate victory. Then, we purge the orcs and the devils inherit the Earth, with the goblins and kobolds kept on for menial work.”

I suppose the talk of casual orc genocide would have disturbed most people, but I took it in stride. After all, I had smelled them before; anybody who has would understand.

He took a seat and crossed his legs, finally showing the presence that had made him Vizier. He ran his hand over his curved horns. “You’re perfect for it, son. You can pass for human. You speak and read English, so you should make a convincing enough Englishman. As long as you keep your hair long, nobody will ever see your nubs."

I unconsciously rubbed my shrunken horns, which have always been a sore spot for me. Honestly, it made me feel like less of a man, much less a devil. "We're in Italy. How do I get to Japan? We can't exactly put me in a rowboat and hope for the best." I tried to think of any objection that might make them reconsider. I wasn't so much afraid to die as I was concerned that if the humans got ahold of me, they'd make me wish I was dead. I'd heard rumors of how humans treated our prisoners of war. It was almost as badly as we treated theirs. I suppose once you’ve sacked five continents, people start to hold a grudge.

"We worked it all out.  First, we smuggle you to England. They’ve been patrolling the coast for months for survivors. It’s rather hilarious how much time they’ve wasted on it. They’ll pick you up and they’ll probably take you to Ireland. Once you're there, you’re going to be a very convincing Brit. You’ll say that you’re raring to avenge your fallen country and that you want to train to be a combat wizard. Now that we have Britain, they'll start withdrawing as many civilians as they can from Ireland in preparation for our next attack. So, you'll be sent to somewhere safe, since humans with magic are so rare. The safest location with the best magic schools is Japan. Honestly, if you end up in Australia or the Philippines, we'd accept that too, but I have a good feeling you're Japan bound.”

Fear gripped my guts. “So, you'll send me to a magic school in the heart of enemy territory by myself. How, exactly, do I get out once I’m in?”

He waggled his finger at me. “You forget your position, boy. This is an exile, not a vacation. It’s up to you how long your mission will last. When we need to get you, we’ll get you. Don’t worry about the exit. Just be a good spy. Take notes, watch and wait.”

I was on autopilot for the rest of the day. I was too preoccupied with the danger looming before me to really engage with Father or any of the servants. I knew that I’d feel better once I was in the midst of the mission, but the waiting wore on me. I do much better with immediate danger than when I anticipate it.

As the sun set, I finally decided enough was enough. Worrying wasn’t going to get me anywhere. It was going to be my last day in the capitol, and I knew who I wanted to see before I left. I had unfinished business.