Zeke slammed his hammer into the demonic creature, exploding one of its heads. That seemed to be the right one, because the monster went limp a second later. After that, silence reigned across the battlefield. He looked around at the results of the last hour’s worth of fighting, and a shiver went up his spine.
“When did this become normal?” he asked, his voice loud in the silent expanse.
It was a good question, given the setting. The air was thin, and what he could see of the ground was comprised of dry, cracked earth. Every now and again, a gout of flame would erupt from unseen crevices, and he knew it was hot enough to burn him despite his high fire resistance.
The creature he’d just killed was one of hundreds, and they defied adequate description. Multi-headed, covered in scales with intermittent rings of crystal, they looked a little like worms. Defying that appearance were tiny legs that appeared all across their bodies, making them look almost as if their scales were coated in fur. It was like if a millipede had legs on every surface, rather than just on the bottom of their worm-like bodies.
What made them even more disturbing was that the majority of their heads – which numbered in the dozens for each monster – were just decoys. Destroying most of them did nothing. And the only way Zeke had discovered to kill them was to smash the real head, a task made more difficult by the fact that each of their maws were lined with long fangs capable of inflicting a potent venom that could affect even Zeke.
He had been forced to use [Hand of Divinity] constantly or risk succumbing to that toxin.
And the real issue was that this wasn’t the first time he’d been pushed. None of the things were going to kill him – he was too strong for that – but every new biome came with wildlife that made his life a nightmare. Every step came with significant difficulty, and he was growing more mentally exhausted by the passing day.
“How long has it been?” Zeke asked inwardly.
“Three weeks.”
“Feels like it’s been a lot longer,” he argued. Indeed, when he was forced to fight for every inch, a foot felt like a mile. Aloud, he asked, “How much further?”
Mixik, who’d lost much of his personality after following Zeke through the hellish landscape, had adopted a thousand-yard stare that rarely fell away. He was no stranger to traveling through Mal’canus, but he typically did so with his entire warband. So, he was normally inoculated from the worst of the dangers. Zeke had protected him, but the journey had been quite troubling for the demon.
“Mixik,” Zeke said more forcefully. That got the demon’s attention. “How much further?”
“I…I don’t know. We are close,” he admitted. “Very close.”
Zeke was already looting the monsters, placing his hands on each one and activating the looting skill he’d been given along with access to the Crimson Tower. He didn’t know if any of the creatures were valuable, but he had plenty of room to spare. Perhaps the crafters back in the tower would find some use.
It took a few minutes to complete the task, but in the end, he’d gained a few tons of meat – the things had been enormous – a bunch of venom sacks, and plenty of fangs. Each item pulsed with mana, so he suspected they counted as low-grade natural treasures.
Zeke spent the next few minutes embracing [Hand of Divinity] so he could heal his wounds. He’d once thought himself mostly invulnerable, but his trek through hell had disabused him of that notion. Many of the native creatures were as deadly as they were malformed, and though they were incapable of killing him, they were more than able to injure him.
He even healed Mixik, who, even though he wasn’t the target, had taken plenty of injuries of his own. The demon was uncomfortable with Zeke’s ministrations, but he accepted his help all the same. After all, refusal would probably mean death.
“Let’s get moving. Which way?” Zeke asked.
Predictably, Mixik pointed him in the proper direction. For Zeke’s part, he had quite a lot of difficulty navigating Hell. With the changing biomes, most of which had nothing to do with the last, there were no static features he could use for guidance. Even the sun wasn’t constant, and many biomes lacked any celestial features. It was maddeningly confusing, though Mixik seemed perfectly capable of finding the right direction.
When Zeke had asked how, the demon just shrugged and said that he just knew. Eveline elaborated, adding some context by informing him that demons develop something of a sixth sense that helped them navigate their world. It wasn’t like using a map, but it did help them with basic directions.
Zeke tried to tap into that, and he felt some subtle differences in the ambient mana. However, those differences weren’t distinct enough to help him with navigation. So, he was beholden to Mixik’s guidance, which left him with a sour taste in his mouth.
Gradually, they left their current biome behind. Thankfully, none of the many-headed worms were left – they’d all attacked at once – so the way was mostly peaceful. That changed when they passed into the next area, which was characterized by huge shards of crystal that emitted a piercing sound that felt like it turned Zeke’s insides to jelly.
Knowing that Mixik couldn’t endure it, he grabbed the demon, threw him over his shoulder, then charged ahead. Dragonflies with bodies made of similar crystal tried to attack, but he bowled through them on his way through the environment. Along his route, he was forced to smash through the jagged crystal shards, and each time he broke one, the sound became even more pronounced.
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By the time he passed through that environment, he could barely think. Fortunately, he wasn’t immediately attacked upon exiting, and the sound ceased the moment he left it behind. Still, it took him a few moments before he regained his wits enough to remember to use [Hand of Divinity], healing the damage wrought against him and his much more vulnerable guide.
The next few biomes progressed along those same lines. Some featured extremely dangerous environments, but others played host to powerful monsters. Zeke preferred the latter, if only because it gave him something to fight. Whatever the case, the journey had just started to become annoying when, at last, Mixik announced that they had arrived.
Zeke didn’t need the demon’s proclamation. He could see the pit, yawning dozens of miles wide like a hole in the world. But to access it, there were two major obstacles barring his way.
The first was the most obvious, which presented as a wide river of black fire that cut through a desolate and barren wasteland of white earth. Looking at it, Zeke couldn’t help but think that the entire area looked as if someone had sucked the color out of the world. In the black river swam slithery, horned eels that Zeke could barely glimpse. They did look dangerous, though.
“The River of Ruin,” Eveline said in his head. “Even you can’t survive in there. Nothing but those eels can.”
Looking at it, Zeke didn’t have any reason to doubt her assertion. The entire body of water felt like death, and in a way that left him more than a little uncomfortable. But he was more interested in the area beyond.
From the white earth sprouted thousands of crosses and spikes, upon which people had either been impaled or nailed. None of those people were humans. Indeed, most were clear representations of demons, and their corpses were desiccated and emaciated. But Zeke suspected they were all still alive.
Between those stakes wove a group of five figures. Each one wore a black robe, which made them all seem almost harmless. However, when one turned to look at Zeke, he found himself reeling as he veered close to blacking out.
Once the thing went on its way, he muttered, “What the…”
“The Harrows,” responded Mixik in a reverent voice. “Do not look at them, lest you feel the weight of their guilt. If they catch you in the Fields of Woe.”
“Evocative names,” Zeke remarked, still recovering from the Harrow’s stare. But they fit, given everything he saw. “So, I assume these are the obstacles you said you knew how to bypass? Well, how are we going to do that?”
Mixik swallowed hard. “There is a ferryman that will usher us across the River of Ruin,” he said. “But he requires payment.”
“He wouldn’t be named Charon, would he?” asked Zeke, remembering his Greek mythology.
“No?”
“Oh. So, what kind of payment does he require?” he asked.
“It varies based on the person attempting to cross. For some, a single coin will suffice. For others, the price of passage is much higher. I have heard that some have sacrificed whole kingdoms,” Mixik stated.
“Great,” he mumbled. “What about the other side? How do I avoid the Harrows?”
“Run. Do not hesitate. Do not tarry. And do not let yourself be led astray. The moment you begin to linger, they will find you, bind you, and put you on one of those spikes. I have seen it happen,” Mixik stated. “The Pit is just beyond the Fields of Woe. You must leap in. After that, you are on your own. I don’t know what dangers the descent might hold.”
“So, we pay the ferryman, head across, then sprint to the Pit?” Zeke asked.
“You pay the ferryman. You sprint to the Pit. I will take my leave,” Mixik stated.
“Will you?” asked Zeke.
“Ah…uh…”
“I’m kidding,” Zeke said. “Once we find the Ferryman, you may leave.”
Mixik let out a relieved breath. Then, they began searching for the ferryman. After only an hour of walking along the bank of the black River of Ruin, Zeke spotted a black-clad figure standing in their path. It was tall – maybe five feet shorter than Zeke himself – and slender to the point of emaciation. It wore a shapeless black robe, and, somewhat predictably, it wielded a scythe with a glowing green blade and elaborately carved handle.
“I wish to cross,” Zeke said as they approached. “What price do you require?”
“It is an interesting question,” the figure rasped. “What if I asked for the life of your companion?”
Mixik made to run, but Zeke grabbed the demon by his shoulder. “That would be acceptable.”
“Not that one. The spirit in your mind.”
Zeke’s heart jumped into his throat. “I…I would need to think on it,” he admitted. “Is that your price?”
The ferryman let out a rattling and humorless laugh. “I have no use for a mind spirit of middling power,” he said. “I want something else. Something more interesting.”
“Tell me.”
“I require but a whisper of fear.”
“I don’t understand,” Zeke lied.
“You do.”
And Zeke did. The ferryman wanted to know his greatest fear. A true accounting of the sort he hesitated to acknowledge even in his own mind.
“Very well,” Zeke said, releasing Mixik. The duplicitous demon sprinted away. He was devoured after only twenty steps by a white worm that burst free of the ground, swallowing him whole. The thing retreated in the blink of an eye, leaving the ground undisturbed. It was as if it had never been there. “I’m afraid that I will get to the end and fail. I fear that I will find that there is no end to the journey. I’m scared that I will be cursed to continuously climb, never achieving anything. I’m afraid of my own nature that won’t let me rest until I know I can’t go any further.”
The ferryman stared at him for a moment that stretched into an entire minute, and Zeke initially suspected that it would require more from him. Then, at last, it nodded, saying, “This is acceptable.”
After that, it waved its hand, and a raft appeared. The vessel was just a twenty-foot wide flat hunk of wood, but the ferryman stepped onto it without hesitation, Zeke hesitated, expecting it to tip over at his weight. It did not. The ferryman immediately used his scythe like a pole, pushing them away from the bank and, slowly, they crossed the river.
With every foot they traveled, Zeke felt a little colder, as if his soul was being drained from his body. He knew that wasn’t the case – it was just an environmental effect. However, that didn’t change the way it made him feel, and nearly thirty minutes later, when they arrived at the other bank, Zeke was more than ready to depart.
The ferryman stopped him with a three-fingered hand that looked almost like bone. “You will find the end, cambion. End this eternal war.”
Zeke just nodded.
Then, when the ferryman removed his hand, Zeke stepped off and onto the white earth. Remembering the late Mixik’s instructions, he didn’t hesitate to break into a sprint. As he ran, he realized two things. First, the Pit was much further away than he’d expected, and he knew it would take at least ten minutes for him to cover the ground. Second, the impaled and crucified demons populating the Fields of Woe were not dead.
They screamed in agony, begging him to free them. They needed help.
He ignored them. Even as their cries assailed his ears, Zeke continued to run. He was not a typically emotional man, but the sheer anguish in those voices eventually prompted tears. He couldn’t stop, though. Never was that clearer than when he realized he was being chased by the Harrows.
He didn’t look back. He wouldn’t allow himself to take even the shortest peek at his pursuers. One little stumble would see him caught, so on and on he sprinted.
Then, at last, he reached the edge of the Pit, and without even looking, he leaped. When he looked down and saw what awaited him, he briefly wished he’d let the Harrows catch him. Because in that Pit, madness awaited.