Gwindin thought they would be buried alive when portions of the cave collapsed. She could only maintain her shield for moments under the tons of earth and rock threatening to crush her and her sisters.

The earth took them — and then it didn’t. At first, she thought she died and it was her spirit that was floating up the ground like a bubble in water. Then she heard clicks and whistles, and she realized they were being saved by the Scourge’s snail.

He wasn’t marking their route. He was erasing the enchantments on the walls to allow his snail to get in.

Did he predict the collapse and held back his snail to save us?

She looked at her two unconscious sisters, thanking the heavens they all came out alive.

“Gwin.”

She turned to Siege and gasped in horror upon seeing his condition. She pulls one of their two remaining drops, intent on giving it to the dwarf.

“No,” Siege waved her away. “Dal.”

Gwin rushed to Dal, noting that his breath was labored and mists of blood accompanied his coughing. He had broken ribs, possibly internal injuries.

She sat him up and made sure he was conscious before giving him the drop. Sebas said the Lifesavers™ would work just as long as they were inside one’s body — but he never said the same about the drops.

A pebble-sized lozenge in your windpipe might kill you before it healed you — so it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Damnation,” Siege almost whispered.

Gwin saw the dwarf staring into the sky and her heart melted as she followed his gaze.

It was a demon with wings of fire.

“Get your sisters to the snail,” roared Siege. “I’ll try to buy some time.”

“You can barely stand.”

“I got enough left for a swing or two,” smiled Siege. “Now go. Get Shelby to do her thing and dive underground.

Shelby was with the three snails, nibbling on one of the serpents. A call from Siege brought her over, but she seemed unconcerned about the flying demon.

“It’s too late,” Gwin cried.

She saw the demon dropping from the sky like a meteor — then a flare of its wings catches it before it hits the ground.

“I’m looking for my son, Jeremy,” it spoke. “He should be here — that’s his snail right there.”

Gwin stared at the demon-like figure. It — no, he was human.

Red wings, demon horns — this was the Blackstaff, and he just called Jeremy his son. The Scourge was the son of the Blackstaff! No wonder he sported horns — he was just trying to be like his father!

Gwin started to speak, but she saw Siege pointing to the ground.

“I see.”

Gwin expected him to fly into the caves to rescue his son, but he just picked a spot somewhere far from them and stood there.

She stared at the Blackstaff, one of the kingdom’s greatest wizards — certainly the most popular. She and her sisters heard stories about Amos Elswind as they were growing up — and one of the mysteries about the Blackstaff was his missing wizard staff. Did he never bother to take it because he never needed it?

Wait.

She remembered the strange staff that Jeremy carried. Was that the black staff? Did the Blackstaff give his staff to his son? To think she was so close to touching it.

Gwin wondered what the wizard was thinking as his expressions kept changing. At first, it was delight, then confusion, then disappointment. Now it just seemed like he was calculating formulas in his head.

The Blackstaff moved, turning to Shelby.

“Snail, good work,” he nodded. “You’ll just have to keep it up for a little while longer.”

Gwin felt the ground shake as the earth parted underneath the Blackstaff.

***

“Malice.”

“Blackstaff.”

“Jeremy.”

“Father.”

Jeremy felt there was more tension between him and his father, and he could hear a trace of disappointment in his voice.

“We need to have a real talk son,” his father started. “Now get up there and take care of your friends while I clean up here.”

“You.”

“Shut up, Malice. This is between me and my son.”

Jeremy nodded at his father and used a levitation spell to leave the cavern. He didn’t even glance at his father as he passed him, understanding that he was deeply upset over something.

It couldn’t possibly be because he couldn’t finish off Malice. The man was difficult to kill and even if he managed to kill him — he’d just be back in a new body in two weeks’ time.

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He reached the surface and saw the remains of the five adventurers — or what would be the remains of the five adventurers if he hadn’t sent Shelby after them.

Shelby waved and chirped at his arrival, looking pleased with herself.

“Good job, Shelby.” Jeremy petted the loyal snail. “Did father make you hold the whole cave up while he did his thing?”

Shelby exploded with movement, her flails waving about as she clicked and chirped in explanation.

“You recognized him from the horns, you say?” Jeremy smiled. “Well, he did get me this one.”

“E-excuse me, Mister Scourge,” Gwin spoke. “The Blackstaff is your father?”

Jeremy turned to the sorcerer. She seemed shaken and relieved at the same time. She was also covered in dirt like her sisters.

“Did he say he was my father?” he asked. “Well, being his son — I guess he is. But it’s something I’m trying to keep private.”

Explosions rocked the caves beneath them. Jeremy saw flashes of light accompanied by explosions, shouts of pain, more explosions, cursing, laughter — it was like being in one of the training grounds at home.

A final whinny curse marked the end of his father’s work.

He flew up with his fiery wings — though Jeremy knew his father flew with magic and the wings were just there to complete his demon look or perhaps for intimidation purposes.

“Malice will be gone for a long time,” his father said as he reached the surface.

“He’ll be back in two weeks,” Jeremy countered.

His father threw him a yellow gem — he could feel a presence inside it.

“The gem won’t prevent him from dying, and he’ll just get a new body until we find their soul stones.”

Like liches and their phylacteries, the inner circle of the Serpents of Prophecy bind their souls into gems hidden in their main temple. One needed to destroy them —otherwise, they turn up again and again like the rats that they were.

“Oh, he’ll be back in no time,” his father chuckled. “But he’ll be spending two hundred years in a mana-less prison where all he can do is count the time.”

Jeremy stared at the yellow gem. Time-distorted prisons were rare, and two hundred years seemed like a long time. Malice would go insane — if he wasn’t already.

He wondered which demon lord would like to watch such a spectacle — immediately getting a few takers. He’d have to do a bidding later, just to make sure he wasn’t playing favorites.

“Take care of your friends, clean up the mess, and head straight home,” his father stared at him intently. “We need to have a long talk. I’m not happy, Jeremy.”

The Blackstaff gave a nod to the injured adventurers and flared his wings, ready to take flight.

“Wait, father,” Jeremy pleaded. “Can you tell Sebas to open a gate at the beacon large enough for Shelby? I need them to switch so I can have Sebas here to sort out the cultists.”

“Fine.”

Jeremy watched his father leave. He didn’t know why he was so upset and he wasn’t looking forward to their long talk. At least he had some looting to do.

“Okay, Shelby is holding up the caverns, such a good girl,” he petted the snail once again. “We have a day until the wagon gets here, we should get started.”

***

Amos Elswind, the Blackstaff, one of the kingdom’s greatest wizards was very upset. He spent half the day alone in his son’s small house — as the ingrate took Sebas away.

He didn’t have anything to do, and he couldn’t go outside lest someone recognize him.

It was a good thing Sebas came back before dinner — at least he could have a proper meal like old times.

The butler told him Jeremy would be back by morning, as he was making an inventory of what the cultists had.

Inventory? Why couldn’t he just call it looting?

He spent the night on his son’s bed. It was a bit more luxurious than he expected. He guessed that it was made from some kind of giant slime. It was filled with water — but the slime filament held everything together. Strange, but he should probably get Jeremy to get him one for home.

He waited at the dining table. The place had more wards than his entire home — so his son probably valued his mealtime privacy.

Sebas came to bring him his breakfast before heading to the Corner Shop™.

What was his son thinking when he named the place? There was no corner in his place in the middle of nowhere.

He practiced his lines to convey his disappointment at his son. There were things that a father had to say — especially when his son was treading the wrong path.

After some time, he felt the familiar presence of his son. He entered the house with Sebas and the snail.

Why did he bring the snail?

“Father.”

“Jeremy.”

“I’ll go prepare some tea,” Sebas headed to the kitchen. “Or maybe something stronger.”

Amos sighed. There was no easy way to start this.

“Son, where have I erred? Did I not teach you properly? Was I a bad example? I feel like I failed you as a father.”

“Father….”

“Look at you,” he glared, hints of sadness showing in his eyes. “Dressed up like whatever that is — with your horns and black robes, you’re even carrying a scythe.”

Jeremy’s shoulder slumped, unable to refute his father’s words.

“What do you think people are saying when they see you? Do you think you’re spreading fear in their hearts?”

“Father….”

“My son, this can’t go on.” Amos paused. “You must choose.”

“….”

“You can either be a demon or you can be death — you can’t be both.”

The sound of crashing and breaking plates rang inside the kitchen, giving father and son pause.

“As I was saying,” Amos started, a bit confused by all the crashing. “You can’t be both. What are you a death for demons? Isn’t that a good thing? Not scary at all.”

“But father, you gave me the horns.”

“Then you should cover them with your hood.” Amos pointed out. “Should I give you a horse, or maybe a floating boat? It really depends on what kind of look you’re going for.”

“I already have a mount!”

“A snail? What are you — slow death?”

“Shelby’s pretty fast.”

“It doesn’t matter. Bards will sing of death on a snail and people will think slow death.”

“But...”

“It’s not even pale… it’s all black and stuff.”

Shelby seemed to understand. She shimmered and her shell slowly faded to a gray color.

“See, Shelby’s a pale snail.”

Amos stared at the snail and reluctantly agreed.

“But father, what if I wanted to be a demon?”

“Tsk, son,” Amos dismissed the thought. “You already have a scythe and your aura is too death-like.”

He flared his aura, sending motes of fire into the air.

“See son, my aura fits my look. You already chose yours when you built your aura — and then there’s that scythe. What does it do exactly?”

“It’s the Painful Staff of Pain.”

“The staff is painful?”

“Yes,” Jeremy answered meekly.

“Does it have to be?”

“Not really, no.”

Amos shrugged as he took the staff. It was indeed painful, aside from many other things. He could sense the presence of a god within it — some kind of turtle being.

“Good staff, good staff.” He handed back the painful thing to his son. “You should stick to being death. It suits you.”

“As you say, father.”

“Hahaha, I can see it already — the Blackstaff is a demon and his son is Death. Quite catchy, isn’t it?”