Brass sighed as the sound of the rumbling elevator gradually got quieter. He had no intentions of making noble sacrifices, but with an army of Devils crawling up their ass, a crippled Incubus was only going to slow them down. No, he wasn't going any further than this. But neither was he fixing on dying. No, he had a plan. As always.
Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a battered box of cigarettes and lit one up, taking an indulgent drag as his pursuers continued to batter down the door at the far end of the chamber. Grabbing his wallet, he opened it up and looked fondly upon the photographs he kept inside. One of Jezebel, shyly waving at the camera. Another of his daughters, back when they were knee-high to a bronco. And a new, less-weathered picture of Cobalt, taken just a few days after he emerged from the Undercroft.
His whole world. The old Incubus kissed the photos for luck and sighed, breathing a plume of smoke into the air.
"Alright, doc. Let's see if this shit's up to scratch," he mumbled, stashing his belongings as he opened up the leather satchel.
It contained just two identical objects; large handcrafted syringes, each packed full of whatever adrenaline-filled miracle tonic Alison had cooked up at the last minute. He remembered the warnings she gave him, but felt they were well worth the risk.
"Brass, look... Once you take these, there's no going back. Your nerves will be completely burned out. I'm talking near full-body paralysis, and that's if you're lucky."
"Forgive me, Jezzy..."
Flicking the caps off, he spun the syringes around in his hands and unceremoniously stabbed them into his thighs, piercing the needles clean through his jeans. A hermetic hiss emanated from them as a flood of electric pain was pumped through his legs; dull at first, but growing all the more intense as it spread throughout his entire body. Wincing, the Incubus groaned as he watched blunt molars pierce through his knuckles; something he hadn't seen in a long time.
"Dammit, she said this wouldn't hurt...!" he gasped, gripping the armrests of the wheelchair.
Up ahead, the Devils finally managed to tear through the door. They flooded into the chamber, forming ranks and aiming their crossbows at the single Incubus in their midst. He just laughed and leaned back in his chair.
"'Fraid you're too late, fellas. They've gone. And I ain't lettin' you past without a fight," Brass said with a grin.
The Devils looked at one another, some snickering at his comment.
"You?" a higher ranked soldier scoffed, "You've got to be joking!"
"Why don't you come find out?"
"I don't think so. You; put a bolt in the cripple."
Nodding to his superior, one of the Devils at the front took aim and fired. As the bolt whistled through the air, the long-dormant blaze in Brass' stomach flared, igniting his veins and sending a surge of adrenaline through his body.
He reached up and caught the bolt between his fingers, not even flinching as it came within an inch of striking his eye.
"I said, I ain't lettin' you past without a fight," he repeated, clutching his cigarette between two teeth as he rose to his feet.
Tossing the bolt aside, Brass rose to his feet, standing proud as the Devils watched on, boggle-eyed.
"Been itchin' for one for weeks. So don't fuckin' disappoint me, boys!"
He could feel it so painfully vividly; the muscles in his legs tensing in perfect tandem in order to launch the Incubus forward, fists bared and ready to let fly. Stunned by his miraculous recovery, the Devils could only stand and gawp as Brass rammed his enamel-clad knuckles into the stomach of the soldier who shot at him, forcing him to drop his weapon and double over in pain. He laughed uproariously and smoothly grabbed the Devil's throat, throwing him to the floor in a painful chokeslam. A second assailant drew a wicked dagger and attempt to jump him from behind, but a quick elbow to the teeth and three quick jabs to the chest was enough to shunt him back.
It was strange, being back in the saddle like this. His veins ran hot with the urge to fight, and yet his head was strangely quiet. Frowning, Brass looked down at his hands, noting his missing knuckledusters; Rtnepas and Direm.
"Rtne and Dire... Miss you, girls..."
"What are you all staring at?! Get him!"
Spurred on by the Devil's cry, Brass ducked beneath a sweeping axe and tackled one of his opponents, dragging them both to the floor. Knocking him out with a single decisive punch to the skull, he swept his leg back, tripping up the pair of soldiers attempting to skewer him upon their spears.
"C'mon, you can do better than that!" the Incubus chided, swiping one of their weapons from their hands as he leaped back to his feet.
Bashing the spear's butt into it's original owner's nose, he warded the rest of the Devils off with the pointy end, keeping them at arm's length as they slowly circled around him. He laughed despite himself, too high on adrenaline to care about little things like "planning" or "self-preservation".
"You sure you're all military boys? Or am I dealin' with amateurs here?" Brass asked with a grin, eyeing up the soldiers all around him.
Less than a dozen were left standing. The most decorated Devil - some manner of officer or something - hissed through his teeth and raised his hands.
"You have him surrounded! Kill him already!" he barked.
"YES SIR!" the Devils cried in unison, lunging forth with weapons bared.
Brass scoffed. Perfect.
Stabbing the spear through the stone floor, he kicked off the ground right as a dark iron blade came with in inch of nicking his skin. Slamming his foot against a Devil's ribcage, Brass gripped the spear shaft tight and twisted his body in order to spin himself around.
The good old Round Robin; a move designed to take advantage of centri-something force, he had been told. All he knew that if he was surrounded with something to use as an anchor point, it was a good fallback.
Using his opponents as footholds, Brass wheeled himself around and around, laughing manically as he broke noses, knocked out teeth, and toppled Devils over with every rotation, ending his display of acrobatics with a reckless dive-kick aimed right at the Devil officer. Try as he might to avoid the strike, the two demons went flying into the chamber's far wall, scattering chips of broken stone and loose bolts everywhere as the Bastion's internal machinery groaned from the impact.
"Agh... Rotten beast...!" the Devil officer roared, holding a hand to his chest as he conjured a hatchet into his free hand.
Skirting back to a safe distance, Brass grinned and raised his hands. He clenched them hard, feeling the heat from his veins leech into his bones, tightening his fists and strengthening the very foundations of his body. It felt good to finally let loose.
"Heard it all before, asshole! C'mon, put the fuckin' effort in!" the Incubus retorted, spitting in the Devil's direction.
The officer charged, sweeping the hatchet low in an effort to cut through Brass' legs. With his perception and reflexes kicked into overdrive, Brass saw it coming from a mile away, allowing him to easy step back and boot the weapon right out of his hands. It keened through the air, biting into the wall and sticking fast out of the Devil's reach.
"Borin'~!"
He slammed his knee into the officer's crotch, buckling him into the perfect position to pull off a staggering uppercut; a punch with enough force to shatter the Devil's jaw and launch him clean off his feet in a hail of blood flecks and fragmented teeth. He landed in an undignified heap on the floor, whereupon Brass ambled over to the hatchet lodged in the wall and wrenched it free. Flipping it around in his hands, he turned to the rest of the Devils as they struggled to maintain their composure, as beaten and bloodied as they were.
"Fellas, please; you're embarrassin' yourselves. If this is the best you got, then I'm thinkin' the might of the greatest military force to ever grace Hell ain't really all that mighty," he goaded, nodding to the downed officer.
They huddled together, shakily aiming their weapons at the Incubus as he slowly approached.
"What do I gotta do, huh? Blindfold myself? Tie a hand behind my back? Hop on one leg? C'mon, gimme somethin' to work with!"
"M- Monster..." he heard one of the Devils murmur, his crossbow quivering in his grasp.
Brass raised an eyebrow and pointed the hatchet at him.
"You. I'll give you a free hit," he said, his voice booming through the chamber.
The soldier gasped and fired the crossbow, with a irritated growl, Brass cleanly knocked the bolt out of the air with the hatchet before lobbing it right at the Devil. It landed within an inch of him, biting deep into the floor.
"I said a hit, not a shot! You deaf?!"
They glanced nervously at one another before a pair of the soldiers shoved the offending Devil forward. Glaring scornfully at his comrades, he trudged towards Brass, coming to a stop within a few feet of him. With a smirk, the Incubus tapped the side of his face before clasping his hands behind his back. Swallowing hard, the Devil looked down at his own clenched fist. It was shaking.
"... For Queen Lilith," he rasped, pulling his arm back.
He struck as hard as he could.
By and large, a Devil's physical strength was nothing to be sniffed at. Diate - even without his magic - had a right hook that could put most Oni to shame; shattering concrete and cracking steel with seemingly little effort. But an Incubus was the immovable object to a Devil's unstoppable force. The shock from the impact travelled through Brass' face, rippling across the dense muscle and absorbing into the hypertense bone. The punch hurt, but that was all it did. Glancing back at the soldier, he calmly reached up and grabbed his wrist.
"For Lilith, huh? Son, I dunno if you've been told, but I didn't kill your queen. Neither did my boy. Them that did are gone, and have been for a long, long time. You gonna let a thousand year grudge keep you shittin' your britches at the sight of me? At the sight of Cobalt?"
The Devil tried to pull his arm free, but his grip was absolute.
"Incubi... they were never meant to live past their purpose! Monsters that only know destruction! No better than angels, all of you!"
Brass sighed.
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"... No changin' your mind, is there? Oh well."
He punched the Devil right back. The strike sounded like a thunderclap, punctuated by his garbled cries as bone and cartilage were crushed by the teeth lining Brass' fist. With another soldier downed, Brass flexed his hand and looked to the others. Their faces had paled, and the terror was clear in their sanguine eyes.
"Who's next, huh?" he asked, wiping the blood off his hand.
None of the Devils could meet his gaze, terrified as they were by his display of overwhelming strength. Brass grinned, running high on the sensation of being back in the saddle for the first time in over twenty years, only for his heart to suddenly spasm. Grunting, he took a sharp breath and clenched his fists, riding out the pain as it ripped through his nervous system.
He was on borrowed time. Once Alison's wonderdrug ran its course, he'd be less than useless. Had to make the most of what time he had...
"I asked y'all a question, fellas! Who's next?!" Brass roared, standing up straight.
"I'll take you up on that offer, if I may," a voice called from beyond the destroyed doorway, startling the crowd of Devil soldiers.
Everyone turned to watch as a new Devil stepped into the chamber, this one standing taller than the rest. In place of old uniforms and ramshackle armour, this one wore a fine, tailcoat suit. There was not a speck of dust or dirt on his coat, and both his hair and stubble was neatly cropped and waxed.
"Brass Trayer, the Hellhound of Brimstone. It's an honour to meet you. Your exploits have transcended into myth down in Damnation," he said in a polite tone, giving the Incubus a bow.
The Incubus raised an eyebrow. He had spoken to a lot of posh assholes in his time - B.I.D. used to be full of them - and had learned to pick up on when he was being subtly mocked or looked down upon. But this Devil was giving none of that. He was earnest; disconcertingly so.
Well. His dad always taught him to return what he's been given, no matter the recipient.
"... Nice to meet you too. Given the circumstances," he responded after a moment's hesitation, wiping the blood from his knuckles.
"My name is Fero. Personal manservant and confidant of our great leader."
"'Great leader', huh? This that Alpha y'all keep yabberin' on about?"
Fero smiled and suppressed a laugh with a gloved hand.
"The very same."
Taking the final drag from his cigarette, Brass flicked it out onto the ground and scoffed. As he reached for another, Fero reached into his coat and produced a fine steel case. Flipping it open, he offered an array of cigarillos to Brass. His eyes widened; he hadn't seen these since the West Country.
"... I ain't bein' ungrateful here, but we're supposed to be enemies, right?" he asked, carefully accepting one.
Producing an old-timey lighter from another inside pocket, Fero reached over and lit it for him, smiling all the while.
"As far as I see it, Mr. Trayer, you and I are not enemies. After all, you've done nothing to personally wrong me, as you've so tactfully put. That being said, given our positions in this conflict, we are certainly opponents. But never enemies."
Brass took a deep drag from the cigarillo. He had no idea what kind of tobacco Devils grew down in Damnation, but sweet hellfire, it was good.
"You speak a lot of sense for a greyskin," he said, cracking his knuckles.
"And you are remarkably reserved for a blueskin. We need not live up to the perceptions of others, after all."
Taking a step back, he opened both of his hands outwards as ferromantic magic began to coalesce in the centre of his palms. Brass tensed up for a moment and took a step back, causing Fero to chuckle. He opened his hands to reveal a pair of fine knuckledusters, both made from dark iron. He tossed them to the Incubus, who snatched them out of the air. Dull and heavy; nothing like Rtne and Dire.
"I understand these are your favoured arms, yes?" he asked, cocking his head.
"... Somethin' like that. You some kinda superfan of mine?"
Fero laughed uproariously as he summoned a pair of knuckledusters for himself.
"Many think Incubi are little more than mindless monsters. How could they not; they were created that way. But you're living proof that no design is perfectly flawless. I think there's a beauty in that, don't you?"
Now Brass couldn't stop himself from smiling.
"Hate to break it to you, bud, but I got a wife and kids. Can't accept your compliments," he responded, holding up his wedding ring.
Retracting the teeth on his hands, he put the knuckledusters on.
"Fair enough. Could I trouble you for a fight instead?"
"Now you're talkin' my language!"
Brass lunged forward and threw a mighty haymaker, fixing more to test Fero's mettle than to properly hurt him. Just as predicted, the Devil fell back into a defensive stance, crossing his arms before his face and blocking the blow. Even with metal-reinforced fists, a Devil's constitution was no joke.
"A fine strike, Mr. Trayer. If I may offer a riposte...?"
Forcing Brass back with a shove, Fero swiftly swung his fist, forcing the Incubus to clash their knuckledusters together with a horrendous ringing noise. The force of impact jarred his entire arm, forcing the two demons apart, each grinning at the other.
"... Got a Hell of an arm on you. I'm guessin' you ain't no ordinary Devil, huh?" the Incubus scoffed, shaking the pins and needles out of his hand.
Fero's smile glinted in the dim light from the ferrohaem lamps. He saluted, carrying himself with an air much different to that of the lesser soldiers cowering behind him.
"Major Fero of the Last Line, second to Alpha himself, at your esteemed service."
"Well, clearly you can fight, soldier boy. But can you brawl?"
"I imagine they're the same thing, Mr. Trayer."
The Incubus spat onto the ground.
"Not fuckin' likely. Bring it!"
He threw himself into the fray, and the Devil met him in kind.
It was almost relieving, to be fighting full-force once again. Though he had grown rusty over the years and he no longer had Rtne's wise counsel and Dire's rabid encouragement, he felt truly alive. Fero met every jab and haymaker with skillful blocks and parries, offering his own attacks when opportunities presented themselves. The other Devils could only sit and watch; their eyes barely able to keep up with the flurry of blows being shared between the fighters before them.
Fero feinted back and tried to lash out with a kick to the chest, allowing Brass to twist to the side and deliver a powerful backhand to the Devil's face. He cried out and staggered back, causing Brass to laugh.
"Good thing this ain't fencin', huh! That's a touch!" he guffawed, watching as Fero arduously forced his jaw back into place.
As he laughed, however, an unexpected surge of boiling fluid forced its way up his throat. His laughing petered out into a cough as blood splattered out of his mouth, spraying all over the floor before him.
Of course. He couldn't get carried away. He had to end this soon, before his body gave out on him.
"Impressive. Even his flawed designs carry merit..." Fero mumbled, rubbing his chin.
"Eh?"
"Nothing. On your guard, Mr. Trayer...!"
Fero leaped into an aggressive assault, showing no signs of tiring after he threw punch after punch. Forced onto the backfoot, Brass could only raise his guard and conserve his heat as he awaited for an opening, preparing to completely rock the Devil's skull the moment he spotted a gap. But as tat golden chance presented itself, he found his body moving more sluggishly than before, allowing Fero to knock his blow aside and deliver a trio of quick jabs straight to Brass' stomach.
"Agh! F- Fuck...!" the Incubus spluttered, coughing more blood to the floor.
"You're slowing down," the Devil commented, folding his arms.
"C- Cut me some slack. I'm an old man; you immortal fucks wouldn't know what it's like."
"If you say so."
Leaping towards him, Fero gracefully pirouetted in the air and brough his leg down in a brutal axe-kick right where he was standing, had he not ducked to the side at the last moment. Grabbing a chunk of stone broken by the Devil's attack, Brass smashed it against the back of his head, to no avail.
"Not very sporting," he scoffed, retaliating with an elbow to the Incubus' chest.
"No sport in a brawl, dipshit...!" Brass grunted, grabbing hold of his arm.
Throwing him to the ground, he tried to perform an elbow-drop, only for Fero to buckle his legs and clamber back to his feet.
"The foul mouth really isn't necessary," he sighed, making a show of rolling his shoulder.
"Agh... Eat shit, asshole... fuckin'... suck my... ugh..."
Brass' head was spitting, and he felt about ready to throw up. The adrenaline coursing through him was beginning to ebb, giving way to an altogether different kind of pain; an agonising wildfire scorching his very nerves. He could feel tingling in the tips of his extremities. It wouldn't be long before he lost feeling altogether.
But he wasn't down and out yet, dammit...!
He straighten up, grinning at Fero with bloodied teeth as he raised his fist.
"Gotten the profanity out of your system?" the Devil asked, readopting his combat stance.
"Fuck no."
They closed distance, and the fight resumed.
Rtne always advised him to be cautious, to duck and weave through his opponent's strikes, compiling strength while preparing for the single golden moment to end the entire conflict in a single blow. But as sound as her advice was, it wasn't always plausible. Sometimes he had to just forgo all tactical planning and defensive strategy in favour of sheer, unadulterated savagery. Dire always said the best defense was a relentless offense.
As Fero struck him again and again, he grit his teeth through the pain and gave as good as he got, landing more than a dozen blows, enough to rip through the Devil's fancy clothes. Blood sprayed against the floor around them as their steel-clad knuckles grew redder, neither demon daring to relent for fear of losing. The onlooking Devils were awestruck; their weapon arms hanging limp by their sides as they observed.
"E- Even beyond your prime...!" Fero gasped, blocking a strike as he delivered one of his own.
Brass laughed as he tanked the blow, already preparing to retaliate.
"Th- This old fossil's got some life in him ye- GAGH!"
As though he had been struck by lightning, an extreme surge of pain tore through Brass' body. Every single one of his muscles painfully contracted, bowling him to the floor. He coughed uncontrollably, blood frothing in his mouth as he resisted the urge to vomit.
"... and yet I can see you're degrading before my very eyes."
Eventually, he managed to regain control of his body, whereupon Brass just raised his hand, flipping off the Devil with a scarred, bloodied finger.
"Please, Mr. Trayer; act your age. My patience does have its limits. After all, I have a job to do."
"And... guh... And what's that?" the Incubus asked, staggering to his feet as he spat a glob of red foam to the floor.
"Retrieving the intruders. My lord wishes for an audience with those brazen enough to breach the Bastion."
All levity drained from Brass' face.
"You aren't layin' a fuckin' finger on those girls."
"Me personally? No. But I have people on the case."
He shook his head, making himself dizzy in the process.
"They're only here because of me. They got nothin' to do with this. Y'hear me, greyskin? They're innocent, or does that mean nothin' to you?"
Surprisingly, Fero sighed almost apologetically.
"... I'm afraid I can't go against Alpha's orders. He wants to see them. You as well."
The Incubus gripped his knuckledusters tight, the anger in his chest overtaking the fire in his nerves. Those girls meant everything to Cobalt; it was a loyalty that Brass knew well, one forged through shared hardship. He had the same bond with the Rowdy Boys, enough to get why his son did what he did. To be so blindly devoted as to push someone away... stupid, maybe. But not impossible to understand. Cobalt was going through enough right now.
They couldn't come to harm.
"Thought... Thought you were an alright sort, Fero. But now I just wanna kill you," Brass spluttered as blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.
"I know of your exploits, Mr. Trayer. You've never killed anyone. Not even Diate."
"Huh. Guess you'll be my first, then...!"
The Incubus stepped forward to slug Fero in the face as hard as he could, but the agony was taking its toll. His body refuse to obey as his muscles tensed and spasmed, allowing the Devil to easily avoid his clumsy strike. With a tired sigh, he rammed his fists straight into his stomach, causing blood and bile to erupt from Brass' mouth. As the air drained from his lungs, the Incubus toppled forward, unceremoniously crumpling into a puddle of his own blood.
The ground was cold, but while his instincts were screaming at him to get up, Brass could feel the familiar sensation of his legs going numb. Shit... that was it, huh? His fifteen minutes back in his prime...
He smiled despite it all, coughing a little as his vision swam and vertigo churned his stomach.
"... It was... fun while it lasted..." the Incubus guttered, his arms going limp against his will.
"Not the grand finale you were hoping for, I take it?" spoke a familiar voice, one Brass hadn't heard in a long, long time.
Despite his fluttering eyelids, he forced himself to turn his gaze to the animal sitting on the floor next to him, just out of reach of the red puddle. A slender cat, black as night, with bright green eyes that seemed to look right through him.
"You again... Nice to see you again, coaldust," Brass murmured incoherently as the tingling throughout his entire body numbed away into cold nothingness.
"You know that's not my name," the cat responded curtly.
"Never... told me your real one..."
It began to lick its paw. Brass knew for a fact that only he could see it; it was a particular kind of craziness that he had come to expect and accept.
"You understand this is the end of the road for you, yes?"
"I know..."
"And that you won't see your wife again?"
Tears welled in Brass' eyes. For a moment he thought to hold them back, but Jezzy taught him a long time ago that there was no shame in it. So he let them flow.
"... I'm still... holdin' out hope..."
Fero was saying something, but Brass didn't listen. He coughed once more and stared intently at the cat.
"H- Hey coaldust. Do me a favour?"
Its eyes flashed.
"Just for you, old friend. Perhaps just for you."
"H- Heh. Look after Cobalt for me, will you?"
It turned its head.
"Whatever do you mean? How are you sure that I'm not just a figment of your mind?"
"I don't. But I'm still askin'."
It slowly shut its eyes before bowing its head.
"... Very well, Brass Trayer. Just for you."
"Heh... knew you had it in you... to be decent..."
Unable to keep them open any longer, his eyelids slipped shut. His hearing began to fluctuate, and he could only notice Fero's approach by the vibrations through the floor.
"Will you be continuing, Mr. Trayer?" the voice of Fero asked, warped and difficult to hear.
The Incubus sighed.
"... Nah. I think... I think I'm spent."
"Very well. You lot; grab him."
As half a dozen Devil hands grabbed Brass and hauled him into their arms, his head slumped forward as his nerves completely burned out. The thought that his life was essentially over weighed heavy on his heart, but he wasn't giving up hope. He just had to put his faith in Cobalt. Even if he was going to spend the rest of his life completely paralysed, Brass didn't give a shit so long as he could see Jezebel again. Her, the girls, Cobalt, his friends, the Rowdy Boys...
No, Brass wasn't giving up hope.
He was just placing it in someone else. He just had to pray that he bought him enough time.