There was nothing Cobalt wanted more than to get out of the house for some fresh air, but Lydia forbade it, citing that Brimstone was just too agitated to deal with the Incubus being back on the street. A large group of people venerated him like a deity for some reason, and in the days since he woke up they had only gotten more and more vocal. The Oni had been practically fending off visitors with a stick, to the point where she went ahead and disconnected the house’s doorbell and arranged to have a police car stationed outside at all times. The only people allowed in were Doctor Elliott and Lydia herself.
Instead, Cobalt found himself passing his time through watching the news and reading the books he found all around the house. The former helped him get up to speed with world events, though he founding watching too much of it to be nauseating. Hell was in complete disarray it seemed; Earth was really putting the screws on it, and with no unified governmental power and the EHI stretched thin, it was looking rather dire. As for the books, he found them to be a much more pleasant activity. The shelves of his bedroom were stuffed with gangster novellas, and Cobalt quickly came to realise that they must have been something of a guilty pleasure for his past self, because he just couldn’t put them down.
He'd sit in the living-room, surrounded by well-thumbed books, reading while he listened to the news play on the TV. He was half-concerned he would hear his own named mentioned in a special broadcast, but thankfully no-one had yet succeeded in reporting on the Incubus’ miraculous recovery. Whatever Mistress Viola was doing to keep him under wraps, it was working.
But as he was sat there reading through his dozenth novella, Cobalt was suddenly startled by a heavy knock on the door. He shook his head and thought nothing of it, but the knocking quickly continued, causing a cold sweat to form on his forehead. Lydia was out of the house; off buying groceries downtown. Normally the police stationed out front would keep anyone from getting to the Trayers’ door, but alas the knocking continued.
Perhaps it was the officer on watch in need of assistance? That seemed plausible. Though he knew he wasn’t in much of a state to help anyone at present, the Incubus set his book down and arduously wheeled himself into the hall and towards the door, all while the knocking grew ever louder.
“Just a moment,” he murmured, reaching up to unlock the door.
Turning the latch with a click, he awkwardly jostled backwards as he pulled the front door open. His first immediate concern was that the woman stood on his front porch was in fact not a police officer. His second concern was that she was huge.
A veritable goliath of a demon stood in his doorway, awkwardly frozen in place as she stared at Cobalt with wide, hazel eyes. She had to stoop a little to fit in the frame, and as a few moments of awkward silence passed, Cobalt took the time to gauge what she was. Brown skin, stone-like in appearance, with rocky horns. A quick glance down told him that her shoes were strangely shaped, like hooves.
A golem, a demon of Sloth. He had taken some time to reacquaint himself with the different kinds of demons over the last few days, but his biology books mentioned nothing about Golems growing to this size. She was wearing a dull grey tracksuit; she didn’t even seem to be all that muscular.
The Golem gave him an awkward smile, displaying the steel braces lining her teeth.
“O- Oh my gosh, it’s really you…” she breathed in a surprisingly soft voice.
Swallowing hard, Cobalt blinked slowly.
“Can I help you, miss…?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You… don’t remember me?”
The Incubus shook his head.
“I don’t remember much. Is there something you need?” he asked, growing nervous.
“Oh, well, that makes sense, actually. I mean you’ve been through a lot, and I’ve had, uh… a bit of a growth spurt since we last talked, heh! I- It’s Olive. I’m with the, uh…”
Glancing around for a second, Olive unzipped her tracksuit top to reveal the handmade t-shirt she wore beneath. It was covered in macabre iconography; teeth, claws and red thorny patterns all circling a strange sigil, but unfortunately one that Cobalt recognised immediately. Two curved spires of metal. The symbol of the Iron Hound Faithful.
“I, um… I have to go,” the Incubus said quickly, making to shut the door on her.
“Wait, wait, wait! Please, I- I’m not here to bug you, I promise! I even brought a gift?” Olive cried, lunging forward to hold the door open.
She was strong, leaving Cobalt helpless as she bore down upon him.
“A- A gift, you say?” he asked, a little scared of the gigantic stranger.
“Mm! After the Hellbreak Incident, I enrolled in B.I.D. but, uh… I never got in. Spent too much time spreading your word and not enough time studying, heh. But I found something I like better than study!” the Golem babbled, reaching behind her.
There was something about her demeanour that set Cobalt on edge. From what he had seen of the Iron Hound Faithful in the last few days, he had the impression that they were a collective of misguided zealots, all frothing at the mouth to follow an image of someone the Incubus was not. But speaking to Olive, and despite the overexcited glint in her eye, she seemed almost halfway normal. Were it not for the obvious things, of course.
“Turns I got a knack, Iron Hound! For working iron! Funny how that works, huh? Here! Unwrap it!”
Wheeling around, she dropped a lengthy package into Cobalt’s lap, nearly winding the poor Incubus. Wincing, he ran his fingers across the brown-paper wrapping and tore through it with his bony claws, revealing a-
“Do… you like it…?”
Cobalt stared at what he held in his hands for a moment. It was a walking cane, made almost entirely from dark iron and carved with intricate swirling patterns.
“We, uh… We retrieved your horns after the… you know. Melted them down, worked them into this!” Olive explained, sweat already beading on her forehead.
He just kept staring, holding the cane in one hand as he reached up to touch his forehead with the other. He ran his fingers across his ruined horns before gripping the cane tightly. Sure enough, he could faintly feel a strange sense of connection to it. Why did they have his horns…?
“STEP AWAY FROM THE YOUNG MASTER!”
The sound of shattering glass followed the sudden roar, startling both of the demons at the front door. Turning around, they saw that just outside the Trayers’ front garden, Lydia had dropped her shopping bags to the ground, spilling milk all over the pavement. She had conjured a massive executioner’s axe into her hands, and was glaring threateningly at Olive.
“Oh shit…” Olive breathed, backing away from Cobalt.
Lydia surged forth, protectively planting herself between the Incubus and the interloper. Despite the maid’s size, the Golem was still a little taller than her.
“Leave. Now. If I see you again, I will end you,” Lydia warned, her voice quiet, yet dripping with fury.
“I- I didn’t mean any harm, miss-”
“Back. Away. Now.”
Raising her hands, Olive bowed her head apologetically and stepped off the porch, wincing apologetically the entire time at Cobalt. As soon as she was on the garden path, Lydia stepped inside and slammed the door shut, locking it tight for good measure. Dispelling her axe, the Oni turned to her charge.
“Are you alright, young master? She didn’t hurt you, did she?” she asked urgently, reaching to check him.
Shaking his head, Cobalt weakly pushed her probing hands away.
“I’m alright, Lydia, I promise. Just… surprised,” he murmured, still staring at the cane.
“We were promised adequate protection from the BPD… What did she want with you?”
“Just to give me this.”
Nodding, she stuck her hand out.
“Give it to me. I shall ensure it’s disposed of properly,” Lydia instructed, reaching for the cane.
He shook his head and clutched it to his chest. Deep down, Cobalt felt a primordial connection to it. He couldn’t be sure if Olive was telling the truth, but if she was, then this cane was made with a part of himself. The thought of throwing it out, just…
“Master Cobalt. These people are sick. It could be dangerous.”
“I want to keep it.”
“But-”
“Please, Lydia,” the Incubus interrupted, staring into her eyes.
The maid looked deep into his eyes and relented with a sigh. Turning her hand over, she ran it through his hair, stroking it just as she did when he was a kid.
“If… that is what you desire,” the Oni said.
With that she disappeared deeper into the house, likely to sweep the place to ensure there were no security infractions. She was always very pragmatic like that.
Left alone in the hall, Cobalt weighed the cane in his hands before experimentally placing it to the floor with a dull thud. Straining, he eased himself out of the wheelchair, using it to take the weight off his injured right leg.
It didn’t hurt nearly as much as it did.
-----
Olive stood outside the Trayer household, gasping for breath as her heartrate recovered from her ordeal. That was close. Far, far too close. Rave had spent no small amount of time and money learning the guard dog’s schedule and buying off the police; she wasn’t supposed to return for at least a few more minutes.
The Golem shook her head. No matter; she managed to get the cane into his hands. It had taken her many months to get right, half of which were spent just planning out its creation. She could afford to waste nothing. The Iron Hound’s horns were sacred materials, and she only had one shot at forging them into a relic worthy of his touch. With this gift delivered unto him, it was only a matter of time before he recognised just how much the Faithful had grown during these five long years.
The Blind Days were done. The time of reckoning was upon them. And Olive couldn’t be more excited.
Sidling out of the garden, the Golem trotted across the street to the police car parked by the pavement. Sitting in the driver’s seat was a bespectacled Imp man, dressed in a deputy’s uniform. He looked displeased.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Sorry again about all this,” Olive told him once he rolled down the window.
Deputy Srenth sighed heavily.
“… If I lose my job because of you psychos…”
“No no, you’ll be fine, I promise! Rave said you would be! We just needed this teensy favour!”
“Yeah, sure, because Rave’s totally known for being rock solid with this kinda shit. Just get outta here, man; if I see you on this street again, I’m putting you in cuffs, got it?”
Nodding sheepishly, Olive thanked him for his time before quickly scuttling off down the road, taking care not to knock into anyone’s bins on the way. Despite being a third-stager for well over a year now, she still wasn’t quite used to her new proportions. The doctors think it’s because her dad’s an Oni. Either that or there’s something funky going on with her cantic plasma glands.
Once she was far enough away from the Iron Hound’s house, Olive fished her phone out of her pocket and dialed Rave’s number, tapping her feet excitedly as she waited. Passers-by gave her all kinds of strange looks as they avoided the goliath Golem. She was used to them by now.
As soon as she heard the other end pick up, Olive launched right into it.
“Rave! Rave, I did it! I gave him the cane!” she squealed excitedly, pumping her fist.
It was breathtaking, seeing the Iron Hound in the flesh again. All these years, in her moments of weakness, Olive thought he was well and truly dead. But for him to be right there in front of her…
“… And his guard dog?” the voice on the other end of the line asked, sounding as calm and collected as ever.
“She, um… came home a little early. Dropped her shopping all over the ground just to run me off, heh. B- But I still did what you said!”
“Very good, sister dearest.”
“Should I come back to the warehouse?”
“Tabernacle.”
“Should I come back to the tabernacle?”
“Not yet. I need you to check in with a few contacts around town, and pick up some things from our associates down by the bay. Then I need to you buy some more candles; we’re running low over here,” Rave instructed.
Olive’s face fell. More work, huh?
“O- Okay. But I did good with the cane, right?”
“Make sure they’re red wax.”
“… Yes, Rave.”
“I’ve wired you the funds. Grab some food while you’re at it. Can’t have your stomach interrupting mass again.”
The call abruptly ended, prompting Olive to sigh and pocket her phone.
The end of the Blind Days was a big deal for everyone, most of all Rave, the leader of the Faithful. Lately she had been completely run off her feet – no pun intended – and had been relying on Olive more and more to ensure that everything was in place to follow the next part of the scripture. Still… she wished she’d take a few days off and maybe spend some time doing something fun together. After all, Olive was one of the first to join Rave’s cause, back when it was just her causing a scene on online message boards.
Flipping over to her notes app, she quickly typed down her instructions and took a deep breath. No time for moping, though; she had work to do.
For the next few hours, Olive traipsed all over town, rushing this way and that to check off each item on her to-do list as quickly as possible. She found herself in a lot of back alleys down by the cove, picking up packages from shady-looking people and dropping them off at designated points, but at this point in the game she knew well enough never to look inside. The Iron Hound faithful had to get their funding from somewhere, and relying on charitable donations had proven a miserable failure in the past. Once her deliveries were done, she swung by the Faithful’s many safehouses throughout the downtown area, collecting their tithes and recording their convert numbers and any other relevant information they had. She wanted so desperately to tell them about her face-to-face encounter with the Iron Hound himself, but Rave had instructed her to keep her mouth shut before she set off. Matters were delicate; if she got the congregation whipped up into a frenzy now, they risked losing his favour.
Finally, as the sun began to set, Olive traipsed to the mall and picked up a box of candles from the hobby store before swinging by her favourite fast-food place for something to eat. She got a lot of funny looks upon carrying her order of four burgers and three portions of fries to her table, but once again, she had grown inured to the stares. It wasn’t her fault, she kept telling herself; her new body just needed a lot of food to sustain itself. At least that’s what her doctor told her. Olive just wished her new diet was kinder on her wallet.
As she ate, the Golem found herself thinking back on the year of the Hellbreak Incident, before everything went topsy-turvy.
The Iron Hound – or just Cobalt Trayer as she knew him back then – was always an idol to her. She remembered the previous year, during the summer storm when a bunch of gangsters took over B.I.D., and the news coverage of Cobalt beheading a Devil on the rooftop. She was enamoured with his legend right then and there. From that point, she followed his every exploit religiously, and on that day where she bumped into him the Jump Terminal by complete accident while traveling to Paris, she almost passed right out from excitement.
She felt safe, knowing that her hero was always close by.
As she wistfully reminisced, however, the Golem was suddenly shaken by one of the restaurant’s staff; a pimply young Glutton dressed in a greasy apron and a cap.
“Miss, you can’t sleep here,” he told her sternly.
Blinking, she looked around her booth to find that her half-finished leftovers had gone cold, and most of the other patrons had cleared out. Outside the windows, it was practically nighttime.
“We’re closing in five minutes; you gotta go,” he continued, stepping back to allow her out.
“O- Oh shoot, I am so sorry! That keeps happening; I- I’m real sorry!” Olive gasped, scrambling out of the booth.
He flinched as she drew herself to her full height, his face visibly draining of colour.
“N- No worries, miss,” he mumbled before hurriedly scuttling through a staff-only door.
That was happening a lot more too; bouts of sudden slumber. It was a given for a Golem to be prone to it, of course, but in the last few weeks Olive had found herself slipping off at the worst of times.
She checked the time. It was almost eight o’clock.
“No, no, no… She’s gonna be so mad at me…!”
Skidding out of the mall, Olive put her head down and ran as fast as she could down the straight, hoping to reach the tabernacle before Rave thought to call her. As she approached the Tempered Bastion, the traffic gradually grew more and more congested, to the point where in order to cross the street the Golem was forced to clamber over the hood of someone’s car, much to their ire. The closer she got to the foreboding fortress, the more she began to see the Faithful’s murals painted on gables and alley walls. She had painted a few of them herself, after all.
Turning off the main road leading into the Bastion, Olive hurled herself over a corrugated metal fence and slid down the rocky slope leading to the abyss surrounding the Tempered Bastion. The space beneath the fortress was still almost entirely unexplored, and she had a feeling that it would remain that way for quite some time. All the better; the less people explored the Bastion’s foundations, the better.
Circling the edge of the pit, she eventually found a series of recently-installed pipes that connected the fortress to the town’s water and power grids, spaced closely enough together to form a makeshift bridge. She carefully inched across it, staring up at the Bastion so as not to look down into the abyss below. One slip and it was all over.
“Protect me, oh Hound…!” Olive whimpered, clutching her shopping tightly.
Once across, she flattened herself against the Bastion’s outer wall and sidled over to a steel grate, which had been cut open with a plasma torch years ago. The gap was still a little too small for her liking, and it took some effort to squeeze her frame through, but once Olive popped into the dingy passage beyond, she followed a trail of low-burning candles deep into the bowels of the Bastion.
The mayor’s office may be gentrifying the upper levels, but down here, everything was still very much of Devil construction. It was dark, cold and quiet, and by the time she arrived at a grand set of metal doors marked with the sigil of the Iron Hound Faithful, Olive found herself shivering uncontrollably. Swallowing hard, she pushed them open.
Within was a huge, abandoned warehouse, once used by the Devils to store provisions. The shelves had all been destroyed and cast aside, allowing the Faithful to install pews and seats all along the tabernacle floor. An altar had been set up at the far end of the chamber, while murals dominated the walls, each depicting important figures from the scriptures.
The First Bride, Holder of the Leash. A Succubus draped in black.
The Second Bride, Holder of the Bowl. A Glutton stained with tears.
The Third Bride, Holder of the Collar. A Fallen with bright green eyes.
The Fourth Bride, Holder of the Doll. A Nymph with mismatched arms.
The Fifth Bride, Holder of the Bone. An Oni riddled with scars.
The Right Hand of the Hound. An Imp dressed in leathers.
The Left Hand of the Hound. A Golem with silver hair.
Olive stopped in front of the last mural, feeling a little jealous. The scriptures dictated that the Hound would rally all seven races of demon beneath him on his rise to power, once he had tested their faith for the first time. She wished she could have been the Left Hand. But it wasn’t to be.
Finally, passing by the altar, Olive stared up at a massive mural of the Iron Hound, wreathed in blood and bone, iron horns agleam. Even in his diminished state, his painted depiction didn’t quite do him justice.
“Praise be…” she murmured with a slight smile.
“Olive,” called a voice from behind her, startling the Golem.
She whipped around to find Rave emerging from a small back door, her brow set firm with annoyance. Confined to an electric wheelchair, the slight Imp had to circle the altar steps in order to reach the access ramp made from plywood on the other side, her irritated glare never once leaving her subordinate. With the harsh light from the construction lamps all around playing off her glasses and the medical mask concealing the rest of her face, it was usually quite difficult to tell her mood. But not this time.
“You missed mass,” she said irritably, flicking her joystick to turn the chair towards Olive.
The Golem shrunk back.
“I, um… got sidetracked, and-”
“We had to proceed under all this. Everyone was distracted,” Rave interrupted, gesturing to the floodlamps.
“I- I know, I’m sorry. Here they are.”
She set the box of candles down on the altar. Rave glanced at them, before sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose.
“… Red candles, Olive. I said red. These are purple.”
“Wh- What?! I checked!”
“Just… leave them. You’ll have to head out and get some more tomorrow.”
Olive stuck her lower lip out.
“But I’ve got classes at the community centre tomorrow. We’re making candleholders out of brass,” she whined, thinking fondly of the friends she made in her metalworking classes.
“You’ll have to call in absent, then.”
“You said I wouldn’t have to miss any more! You promised!”
“That was before you messed up so flagrantly. I looked like a fool today, giving praise under such harsh lighting.”
“B- But…!”
“Your duties to the Faithful are more important than your hobbies.”
“You said the cane was a good idea! You liked it!”
“This and that are different. If your skills aren’t being used for the Faithful, then they’re just a waste of-”
Something sparked as the lights all went out, plunging the tabernacle into darkness. Olive flinched and stumbled closer to Rave, who grumbled beneath her breath. Silence reigned, save for the rumbling and crumbling of the Bastion above them.
Until they both heard a sound. Footsteps. Someone else was in the tabernacle with them.
“Show yourself. Services are finished for the day,” Rave called into the shadows, her voice betraying no fear.
Swallowing hard, Olive took up a stand in front of her friend.
“O- Ocov et! Amra ilobaid! Don’t you dare come any closer!” she incanted, bracing herself.
Dust and chips of stone began to magically circulate around her arm in a cloud of brownish magic, coalescing and lumping together as they gradually formed a massive tower shield, made from hard granite. She slammed it down against the alter, glaring through the darkness despite her terror.
She could just barely see a tall figure looming in the centre of the chamber, though their form was almost entirely indistinguishable. She couldn’t even figure out what kind of demon they were.
“You can stand down; I’m not here to harm anyone. If I can help it,” the stranger said, his voice sinister yet oddly-alluring.
It was low and raspy, as though he were speaking beneath his breath.
“If you’re not here for prayer or donations, then kindly dispense with the cloak and dagger, and leave,” Rave called, undeterred.
“I’m here for something in particular, don’t you worry. You’re the ones calling yourself the Iron Hound Faithful, yes?”
“Y- Yeah! What of it?!” Olive called, peeking out from behind her shield.
The stranger chuckled.
“Then it would seem you and I have a shared area of interest then, wouldn’t it?”
He stepped towards one of the murals, turning his head as though to stare up at it.
“I’ve been following Cobalt Trayer for a long time, you know. Longer than either of you. Longer even than his foes of the past. I’d consider myself an expert on the man,” he sighed, reaching up to touch the wall.
Rave scoffed.
“Who are you, exactly?” she asked, turning her chair around.
He laughed again.
“… I’m Cobalt Trayer’s very own Guardian Angel. You can call me as such, if you’d like.”
“B- Blasphemy!” Olive cried, earning a chiding smack from Rave.
Only a complete nutjob would go around calling themselves something like that in Hell.
“Well, Angel. What do you want?” Rave asked, her voice betraying her intrigue.
He turned his head.
“… Nothing from you at present. I have business with the smith.”
Olive flinched at those words. Lowering her shield a little, she squinted through the darkness at the Angel.
“You… wanna talk with me?” she asked incredulously.
“Mm. You gave him a gift today, didn’t you? A finely made one at that.”
“I… well… I don’t know about that…”
“I have a commission I’d make of you, if that’s quite alright.”
Rave cleared her throat.
“If you want to employ the services of any of the Faithful, then you’ll need to provide compensation in one form or another. This isn’t a charity, you know,” the Imp called, folding her arms.
The stranger laughed once more. It was a haunting, echoing sound.
“Of course, of course. I’m not one for carrying cash, so how about this; serve my needs, and I’ll provide you with information. Things about Cobalt no-one else knows.”
“Such as?”
“Hm… Let’s start with the location of a Devil’s corpse that he slaughtered, untouched by the authorities. I could direct you to its location.”
Olive’s heart skipped a beat. Remains of one of the Iron Hound’s accursed foes?! Such a thing would be invaluable!
“… And what would you have us make for you?” Rave pressed, clearly just as intrigued as her companion.
“Nothing complicated. Just a mask, made to cover the face and horns. Something to keep me… discrete. After all, I wouldn’t want your great Iron Hound to recognise me out and about,” requested the Angel, spreading his arms wide.
Rave leaned over to Olive.
“Well? Is that possible?” she whispered.
“Um… I could give it a shot, I guess? Might be a bit rough…”
The Angel cleared his throat.
“Well? What do you say, oh Faithful of the Iron Hound?”
Grabbing her joystick, Rave moved forward past Olive’s protective shield. She cleared her throat and thought for a moment.
“I say welcome to the flock, brother,” she announced, opening her arms in kind.
The Angel’s laugh rang through Olive’s skull as he slunk back into the shadows.
“Oh, that’s just wonderful. Here’s to the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership, dear sisters.”