It was finally done. Setting her tools back down upon her workbench, Olive released an almighty sigh of relief as she gazed at the mask sitting before you. It was a difficult commission, no two ways about it, but after a few days of ceaseless work, she had finally completed the final touches.

“I hope this is enough…” the Golem mumbled to herself, adjusting the light as she inspected the mask.

It was made from dark iron, and though she tried her utmost, it was difficult to work with, leaving it still a little rough and heavy. The impurities in the metal certainly didn’t help, but she managed to make to the Angel’s specifications. The mask depicted a calm, almost serene face, with two small eyeholes to look out of. Those details were simple; it was the horns that gave her some difficulty. Two lengthy iron horns extended from the mask’s forehead, both hollow on the inside to allow a demon to slip their own horns inside. Well, a demon who wasn’t an Oni or a Fallen, anyway.

For a moment, Olive just sat and stared at the mask, the relieved smile gradually fading from her face.

The Angel was true to his word. The night after their first meeting, Rave received a note from him, left in the ventilation duct by the tabernacle’s entrance. It contained directions to a row of unsold houses down by the cove, as well as a list of detailed instructions on how to gain access. She sent Olive to accompany a small group of other Faithful to break into the house’s basement, and upon digging up the floor with picks and sledgehammers, they found it.

The entombed corpse of a Devil. The smell was awful; Olive threw up right then and there. It was gruesome, sure, but also exciting. Once the body was extricated and smuggled back to the tabernacle, Rave revealed that the Angel wanted his mask to be made from the iron within the corpse’s bones.

Extracting enough of the metal to make anything was… well, the Golem didn’t want to think on it any longer than she had to. What’s done is done. Now she just had to get the mask to the Angel.

Turning around, she gave her workshop a quick once-over just to make sure that she had turned the crucible off and cleaned up any slag. In truth, Olive’s metalworking shop was little more than her family’s garden shed, but once her mother moved out and took her tools with her, her father allowed her to renovate the place for her own needs. Switching off the light, the Golem tucked the mask into a satchel and stepped outside, bashing her head off the top of the doorframe on the way out.

“Ow…!” she mumbled, rubbing one of her horns as she trekked back up the garden.

She was going to have to make the doorway bigger one of these days. Or maybe start wearing a helmet.

Marching back up towards the back door of her terraced home, Olive turned her gaze up at the ever-looming shadow of the Tempered Bastion dominating the dark skyline. For a moment she wondered if Cobalt was making use of her gift. Even now, with the entire town aware that he was back and the newspapers going absolutely crazy, nobody had seen hide nor hair of the Incubus. His maid had been spotted around town, but she was an expert at shaking reporters off her tail, either through guile or straight up threats. Rave had put the word out not to go near her.

With the Angel and his knowledge on board, something big must be in the works, and Olive couldn’t be more excited.

That being said, she was happy to spend some time off to get the mask made. She wasn’t expected back for a couple of days yet.

Easing open the back door, the Golem slipped into her house, taking care not to injure herself off the top of the doorframe.

“Papa! Is dinner ready yet?” she called, setting the satchel down as she stepped into the kitchen.

The room was full of steam, despite the best efforts of the sputtering extraction fan above the stove. Before it, a hunched Glutton man stood stirring something in a pot, occasionally lifting the ladle to taste it before adding pinches of salt and spices.

“Not yet, petal, but soon. Why don’t you set the table?” he called, turning to look over his shoulders.

Olive stared into the greyed eyes of her father and gave a sad little smile. She carefully moved around him and opened the cutlery drawer, her thumb running against the embossed Braille sticker on the handle as she retrieved a pair of spoons.

“Soup tonight?” she asked hopefully, quickly stumbling back as her father groped around for a jar of chili flakes.

Running his finger along the sticker on the lid, he took a sniff and sprinkled them into the broth.

“Soup tonight. How are you faring with your little project?”

“All done, Papa.”

“Oh good. I was worried you’d catch your death out there.”

Grabbing two bowls from the cupboard, she placed them to his right, nudging his arm to let him know that they were there.

“We can finally watch that movie you like. I picked up some popcorn from the store. Butter, too. Though I think I still have some of those dark chocolate bars in the fridge; I could melt them, and drizzle them over the-”

“Normal popcorn is okay. You don’t have to always make it a big thing.”

“Nonsense! I’ll be damned if I let my girl eat anything other than the best!”

Olive smiled at that. Her dad always was proud of his culinary prowess. Even when his sight began to fail, he taught himself how to keep sharp without his eyes. Even when he lost his job at the restaurant, he kept himself busy in the kitchen. Even when his wife left him, he…

A lump formed in Olive’s throat. There was a lot he didn’t know. For all her father knew, she had gotten a fabrication job in town through a friend, and that was what was keeping food on the table. If he knew his only daughter was an Iron Hound Faithful, and that they were being kept afloat through the portion of donations that Rave spared her, he would blow his lid.

He didn’t even know that Olive had grown to the freakish proportions she did. But she didn’t want to worry him. He had been through enough.

At least now she would get to spend some time with him.

A few minutes pass, and dinner is served; a delicious thick soup derived from some secret recipe of her father’s, packed with all kinds of herbs and spices that make the tongue tingle, complete with a fresh batch of buttered bread. As Olive began to tear into her food, her father peered over at him with his glassy eyes.

“So, how’s the working life been treating you?” he asked.

She swallowed hard.

“Um… Pretty good. We got a new guy in the other day,” Olive answered.

That wasn’t necessarily a lie.

“Ah. Rookies. Lemme guess; your boss put you in charge of showing them around?” her father asked, dipping his bread into his soup.

“Actually, he knows his way around already. Better than me, even,” she replied, wincing as her spoon clashed off her braces.

“Hm. Well I suppose that’s a weight off your shoulders. Do you know him well?”

“Not really.”

“He doesn’t go to your classes?”

“Nope.”

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

“Hm.”

A few moments of silence passed.

“… Have you thought about those community college courses?”

Olive sighed.

“Papa…”

“Please, at least go to the open day, petal. It’s entry level stuff, and you don’t need to have a tertiary-level cert-”

“I’m happy where I am, Papa,” Olive interrupted, stirring her soup, “I got a job, I got friends, and I get to stay here with you.”

Her father nodded slowly.

“… So long as you’re happy, Olive. You know I just want the best for you.”

“I know. I know…”

The rest of the meal passed in silence. Olive finished her meal long before her father, but made no complaint even as her stomach protested. She could sate her newfound monstrous appetite later.

“Ah… My compliments to the chef,” he laughed, handing his empty bowl to Olive as she carried everything over to the sink.

“Thanks, Papa. It was really good.”

“Ha, you don’t need to tell me that, petal. How about you go and stick on that movie then? I’ll prepare the popcorn.”

Excited by the prospect of a cosy night in, Olive rushed out to the living room, smashing her head off the top of the door and almost collapsing to the ground.

“What was that?”

“J- Just dropped something!” she breathed, scrambling back to her feet.

Taking care not to injure herself further, the Golem switched on the TV and booted up the DVD player.

“Hey, I think I have some toffees here I could melt down! They’d go well with the chocolate!”

“Dr. Beatrice says I can’t have those!”

“Ah… bloody orthodontists; when are you getting them off?”

“Not for a while yet.”

Smiling, she found the movie she had been putting off for weeks and popped the disc out of the case, only for her phone to suddenly start ringing. Setting the disc into the tray, Olive answered the call.

“Hello?” she asked in a hushed whisper.

“Where are you?” the voice of Rave asked.

“Um, I’m at home, why?”

“Is the mask done yet?”

“Y- Yeah, yeah it is. I’m bringing it around tomorrow.”

“There’s no time. Bring it here now.”

“But-”

“Our mutual friend is disinclined to wait, Olive. Besides, its all hands on deck in the tabernacle. With the Blind Days over with, we must begin assembling the Iron Congregation.”

Olive’s eyes widened. The Iron Congregation was no small feat. Rave had been preaching about it for years at this point, but she had been making it clear that it wouldn’t be a feasible goal for a great many years yet; to have enclaves of the Iron Hound Faithful all over Hell, so that their reach may extend all around the world like a ferrous girdle.

“R- Rave, please. I’m kinda in the middle of something here,” she whispered, her heart pounding at the thought of how quickly things were progressing.

“Nothing else matters right now. Get over here, and quickly. Time is of the essence.”

The call ended before she could reply. With a cold lump in her throat, Olive sighed glumly and stepped into the kitchen to retrieve her satchel. Her father was melting bars of chocolate over a bowl of boiling water, humming to himself as popcorn popped on the pan beside him.

“Papa…?” she asked.

“Almost done, petal. You can’t rush art.”

“I… I have to go.”

He turned his head.

“What? Why?”

“Something’s come up.”

“You told me the shop is closed over the weekend.”

“I- It is, it’s not work. It’s…”

The Golem took a deep breath.

“… It’s Rave. She needs me for something,” she sighed.

As soon as Olive mentioned that name, her father’s demeanour shifted. His concerned smile faded as his brow furrowed.

“Olive, I’ve told you how I feel about that girl already,” he began, folding his arms.

“Papa, I know, it’s just-”

“She’s not good for you. A damn leech, that’s what she is.”

“She’s my friend, Papa!”

“What kind of friend leads you around by the nose like that?”

“She doesn’t lead me anywhere! I’m going to help her, and then I’ll be right back, I promise!”

Shoulders slumping, her father shut the stove off right as the popcorn began to pop. She could feel the disappointment rolling off him in waves, making the lump in her throat stick all the harder.

“… Alright. Go on. Just don’t stay out too late,” he sighed, setting his spoon aside.

Walking over to the door, Olive looked back at him over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I- I love you, Papa.”

“… I love you too, petal.”

-----

By the time Olive stumbled, tripped and toppled her way down into the bowels of the Tempered Bastion where the tabernacle lay, she was surprised to find it completely abuzz with other Faithful. They gave her nods and greetings as they swarmed around her like ants, carrying boxes and packing things into crates. The pews had all been pushed aside to make room for storage containers, and much of the religious paraphernalia decorating the hall had been taken down, leaving only the murals of the Brides, the Hands and the Iron Hound himself. Confused beyond all reason, she spotted Rave swiping on her tablet up by the altar and waved as she approached.

“I’m here. What’s going on?” she asked, a little out of breath.

“An exodus. You would know that if you were here,” Rave answered curtly.

Her cold words stung. She was probably just busy, but still.

“Is, um…”

Olive glanced around.

“… is he here? Already?”

Rave glanced up, the light of her tablet shining off her glasses.

“Follow me,” she answered curtly, leading Olive through a door behind the altar, into her personal chamber. The Imp’s expansive computer setup was still here, though the packing crates lying next to it suggested that wouldn’t be the case for long. Only the dim light from the screens were visible, as the rest of the room was completely dark.

“Shut the door,” Rave instructed, turning her chair around.

Olive did as she was told, cutting the pair off from the rest of the Iron Hound Faithful.

“The mask. Let’s see it.”

She pulled the metal mask from its satchel and presented it to Rave, only for a hand to emerge from the shadows and snatch it away. Olive flinched and pulled back as a gentle laugh echoed from the darkness, alerting her to the third presence in the room.

“My word, what fine work you’ve done. This will do nicely,” spoke the low voice of the Angel as he placed it upon his face.

She could just about make out the light of the computer screens glinting off the iron surface of the mask, but the rest of the Angel’s form was as inscrutable as ever.

“Satisfied?” Rave asked, completely unperturbed.

“Absolutely.”

“Wonderful. Now, if you could please fill Olive in on the situation…?”

Swallowing hard, the Golem stared at the Angel’s “face”; she couldn’t even see his eyes, just the black holes of the mask she made for him.

“Your beloved Iron Hound will be leaving you soon. Within a day or two, at a guess,” he explained.

“Wh- What…?!” Olive gasped.

“Likely his keepers intend to spirit him away somewhere his name is less infamous,” Rave added, her attention since returned to the tablet.

“Where?!”

“My sources tell me Furnace. As for where exactly, I cannot say,” the Angel spoke, his voice now coming from a different side of the room.

Flinching, Olive took a step closer to Rave.

“Can we stop them somehow? I- If the Iron Hound abandons us-”

“He’s not abandoning us. He’s being stolen away.”

“Then we have to convince him otherwise!”

“Or,” the Angel interjected, “you could join him.”

Eyes wide, Olive turned to Rave for confirmation, who just sighed and nodded.

“I intend to follow him there regardless, but if your Faithful were to follow, then I imagine things would work out better for the both of us,” the Angel continued, his mask dipping in and out of view as he stalked around the room.

“W- Wait…”

“Preparations are already underway to move across country. It’ll take a while to get everything over there, which is why I want you on the first train to Furnace to get things set up on that end,” the Imp explained in a cold, analytical tone.

“I- I can’t do that!” Olive suddenly blurted.

Even though she couldn’t see him, the Golem could feel the Angel’s eyes burning into her.

“Whyever not?” Rave asked, clearly annoyed.

“I can’t just leave my dad here! A- And I got an orthodontics appointment next month! And I’ve still got classes at the community centre, and-!”

“Olive,” the Imp sighed as she massaged the bridge of her nose, “are you really choosing this moment in time to test my patience?”

“But-!”

“This is a matter of faith. Your personal life comes only second to it. You’re lucky you were even able to have one, what with everything going on.”

“Rave please-”

“I haven’t been able to rest for the past five years, you know. Meanwhile you’ve had entire days to yourself. What did the Iron Hound teach us about complacency?”

She could feel herself shrinking into her boots. Despite the Golem’s stature, she felt like the smallest person in the room.

“… It comes hand-in-hand with luxury…” she recited miserably.

“Your father is a grown man. He’ll be fine, I assure you,”

“Furnace is miles away. I- I don’t know anyone there. What if it’s dangerous?” Olive asked in a small voice.

Across the room, the Angel laughed.

“You needn’t worry. I’ll ensure your safety. Personally, if needs be,”

With that, he reached across the room with something long and dark. Olive’s eyes went wide as a thick iron blade was slowly thrust towards her, stopping only as it prodded her stomach.

“That… Th- That’s a…” she breathed, going pale at the sight of it.

“It’s not a dirty word,” the Angel said.

“… Where did you get a s- sword…?”

He just laughed, causing her stomach to churn nauseatingly.

Swords… They were widely accepted as a taboo symbol in Hell. Whether people accepted the Rapture as fact or fiction, everyone was aware that the sword represented a cadre of terrible things; tyranny, oppression, and destruction above all else. But she should have figured that a man who willingly calls himself the Angel would find a way to live up to his moniker.

“I took a leaf from your book, little smith. I made it myself,” he explained, drawing the fearsome weapon back into the shadows.

“If we’re done fannying around already,” Rave sighed, tapping something on her tablet, “then check your email. I’ve sent you everything you’ll need to get over there.”

Olive nodded sadly. It was all she could really do. She loved her father dearly and didn’t want to leave him without reason, but… The Iron Hound Faithful was everything to her. If Cobalt Trayer was leaving Brimstone to spread his teachings elsewhere, then she had to follow him. To do otherwise bordered on apostasy.

“Yes, Rave…” she mumbled, turning towards the door.

Behind her, the Angel chuckled.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, little smith…”

She heard the sound of metal on stone.

“… together, you and I will ensure that Trayer’s legend is beheld by all.”