The room was freezing, it stung his naked skin like a rippling tide of needles. The air smelt of industrial strength sanitiser, pinched with the tang of artificial cold. The tiled ground hurt his bare knees, awkwardly positioned as he was with arms tied behind the waist. It was not the cold or the discomfort that bothered him most, however. No, the worst of it was the crying, steady sobs from behind that left him feeling hollow, empty inside. He had entered this room with cold fury, defiant in the face of brutal captors. Then there had been the declaration. Then there had been the tears. The flame had been doused and left only the hollow it burnt within him. There was a voice from out of sight, cool and calm.
‘Do it.’
The sobs stuttered with a gasp. A crack reverberated.
And he was torn to pieces.
----------------------------------------
Mickie woke with a heaving scream, expelling the air in his lungs so fast that they cramped in protest. He had been pulled apart at the seams and dragged into icy depths of incomprehensible darkness. It had been so long, an unending nightmare of agony with the only other sensation being that of movement. A nameless unidentifiable force dragging him ever downwards, deeper into the dark. Mickie took the time to settle his breathing before opening his eyes, already that unending nightmare was growing distant in the way dreams usually did. As the memory of pain grew foggy it was replaced by another, one of white tiles and the grating sound of sobbing. Immediately Mickie sat bolt upright, his eyes opening to reveal a scene distinctly separate from his last waking memory. He was in a cage of dark metal, hanging in the open air within a cavernous pit of unreasonable dimensions. Far above him was a ceiling of craggy rock, an uneven display of lumpy stalactites and shadowy crevices. It was into a dark gap between two jagged spines that the chain of Mickie’s own cage vanished. Panic was slow in coming for him, the absurdity of his surrounds stunning Mickie into slack jawed awe for a time.
Hanging in the void all about him were innumerable other cages, varying in size and yet all with one feature in common. They were all empty. Mickie turned to get a better look at his surrounds and felt rough fabric pulling at his thighs. Briefly he noted that he had clothes on once more, a coarse tan shirt and pants that rubbed irritably against his skin. He had no context for the journey between the freezer room and this hanging prison. Only the feeling of distance between his last memories and the strange place in which he found himself. Then there was the other thing that came with his recollection of the cold room. The feeling of a barrel to his head. The crack that sent him into the dark.
Sweat broke out up Mickie’s back and he swallowed against a suddenly churning stomach. Feeling the back of his head there was nothing, no wound or scar to justify what his memory indicated had occurred. Attempting to breath deep and reign in his racing thoughts, Mickie turned his attention to the edge of the cage. From where he sat in the centre the solid bottom blocked the view of anything below the distant walls. Turning onto hands and knees he made a slow crawl towards the nearby dark rods that bounded his prison. The journey was treacherous, every slight shift in weight sending the cage rocking. Mickie made it the edge and pressed his head against the metal, straining to peer below. When he caught sight of what awaited in the depths, he wished he hadn’t.
A darkness that hurt to look at. One that was emptier than the space between stars yet had the draw of a black hole. Through this dark ran streams of impossible light, existing within a space where it should not be possible to exist. The twirling, looping rivers formed geometric patterns that hurt Mickie’s mind to behold. Impossible formations within a place that his animal brain screamed should not exist.
It was then that the panic boiled over within him, confusion and fear ratcheting into primal desperation. Mickie threw himself from the bars, desperate to get away from the abyss waiting below. The movement sent the cage swinging and he curled up in a ball as it rocked, eyes shut tight against what lay below.
‘Get it away.’
His voice was hoarse, mouth dry from the nauseating fear.
‘Please. Get it away from me. I don’t want it. I don’t.’
His voice rose to a wheezing shout as the lines of white returned, burned into the back of his eyelids in fading colour. The impossible existence of the endless abyss below had not been what terrified him, not entirely. It was, that beyond the fear and the incomprehension, the void called to Mickie. Looking upon it he felt drawn to the alien force, to the reality warping change that it offered.
Gradually the hanging cage steadied, and Mickie dared to raise his head from between his hands, cracking open an eye to reveal the huge cavern. It was still there, empty and quiet. Part of him had been hoping this was all some strange hallucination. That perhaps Mickie would open his eyes to find himself back on the cold tiles in the white room. Yet his impossible prison remained, same as it had been before his panic struck. Wrung out emotionally, and out of options, Mickie called out into the void.
‘Hello! Is anyone there?’
His voice exited the cage and rolled through the hanging cells to no response. He tried vainly another few times, the creaking of chains his only answer. Mickie felt along the bars of his cell, discovering the keyhole and latch that kept the door stuck. With little else to do he tried to prise it open, jiggling the mechanism to little effect. Slumping back in helpless exhaustion, a cold weariness crept into his body. It started with his arms, crawling up to his shoulders and leaving his legs feeling leaden and useless. There was a dull thud as his head slumped onto the dark metal floor.
‘Come on now kiddo, don’t hang your head.’
Mickie perked up at the sound of the voice. It was sharp and squeaky, like that of mouse in a children’s cartoon. He sat up, attempting to identify the speaker.
‘Bit rude to just ignore me I’d say.’
With eyes wide open Mickie tracked the voice to its source. Perched upon the a chain link above was a red figure. It was about the size of a hand and appeared like a human scaled down to the proportions of a rat. Golden pinpricks glinted from a tiny red face. The little creature noted Mickie’s attention and slid from the chain link. It swung between the metal of the bars and performed a graceful flip before landing.
‘Uh, hello?’
Mickie spoke hesitantly to it. The figure performed a theatrical bow, sweeping an arm to one side and bending so low its black hair brushed the ground.
‘Good day to you, dearly departed. I am one Miz-Mag, proud patroller of these hallowed hanging homes.’
The figure, Miz-Mag, swept an arm out at the surrounding cages.
‘Um, hi. I’m uh, Mickie.’
‘Mickie! A pleasure, truly, a pleasure.’
The little figure stood straight, and Mickie belatedly noted it lacked any clothing. In fact, its body was completely vacant of the usual human accoutrements. Miz-Mag appeared androgenous, like a porcelain doll with a dull red lustre.
‘Now then dear Mickie, I could not help but overhear the calamitous racket you made from within your cage. Would I be correct in assuming you find yourself unexpectedly incarcerated?’
‘Yeah, I.’
He swallowed a lump.
‘I don’t know how I got here.’
Mickie hesitated, examining the curious creature.
‘Sorry, I hope you don’t mind, but uh, what are you?’
Miz-Mag did not seem to mind the question at all, instead darting forward to leap upon his outstretch knee. Mickie just barely managed to stop himself from flicking the little figure off in alarm.
‘As I just said, I am Miz-Mag, unquestionably unique in both manner and form. I reside here, deep within the gentle underbelly of the palace.’
‘The palace?’
Mickie glance about.
‘This doesn’t look like a palace.’
‘Ah my dear boy, that is because we are below the palace. Spending time hanging above oblivion within the beautiful Evergaol.’
The little red figure peered up at him, golden eyes glinting.
‘Though it astounds me that you do not even know where it is you reside, I shall endeavour to educate you. My friend, you find yourself within the dungeon at the base of the royal palace.’
Miz-Mag swept its arm theatrically.
‘The most hospitable hospice available in Hell’s ninth circle.’
Mickie stared incredulously.
‘Hell?’
He glanced about once more. While not particularly pious Mickie had heard enough about afterlife to gather that Hell was usually a bit more fire and brimstone.
‘This sure doesn’t look like hell.’
Miz-Mag released a chirping cackle.
‘Ah dear boy. You will soon come to believe me as to your location, I’m sure.’
Mickie was a bubbling mix of sceptical, terrified, and overwhelmed. He probably would have laughed at the claim if not for the alien figure and the otherworldly surrounds. The feeling of the barrel pressed to the back of his head returned. Mickie rubbed the spot, still feeling nothing but the hair on his head. Sighing he looked up at the distant cavernous roof.
‘Guess I wasn’t good enough for a trip upstairs.’
Miz-Mag patted his knee consolingly.
‘Ah, I wouldn’t worry about it kid. What is curious, is that you have found yourself here, with me, on the ninth circle.’
The creature did an abrupt summersault from Mickie’s knee, landing on the floor of the cage with a small finger pointed at him.
‘One might even call it providence.’
Mickie was about to ask what it meant by that when his cage gave a shudder. The hanging prison began to shift and jolt, forcing Mickie to grab the bars and keep steady. Miz-Mag appeared not to notice the bouncing ride, feet glued to the floor like they were magnetized.
‘Oh my, it would appear our time is running short. Your jailor must have heard your howling.’
Mickie gave his strange companion a concerned look before turning to the surrounding cages. It did indeed appear as if his prison was rising. Miz-Mag drew back his attention with a pinch to the foot.
‘Now kid, would I be correct in saying you do not believe you should be here?’
Mickie nodded rapidly in affirmation.
‘And would I be further correct in assuming that you would like to leave Hell entirely, go handle any unfinished business on the surface.’
Mickie hesitated at that, the surface? Was the little creature talking about coming back to life? The cage gave a sudden jolt and Mickie gasped in fear as he caught a glimpse of the impossible void below.
‘Yes! Yes, just get me out.’
Miz-Mag laughed in glee.
‘Then do I have a deal for you!’
The little figure clapped its hands and a strange glowing symbol appeared in the air before it. A collection of lines, glowing black, that twisted and twirled to form a rough circle. Mickie made out distinct shapes chasing one another to form the border. A lion, a wolf, and some kind of big cat, maybe a leopard. Within the circle was a strange twisting character of some unknown language. It sat near the top of the circle, where the number twelve would be on an clock. The symbol floated before Mickie, keeping steady in his sight as the cage shifted.
‘As it happens, I am also looking to leave this drafty hole. If we help each other in through equitable partnership both our needs can be met!’
Mickie glanced from the glowing symbol to the ecstatic Miz-Mag, then back to the symbol again. Mickie had still heard the tales of unfortunates who made convenient deals with the denizens of Hell. Glancing at the ceiling he realised time was beginning to run short.
‘What are the terms of this deal?’
Miz-Mag’s eyes glowed golden.
‘Oh simple, my dear friend. You will assist me in moving up, and I will grant you the power to make it out of here.’
The dark hole in the rocks was looming before the pair.
‘Moving up?’
He looked upwards as the clicking of the chain grew louder and could make out dull metal past the ceiling of stone.
‘What’s up there? Why is this thing just floating?’
The symbol remained in the air before Mickie as the clanking of the cage echoed across the encroaching stone. Miz-Mag glanced furtively into the darkness above before scuttling into a shadow behind him.
‘Times short kiddo. Deal’s the only way you’re making it out of this hole.’
Mickie looked to the dark image of the three large predators and the strange character, still hesitating. They reached the stony ceiling, rattling toward a ragged hole in the rock.
‘I can’t make a deal like this, I don’t even get to negotiate on it.’
There was a sharp scoff, Mickie could just barely make out the glint of eyes in the shadows.
‘No time. Its battle or burn kid.’
The cage passed through the gap in the stones and emerged into a massive chamber. Mickie rapidly glanced about, searching for his jailor. Steel catwalks were haphazardly strewn about, linking stone pillars to walls of dark metal. Chains hung from the ceiling everywhere, running to cages hung across the room or disappearing into gaps in the stone. Mickie followed the path of his own chain through a system of ceiling pulleys and into a massive winch. It was by the huge controls of this device that Mickie saw it. The monster turned from an array of levers and towards him. A thing of shining chitinous plate and narrow, sharp limbs. Six legs emerged from a bulbous torso coloured deep green. At the front of the thing emerged an oddly human shaped body, like the top half of a person in insectile armour. Its arms were horribly long and multi jointed, as the monster started moving towards Mickie they worked alongside the legs to navigate the complex terrain. Miz-Mag spoke up again, its voice sounding right in his ear.
‘It’s coming. Take the deal or you’re dead.’
‘What the fuck.’
Mickie whispered in horror as the beast moved among the cages and catwalks like a spider on a web, steadily closing on him.
‘You want to be bug shit kid? Take the deal.’
He could make out the monster’s face as it closed. It was that of a human but for chitinous plating and an insectile jaw of twitching mandibles.
‘Take it kid.’
Mickie looked to the glowing symbol, his hesitation fading under the rising dread.
‘Take it.’
Now it was closing Mickie registered the monster’s size. At least ten feet tall and just as long. The clicking and chittering it made as it neared set his skin crawling.
‘Come on kid.’
The terror of it all was overwhelming. Why was he here? He didn’t belong here? What did he do to deserve this?
‘Just take it. I can help. Just take the deal.’
Mickie looked at the dark light before him. He wanted out of this place.
‘Yes. Do it.’
Mickie reached forward and grasped the symbol. His hand passed right through, and the strange image winked out. There was nothing. It had disappeared and now he had nothing. Then a voice rang out in his head, deep, rich, and dripping with menace.
Oh my. Oh yes. It’s about time.
Then came pain. Unlike anything he had felt before. A burning spike centred upon his right hand that sent shocks throughout his body. Mickie seized up, unable to move or breath with the agony. Through the tears clouding his vision he saw the jailor reaching his cage. He screamed in silence with the pain and fear, helpless to act. A long arm reached for the door of his cage. Rather than a key the monster slid long thin fingers into the lock, twitching them for a few moments. Mickie drooled, hardly processing the beast anymore through the fog of his torment. The lock clicked and the door swung open. A hand came through the opening to scoop his twitching form from the floor. It wrapped long fingers about Mickie’s waist and lifted him effortlessly into the air. The monster brought him face to face with it, human eyes a rich blue tinged with hungry curiosity. With a final pulse of agony, the pain abruptly faded and Mickie fell limp in the jailors grip, heaving ragged breaths. For moments he was encapsulated by a relief so total it blanked out his surroundings. Then a shifting, clicking mouth drew his attention and the panic returned in a gut-wrenching surge.
‘Oh shit. Oh SHIT!’
He started squirming but the hand that held him was iron. He could feel the thin fingers, digging into his skin, cutting his flesh as he struggled. The monster made a strange clicking sound, leaning its large head towards him. It was going to bite his damn head off. Mickie raised his hands to the beast, desperate for a way out. As he did his right hand burned with heat momentarily.
CRACK
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Mickie was suddenly airborne, flying back from his captor with a right arm that ached from sudden pain. He landed heavily on a catwalk, something clattering loudly to the steel beside him. There was an inhuman screeching nearby that cut through his dazed mind. Mickie sat up abruptly, still feeling the tight grip of the monster’s fingers. The hand was still wrapped around him, attached to an arm that ended in a jagged stump of shattered chitin and green ichor. Further down the catwalk, beside his cage, the jailor stood wailing with its remaining arm wrapped about a mangled shoulder, oozing green fluid to the steel below.
Swallowing bile and scrambling back from the monster, Mickie gasped for breath around the panic clouding his senses. His bare back bumped against something on the catwalk, and he cast a look over his shoulder. An object of shiny metal and bleached bone lay in his path. It was about the length of his forearm and hand together. The majority of that length was made up by three conjoined cylinders of shiny steel. These were attached to a handle that looked to be carved bone. Mickie stared at the familiar shape. It was a gun. Not of a kind he could Identify easily, a bulky thing with three barrels forming a triangle and what appeared to be shaped metal designs along its length.
Mickie’s attention was pulled from the weapon by a sibilant hiss. He had no idea when the monster stopped screaming but found the threatening new sound to be far more terrifying. The beast was laser focussed upon his prone form; eyes wide with pain fuelled rage. There was a moment of silence as the monster and man locked gazes before movement erupted. Mickie fumbled behind himself for the strange gun, grasping the handle in a clumsy grip. The insectile creature bore down upon him, remaining arm drawn back for a stabbing strike. His fingers found the trigger and the gun went off with a cracking retort and flash of golden light. A hole was blown in the monster’s chest so large that there was hardly any flesh left around it. It was like the gun had shot a cannonball instead of normal bullets.
Poorly braced and lacking all training, Mickie failed to keep hold of the weapon as it bucked and the gun flew from his hands. It skidded across the catwalk before toppling off the side and into the abyss below. Mickie had little time to worry for the gun however, as the monster was on him. While the shot had most certainly killed it, the creature had been rushing him at speed that did not end with its life. Mickie attempted a rolling scramble to escape the collapsing body, but the severed arm still wrapped about his torso tripped him up. A crushing weight fell upon his legs, driving them into the catwalk and eliciting a pained scream. The large body of the beast had landed on his lower half and was crushing it like a vice. There was a wet tear from above and a heavy weight slammed into his back before bouncing off and rolling before him. The head of the monster had torn free from remaining body that held it. The terrible maw was slack in death, mandibles hanging loose to reveal a mouth of razor teeth. The eyes were wide open, and Mickie felt his gorge rise at how human they appeared. Wet ichor from the beast’s body was flowing onto his back and the surrounding floor. The smell of it was a rotten sweetness that burned at his nose.
Mickie shifted and jiggled his legs, managing to get enough viscera onto them to lubricate his escape. He lay flat and grasped a nearby railing post of the catwalk before heaving himself forward. The ridges of the chitinous body caught and tore at Mickie’s skin and he gritted his teeth against the pain. Gradually, the corpse took more of its own weight as he was pulled free, and Mickie escaped the crushing mass. He crawled forward only to bump into the beast’s disturbing head. With no pain to waylay him further Mickie was soon dry heaving onto the floor of the catwalk.
‘By the blood kid, way to make a mess.’
The voice came from Miz-Mag, who sat on the railing above, legs dangling into the open air. Mickie stared at the little demon, drool running down his mouth while he gasped for air.
‘What. What did you…’
He spat the taste of bile from his mouth.
‘What did you do to me?’
The little demon chuckled with glee, it hopped from the rail to stand by Mickie’s hunched form.
‘We made a deal my friend.’
It padded forward until it reached Mickie’s right hand, giving it an affectionate pat. Mickie realised the back of his hand was no longer smooth skin. Below a coating of gore, the skin was ridged and bumpy with the lines of a scar. The raised flesh formed a familiar pattern of three quadrupedal predators circling a strange symbol.
‘I must say, it does suit you. The ladies love a scarred fellow.’
Mickie got to his feet unsteadily, flexing his branded hand. The corpse was still too close and the smell was curling his insides. So, he stumbled down the catwalk and away from the silent insectoid, moving without thought for a destination.
‘The gun, what was it? How did I get it?’
The little demon trotted on the rail beside him, hands clasped behind his back.
‘Call it a sign-on bonus. I need you to take me up through the circles, an act that will require a certain capacity for chaos.’
Mickie sighed at the roundabout response. It seemed the creature was incapable of giving a straight answer. He trudged along the catwalks towards a distant wall with aching legs and the hope of finding a way out of this prison. The place was large but not at the scale of the pit below, perhaps the size of a football stadium. Navigating the catwalks around stone pillars and over pits leading to the oblivion below made shorter distance a chore to cross, however. As Mickie walked, he found the ache through his body gradually begin to fade. It was difficult to notice, slow enough that the incremental straightening of his spine and lengthening of his stride did not give him pause.
‘Mmm, its good to see you have inherited some good old hellish resistance kid.’
Mickie started as Miz-Mag spoke right into his ear. The demon had somehow moved from its spot on the rail to his shoulder without notice.
‘How did you…’
It grinned into his eye.
‘I’m sneaky kid, you’ll grow accustomed, I’m sure.’
Mickie swatted at the creature only to have it leap over his head and out of sight.
‘Come now, that’s hardly a proportionate reaction.’
The demon’s voice came from just in front of him. Mickie threw a glare at it. He was stuck in a nightmare and the only scrap of sanity offered thus far came with snark and trickster tendencies. It spoke of a deal as if Mickie was supposed to comprehend what that meant. From the stories he had heard a deal with the devil meant selling your soul. Is that what this thing was? The devil in disguise, trapping him an impossible situation to force a deal. There was probably no point in asking as he wouldn’t get a straight answer in return. Mickie certainly didn’t feel as if his soul had been grasped in the claws of an ancient evil. In fact, he felt good, too good for someone who recently had his legs crushed. Looking over the appendages he found them to be free of any bruising or wounds, even if they remain coated in blood and ichor. Miz-Mag had just mentioned resistance, was this what it meant? Mickie spared the imp one final glance before continuing along the catwalk.
The silence held for a couple of minutes before the mounting question overcame Mickies reluctance and he turned to the diminutive demon.
‘What are these circles you keep mentioning?’
The demon was once one more strolling on the rail beside him.
‘Circles, layers, rings, call them what you will. They denote the descending realms of Hell.’
Mickie was surprised at the straightforward answer.
‘And you want me to take you up through them? Which one are we at?’
‘As I previously told you, we find ourselves at the base of the ninth circle, right at the gates of the abyss.’
‘What if I didn’t take you? That insect thing almost took my head off. I bet it’s only going to get worse from here. What would even happen if I died again?’
The demon looked at him sharply.
‘We made a deal kid. We climb, or we die. Also consider that the depths of Hell might not be the safest place to reside. We stand within the Sovereign’s own dungeon you know.’
Mickie paused in his stride.
‘The Sovereign? Sovereign of what?’
Miz-Mag shrugged.
‘Of Hell.’
Mickie gaped for a moment before stuttering a response.
‘Sovereign of Hell?’
The only response to the question was his own soft echo among the rocky pillars. Miz-Mag had vanished from sight, apparently having had its fill of twisting answers and dodging questions. Mickie spent a moment searching the catwalks and stony surrounds, but there was no sign of the demon. He grasped his branded hand and released a heavy breath. For all that the strange deal had improved his health Mickie felt a weight pressing upon him, dread of his location and situation. Surely he did not deserve to be here. While he certainly had not been the most virtuous of souls, being sent to the bottom of Hell seemed like a step beyond reasonable. With a sigh Mickie set off once more through the silent dungeon. In the distance he noticed a large platform of solid metal and shifted direction towards it. Set into the wall beyond the platform was a huge set of double doors, a potential exit from the cavernous prison.
‘That’s promising.’
After wrapping around a broad stone pillar Mickie finally reached a catwalk leading to the platform. As he stepped onto the wide surface a knot loosened in his gut he had not known was there. Putting solid ground between himself and the endless abyss below was a relief. Heading towards the doors Mickie noted a large padlock holding the large slabs together. It was odd that a prison door would be locked from the inside, but he supposed that the deceased warden would need to control access from within. Mickie briefly recalled the monster using its long fingers to open the lock on his cage instead of keys. It made him doubtful of chancing upon a convenient set in the cavern.
On closer inspection the padlock was a sturdy piece made from the same dark metal as his cage.
The keyhole looked suitable for a cartoonishly large key, Mickie might have been able to pick the lock if he had any skill in the art. He thought back to the strange gun that appeared in his hand. If he still had the sort of firepower that blew most of the warden’s chest away, he would probably be able to mangle the lock enough to slide it free. It was a shame the device had fallen into the abyss when he last fired it. He recalled Miz-Mag’s chatter about the weapon, the demon had not seemed concerned at its loss. If Mickie was supposed to use the weapon as a tool to escape then that might mean it was not truly gone. He looked at his branded hand, recalling a brief burn preceding his removal of the warden’s clutches. Was this some part of the deal? Could he get the gun back? Without the demon to ask he could not be sure but with little alternatives it would be worth the attempt.
The first time he called the gun it had been almost reactionary, like throwing his arms in front of a punch. Mickie had needed to get away from the insect and his body had reacted. This time he attempted to recreate the move intentionally. Mickie held his hand open and thought of the weapon, of steel and bone. The back of his hand began to ache with heat, a gradual build up that resolved in a spike of pain causing him to wince. Suddenly there was a weight in his hand. Instinctively he grasped it and Mickie found himself holding the gun by the handle, index finger resting on the trigger.
Without a terrible monster bearing down on him Mickie took the time to soak in every detail of this mysterious, lifesaving item. He started with the three barrels that made up most of the weapon’s body. Each of the metal lengths was shaped into the form a familiar trio of predators. The Wolf currently sat atop the three, head wide in a snarl with red gemstone eyes. The Lion roared out with shining golden eyes to one side while a leopard growled with gems of inky black to the other. It was the same three beasts that circled one another on his branded hand. The handle was as he remembered, a thing of fine bone that sat comfortably in his hand like an expert swordsman’s blade. An unguarded bone trigger peaked from the steel body, rounded, and curved like fang from the beasts on the barrel. A bulky frame of metal held the entire thing together, its back and sides a grill that radiated a dull glow from within the weapon. Mickie held his free hand to the open slits and found them warm to the touch. Finally, the top of the body held a ridged point he guessed was supposed to act as a sight for aiming. The overall effect was something akin to a toy for aggressive children rather than an effective instrument of destruction.
Mickie released a heavy breath and looked from the gun to the bulky padlock binding the doors, wondering if this was the best idea. He needed out of this prison however, and this door was the only exit he had noted in his wanderings. The only way out was through. Mickie moved approximately thirty paces from the door and stood braced with feet apart. He had plenty of practice shooting the guns when alive, though nothing so peculiar as the device he currently held. For something so unwieldy the weapon felt light in his hands as he raised it in a double grip. Sighting as best he could Mickie took a steadying breath and pulled the trigger. There was a flash of flame from the shaped wolf’s head and the gun kick back in his hands. Being better prepared this time Mickie held to the gun as it bucked, taking a small step back from the force of its fire. The air took on a faint scent of sulphur that cause his nose to crinkle in distaste. Realising now that he had no way to reload the weapon Mickie looked for some kind of lever or pump. That was when the grills on the body of the gun released a hiss and steam vented from within. A steady discharge that ended with a firm ka-chunk. The barrels had rotated with the so the leopard’s head now sat atop the three. It appeared to be some form of auto reloading mechanism, one that apparently require no ammo.
After fiddling about with the device and being unable to pop the barrels or find a magazine Mickie turned his attention to the lock. He held the gun to the side and wandered over to the door to check the damage. Surprisingly, the metal of the lock had been hardly marred by the explosive shot. It’s surface was slightly dented and blackened, as was that of the surrounding door. It looked like his gun fired some form of buckshot, the effective range of which was extremely poor. If he wanted the lock gone Mickie would have to stand closer than before. Opting for a middle ground of fifteen paces Mickie set his stance once more and pointed the leopard’s head right at the lock. He fired and with a belch of dark smoke the gun kicked once more. The sound from the door in response to the shot was deafening. From so close Mickie almost dropped his gun to cover both ears in the aftermath of the screech from tearing metal. Ears ringing Mickie peered at the door to find he had clipped the lock and dented the huge doors inwards somewhat with the impact. A line of steel still held the slabs shut, though he would be able to slide it free. With ears ringing he moved forward once more and peered into the small gap leading to the room beyond.
The space beyond the dungeon was darker than prison cavern, though he could make out vague shapes beyond the threshold. As attempted to make out what they were the ringing in his ears began to fade, quieting enough that Mickie caught the panicked squeals of a tiny demon. Miz-Mag had appeared from nowhere, standing atop his shoulder and was screeching directly into his ear.
‘…sagging left teet kid. It’ll eat us, why did you do that? What is wrong with you? We have to flee, it’ll have your scent by now damn you.’
‘Huh?’
With a slow turn of the head Mickie peered at the manic creature.
‘Time to run!’
The ground rumbled. It was no earthquake but a single rolling shudder. Then there was another. And another. Mickie frowned at the small hole between the doors as a shadow passed by it. The last of the droning faded from his ears and Mickie made out a slow rumble from beyond the threshold.
‘Idiot, you can’t fight it. We need to run.’
Miz-Mag was practically convulsing atop his shoulder, beating the side of Mickie’s head and pulling his ear. Something came up to the hole, forming a dark object, strangely wet with two dark holes spaced at the top. A deep huff was paired with a blast of hot air that smelt like of meat stuffed in a garbage can and left to bake in the sun. Mickie staggered back, disturbed by the smell and the sticky warmth flowing along his skin. There was a brief pause, then a boom reverberated from behind the huge doors. The sound was familiar, far deeper and louder than usual, but something Mickie had heard uncountable times throughout his life. The bark of a dog. Mickie took a few stumbling steps backwards, eyes widening. If that was a bark, then the dark object was probably a nose. A huge nose. One that had gotten a whiff of his pungent, ichor crusted form. The doors boomed and shuddered. The damaged lock held but Mickie saw the metal bend slightly with the blow. Not good. He took a few more hurried steps back as a series of overlapped barks shook the cavernous prison. That was definitely more than one dog barking. Mickie got a sinking feeling about what lay beyond those doors. A second crash warped the lock further, broking Mickie from his wide eyed spell and sending him running onto the catwalks. He weaved around stone pillars with a demon screaming in his ear and a monster shaking the world behind him.
There was a resounding crash behind him, and the barking grew louder still. Mickie rounded a pillar and chance a look back to find a sight that dried his mouth and set his knees shaking. The door had been blown open and three huge dog heads were ducking into the prison chamber. They were on the end of long serpentine necks that shifted and curled with graceful movements. The heads themselves were terrifyingly comical. Mickie had heard about Cerberuses before, the three headed dogs featured heavily in ancient myth and modern fiction both. He had always pictured something like a Rottweiler or Pitbull as the base breed for the monster, a suitably muscled and fearsome appearance for a massive beast of legend. The beast before him contrasted entirely with that preconception. Instead the three heads had the slightly squashed and bulging eyed face of a Chihuahua. They were all coated in dirty blond fur, with mouths full of large teeth jutting through the gums at odd angles. One head had a huge underbite while another a slighter overbite. The final featured a tongue that lolled from its mouth even with the jaw firmly shut. As a personal supporter of dog adoption and humane breeding, Mickie found the effect more disturbing than any brutish hunting breed.
As the beast slid into the chamber he realised it was proportioned less like an actual dog than a ferret. The body was long and low to the ground, with thick and stubby legs built for moving considerable mass. A tail far broader than that of a typical Chihuahua followed, heavy and apparently prehensile from the way it shifted and coiled. It was more like a strange, furred serpent or lizard to Mickie’s eyes than an actual dog. On his shoulder Miz-Mag broke their stunned silence.
‘Well kid, we’re in for it now. That thing is gonna chew us up and shit us out.’
Mickie did not respond to the morose comment, instead walking slowly away from the Cerberus. The metal of the catwalks was study and smooth, perfect for the soft fall of feet. Mickie did his best to keep the hound in sight while remaining as hidden as possible. He guessed it did not have great eyesight, the bulging eyes on two of the heads had a slight milky colouration that might even indicate blindness. The head with the lolling tongue was clear eyed however, and it was raised high above the others, clearly trying to catch a glimpse of wayward prey.
Not wanting to trust in the beast’s deficiencies to guard him within the empty prison, Mickie moved away from the Cerberus and back towards the corpse of the warden. He had the beginnings of a plan, though one that would only work if he avoided the beast’s attention. The huge creature started to prowl away from its position by the door, huge paws crushing catwalks and tail winding about stone pillars for support.
It did not take long for Mickie to realise it was on his trail. He had been scented through the hole in the door and now the head with the underbite was snuffling forward along his path. Picking up the pace Mickie finally reached the corpse of the creepy insectoid. The bulky body was splayed across the catwalk, dripping the remnants of its sickly smelling ichor onto the metal. The oozing lifeblood was far more pungent than the crusty coating Mickie sported. Feeling sickened, but with no time to hesitate, he moved to where the fallen head sat by the body of the monster. Avoiding the strangely human eyes Mickie scooped it up and moved to the ichor puddle surrounding the main body. The head had a ridged plate on the back that served as a handhold to dip it into the pungent juices. Coated head in hand he moved away from the corpse in a separate direction to the Cerberus. The monster had been closing on his position and it did not take long for the beast to find the corpse on the catwalk. Mickie had hoped the monster was kept hungry as a means to make it more enthusiastic in the pursuit of wayward prisoners. His guess was proven correct when there were a few excited yips from the direction of the dead warden followed by the sounds of wet tearing and crunching. With the meal holding the Cerberus’ attention, Mickie turned to the oddly silent demon on his shoulder. Miz-Mag was trembling at the vision of the monstrous animal shredding the insectoid corpse.
‘Hey, demon. Are those doors the only way out?’
Miz-Mag started and turned golden eyes to him.
‘Of course not kid, there’s a secret staff passage out as well.
‘Where is it then?’
The demon raised a hand and pointed a fair way past the busy Cerberus. Mickie swore under his breath.
‘All right. Doggy den it is. Anything else blocking the exit there?’
‘Smaller door, pup can’t get through it so the lock ain’t complicated, the gun should handle it easy enough.’
Mickie nodded and realised he had lost the gun at some point, strange, he did not remember dropping it. With the ability to summon the weapon at will he supposed it didn’t really matter if he had it on hand. Running as fast as the unwieldy head would allow, Mickie moved once more towards the platform and massive doors. He did not get that far before the sounds of feasting abruptly ended and overlapping barks cut through the quiet of the prison chamber. It was time to drop his distraction. Mickie found a suitable spot further along his path between three tightly spaced stone pillars. The catwalk ran over a crevasse that was deep but did not break into the abyss below. He had briefly entertained a hope the monster might prefer a post meal nap, but the loud passage of the beast was getting closer. Lobbing the head into the crevasse was straight forward and Mickie did not slow his pace to check his throw. With the monster closing he sped up more, moving as fast as possible while remaining silent.
There was an excited series of barks before a huge boom rang out across the cavern. Mickie risked a peak towards the beast and found two of its heads buried in the space he dropped the head while the final snuffled and yipped about the outside. It was the tongue lolling head, the one with the best eyesight. Of all the heads to get left out this one was the worst, if it glimpsed him Mickie was certain the beast would come running.
The platform was growing tantalisingly close when disaster stuck. For the most part the metal catwalks were smooth and easy to traverse. Having grown accustomed to the perfect footing Mickie failed to notice a ridge on the intersection of between two metal walkways. His toes caught painfully on the lifted metal, sending him crashing into a support rail with a reverberating bang. Following the fall there was silence throughout the prison. Mickie looked slowly to Miz-Mag, the demon meeting his eyes with trepidation. The pair turned towards the Cerberus and locked eyes with those of a goofy Chihuahua. The clear-eyed head was focussed upon him while the remaining two had turned from their play, ears perked. Mickie dared not move a muscle, hoping desperately the oversized dog-rodent would return to his lure. The underbite head started to shift back towards the crevasse but a snapping yip from its tongue-lolling sibling pulled it free. The final head was sniffing the ground and upon catching his scent let out an excited bark that in turn got the others worked. With a crash the chase was on.
Mickie bolted through catwalk at a dangerous clip, using the rails to support sharp turns as he raced for the doors. In the distance the Cerberus was almost serpentine as it wound between pillars, crushing catwalks and sliding over pits to the abyss. The noise of its passage was a growing racket that drove Mickie to push harder. He could hear the beast getting closer, even as he closed upon the open double doors. Ahead the final stretch of catwalk ended abruptly in a dead end, leaving an open-air gap to the platform. Mickie did not slow as he approached the rail. With large steps he leapt atop the metal guard and jump out towards the platform. The leap was a distance he would not have attempted in normal circumstances, further than would be comfortable for someone of his middling height. However, whatever Miz-Mag’s deal had done to his body had changed his physical capabilities. Mickie took a moment to appreciate his newfound strength as he easily cleared the railing bordering the platform. His landing elicited a stumble that shifted to a dead sprint as he made for the door. The Cerberus was close, and he still needed to clear its den.
‘Kid, the gun, call the gun!’
Miz-Mag was alternatively laughing and screaming throughout the chase and now grasped his ear with shaky hands. The brand burned as he reached the doors and shot into the chamber beyond. Behind him the crashing died as the Cerberus reached the platform and closed upon him. The beast’s lair was little more than an oversized hall off stone, smelling of rot and littered with the bones of previous meals. Mickie leapt a pile of stinking remains, breath ragged and weapon in hand. He could see the second door now, a single piece of thick wood with a normal lock and handle. The shot would have to be good to ensure he blasted the thing open entirely. Snapping came from behind as the three heads attempted to snag him. Hot breath blasted by in terrifying gusts. Ten paces from the door Mickie raised his shotgun with the Lion’s head roaring. At five paces he fired. There was a flash of golden light before a sledgehammer slammed into Mickie’s back, lifting him clear off his feet. A moment of weightlessness was followed by a moment of intense pressure before Mickie blacked out.