Mickie glanced at his demonic partner, hunched on hands and knees as he was, the red fiend was almost level with him. Miz-Mag finished its laugh and went to speak further but was cut off as the groggy mortal retched onto the tiled floor. The pain might be gone, but he felt wrong, like something had twisted his insides. His last clear memories were of the fight, the gorgon’s eyes, its claws punching through his check to tear at his gums. Gingerly Mickie held a hand to his face, only to find the skin smooth and unblemished.
‘By the blood kid, take it easy!’
His partner danced away from the mess, suddenly reproachful. Mickie swallowed hard, fingers digging into the floor as he shook off the effects of that strange attack. Only now that he had regained full use of his faculties did he realise that the assault on his soul had been what turned him back to flesh and blood. Dazed, he turned his head towards Miz-Mag.
‘What was that?’
The little fiend gave a short barking squeak of a laugh and shrugged.
‘Honestly kid, I don’t have a clue. Not part of the plan at the very least.’
‘The plan?’
His question was a reflex response, body shifting to autopilot as his head swirled with the confusion of returning sensation. Thoughts of the dreams he had experienced, the time he had been locked up as stone, the question of how he was even alive. It was all a twisted mess, taking up his metal space and proving difficult to dislodge. Mickie did not press Miz-Mag when the demon failed to respond. Instead, he closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. For now, what he needed was to regain control, quell the confusion and the panic.
The storm in his head calmed, and Mickie pushed aside the less pressing issues. He was alive, he was in the statue hall of the spire, and he needed to get moving before something stumbled in and discovered him. Before he could leave however, there was the matter of his reawakening. Mickie opened his eyes, glancing about until he discovered the item he so recently ripped from his head. It was a large wreath of inky black thorns, tipped with the red of his blood. Touching a hand to his hair coated his fingers in blood, though the wounds themselves seemed to be healing fast enough.
‘What is that thing?’
Mickie asked as Miz-Mag picked its way around the bile puddle towards the thorny crown.
‘Not sure. Just popped back in to find it on your head. Knew something was weird with it once I saw you were bleeding though.’
Mickie ran his eyes over the sharp thorns.
‘How would that be weird?’
His partner came to a stop a respectable distance from the wreath.
‘Because you were still stone at the time. Statues don’t normally bleed. Tried to get it off you, but the moment I touched the thing…’
Miz-Mag shuddered at the memory, and Mickie understood the sentiment. If he never felt the grind of that red mass against his soul again it would be too soon. While the question of the wreath was one for which he wanted answers, it was not the most pressing problem the duo faced. Rising to his feet, Mickie glanced about the hall, locating a stone warrior with a frayed looking tunic. He walked over and began to tear the covering from the marble body.
‘Mag, you mentioned a plan, do you have one?’
The little demon scampered over and clambered up to his shoulder.
‘Yeah, I got one. Been cooking up a way to get you out with a pal of mine. This was not exactly how we intended it to go.’
Pal? Yet another question that would have to wait. He got the fabric free and turned back towards the thorn wreath.
‘So, I wasn’t meant to turn back?’
Miz-Mag gave him an annoyed flick to the ear.
‘Obviously you were, just not yet. Wanted to get you someplace safe first.’
They reached the thorny wreath and Mickie made to drape the fabric over it when something caught his eye. A strip of white amongst the dark. Using leather to grip the dark spines, he carefully lifted the deadly crown, revealing a strip of cloth tied to the twisted wood. Ink darkened fabric, spelling out a few words in Latin.
‘Ex sanguine et vitibus natus. Born of blood and vine. The hell does that mean?’
While the phrase confused Miz-Mag, the words struck Mickie like a thunderbolt. He stiffened slightly, then coughed to hide his surprise.
‘I didn’t know you could speak Latin.’
If Miz-Mag noticed his reaction, the small demon did not comment as it puffed out its chest.
‘I’m over a century old, I know a lot of things. Now are we going to stop mucking about and get moving?’
With another surreptitious glance at the slice of fabric Mickie covered the wreath in cloth and bound it leather. Hopefully that would be enough to stop any of the spines from poking through. He stashed the bundle in an inside pocket of his jacket.
‘Well, now that’s done, I’d say it’s time we hit the road. I’ve had to make some alterations on the fly, and it won’t be easy…’
Miz-Mag trailed off as it realised Mickie had stopped listening. The mortal’s attention had drifted to the end of the hall, settling on a large set of barred doors.
‘Come on kid. Focus up. You want to get out of here or not?’
Of course, Mickie wanted to leave. Yet he paused, held still by the memory of his last escape. While the writing on the wreath made him almost certain this was not a trap, he was still unsure of their chances. Even if they made it out of the spire there was still the rest of the city, through which he had no doubts they would be hunted like rats in a grain silo.
Belphegor and Illiath had both demonstrated that there were demons outside his capacity to fight, and he would be in their territory the entire time. What they needed, Mickie concluded, was an ally. Someone strong, with goals that aligned to their own. A pair of eyes swam up from memory, open, driven, and angry.
‘You’ve explored this place, right? You know what’s behind that big door?’
Mickie gestured to the barred threshold, receiving a dubious look from Miz-Mag.
‘Sure, I’ve been back there, but it’s not somewhere we should be heading at the moment.’
‘Does it hold what I’m thinking it does?’
Now his partner was really getting concerned.
‘If you’re thinking of the gorgon that turned you to stone, then you’d be right. Look, kid, we really got to get moving.’
Mickie started walking, but not in the direction Miz-Mag wanted. The demon let lose a frustrated groan.
‘Please don’t. We need to go.’
‘And what? Get caught the moment we set foot in the city?’
His voice was tight with anger.
‘Mag, Belphegor treated my capture like a game before feeding me to the wolves. Even with the brand, I was an ant to it. We can’t escape alone. It’s like the palace, we had the Kindle Kin there.’
They neared the door.
‘Kid, we already have help. I mentioned my buddy before didn’t I, they’ve got some serious muscle.’
His partner paused briefly, hesitating.
‘And they can see me too. Got eyes like the palace lord.’
That sounded supremely suspicious. Mickie came to a stop and turned his head, giving the demon a serious look.
‘We’ll leave this buddy of yours for later. For now, I just want you to answer one thing.’
Miz-Mag appeared to be about to speak, but upon meeting his eyes the fiend held its tongue.
‘Do you know what this friend wants?’
His partner tilted its head slightly.
‘Wants? It wants to help us, it’s been helping me plan for your escape.’
‘No, that’s what you want from it. I’m talking about what it wants from you and I. There’s a difference.’
For a creature so old, Miz-Mag was terrible at interpreting other beings. It was something Mickie had realised during their time together, a product of a creature unable to interact with others. One who got information by spying instead of interacting. Mickie had already been fooled once by Illiath, and was not keen to play into the hands of yet another power hungry fiend.
‘This is hell Mag. When does anyone down here do anything without getting something in return? You saved me, but now I have to carry you around, the Kindle Kin helped us in the palace but also used us as bait for the Mechanist. The only person to actually help us pro bono was Aria, and look what happened to her. Do you get what I’m saying?’
The little demon gave a slow nod.
‘So, what does this friend of yours want then?’
‘I-I’m not sure. I think it wants to meet you, never really bothered asking why.’
‘And that’ Mickie said, ‘is a problem.’
He laid his hands on the heavy bar across the doors and began to heave it aside. Gradually, it slid into a holding space, leaving the doors free to open.
‘What we need, is an ally we actually understand, one who won’t screw us over immediately.’
He set his hands against a band of metal and began to push, a path beyond forming with the creak of old hinges.
‘I suppose you have a point kid, but why now? And why the gorgon?’
Both were fair questions. They were pushing their luck by not immediately fleeing, it was most likely just a matter of time until someone discovered his statue was not where it should be. Not only that, but the only time he had met the serpentine demon they had been locked in a deathmatch. Yet their fight was, in essence, the very reason why he made the call. Mickie had always found an honesty in the immediacy of violence, and in the moments before his flesh turned to stone he had seen something in the gorgon. An anger he was familiar with, one that he could trust. He stepped through the open door, heaving it shut behind them.
‘I’ve got a hunch.’
‘Are you kidding me! You give me that whole spiel and then say you’re acting on a hunch.’
‘I’m good with these kinds of things.’
His thoughts turned to Illiath.
‘Most of the time anyway. I was right to trust Aria, wasn’t I?’
It looked as if Miz-Mag wanted to argue further, but as the large door thudded shut behind them, the fiend realised there would be no changing his mind.
‘Alright, but if you get stoned again, I’m just gonna let you gather dust.’
The hall in which the duo found themselves was far grander than those of their old cell block. A single passage, lined with glowing gems and tiled with rough stone. Mickie covered the distance with urgent strides, soon coming to an opening next to a door set in the wall.
‘Snake’s in there.’
Miz-Mag gestured to the passage’s end, then turned to the door.
‘But control room’s just here. At least I think it’s the control room, haven’t gotten in before.’
Mickie nodded slowly, stepping past the door and into the open chamber. Peeking about the wall he could not see any windows leading into the adjacent room, only stone stretching from floor to ceiling. It looked like the guards used cameras to watch the gorgon, probably an added measure to keep themselves safe. He thought briefly about breaking down the door but stopped himself. If they were using cameras, it meant they would be unable to see him, something that could be used to his advantage.
The gorgon’s cell was not difficult to find, positioned as it was in the centre of the circular chamber. It was large, the same steel box that had risen through the sands to deliver the demon to their fight. As had been the case in the arena, there was no opening to the cube, no gap through which the serpentine warrior could use its deadliest weapon. He had hoped they might be able to talk with the imprisoned fiend, maybe get her to lure the guards from their control room. It looked like that was not going to be an option.
Returning to the door set into the wall, Mickie called forth his gun and readied himself. He would just have to return to the usual method. The door was blown inward with a single charged shot, and Mickie stormed into the room. Three imps turned wide eyes his way, one at the monitoring station and two playing a game with cards and knucklebones at a small table.
‘Mag!’
Mickie held up a hand and his companion hopped into it. With a flick of the wrist, he launched the little demon at the imp manning the controls. While Miz-Mag screamed through the air Mickie turned to the remaining guards. They were pushing chairs back and attempting to rise. Far too slow.
In moments the duo had secured the room, Miz-Mag ensuring no backup had been called by targeting the imp at the controls. Mickie stood from the silent body of the last guard, wiping its blood from his hands with the leg of his jeans. He turned to the display feeds above the control station. Images of the room outside were relegated to the corners, most screens taken up by an image of a chained prisoner.
Unlike when the gorgon had arrived in the arena, there was no armour covering the bronze scales and dark skin. The same ragged prisoner’s garb from the second portion of their fight was all the demon wore apart from its chains. He had almost expected the arena’s champion to get some form of luxurious special treatment. Apparently, all its prowess in battle had earned was tighter security.
Whereas he had been kept captive by a manacle on each wrist, Mickie counted five binding the serpentine warrior. Wrists, ankles, and most cruelly, its head. A tight helmet binding the gorgon from the nose up, chained to the floor by heavy, rune covered metal. The guards were relentless when it came to protection from those slitted eyes, so much so that it gave Mickie an idea. He glanced about and soon found a pair of cheap looking glasses on the desk, same as had been worn by the audience during the fight. It made sense that the guards would keep some additional protection handy.
‘Alright.’
He slid the glasses on, they were small but would serve.
‘Pop open the cage. Also, while you at it, unlock its head and legs. Better to keep the wrists secured though, just in case.’
Nothing happened for a few moments. Mickie turned a questioning eye to Miz-Mag, only to find the demon staring back, deadpan.
‘Access codes? I did mention I never made it in here.’
‘Ah.’
Mickie glanced about the room, noticing one of the guards at the table stirring from its enforced slumber. He started towards it, hoping what came next would not take very long.
----------------------------------------
It was, Mickie mused, a blessing and a curse to have a reputation again. It was something he had grown sick of when alive, something he had run from. Yet, it did open seemingly difficult doors with ease. When the guard had woken, it had recognised him from the arena, and been extremely confused as to why he was not a statue. After a good look at its companions, it had not been difficult to get the hell-spawn to spill what it knew. An interrogation that might have taken a dangerously long time was made easy, all because the fiend knew who he was, fearing the mortal and the mark he bore.
With the access codes obtained Miz-Mag had been able to do as he asked, opening the box and unshackling the gorgon’s head and legs. Mickie made his way out of the control room and towards the demon, undersized glasses guarding his soul. For her part the gorgon did not seem particularly deadly, looking about in disorientation as her eyes adjusted to the sudden light. They found Mickie as he approached and narrowed to a wary squint.
He had been unsure if the glasses would work, and was relieved to find he could meet the slitted gaze of the gorgon without issue. It held none of the emotion it had at the end of their fight. All Mickie saw was the demon, glaring at him with suspicion, the blood red brand of a crescent standing in stark relief on her forehead.
‘I remember you. The mortal from the arena, the one with the gun. How did you break the bindings?’
The gorgon spoke up as he came to a stop. Her voice was hard, cold as one might expect from such a proficient killer.
‘Yeah, that’s me. Almost blew your head off too.’
His tone was amiable, but not gentle.
‘That was not an answer.’
‘No’ Mickie said without affectation, ‘it wasn’t.’
They stared one another down. The mortal let the silence hang, waiting for the gorgon to speak.
‘Why are you here?’
She asked the question as if it pained her, speaking through gritted teeth. It was likely the serpentine warrior thought he had come for revenge.
‘I want to make a deal.’
He received a confused look, the answer taking the gorgon by surprise.
‘A deal? Are you blind or something? Can’t see I’m already branded?’
‘Not a pact. No brands or binding. I mean a mutually beneficial exchange.’
There was a drawn moment of silence before the prisoner laughed. It was a short, sharp sound, over as soon as it started.
‘Right. Of course. A gentlemen’s agreement if you will. All cards on the table.’
Irritation spiked through Mickie, and he crouched down level with the warrior.
‘Look. I want out of this arena, and I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you do too.’
He paused, continuing when the gorgon failed to disagree.
‘Now, I happen to be in the fortunate situation of having both the opportunity and means to escape. What I’m lacking is the ability to turn anyone who gets in the way into art piece.’
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
That caught the prisoner’s interest, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
‘How would you have the means to escape?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘I think it does.’
The retort was a sharp whipcrack, paired with an angry glare. Mickie did not reply, raising his eyebrows and waiting for the gorgon to continue.
‘You come in here, start prattling on about some escape opportunity, and won’t even elaborate as to what it is? How could this not be a trap?’
He could not elaborate because Miz-Mag had not actually told him the plan. Not that Mickie planned to explain that to his prospective ally.
‘Why in the nine circles would this be a trap? What motive would I have for releasing you?’
‘How should I know, the assholes that run this death bucket do all kinds of weird shit. Politics, fun, it could be anything.’
The gorgon spat the words with a mix of disgust and malice. Slitted eyes traced his hand, settling upon the brand.
‘And you have the mark of the Soul Lord, did you think I wouldn’t notice.’
Mickie flexed his scarred hand, deciding that this current discussion was going nowhere.
‘We both are marked; both have made deals. I did not make my deal with the Soul Lord, no matter what the brand might indicate.’
That received a confused frown but no retort.
‘I’m going to be breaking out of this prison. Come with me or stay and be a pet until someone stronger comes along.’
He stood and walked back towards the control room.
‘Where are you going?’
The question was less aggressive, the prospect of a missed opportunity final cracking the gorgon’s shell of suspicion.
‘To prove a point.’
Mickie replied over his shoulder before striding through the warped security door. Miz-Mag waited on the desk, looking mildly panicked.
‘What I tell you kid, a waste of time.’
‘Unlock the wrist shackles.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The gorgon’s wrist restraints, unlock them.’
Miz-Mag gaped at him, then at the monitors containing the feed from the cell, then back at him. He had been expecting a burst of frustration, so was surprised when his companion suddenly laughed.
‘Ah why not? Worst that can happen is that we’re both statues for eternity.’
A short dance across the controls later and Mickie was heading back out to meet the scaled demon. She stood rubbing her wrists, uncertainty plain even through the tint of his glasses.
‘There you go. Free either way. Now, you can choose to sit here and let them reattach your chains, try and bust out on your own, or pick the wisest choice, and help me escape.’
He stopped a small distance from the gorgon, wary of the speed at which she could move. When the bronze eyes met his thugh, Mickie finally saw the emotions he had been seeking. Hope, fear and suspicion, a mix he knew only too well.
‘When we fought, just before the stone took you, you had your gun to my neck.’
It was not a question, but he answered all the same.
‘Yeah, I remember.’
‘My abilities do not overcome immediately. There was a moment in which you could have killed me, I felt it, knew it was my end, yet you did not shoot. Why?’
This, Mickie felt, was an important question, not one he could brush off even though he might want to.
‘There was a moment in the fight.’
He started.
‘A moment when I realised. You’re like me. Most of the fighters are little more than animals, it’s what this place does to them. But not me, and not you.’
He held her gaze for a long moment before breaking the tension.
‘And I mean, I was done for either way.’
A silence settled between them as the gorgon thought. When she eventually did look to Mickie, he knew the answer before it was even spoken.
‘Alright. I’ll help. We escape the prison then the city. Go our separate ways at the seventh circle. Agreed?’
He grinned.
‘Agreed.’
----------------------------------------
The mortal and the gorgon made their way swiftly towards the exit of the oversized prison. Miz-Mag was waiting at the ready besides the door to the control room and scampered onto his shoulder.
‘Well kid. I hope it’s worth it.’
Mickie didn’t respond, unwilling to explain why he seemed to be talking to himself to his new ally. Perhaps he would once they were out of the palace, but it was far too risky with all the hidden surveillance about.
‘So,’ the gorgon said ‘what is this grand plan of yours? I’m going to need something, or I’ll just be a liability.’
It was a valid question, and honestly something Mickie should have gotten from Miz-Mag by now. He gave the little demon a questioning look, getting an eye roll as it began a rapid explanation.
‘Well…’
He paused near the exit to the tunnel, pretending to be mulling over his words. Luckily his partner’s plan was not complicated, and he had the outline in moments.
‘We need to reach an abandoned hangar a few levels up. Once we get there a modified flyer will be waiting. One designed to pilot itself.’
A lie, but the best he could come up with on the spot. It would actually be Miz-Mag in the pilot’s chair, apparently the little demon had been training to fly with its new friend.
‘Then we head down to a district on the third tier to meet a contact, who will assist us with escaping the city.’
‘A self-flying vehicle?’
She sounded sceptical.
‘I’ve been assured it is both effective and swift.’
‘Right. And why aren’t we just flying straight out of the city?’
A good point. Mickie paused in another false deliberation as Miz-Mag rapid fired the answer to him.
‘Because the city is ringed by watchtowers manned by guards with flyers of their own. If we push too far out we’ll be intercepted, it’s better to lose them in the city first.’
The explanation appeared to have mollified the gorgon, though she still looked sceptical.
‘Look, if you’re not convinced just split from us when we step outside.’
He got an angry look.
‘You know as well as I that my chances are best with you. It’s just all the external help. A lot of this plan relies on factors outside our control.’
It was a point that irritated Mickie as well, though not that he would admit it. Plans tended to go awry even when he thought he controlled all the variables. Inviting outside influence was a recipe for chaos.
‘That’s true, but it’s the best chance we have of making it out. I tried to escape on my own once and failed, it’s what got me sent up against you. Remember, there’s still the city to clear after this, we’ll need the help.’
The gorgon did not seem satisfied but let the matter drop. Seeing the conversation was done, Mickie turned towards the closed doors of the prison. He wrapped a hand about a large handle and heaved one of the heavy slabs inwards, relieved to find the outside had not been resealed. Miz-Mag had told him while working open the gorgon’s shackles that the control room probably had camera’s linked to an external feed. The demon had doctored the footage inside the prison itself, but said they could still be given away if someone checked externally.
When the door swung open without resistance Mickie took it as good sign that they were in the clear, at least for now. The trio stepped into the hall only to freeze in place. A small cluster of demons stood about the place where his statue had been, an official looking pair and three guards. As the band of would be escapees stepped into the light the entire group turned towards them. Eyes widened, but any shouts were cut off as the gorgon came to stand next to him. Demons turned white with fear, then paler still as skin hardened into stone.
In moments all but one of the guards was a cowering statue. The survivor began to fumble at its jacket with eyes on the floor, trying to grab a radio. Mickie cursed and rushed the panicked fiend, gun forming in his hand. From a pocket the imp got hold of the device, pulling it out to shout down the line.
‘This is Alimagus of patrol group theta-seven. We have…’
The voice was cutoff with a gunshot, the leopard head turning both the radio and guard into a broken mess. Mickie did not stop running, he made it to one of the stone guards and snagged a key pass. Then, for good measure, he took an extra from the more officious looking demons too. As the gorgon moved to catch up to them, he spoke softly to Miz-Mag.
‘You good on directions?’
‘You know it kiddo.’
‘Alright.’
He turned to his new companion as she neared.
‘Grab a rifle from one of these chaps. Then we’ll need to run.’
A small serpent slithered from the gorgon’s head, dangling across her face. The demon brushed it aside as she replied.
‘Can’t use a gun.’
Mickie gave her an incredulous look, receiving a shrug in response. Stashing that question away for later, he waved her on and they set off down a side passage, running as Miz-Mag shouted directions. It was only a few turns before an alarm began to thrum, a deep reverberating base that trembled through floor. A crackling voice soon followed the siren.
‘Attention all personnel. There has been a breach in the containment of the Stone Eye. Lockdown will soon be engaged. All teams report to sector leads for deployment orders.’
No sooner did the voice finish up than the trio rounded a corner and stumbled into a pack of confused guards. Unlike the first group none of them were quick enough to avoid his new ally’s deadly gaze, and soon all that remained was a group of startled statues. He and the gorgon picked their way through the stone cluster and towards a set of stairs.
‘Be advised the Stone Eye is moving out of sub-level four.’
Rather than trickle through the hierarchy of enforcement this announcement was over the speakers, a warning to the general staff. It also made Mickie pause, midway up a step. Of course they would be tracking the gorgon over the video feeds. His new ally shot him an irritated look as his brain spat out a potential solution, as if it was ready made and just waiting for him to encounter the problem.
‘Mag. You can feel my abilities. Will my jacket make her invisible?’
‘Huh?’
Miz-Mag seemed taken aback by the question while the gorgon was growing frantic.
‘What are you on about? We need to run!’
‘Mag!’
He hissed urgently at the little fiend.
‘Yeah, right, yeah. Maybe? I think?’
Good enough. As Mickie set off up the stairs Miz-Mag moved to his head while he pulled his jacket free. The serpentine warrior was relieved to be moving, but still looked to him with concern.
‘This really isn’t the time to be getting changed.’
He spoke over her.
‘Look, it’s hard to explain but I’m invisible to digital sight. I think if you wear my jacket you might be too.’
Her expression shifted from concerned to slightly confused, yet a clawed hand still caught his protective layer when he tossed it over.
‘Quickly. Before they hem us in.’
They reached their exit door just as the gorgon pulled her second arm into the sleeve. Immediately Mickie felt something, a tugging deep within, something his body inherently resisted. With a sensation akin to pricking a finger Mickie pushed through the resistance, and a trickle of power flowed from his soul.
‘Strange, I definitely feel… something.’
The gorgon eyed him briefly before turning back to the door. Mickie noticed with a twinge of amusement as he observed that the jacket was a tad too small on her broader frame.
‘Alright. That should work. Let’s move.’
They forced open the door only to be met by a shout to stand down followed by the clatter and hiss of a metallic object. Smoke poured from a cylinder on the ground and Mickie cursed. It could just be smoke to block the gorgon’s eyeline, but if the guards had opted for something stronger, he could not afford to wait. Taking a deep breath Mickie ducked low, darted out from behind cover and scooped up the hissing projectile. Without even looking he sent the object down the stairs and rushed through the door.
The cluster of demons beyond wore heavy gear and held large shields of reinforced plastic. Batons crackling with electricity were poking between the gaps, ready to subdue their wayward slave knight. As Mickie darted forward, he saw eyes widening behind large, tinted glasses, imps confused to see him. He realised, right before blasting a hole in their formation, that the guards did not know he was with the gorgon. They would have got the warning then checked their feeds, seeing only the Stone Eye and prepared accordingly.
As a result, the formation was ready for the unarmed serpent they would have tracked on camera, and fell to pieces at his onslaught. A stun baton came at him from the side and Mickie grasped it, ripping it from a confused demon and jamming it into another. Then his new companion was behind him, clawed arm lifting a demon and bodily hurling it down the foggy stairs. She twisted back around with its sparking weapon and set into the surrounding fiends. These guards might have been heavily armoured, but their opponents had been forged by blood and sand. They were fury and speed, cleaving through the barricade before moving on, leaving only twitching and limp bodies behind.
Miz-Mag took them through a winding series of turns, and Mickie was happy to find no guards manoeuvring into position before them. It appeared the trick with his jacket was working, though the demons running the show were probably clued into his presence at this point. The trio came to a stop before an innocuous section of wall as Miz-Mag shouted for a halt.
‘What is it? Guards are coming.’
Beside him the gorgon had a hard look, determined after their successful destruction of the demon blockade. Mickie gave his little partner an inquisitive look, and the little fiend pointed to the wall.
‘We need to blast through this.’
He gaped, hissing a response before he could stop himself.
‘It’s steel, it’s going to take way too long!’
‘I wasn’t the one who woke up early then decided to break out hell’s most wanted. Originally, we would have gone a different way, but thanks to you there’s a lockdown in effect. Through that wall is an elevator shaft that we need to get to.’
He cursed and turned to the sheet of grey metal, maybe a charged shot would be enough. The gorgon, who had been watching his frantic conversation with narrowed eyes, chose that moment to speak up.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘This wall, we need to clear it.’
In the distance he heard shouts as the wreckage of their entry was uncovered. A serpentine gaze regarded him, then the barrier of steel. The snakes on her head began to writhe with restless energy.
‘Very well. Give me a moment and turn away. The glasses will not protect you from this.’
Mickie was about to question what she meant when he felt a change in the air. On the gorgons head the innumerable serpents stiffened, then whipped around to face the wall. There was a weight pressing upon him, upon his soul, as it had when Belphegor and Mammon used their powers. He turned his eyes away as it spiked, and from the unseen steel there came a creaking, cracking sound.
‘It is done.’
Her voice was weary, heavy with the burden of the power she had brought to bear. Mickie turned back around to find the wall, alongside a good section of the floor and ceiling, turned to rough, flaky stone.
‘It is brittle and weak, easy to break.’
‘Holy hell.’
He wanted to ask why she didn’t do that in their fight, but once again locked away his question for later. The shouts were growing less distant as their pursuers combed the winding corridors. Taking a step forward, Mickie fired into the stone wall. The weakened material exploded into a chunks, a dust cloud falling to reveal the dark interior of an elevator shaft.
‘There should be a ladder against one wall, we need to climb upwards.’
Miz-Mag sounded excited, they must be getting close to the exit. Mickie stepped around the crumbling sections of stone floor, peering into the dark shaft. Sure enough, a series of rungs protruded from an adjacent wall, stretching up and down into the black. He turned back to the gorgon.
‘You good to climb?’
The serpentine warrior seemed exhausted, living hair limp and unmoving, shoulders slumped. At his prompting however she nodded, moving over to the shaft’s entrance. Due to his position facing down the hall, Mickie was the first to see the guard round the bend. It pointed their way with a rifle and shouted back to its group.
‘Shit, climb, now.’
Nearer to the ladder, his ally had heard the guard’s cry and knew what it meant. She squared her shoulders and grabbed a rung, swinging into the elevator shaft. Mickie was on her heels as the first shots rang out down the passage, bullets whipping by to clang off metal walls. As he pulled himself into the dark, the mortal took a moment to twist around and fire into the stone ground by the opening. It fell away as he dismissed his gun with ringing ears. Hopefully that would buy them a bit more time.
The only light in the shaft came from the opening they had made, fading away as the escapees hauled themselves upward. A shout from below was followed by a cracking gunshot. Something whispered past, driving Mickie to climb faster. Glancing back, it appeared his shot at the floor had been somewhat effective. The reduced space made it difficult for the imps to get a good angle at them, resulting in awkward shots that risked the guard tumbling into the dark.
Another bullet clinked off the steel nearby, yet another punching through his jeans and into the meat of his thigh. Mickie felt the jolting wrongness of the wound, but adrenaline held the pain at bay for now. Soon they were too high for the guards to get a good angle, and a fresh bout of shouting filled the silence left by the cessation of gunfire.
‘Just over there kid. Check those sealed doors.’
Miz-Mag gestured towards a set of sliding doors further up, and Mickie forwarded the instruction to his gorgon companion. She was the first to reach their exit, leaning over to examine the thin metal. Apparently finding it suitably weak, his new companion drove a scaled fist into the point the sliding sheets joined. The doors warped, leaving a small gap of air between them. As Mickie caught up to the gorgon, she used the freshly made handle to haul open the exit. Gears groaned reluctantly at the abuse, but slowly one of the panels was pulled aside and the trio slipped through.
They found themselves within a dusty hallway, lit sporadically by bulbs that struggled against the burn of age. Miz-Mag had not been kidding when it said the place was abandoned. His little partner directed them to an open door and the group stepped out into a dim hangar, cramped with old boxes and machinery. The exit to open air was bisected by a massive chain, links of heavy metal rising from below to fade into the darkness of the ceiling.
Mickie’s attention was drawn back to the entry hall by a heaving grind. On the opposite end to their own entry shaft, another set of sliding doors contained the sound. It was another elevator, one that was no doubt hoisting a horde of heavily armed and armoured imps to halt their escape. Feeling the press of time, he turned a sharp eye to Miz-Mag.
‘Where’s this transport?’
For its part, his little companion had been eyeing the stacks of dusty crate and detritus. The demon pointed to a cleaner looking cloth, covering a bulky piece of machinery. Mickie hurried over and hurled the fabric aside to reveal a weathered flyer, older and bulkier than the other models he had seen. Miz-Mag wasted no time launching itself towards the controls, tiny hands grasping a joystick almost taller than it was. The fiend dug about in the space until it found an odd metallic ball, brass semicircles delineated by a line about its circumference.
‘Take this and twist both halves till they click.’
Mickie too the orb and did as he was bid, the metal clicking into place as a green light began to blink on its surface.
‘What is it?’
‘Tracker. So my buddy can find us if we can’t land at the designated spot. Now, move this thing towards the edge, can’t take off so close to all this junk.’
For a moment Mickie thought about tossing the ball. Having any kind of transmitter on him felt like a bad idea. Yet, they were almost certainly going to need these friends of Miz-Mag’s. So, he pocketed the orb and moved to a corner of the flier. The machine was heavy, and the effort of moving it finally spurred his wounded leg to send spikes of pain up his hip. After a few feet Mickie grew annoyed, and glanced up to ask his new ally why she was not helping.
He found the gorgon at the edge of the hangar, looking out in awe at the city. Frowning, Mickie stepped away from the flyer and wandered over to join her at the edge. Below the twisted tower scape meshed with the cliff to the next tier, where it met with a comparatively squat district. It was the Hive of those insectile demons, and it was bright with monstrous gouts of flickering flame. A low rumble came from behind as the engine of their escape vessel came to life. It mingled with an influx of shouting beyond the hangar. They were out of time.
‘Hey, come on, we need to go.’
Beside him the gorgon jumped and tore her gaze from the distant flames. She nodded suddenly, and without looking at him, hurried over to the flyer. They hauled it towards the edge as the guards came closer. Luckily, their pursuers were moving room to room, buying them a few extra moments.
‘That’ll do it kid, hop in.’
Mickie waved to his serpentine ally, and they slid into the seats of the flyer. Broze eyes turned to him, wide with the same frantic worry that pounded in his head.
‘Can this thing really fly itself?’
Miz-Mag jerked on the controls and their flyer shuddered upward, right at the ceiling. Mickie shrank back and the gorgon cried out, but their diminutive pilot heaved again on the stick, leveling them out.
‘More or less.’
Mickie replied weakly. A shout from the door was paired with the clang of bullets against steel. It appeared the guards had heard their machine’s engines and come right for them. Ducking low as Miz-Mag eased them towards the hangar’s opening, Mickie noted a small force pouring into the room. They held the standard bulky rifles, all bar a small group of three imps. These jogged through the open door with a large cylindrical weapon hefted between them. Mickie frowned at the device, too big for any kind of explosive launcher, he could not puzzle out its purpose.
Their flyer cleared the hangar and drifted into open air, Miz-Mag twisting the stick to shift them away from the bulky chain obstructing their path. Back in the spire the fire from their pursuers ceased as the trio of imps took up positions near the spire’s open dock. They hefted the cylindrical device onto their shoulders, pointing it towards the flyer. If it was too big to be a launcher, then why were they holding it like one?
‘Mag, evasive manouver…’
Mickie was too late in his warning. With a boom something rocketed forth from the guard’s weapon, a projectile that unfurled like a set of opening jaws. It shot past the trio of passengers to collide with one of the propellors keeping them aloft. The spinning blades of steel came to a screeching halt, wrapped in countless threads of a glistening dark material. Idly, Mickie noted it was a net, no doubt meant to capture him and the gorgon.
‘By my bloody balls!’
Miz-Mag wailed as it wrestled with the control stick, trying to right their course. His companion’s efforts were in vain with one of the blades down however, and the trio veered for the heavy chain connected to the spire. Right before they crached, something clamped about Mickie’s forearm like a vice, and he was hauled from the flyer. The mortal was pulled free as steel warped, engines sputtered, and Miz-Mag wailed in terror.
As the machine’s remains careened off the chain, his companion’s cries cut off, the little demon vanishing altogether. Mickie was pulled onto the shaky surface of a large link by his new companion. The gorgon had noticed their impending crash and opted to jump for the chain rather than drive right into it. If only he had realised and snagged Miz-Mag as well. Shouts came from the hangar, and bullets pinged off their steel roost. Mickie ducked into a metal ring larger than he was, the chain providing cover from the fire if not a way to escape it.
‘What do we do now? Our plan just fell out of the sky!’
Obviously, he knew that. Mickie almost snapped out a frustrated reply but held his tongue. The gorgon had probably just saved his life, she was not at fault here. He needed a solution, a way to get them away from the spire. Climbing the chain would only get them shot down or hunted by other flyers. As if in conformation of the thought, a trio of dark shapes came about the curve of the spire’s peak, heading right for them.
Frantically, Mickie cast about for something, some way out, when his eyes landed on the point where their vehicle had contacted the steel links. The chain was dented and marred, weakened but not nearly enough to break. It did give him an idea though.
‘Can you do that stone gaze thing again?’
The gorgon looked at him in confusion for a precious few seconds before catching on.
‘I can, but only once more, and this metal is too thick, the centre will resist me.’
‘That’s fine, I’ll handle it.’
He swung aside as power began to build about the serpentine warrior. Her hair shuddered and stiffened, snakes sensing what was to come. Mickie spared a glance at the approaching flyers as he summoned his gun. They were getting close, he could make out inbuilt weapon emplacements on their backs, manned by demon squads. His soul shuddered as formless power flooded towards his gun. They only had time for one shot, so he needed to make sure it counted.
The air shivered abruptly, a wave of force rolled by, wilful as a rockslide and quiet as old earth. Beside him the gorgon sagged, almost falling from the chain link in her bout of fatigue. In Mickie’s hand the body of the gun glowed with the energy he had poured into it, a bomb ready to go off. Turning to the section of chain, he found a concentrated patch of flaky stone at the join between two links. Weakened but not yet broken.
Taking a steady breath, Mickie wrapped his free arm tightly about the chain, raised him gun, and fired into the stone. A gout of flame, an ear rending roar of force, something bending his arm, twisting it back upon itself. The mortal blacked out for an instant, coming too suddenly as his stomach climbed into his throat. He was falling, had slipped from the chain. Except that wasn’t right. He could feel the steel under his arm, pressed against his legs.
The world snapped back into focus, though Mickie’s ears still rang from the blast. He held tightly to the chain with one arm as it swung downward, falling free from the spire in an almost gentle arc. Next to him the gorgon was clutching tightly to the ride, snakes whipping wildly behind her head in the rushing air. Below the flaming Hive sector on the second tier flashed by, replaced by the next level. Peering ahead Mickie noticed the fourth tier looked a little too close to their current height.
It was a district of low, squat homes and industrial buildings, and the chain carved into it like a scoop through a soft tub of ice cream. Heavy steel tore through homes and workplaces alike, just a link shy of Mickie’s own. The mortal watched the destruction just below his feet, occasionally catching a glimpse of a wide-eyed demon or human through a window or on the streets. The chain slowed as it dragged, but did not stop, a concern because they were quickly approaching the stone wall to the next city tier. He and the gorgon might have gotten lucky with their positioning for this district, by that barrier of stone would pancake them.
Mickie glanced up at his ally and saw the same thoughts mirrored on her face. She mouthed a word at him, or perhaps shouted it, he could not tell through the ringing in his ears. Jump. A clawed hand pointed towards a taller warehouse roof, right in the path of their swinging chain. It would not be a long drop; they could make it. He gave his companion a firm nod. Below metal rent a house in two, and Mickie saw a glimpse of a terrified face before it was swept up in the destruction.
Thirty meters from the warehouse. Twenty. At ten meters the branded man firmed up his resolve. At five meters he loosened his grip, squatting low and leaning out. They hit the roof and in the momentary resistance of impact the human and gorgon leapt from their dangling ride of deadly steel. A moment of weightlessness passed, he breached the surface of a sea made from force and violence. Then Mickie hit the roof and splashed back beneath the waves.