The halls of the underground warren were quiet when Mickie finally exited Agnes’ workshop. Lights had dimmed on the ceiling above, casting the narrow passageways in a fluorescent twilight. The facility was entering a night cycle, giving the occupants a chance to rest. Even so there was still the occasional urchin about, moving silently past the branded man with only a silent nod of acknowledgement.
For his part Mickie’s thoughts were heavy with new knowledge, gears grinding in his skull as future options were considered and discarded. A plan was forming, one he suspected he would soon have to put into play. Soon the door to his assigned barracks barred his path, and Mickie contemplated the unadorned metal only briefly before pushing his way inside. Within things were just as he had left them barring Illiath, who was now a gently snoring mass swaddled beneath bedsheets. The mortal man took a bunk low bunk for himself some distance from the gorgon, one that faced the door. You could never be too careful.
Settled and undistracted as he was, the gentle throbbing of his broken arm made itself known within its sling. He could feel the gradual twist and click of bones realigning beneath his flesh, a shifting cyclical rhythm of pain. It hurt, but in a way that was almost hypnotic. Without realising it the branded man’s eyes closed and he unintentionally slipped into a place buried within. A realm in which Mickie had so recently been trapped.
Mickie found his soul space to be the exact same as when he had left it when freed of the stone bindings. Everything bar the amorphous power suspended within, which now trickled forth a constant stream of energy. Strange, his gun was not summoned and Illiath had removed his jacket, he did not think he had any powers active. With an abstract effort the mortal felt out the edges of this flow, attempting to gauge its path. He found it did not leave his body, but rather circulated through it, concentrating upon his injured arm and thigh.
Mickie realised it was his healing powers, drawing from his soul to accelerate the repairs to his body. The power required was small far less that the requirements of his gun or armour. He had failed to notice when his wounds repaired as a statue, likely because the slowed healing reduced the flow to an imperceivable amount. If this was all that was required, then Mickie wondered what might happened if he increased the flow. After all, his gun reloaded faster when he forced more energy through it, perhaps the case was the same here.
It was, he soon discovered, not the same case for his body. Mickie had called upon his power, willing it forth to flood his mortal flesh. Yet the resistance he felt here was not spongy reluctance of his weapon, but a rigid refusal. Worse still, as he pushed against the barrier, a pressure built behind his eyes. I was as if a storm head were forming in his brain, becoming angrier by the moment as it raged against the bindings of his flesh. It felt wrong, like he was bending an invisible limb the wrong way and this growing pressure was the prelude to a break.
With a gasp Mickie let the power go, his eyes fluttering open as the storm in his skull settled. It appeared that accelerating his healing was a no go, and he had no idea why. Settling himself back on the bed, Mickie was soon once again adrift in his soul. This time he did not try to call on the unshaped force, instead opting to just float and observe the gentle stream flowing to his body. It was relaxing, and for a time Mickie found peace without needing to empty his restless mind. The twisting rhythm of the healing path coaxed him into a state of meditation in which he was separated from the burden of thought.
Slowly, he began to drift off, the power’s flow becoming abstract and undefined, strange and untethered. Lines blurred as consciousness faded, lights attenuating amongst one another, the brightness warping to form something new. Just before sleep took Mickie, he saw something in the distorted path, something old yet eerily familiar. It was like the distant howl of an unknown beast, a sensation that awoke the animal in the man, warning him of danger. In the twilight between reality and subconscious he felt, that just as he had noticed the old power, it had noticed him in turn.
----------------------------------------
Mickie sat at a large desk of carved bone, bare feet resting atop a small folder. He examined a long, clawed hand, flexing it to stretch bloody red skin while releasing a jaw popping yawn. About him was the décor of an office space, and a fancy one at that. Bookshelves lined with leatherbound tomes hemmed the walls to either side of him, interspersed with display cases holding strange artifacts. The floor was carpeted with a soft scarlet thread, subtly shifting as if caught in a sea current.
Across the room was a heavy wooden door, one that drew his attention as it sounded with the telltale tapping of a knock.
‘Enter.’
His voice was heavy and rich, like dark chocolate laced with honey. The door slid silently open to permit a figure, one stooped low with submission. With hesitant steps the new arrival stepped forward into the light of a lamp, revealing golden skin and gleaming gemstone eyes.
‘Ah, Sestus, you are back. I hope everything went smoothly?’
The strange demon bowed low.
‘Yes Lord. The creature is contained above, I completed the rune carving personally.’
Mickie smiled, satisfied.
‘Good work child. Though I thought I told you to drop the formalities?’
Sestus stiffened.
‘But, Lord, I…’
‘Oh, I know. I’m sure you’ll figure it out in time. For now though, I’ll settle for you taking a seat.’
He waved a hand at a chair on the opposite side of the desk. With visible nervousness Sestus approached, sitting right at the edge of the leather cushion.
‘May I ask the occasion Lord?’
A deep chuckle resonated through Mickie’s throat.
‘Do I need a reason to have a chat with one of my favourite spawnlings?’
Gemstone eyes widened in surprise and the branded man felt an amusement that was not trully his own.
‘I’m messing with you. I just wanted to talk to you about the future.’
‘The future?’
‘Indeed, little Sestus. You see, I have gained much from working with the Sovereign up until this point. However, they appear to have fixated upon an invasion of the world above. A goal that does not align with my own.’
Mickie was casual while addressing the golden demon, drumming sharp claws on carved bone as he spoke. Sestus however, devoured every syllable as if it were the last thing it would ever hear.
‘So, I will be going on a little journey, and I would like you to come along with me. How does that sound?’
‘Of course, Lord. I would be honoured. Where would we be going?’
With a swift movement Mickie lifted his feet from the desk and swung forward. He rested his chin on a platform of interlocked fingers.
‘We are going to head on up. Right to the first circle. I’ve been meaning to check the lock on the gates.’
‘The gates Lord?’
‘The gates of Hell, Sestus. They’re only meant to open one way, and I think it’s high time we made sure that truly is the case.’
----------------------------------------
Awareness returned swiftly, Mickie waking to a small pinch of pain at his neck. In moments he was out of the bed and on his feet, scanning for threats.
‘It’s about time you got lazy bones moving kid.’
The voice was squeaky and familiar, coming from the pillows at the head of his bed. Mickie found Miz-Mag glaring up with a stern look from the pillow.
‘Did you just jab me in the neck?’
Irritated as he was, Mickie failed to moderate his tone. Too late he realised his mistake as a bundle of blankets shifted across the barracks.
‘Huh? What’s that?’
Kalistra sat up, blinking about the room without her glasses on. The mortal’s eyes fell to his toes immediately.
‘Morning. You uh, mind putting the glasses back on?’
‘What? Oh, right.’
He waited for the affirmative before risking another glance. The gorgon was giving him an inquiring look, the snakes that made up her hair drowsy and limp.
‘Sorry about that. Miz-Mag decided it was time for me to wake up.’
‘Well kid, didn’t want to hang about in suspense, did I? I can see that you made it and all, but I need details.’
Kalistra’s eyes widened, and she cast about the room.
‘The demon from your deal is here? Where?’
Miz-Mag rolled its eyes.
‘You told her about the deal? Why not just put a public service announcement out while you’re at it.’
Mickie ignored his partner.
‘Mag is on my bed, but you won’t be able to see or hear it.’
The gorgon turned her attention to the unmade mess from which he had just risen. From the tangle of sheets, a tiny red fiend made a rude gesture.
‘Strange. You know, if Sestus had not confirmed its existence, I would be inclined to think you were lying.’
Kalistra said, eliciting a cry of outrage from the tiny fiend. Miz-Mag abruptly darted from the bed, dashing across the room towards the gorgon. Mickie knew what the fiend intended, but figured it was the best way to quash any doubts that she might have. A gasp abruptly cut through the momentary silence as Miz-Mag drove a clawed hand into the gorgon’s arm.
‘Ah! What in the nine was that?’
She turned about, looking for the source of a small cut as it welled with blood. The perpetrator was already gone though, cackling its way back to Mickie.
‘That would be Mag. It has a bit of a complex about being invisible.’
‘Watch it kid, or I’ll jab worse than your neck the next time you sleep.’
Miz-Mag returned to his shoulder, grumbling the entire time while Kalistra stood cautiously, keep a wary eye on her surrounds. Mickie found his eyes drifting to the mark on the gorgon’s forehead, a reminder of what he had discovered the night before.
‘Nothing from Sestus then? Surely it must be time to head out soon. Should we go looking?’
The serpentine warrior was intent on the door, but Mickie called her back.
‘Actually Kalistra, I had something I wanted to discuss with you. Something about the mark on your forehead.’
Immediately she stiffened, any remaining relaxation her rest had imparted drained as if it had never been.
‘Mickie, I told you I cannot speak on the specifics. I am bound to silence.’
‘I know you can’t say anything about your deal, and you don’t have to. I just need an answer to a question, one that I believe you should be able to give.’
He got a wary look, but the gorgon did not object.
‘I want to know if anything will happen if someone figures out who you made a deal with. You won’t be revealing anything personally, so it should be fine right?’
Kalistra stood silently for a few moments, before giving a cautious reply.
‘I would be fine if someone found out independently. It has happened before.’
‘And this person can reveal the fact to you?’
A slow nod.
‘Yes, but I can neither confirm nor deny if they have the truth of it.’
‘Good.’
Mickie breathed a sigh of relief. At the very least he would be able to communicate his plan. The mortal man leant against a bunk frame and stared into a wall. To be safe he should not look at Kalistra while speaking, if he read something from her expression it might count as her revealing something.
‘I believe, and I am almost certain of this, that Illiath is the demon you made a deal with.’
Silence gripped the room momentarily.
‘By the blood kid! That sneak is her master? Oh, that ain’t ideal.’
He cut Miz-Mag off with a raised finger.
‘During the first escape attempt Mag and I made we were stopped by Illiath. For some reason the demon revealed its name to us, alongside the fact it was a descendant of Lillith. At the time I had no idea why, thought it was bragging maybe. Probably knew we were being sent to you, and wanted us to know who we had lost to. Vanity or pride or something.’
Mickie drummed his fingers against his leg as he ordered his thoughts.
‘Anyway. I had a conversation last night with an urchin, one who has been in this city a fair while. She told me about the house of Lillith, even drew me its mark.’
He pulled a folded piece of paper from a pocket and flattened it out on a hand. Inked clearly on the crumpled surface was an image of a large snake coiling about itself to form a ring. Within this serpentine circle a crescent hung above an inverted cross, surrounded by a few strange symbols.
‘The house of the crescent moon they used to call it. The urchin told me that there were no surviving demons, they all had been irradicated during the fall of the Soul Lord.’
With a deft motion he returned the paper to his pocket.
‘So, I asked about your mark. Apparently, it’s one of the biggest mysteries in the city. The question of who the arena’s champion serves. My urchin friend guessed what I was thinking, and assured me your master could not be of Lillith’s fallen house. She said she had thought of that herself, but there were simply no demons left.’
On his shoulder Miz-Mag had settled and listened quietly. Mickie hoped Kalistra was being just as attentive.
‘Except there is a demon left. One who is apparently hiding the fact they are from a supposedly dead house, and what their mark actually looks like.’
That concluded his explanation of how he knew. All the facts but the slight tell he had noticed in Kalistra when Illiath’s name came up yesterday. It would be best if she thought she had given nothing away. Next came the plan.
‘Now, I’m no expert on demon psychology, but Illiath did not strike me as the sort to let a prize possession just walk away. Not only that, but from what I saw Belphegor do with a fighter during my first escape, if our shadowy friend so much as reaches earshot they could force their bound to switch sides.’
Finally, Mickie looked away from the wall and towards Kalistra. The gorgon looked caught between a desire to flee, and the guilty need to stay and hear him out. Clearly, she had reached a similar conclusion to him.
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‘If we can somehow get through the rest of the city without seeing Illiath, then that’s great. But, if we do run into them, we need to have a few precautions in place.’
The mortal laid out the first few steps of his plan. With her tongue bound, Kalistra could neither agree or disagree, only hold her silence as he laid it all out. He would just have to hope that she did as he asked. Truth be told, they might not even run into the shadowy fiend on their way out of the city. Yet Mickie doubted it would be so simple. Illiath had just been sabotaged by the urchins during an assassination attempt, only to then have their bound champion pulled out from right under their nose. He would be stupid to think the demon would hold back when came to hunting them down.
‘Kid, are you nuts? Is this snake lady really worth the risk she poses, or the target she paints on our backs?’
Mickie had known Miz-Mag was going to kick up a stink about this. Yet he could not explain himself here, not with Illiath around.
‘Later.’
He murmured, so low that only his demonic partner could hear. Miz-Mag gave him an irritated look, but relented with a frustrated sigh.
‘By the blood, this better not be because you’re lovestruck or something. She turns people to stone with a look kid, you can’t fix her.’
Mickie chuckled softly and began to work his recently broken arm. It was stiff, but no longer painful enough to need the immobilisation of the sling. He worked free of the wrapping, tossing them idly onto a bed as he worked his hand. That charge shot really had been something. Blew his gun right out of his hand and nearly took him along with it. Mickie called to the weapon, and found a resistance to the summoning, same as his clothes whenever they were damaged. Not unexpected, he had basically used it as a directed hand grenade.
Figuring now was as good of a time as any, Mickie siphoned off his power to call forth the weapon. It was delivered to him with a bout of fatigue that had the branded man plonking back down into bed. The action drew Kalistra from a grim introspection.
‘What was that? The power just now?’
‘Hmm?’
He raised a groggy eyebrow before catching on
‘Oh, just some repairs.’
Mickie waived the gun about before dismissing it.
‘Takes it out of me though.’
‘Yeah, that was strange.’
The gorgon gave a slow shake of her head, frustration becoming evident.
‘This plan of yours. It’s insane. I just don’t see how…’
A knock echoed abruptly through the room, cutting her off mid-sentence. As Kalistra was closer to the threshold she stepped over and swung open the door to reveal an unfamiliar urchin. The child stood with a rigid, disciplined posture and wasted no time in informing them that it was time to go and that Sestus was waiting. They hurried through halls that were once more buzzing with activity.
Rather than head for the central office, their eternally youthful guide delivered them to a larger chamber. The space appeared to be some sort of staging ground, with urchins gearing up all about them. To one side a golden demon viewed the preparations with a dead, gemstone eyes. Sestus turned to them as they approached, cracking an eerie grin as it noticed Miz-Mag.
‘Ah, my little friend, it is good to see you up and about.’
The diminutive demon waved a red hand from its human’s shoulder.
‘Hey old boy. I see you met my partner here. Made a mess of the plan didn’t he.’
Miz-Mag gave Mickie’s ear a pat while Sestus chuckled.
‘He certainly did, but it worked out well in the end I think.’
‘Oh, don’t worry there. He’ll find a way to blow apart the next phase in no time.’
The golden demon laughed at the dirty look he gave Miz-Mag.
‘Sestus, I assume we’re about to move out.’
‘That we are. It’s time to head up and slip away from this district. Reports are in that old Belphegor is done combing the streets above.’
If Kalistra was even going to contemplate his plan, she would need to gather what they required now, before they left the underground base. Mickie glance about and failed to spot the gorgon. She must have slipped away at some stage during walk over. The mortal man returned his attention to Sestus, finding the demon’s gemstones eyes watching him with an unnerving intensity.
A memory at the sparked at the sight, cutting through the sleepy haze that had fogged over his dream from the previous night. With it came a conversation, one between himself and the golden fiend scrutinizing him with unearthly attention. Except, the mortal was realising, that hadn’t truly been him in the dream, had it? Mickie flexed his branded hand. During their last talk, Sestus had indicated that it was helping him climb because that was what the Soul Lord intended. Recalling the servile golden fiend from his dream, Mickie realised that was likely the case.
‘Everything alright Mickie? You seem a little distracted.’
He focussed back upon the glinting gemstone eyes and their amorphous irises of twisting darkness.
‘Yeah. You sure we won’t find any enforces outside?’
‘Certain. Wouldn’t risk it otherwise. Now where did that gorgon friend of yours get to?’
The recollection of the dream opened a floodgate for Mickie, and as they waited for Kalistra to return he began to recall his time spent as a statue. He knew there had been multiple visions, vague impressions of faces and places came to him. There had been a woman in a field, a winged man trapped in ice, and a pale demon with hair that floated as if in water. He tried to gather specifics, but it was like grasping smoke. The chaos of the time following his incarceration had obscured the visions too deeply, his mind letting them slip away as it did with most dreams.
It was frustrating, Mickie should have put more effort into remembering. If last night was any indication, these visions held value. They were a glimpse into a past that was not his own, the memories of the Soul Lord if he had to guess. Mickie had no idea why he was seeing them, it certainly was not common for those who made deals. Not only that, but his mark was not the true mark of the Soul Lord. It was Miz-Mag’s, a derivative of the dead demon’s.
Kallistra’s arrival beside him drew Mickie from his thoughts and brought a close to Sestus and Miz-Mag’s idle chatter. The gorgon did not acknowledge where she had been, focusing instead upon their golden guide.
‘Shall we set off?’
If Sestus was taken aback by her lacking explanation, the fiend did not show it. With a low chuckle it brought its hands together in a surprisingly loud clap.
‘Alright kids. Time to move. Let’s get some feelers out there.’
Immediately a number of urchins bustled to a large set of doors at the end of the hall. They were dressed lightly, unarmoured and without packs. Scouts, if Mickie had to guess. The exit creaked open and the swift footed children vanished into the darkness beyond, not even taking out lamps to light the way. Sestus waved Mickie’s group over to a couple of rucksacks heavy with some prepackaged load. Besides the packs were two bundles of dark cloth. The leader of the urchins tossed the folded fabric to Mickie and Kalistra.
‘Best to keep the eyes off you two. Put these on.’
The fabric ballooned as he caught it, unfurling into a hooded robe. It made sense that they should have some form of disguise on, both he and Kalistra were highly recognizable. After donning the covering he moved to the pack, shouldering it after giving Miz-Mag a moment to move. He settled the weight as Kalistra took up her own burden.
‘What’s in these?’
Sestus shrugged.
‘Supplies for the plan. It’s a long journey to the city’s edge so it’s best to be prepared.’
The demon picked up a small pack of its own to carry.
‘Ah, before I forget. I have a gift for you, madam Stone Eye.’
‘Oh?’
Kalistra’s raised an eyebrow, the snakes upon her head swivelling to focus upon Sestus. The golden fiend rummaged about in its pack for a moment before pulling a pair of sunglasses free. It tossed them over to the gorgon with a flourish.
‘To replace that travesty that you are currently wearing.’
She plucked the accessory from the air and examined it.
‘You realise the set I currently wear is all that protects you and your urchins.’
‘I could hardly forget. This pair is made from the same material as those you currently wear. Though the frame itself should hold up a bit better than that flimsy plastic.’
The gorgon turned away from them briefly, switching out the undersized glasses for a set of large lens aviators.
‘Much more suitable, I must say.’
Mickie had to agree. While the other glasses had done their job, they had been far too small for the serpentine warrior. Sized for the imps in the control room of her prison. With her clean-cut attire and new aviators, Kalistra appeared somewhat like an off-duty fighter pilot. At least, she might have if not for the robe draped about her shoulders.
‘Sir. Passage is clear.’
An urchin jogged out of the dark tunnel and called across the room to Sestus. The golden demon rolled its shoulders.
‘Alrighty then. Let’s move out.’
----------------------------------------
The mixed band of demons and mortals jogged through a tunnel far broader than the one through which Mickie had arrived. Occasionally some of their eternally youthful companions would peel away and disappear along adjacent passages, moving with the surety of a rehearsed action. Kalistra asked what they were up to, but their golden guide did not respond.
Sestus had undergone a shift in demeanour once they entered the tunnel. Gone was the laidback leader that mostly allowed its underlings to go about their buisness undisturbed. In its place was a focussed commander, more akin to the demon Mickie had encounter while sleeping. The group, now significantly reduced in number, reached the end of their larger tunnel. Sestus had a small band follow them through a narrow offshoot that led to a ladder.
A cramped bout of climbing and crawling followed before the urchin at the head of the party waved a halt. The hooded figure slipped up to an innocuous section of wall running fingers along stone. There came the irregular clicking of latches before the wall swung inwards, spilling light into the passage. They emerged right beside the base of the craggy stone cliff hemming the city district. A building was pressed tight against the vertical rockface, and the band stepped out from a panel in its wall. As an urchin clicked the door shut Sestus whispered hurried directions to Mickie and Kalistra.
‘Make sure you follow close behind me. We’ll stick to the wall and head for that highway.’
A golden hand pointed to one of the slanted paths upward, towering above the district as much as the cliff did. They set off through the tight grid of alleyways and side streets, the mortal and gorgon following Sestus closely while urchins branched out in small groups. Occasionally Mickie would catch a glimpse of shrouded figures between buildings. They were travelling together, but not so close enough to draw the attention a larger group might. It was an effective technique, but one that should have been almost impossible to coordinate in the absence of active communication. These urchins were no slouches.
The industrial hub about them was awash in activity, but not the working kind. Demons and humans alike milled about in small groups, speaking in hushed tones. They paid little heed to his small band, only every taking notice when they got too close, quiet chatter replaced by wary looks. Even with the added caution of the residents, Mickie could still make out the occasional snippet of their conversation. Talk of the chain falling from the spire, of Belphegor’s forces sweeping the streets and the fire that consumed the hive.
As far as he could tell, no one actually knew what was going on. Rumours abounded, though a theory more prevalent than others was that the urchins had struck at the insectile city district. That they had eradicated the leading house of the hive and started the fires that even now ragged through the district. Mickie glanced at Sestus when he first heard this, but if their guide had picked up on the conversation it gave nothing away. He and Kallistra had been told that it was a plot by Belphegor and Illiath to kill the hive’s queen. Had that been a lie? Or was some other game being played?
With little else to do as they hurried along, the branded man pulled at the problem. He knew for certain that a force had been engaged at the insectile hive. The absence of a force in the aftermath of the chain’s collapse being a clear indicator. He also knew there had been a plot afoot. Miz-Mag had said as much, and he trusted the little fiend enough not to lie about it. So why was everyone saying the urchins eradicated the insects? That was a rumour with serious implications, and not one that would spring up without pretext. Not only that but Mickie had not heard a peep about the lazy lord or its lackey’s involvement. How had Belphegor avoided attracting even a little suspicion? It clicked.
‘A scapegoat.’
He breathed the words in little more than a murmur, but it was enough to draw Miz-Mag’s attention.
‘What’s that kid?’
Mickie cast a quick look to his companions. While he appeared to have had gained Kalistra’s ear, Sestus continued to move with unhurried purpose.
‘You hear what they’re saying about the hive?’
‘Yep. Apparently, the urchins squashed all the bugs.’
His partner snickered. The gorgon seemed to be thinking along a similar line as Mickie though, jumping into the conversation.
‘It seems to be the main topic of conversation. You think Belphegor is behind it?’
‘I do.’
Miz-Mag cast the two of them a dirty look.
‘Behind what? You guys talking in code or something?’
They turned about a tall warehouse as Mickie gave a soft sigh.
‘The urchin rumour was likely planted. If I had to guess the insects might actually have all been killed. Though not by the urchins, but Belphegor.’
Finally, his tiny companion seemed to get it.
‘Oh, right! Because Illiath got caught in the act.’
‘Exactly. It probably wouldn’t be a good look for Belphegor to be caught assassinating another house head. The demon already has control over large swathes of the city, I bet the other powers would not be happy about it grasping for more.’
‘So, Bel kills all the bugs and blames it on the urchins. By the blood, that old boy certainly doesn’t half arse things.’
Mickie agreed. It was the ruthless kind of play that the nastiest and most effective leader might have made during his old life. The kind that either kept the things on the rails or blew the whole plan off a cliff. Perhaps if Mickie could get evidence of the cover up to other houses he could incite a war, give himself a good chance to escape. It was a pleasant thought, though one he quickly discarded. He had no concrete evidence, and no method of contacting the other leaders.
‘Sestus. You should be wary. It is likely the demon houses will come after the urchins. At the very least Belphegor’s will, if only to sell the lie.’
Kalistra cut through his musings, coaxing a response from the golden demon.
‘I wouldn’t worry. We’ve been hiding from the bigshots in this city for a good while, we can manage a little heat.’
A touch of joviality ad returned to the fiend, but it was quickly quashed.
‘Now quiet, the lot of you. We are almost there.’
As the sloped highway began to loom above, the disparate cloaked patrols closed in around them. Soon they were a larger force moving through a haggard portion of the district. Fewer individuals were on the streets, and they all avoided the hooded cohort like the plague.
Up close Mickie realised that the raised slope between tiers was not a solid wall like the cliff. Rather, hefty metal beams supported the road, leaving a dark space that the lights of the black city struggled to penetrate. It was into this that their group journeyed.
The area within was like another city district entirely, one not owned by a fiend of power and means. Lean-tos of dented metal sheets blocked the denizens from view. Most did not even bother with roofs, preferring to put up walls for privacy and security. Not like it was going to rain in this cavernous realm. The streets were littered with hunched figures, gaunt and ragged as the surrounding houses. Mickie eyed the occupants warily as they progressed.
‘Does Belphegor own this place too?’
Mickie knew he should remain quiet, but his curiosity about the eerie locale loosened his tongue.
‘Technically, yes.’
It was an urchin off to one side that answered, voice little more than a whisper.
‘Belphegor owns the districts to either side of the highway here. Normally a place like this would be cleared and patrolled by the two opposing houses. But old Bel has no need. Instead, it’s used as a trash bin for the lost.’
‘The lost?’
He did not get a response. The urchin went silent the after a glare from Sestus, and Mickie followed suit. While he may not have received an answer, it was pretty clear that the urchin had been referring to the listless locals. They were not like the usual occupants of the shanty town’s that Mickie remembered. Those had been places brimming with a kind of frenetic chaos, whereas the underside of the road contained only silence and darkness
They reached a small opening between hap-hazardous dwellings and came to a stop. The leading urchins seemed intent on the stone cliff , focussed on a point where the rock jutted out at the base. The mortal made his way over alongside Kalistra, attempting to figure out what had caught their interest. Sestus indicated a shadowy gap in the stone, a recess concealing what appeared to be a series of hand and footholds.
‘Time to climb. Follow me closely, both of you.’
Then, without further pre-amble, Sestus clambered up the wall. The gorgon was close behind, but Mickie turned back before following, taking a moment to examine the dreary darkness beneath the sloped highway. His eyes caught on a bundle of rags, clothing unable to completely conceal the gaunt white flesh beneath. It was a person, so still that they might be dead. Glassy eyes stared unblinking from a face devoid of expression and emotion. A sudden slap to his lower back caused Mickie to jump.
‘Come on buddy, get a move on.’
The urchin behind him gave the stone cliff a meaningful nod, irritation visible beneath the hood. Mickie did as he was bid, turning to the rock face and beginning to climb.
----------------------------------------
Clambering up the cliff was no easy feat, made doubly difficult by the pervasive darkness beneath the ramp. Mickie could understand why they were climbing here, the rock wall was slanted and the shadows concealed them from prying eyes. Yet his recently broken arm made itself known with a spike of pain whenever he put too much weight on it. It took some time but eventually the branded man managed to empty his mind and focus solely and the next handhold, the next foot placement, and the next, and on, and on.
A scaled hand swung into view, dragging Mickie from his monotonous ascension. He took the proffered limb and Kalistra hauled him the up last foot or so by his good arm. They stood on a narrow ledge right below the main body of the ramp, tucked away out of sight. Sestus was waiting off to one side, huddled in the shadows. Mickie turned to look out over the ledge, preparing to help the next climber as Kalistra had aided him. Except there was no one else.
‘Just us from here on out I’m afraid. Climb’s too risky to drag everyone else up with us.’
The gemstone eyed fiend answered before he even got a chance to open his mouth. It looked like Sestus was posted up by their passage onwards, a tunnel running beneath the hulking highway. Mickie made to approach, but Kalistra caught his attention. The gorgon was standing by the edge of the overhanging metal and concrete construct, staring out over the district they had just escaped. He came up to stand alongside her, a low whistle humming in one of his ears.
‘By the nine, you two did some real damage huh?’
Miz-Mag was not prone to understatements, yet Mickie felt his companion had undersold the damage laid bare before him. A jagged scar cut through the city district, marking the path their chain had taken through homes and workplaces alike. Yet that was not the worst of it. When the large mass of metal had hit the stone cliff it had done more than just slide onwards. A huge portion of the rock face was gone, collapsing onto the city beneath. The rockslide did far more damage than the chain had managed with its narrow trajectory.
‘It can happen to anyone.’
Kalistra abruptly broke the silence, not turning towards him but keeping her gaze locked upon the ruin they had wrought.
‘What’s that?’
Mickie asked.
‘The lost. I know you saw the mortals below. It’s one of the curses of this realm, a product of an endless existence. You lose the will to live yet cannot die. An eternity spent as an empty husk.’
He frowned out at the district.
‘Is that why they all looked so messed up?’
‘Yes. I’m sure you know by now that food is not required for survival in hell. Bodies do not wither without sustenance as they do in your living world. Here, the body is more a representation of the soul, and if the soul fades, so does the body it inhabits.’
Mickie said nothing to that, just rubbed his branded hand. When Kalistra next spoke her voice was soft, tired as old cobwebs.
‘They have a name for it, for the desire to feel nothing. The call of the lost.’
She glanced at him.
‘Spend long enough down hear and I’m sure you’ll get to know it.’
Mickie did not tell her that he already had, out on the ice of the ninth circle. Even now though, he saw the appeal that must have seduced the lost at the base of the cliff. The desire for an end, mingled with the fear of dying for a second time. In the distance a finger of smoke curled upwards from the burning hive. Mickie followed its path until it vanished from sight, curling behind the huddled buildings below.
‘Do you regret it?’
Kalistra asked abruptly.
‘Regret what?’
She nodded to the rent district. Mickie looked at the damage they had caused, thinking of the mortals and demons that had perished. He pushed it all away.
‘No. Do you?’
Kalistra’s hand drifted to the brand upon her brow.
‘I… I have things I need to do. I spent too long in that damned arena.’
There was a hard edge to her voice.
‘Everyone in this city is a lost in the making anyway. We did them a favour by putting an end to it all.’
With a stiff turn the gorgon headed for Sestus and the tunnel onwards. Mickie cast an eye one last time over the pain they had caused. From up here it was almost like a model set that had been subjected to the ire of a toddler. Yet, Mickie recalled the flashing faces he had seen while cutting through some of those houses. Shock and fear the only emotion he would ever know them to have. The weight of it fell on his shoulders, another stone on the pile. Mickie turned from the district, there would more to come if he was going to see this through.