The group descended into darkness, swallowed whole by a broad passaged heading straight for the city wall. Before the light from service room above faded, Kalistra retrieved her spherical lamp. She tossed it to Mickie and winced as her wounds protested. With a deft motion the branded man caught the device and twisted it, filling the passage with a soft glow. They passed through a heavy steel door that looked a lot like a bulkhead and slowed long enough to seal it shut with a heavy thud.
‘What is all this, old boy? That device you were messing with before and now this door?’
Miz-Mag asked Sestus, an uncertain frown on the little demon’s face.
‘A backup plan. Come on.’
The tunnel widened as they continued, a concrete construction far sturdier than any other urchin made passage he had seen before. It made Mickie suspicious as to what their demonic guide’s backup plan might be. The light of the lamp could still reach the walls easily enough, but only made it so far down the long passage before the darkness won out. They had been walking for a minute or so when Sestus stopped short.
‘There’s something ahead.’
A weight settled in Mickie’s gut. They were so close. Cautiously, the party moved forward until the light of the lamp fell upon two huddled lumps. The shape of them was familiar to the mortal, seen so very recently. Two dead urchins. Ice slid up Mickie’s spine at the realisation and he made to shout a warning.
‘Kid! Behind!’
Miz-Mag beat him to it. Reacting before his companion could even finish the words, Mickie spun aside. Something dark whispered by him, heading straight for Sestus. He felt the proximity of its passage, the cool wind of steel through the air. Ahead their golden ally was turning at Miz-Mag’s warning, but failed to move as swiftly as Mickie. Shadows engulfed Sestus, flowing over him like oil.
There was no cry of pain or shout of defiance, only silence as the darkness rolled past the leader of the urchins, loyal servant to the Soul Lord. It left a body standing, but one that lacked a head. Black blood dribbled from a clean stump of a neck, obscured by arms that were still raised in surprise. Sestus toppled, crumpling to the floor with the meaty finality of death.
The moving shadow stopped beside the bodies of the urchins, darkness flickering away into the air like tongues of flame. Illiath revealed itself, glaring down the tunnel with hatred, head wrappings pulled away to reveal a crown of dark horns. In one hand Lillith’s heir held Sestus’ severed head, in the other a knife coated with a sheen of dark blood.
‘Kalistra. Stop the mortal.’
The words were spoken to the gorgon with a weight of command, an irrefutable order that his ally could not disobey. Mickie did not react, his attention fixated upon the lifeless head in Illiath’s hand. Silence regained its grasp upon the passage as the echoes of the command faded, punctuated by the steady drip of blood on stone. Sestus was gone, just like that. It was funny in a grim kind of way, Mickie had assumed a servant of the Soul Lord would have been stronger. Yet, the two crystalline orbs gazing lifelessly back at him were evidence that in this realm, power and brutality reigned supreme.
With a conscious effort the branded man tore his eyes from the head and back onto the demon that held it. Illiath’s face held a fading expectation, supplanted by wrath as time dragged on and Kalistra did not obey. Sestus’ head fell to the floor with a wet thud and was kicked away with dismissive contempt.
All of their opponent’s attention was focused on the insubordinate gorgon. The branded man watched the head roll out of sight. Mickie was unsure how he should feel at their guide’s death. It had only aided them out of loyalty to the Soul Lord. Yet, without that help Mickie had no doubt he would never have gotten this close to escaping the city. Not only that, but a fiend so close to the Soul Lord had to have known something about his brand, and now Mickie would never get a chance to find out what.
‘Listen to me serpent! Do you wish to die!’
Illiath was growing ever more agitated, and Mickie began to worry himself that he had miscalculated. He knew he needed to trust Kalistra and the plan, but so much of this rode on theory and guesswork. It could all work in principle, but principles mattered little in the depths of hell. Unable to resist, he cast a glance over his shoulder.
Kalistra stood facing away from her ally and master both, eyes turned towards the wall. There was no sign of an internal struggle from the gorgon, no indication she was resisting the pull of her brand. Mickie gave a soft chuckle, it had worked.
‘You know,’
He said, returning his gave to Lillith’s heir, attempting to give Kalistra the time she needed to set her resolve.
‘These deals you demons seem so fixated on are weird. Too many rules, too many opportunities for a loophole. Sound, for instance, is an essential tool of the master. If the bound cannot hear, then they do not know to obey.’
It had been the first layer to his scheme. A simple idea that had evolved after Mickie saw Belphegor exert control back in his first, I’ll fated prison escape. All the old lord needed to do was speak a command through the announcement system and every marked demon was rushing to obey. It got Mickie thinking, that if sound was the problem, then silence was the answer.
He had seen some serious noise damping technology in the palace and guessed that the urchins might have something similar. As it turned out, they did, a portable device to aid with stealth operations. All he had needed to do was communicate the location of the device along with the plan to Kalistra before they left the base.
‘If you believe this will work then you are mistaken mortal. All the gorgon need do is look upon me and my intent will reach her.’
While caught off guard by the development, the shadowy fiend’s confidence was hard to shake. That was fine however, because something in the air was beginning to shift behind Mickie. The dregs of Kalistra’s power called forth for a final strike.
‘What are you doing? Stop that!’
Only now did Illiath realise their true intent. The sound dampener had been a stop-gap measure, a holdout to prevent any surprise attacks. The fiend rushed Mickie in a hazy blur, blades flashing in the lamplight. Instead of fighting, the mortal darted sideways, evading the demon as best he could. A razor edge ran along the sleeve of his jacket, but the material held. Then Mickie was parting from Illiath as it made for Kalistra. Not even close to fast enough.
A knot of tension uncoiled as the branded man saw his ally had held up her end of the plan. The gorgan stood tall and frozen, her dark skin and gleaming scales a single shade of pale marble, her hair poised as if about to strike. In one hand she held a small mirror made of flaky stone.
‘It’s a strange experience being turned to stone. You cannot hear, cannot see, cannot obey. Even stranger still is that whole stone eye thing works on other gorgons with a little effort. Who would have thought?’
Illiath held up a blade, as if to strike its disobedient servant. Instead, the demon wheeled around to face Mickie, face contorted in a snarl.
‘You. You have a cure for this. You were turned back flesh. Give it to me.’
Mickie wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. He had been worried for a moment that the enraged fiend would strike the petrified gorgon. Kalistra had informed him during his explanation of the plan, that any damage to the statue would carry through to the flesh. Illiath appeared to either know that, or not be willing to risk it. After all, this was its prized champion of the arena, any damage to the gorgon would only hamper the demon’s plans.
‘It’s funny, you seem rather surprised. When we last met didn’t you say you knew me, knew what I would do? Well then, how did you not see this coming?’
An animalistic growled bubbled forth from the graceful throat of his opponent.
‘It does not matter. You cannot face me mortal. Twice you have tried, twice you have failed.’
Illiath did not seem eager to reengage him, likely worried the chance to snag the cure for Kalistra could be lost. That was good, he needed to keep the demon occupied.
‘Cannot face you?’
His mouth twisted into a knowing smile.
‘We shall see. But first I need to know, why chase us this hard? Is it worth the risk?’
‘What risk?’
The demon spat on Sestus’ nearby body.
‘I was moments from rekindling the glory of house Lillith, about to take my progenitor’s legacy in both hands. Yet these rats clawed their way onto my path, it is only fitting that they now aid me in what is mine.’
‘So what? Belphegor kicked you out on your ass and you decided to throw a tantrum?’
Dark eyes narrowed in anger.
‘Do not think such provocations will work on me mortal. I have long known the weakness of these urchins, and have exploited it too my own ends as I required.’
That came as a surprise to Mickie, and Illiath read the change in his expression.
‘They are not nearly as subtle as they might think.’
The demon said, a hint of smugness in its cold voice.
‘All I needed to do was find one little rat on the street, then follow it back to the nest. Then when these cowards fled, I grew curious. Followed them rather than put them down.’
A dismissive hand waved at the two dead urchins.
‘Imagine my surprise, the rats had dug a tunnel out of the city. I knew then that I simply need wait. That my prey would come to me.’
Illiath smiled like a fox in the henhouse.
‘And I was right. You might have surprised me, but I still know you well enough, mortal.’
Mickie swallowed. Just a little longer.
‘How did you know it would be us that was coming?’
Lillith’s heir seemed to enjoy gloating. Having spent so long in the shadows, it envied those who basked openly in their power.
‘Just because I fell from grace does not mean I am without ears. I heard of Belphegor’s mobilisation to this district. Knew only one thing would drive him from the hive to the edge of the city.’
It was far from a perfect plan, yet somehow Mickie was unsurprised that Illiath had tracked them down. It was like the he and the demon had been on a crash course from the moment he entered the city. The shadowy fiend had used him as a pawn in its games, but it was more than that, as if something had drawn Lillith’s heir to him.
‘You see now, that you cannot escape me. I will give you one more chance to tell me of the cure.’
Mickie had spent too long in thought, given Illiath an opportunity to realise he was coaxing her into a conversation. The demon’s knifes abruptly disappeared, slid into hidden sheaves to be replaced by a single, long blade. The metal glistened with sinister sheen.
‘No? Well, I will just have to extract it from you.’
His eyes traced the new weapon, something was different about it, a coating on its surface. Illiath smiled, enjoying the suspicion in his eyes.
‘You recognize this? I adjusted the dosage this time, you will not recover so swiftly.’
It was not difficult to recall the poison that had immobilised Mickie during their first encounter. He had run out of time; it looked like his last-minute distraction was a no show. The branded man called forth his own weapon, barrel spinning until a lion’s head was in position at the top.
‘You’re good, I’ll give you that. But you made a mistake.’
He spoke softly now, going cold, empty but for a driving anger.
‘You should have put me down when you…’
The tunnel shook like a leaf in a snowstorm. It happened abruptly, and even though Mickie had been expecting it, hoping for it, he was still startled. His diversion had come at last. The object Sestus had planted at the entry point to the tunnel, revealed as the explosive it was. A way to guard their escape route under a pile of rubble. The sound hit them like a thunderclap, a roar of titanic proportions that had Mickie’s sinuses aching.
If the branded man had been startled by the blast, Illiath was thrown completely off guard. Lillith’s heir was not even facing Mickie as he closed, realising almost too late that he had been waiting for this exact moment. The demon was made for speed however and wheeled upon him with blade flashing. Rather than attempting to avoid the strike, Mickie stepped into it, steel punching his jacket and undershirt to slide deep into his gut.
It was necessary, he only had one shot and could not afford to miss. Mickie made a grasp for the hand holding the blade as he raised his gun. Illiath’s eye widened slightly at the act and the demon drew its hand away, leaving its weapon lodged in Mickie’s body. It was the final puzzle piece of his plan, and the reason it had been such a mistake to leave him alive for so long. Because, just as Illiath had come to understand him, he had come to understand it.
During their first encounter the mortal had noticed something strange. The demon had been about to strike him with a blade when he fired his weapon. Rather than take the gunshot, the demon had used its abilities to shift into shadows, avoiding the attack and letting the knife pass harmlessly by Mickie. Their next fight had seen Illiath pin him but jump away when he trained his weapon upon it.
It had taken some brainstorming with Miz-Mag, but the two of them reached one simple conclusion. Illiath’s powers would not function properly if it was in contact with another living creature. Mickie had just confirmed that when he forced the demon to dodge his grab at it. Now his weapon was raised to its chest, and he saw the moment the fiend realised its final, most fatal, mistake.
Illiath thought it knew Mickie, but if that were the case, then it would know Mickie was never truly alone. Having clambered sneakily to their target’s shoulder, Miz-Mag laughed uproariously as it drove a clawed hand into the demon’s neck. Across from him, Illiath attempted to turn into shadows, and failed. The fiend’s eyes widened, and in them Mickie saw true fear for the first time.
The branded man fired; a blast lost to the ongoing roar of the distant explosion. His weapon kicked with the fury of a golden lion. Smoke wafted upwards as Illiath, the last of the Lillith’s line, fell to the floor in two wet pieces.
For all its talk, the demon was too fearful of taking a hit, always retreating to use its power when pressured. One good shot was all Mickie had needed, so he weighted the odds as best he could and rolled the dice. An all-in gamble to end Illiath, and they had come out on top. Mickie coughed wetly, the action sending slivers of pain through his body as the blade in his gut shifted. Already he could feel the poison setting in, a fog creeping into his vision, his body growing heavier. As the blast from the explosion faded Miz-Mag reached him, clambering up to its usual spot on his shoulder.
‘By the blood kid! That was some real demon stuff right there! Killed the snooty bag in a single shot!’
The tunnel had been built to withstand the blast, the bulkhead they closed on the way in protecting them. Yet, for some reason it still felt as if the ground was shaking. Mickie staggered, bumping hard into a wall and using it to steady himself.
‘Shit, kid, the wreath. Get it on the gorgon.’
Oh, right. Mickie tried to get at the inside of his jacket but found it pinned closed by the blade lodged in his gut. He grasped the weapon, heaving it out with surprisingly little pain. Then again, it was getting difficult to feel much of anything with the toxins raging through him. The woozy mortal pulled free a cloth bundle and wobbled over to Kalistra’s petrified body. She had toppled when Sestus’ bomb went off, a large portion of her hair having broken off and a dangers crack running up one arm.
Mickie fell to his knees beside her and began unwrapping the wreath with clumsy fingers. The leather binding it was strangely slippery, he could not grasp it properly. Miz-Mag let loose a loud curse and dropped down to assist. They got the deadly collection of thorns free, and Mickie grabbed it wholesale. He had neither the time nor ability to be dainty about this. Before the pervasive red force could strike at his soul, he was setting the ring over Kalistra’s face like a strange mask.
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There, it would have to do. His body felt made of lead, and Mickie was happy he could finally give into the pull dragging him down. The mortal collapsed to the floor, wondering idly if the wound in his gut was fatal, or if his regeneration could handle it. Mickie made out one final thing before the curtain of fog closed in about his eyes. An uncharacteristically docile Miz-Mag stood beside the headless corpse of Sestus. There was a distant expression in his partner’s eyes, a sadness that the mortal had never seen in the demon before. Then the world closed upon him, and Mickie fell backwards into the half reality of his soul.
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Time was a lose concept in the depts of the poisonous haze, and Mickie found it difficult to discern when it was his faculties began their doddering return. Had that footstep echoed up from the past, or was it filtering through his deadened senses? The colours blurring his vision, were they just imagined, or had he seen a flash of bronze, a dribble of red?
The line delineating the return of consciousness was blurred, but at some stage Mickie realised he was being dragged along the concrete tunnel. Next, he discovered that Kalistra was the one dragging him, and she looked like she had been thrown into a blender. Her head was coated in so much blood that her skin mirrored Miz-Mag’s in colour. One arm hung limply at the gorgon’s side, dripping gore to the floor at irregular intervals.
Mickie attempted to speak but found his tongue little more than useless deadweight. The mortal tried to will the poison away faster, pushing his body to recover. This was no time to be immobile, they needed to flee, get away before Belphegor uncovered the tunnel’s entrance. Yet, he continued to remain useless, unable to do anything but watch as Kalistra trudged ever onwards. He attempted to spot Miz-Mag, but as far as Mickie could tell the little fiend was gone.
They came upon the end of the tunnel abruptly, a wall of plain concrete with metal rungs buried in it. Above them a hole led out into the darkness of the eighth circle. Sestus had described this portion of the plan to them, a short sojourn from the escape tunnel to their path upwards. As with so many things however, their guide had failed to provide any details as to how they would navigate the black. Any form of light source would be a beacon to those in the city, yet Mickie failed to see how they would get by without one.
Kalistra paused when they reached the ladder. She was injured, coated in blood and would now somehow have to haul Mickie upwards with only one functional arm. The mortal was unsurprised when she dropped him to the floor and slumped against a wall, plopping down beside him. Mickie worked his useless tongue, attempting to speak. Finally, his lethargic body managed to push out enough air for an incomprehensible moan.
While not quite what he was going for, it did draw the gorgon’s attention. A bloodshot serpentine eye gazed down at him through a set of aviators. Above the glasses was one of the few sections of skin not coated in blood. Kalistra had wiped her forehead clear on something, revealing skin that was unmarked by a red ring of bones. The pact binding her was gone, dead as the master that had forged it.
‘Mickie? You awake in there?’
He made another slurred noise.
‘Hmm, well hopefully you can at least hear me. Illiath must have slapped you with a serious dose of Invirae if it’s taking this long.’
Mickie tried for a yes but landed on something resembling an affirming grunt.
‘But that wreath.’
The gorgon shuddered.
‘I’ve never felt anything quite like it, and never want too again.’
Seconds ticked by as Mickie tried to move an arm and just barely managed to twitch a finger.
‘And it worked. I mean, you said it would, but it’s hard to believe. I never thought I would be free of Illiath, never thought I would have a chance to…’
The words were soft, almost melancholic. Kalistra trailed off at the end, sighing as her head rolled back to thud against the wall.
‘What have I done.’
It was not a question, not really. Mickie had expected his ally to be thrilled by her sudden freedom, but if anything, Kalistra seemed resigned. He desperately wanted to ask what her problem was, but could only manage a groan of inquiry.
‘Don’t worry about it.’
She attempted a wave with her bad arm and winced at the pain.
‘I owe you double after this and the prison, though I do wish you hadn’t put me through a grinder while I was a statue.’
‘Olm’
Both their eyes widened.
‘What’s that?’
‘Blumb’
So close. Mickie worked his jaw, dragging control back to himself.
‘Bomb.’
‘Bomb? What do you…’
Kalistra’s narrowed her eyes in thought.
‘You mean the thing Sestus was messing with at the tunnel entrance? That was an explosive?’
‘Yesh’
It was like holding onto a bar of soap, Mickie would start off in control, but it did not take long for him to slip. However, it was progress, and they needed to get up that ladder and away from the tunnel.
‘I didn’t even notice. What else happened while I was out?’
The drowsy mortal did his best to explain the encounter with Illiath, brief as it was. They did not broach the subject of Sestus’ death, after all, what was there to say? The one responsible had met their end, and the demon had succeeded in aiding their escape for the most part. While Mickie felt some gratitude for the golden fiend, he had never trusted it. Miz-Mag had been somewhat close with the Soul Lord’s old servant though. Mickie recalled the sight of his companion standing downcast beside Sestus’ body. He would need to check in at some stage.
‘I always knew Illiath wouldn’t let me go. It used to come to me in my cell sometimes, you know. Not to gloat, or be cruel. No, that bastard only ever wanted to talk about the house of Lillith. Make sure I understood my place as a part of its rise.’
‘Did, to me, too.’
Kalistra nodded slowly.
‘Yeah, not surprising.’
With an effort of will, Mickie managed to lift both arms from the floor. They hung in the air for an instant before flopping uselessly to the ground once more.
‘That’s promising.’
‘Need. To. Move.’
‘You’re right, but I can’t carry you up that ladder like this.’
The mortal growled in frustration. He would not fail now because of this poison. He only needed to climb the ladder, then Illiath could drag him into the dark. Feeling as if an elephant was squatting on his chest, Mickie rolled onto his stomach. The half crawl, half collapsing drag to the ladder that followed was one of the most difficult things he had ever done.
As he closed a hand about the bottom rung, an echoing clang rang out through the tunnel. The sound hit Mickie like a lightning bolt. In that instance, something within him shifted, and he felt power wash through his body. It was a subconscious, panicked response, and it burned through his soul like fire. Mickie bit back a groan as his back arched, the pain was deeper than physical, closer to when he had been scratched raw by the wreath. Yet, as the stabbing faded to a dull throb, the branded man found he could move freely again.
Kalistra was at the ladder in moments, giving him a confused look but saying nothing. Mickie stood with care, and threw a glance down the tunnel. Whatever he had just done, now was not the time to analyse it. The duo climbed from the passage and into the inky black of the eighth circle. Before she reached the exit Kalistra reached into a pocket and switched off their spherical lamp. The resulting darkness was absolute, the distant glow of the black city too weak to provide any real illumination. Mickie began to feel about the smooth stone surrounding them, searching for some sort of guidance.
‘There’s got to be something around here. The urchins couldn’t all see like Sestus.’
His had barely finished whispering when Kalistra hissed in excitement.
‘Over here! A rope I think.’
The blind mortal followed her voice and soon had the course material running along his fingers. It was a rope, secured by a study metal peg that he managed to stub his toe on.
‘Ready?’
Mickie prepared to start following this invisible guide into the dark, only to be stopped short by Kalistra.
‘One moment.’
There was a whisper of steel on thread, and the guideline pulled free from the peg.
‘We’ll reel in the rope as we go.’
A good plan. Being the only one with two functioning arms, Mickie took up a position at the back and the two of them set off into the black.
----------------------------------------
Miz-Mag reappeared while Mickie was halfway up a rocky cliff face. The little fiend came into existence without a sound but wasted no time in making its presence known.
‘By the blood kid! Where are we?’
The branded man’s hand missed the next carved portion of stone and he swayed dangerously for a second before righting himself. His companion yelped anew from his shoulder, grasping Mickie’s ear painfully for support.
‘Watch it!’
Further up Kalistra had pulled herself over the edge and was holding a spherical light out to illuminate Mickie’s path. When the guideline had ended at the foot of a towering column, the man and the gorgon had thought the tunnel up would be nearby. After a brief search they instead found a manmade path carved into the rock.
‘Relax will you, I’m almost there.’
Making the climb in complete darkness would not have been possible. Therefore, the pair of them had been forced to make use of the spherical lamp. Kalistra had bound the item in the fabric of her cloak, dimming its luminance enough to keep them both inconspicuous. Even so, the long climb had been tense and highly dangerous. It was with significant relief that Mickie grasped Kalistra proffered hand and was hauled onto a narrow ledge.
‘Who where you talking to?’
Mickie took a moment to catch his breath before answering.
‘Mag. It just woke up.’
‘Don’t you know it. Now can you please tell me why I’m halfway up a cliff?’
‘You know the plan, we’re finding Sestus’ tunnel out.’
‘And it’s up here?’
‘Apparently.’
Kalistra had been listening to half of their conversation with a bemused expression, but soon rose to her feet.
‘Well, if Miz-Mag requires an update, let’s do it on the move. Looks like the city’s finally catching on.’
A scaled hand pointed into the dark and Mickie followed it to find a swarm of lights flooding over the distant walls. Dozens of flyers, all sporting searchlights with which they could scan the abyss.
‘The lady’s right kid. Let’s hoof it before they get over here.’
Keeping an eye on the approaching search parties the group carefully made their way around the ledge. They soon came upon a narrow tunnel carved into the stone. It was a crude thing, steep and far too short for the man and the gorgon. Miz-Mag noticed their hesitation and let loose an amused bark of laughter.
‘Shall we? You can get me up to speed on the way.’
Mickie sighed.
‘I suppose it’s either Belphegor or this.’
Kalistra rolled her neck.
‘I know which I’d prefer.’
She hunched down and crawled into the small passage. Mickie cast one finally over the cliff before following. The distant floor was lost to the inky air of the eighth circle. However, the city stood sentinel in the black, walls jealously clasping its precious light. Above it all the spire towered, a murky shape from this distance, with parasitic strings branching off in every direction. He had spent longer in that metal shell than anywhere else in this accursed realm. Had only narrowly escaped its confines.
If the palace had been a shock to the system, this place had been the glimpse of the lightning that delivered it. Hell was not at all what the living world had led him to expect. It was not an afterlife built to punish the guilty, but rather a twisted mirror of the world above. Just like the life Mickie remembered, there was no retribution behind the malice he had seen. Only greed and desire.
He had come through two circles of Hell. Two out of nine. While alive, Mickie had thought he had hit rock bottom. Now, he was realising that he had only been wading about in the shallows. The war in the palace, the chain through the city. Already he was being pushed further than he ever had before, and for what? So he could avoid death for a second time? Mickie had made a promise over Aria’s corpse to show the demons of this realm that humanity was more than their stepping pad. Yet, since then, he had only been surviving by the skin of his teeth. He needed to do more, to be more, to make the price for survival worth paying. Otherwise, all the sacrifice, and all the pain, would be for nothing. Just like it had been when he was alive.
‘Hey kid. This ain’t the time for daydreaming. Let’s get moving.’
The squeaky voice of his partner echoed out of the tunnel entrance, drawing Mickie slowly from his introspective tide. In the distance the flying machines were beginning to fan out and sweep the dark with their lights. It would not be long before they were passing nearby. With a sigh the branded man tore his eyes away from the distant city and started into the tunnel.
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Belphegor was unaccustomed to having its plans so completely and utterly derailed. To think that the urchins had been constructing a secret path out of the city all this time. The old lord picked his way through shattered concrete and broken bodies. Not only had they built a tunnel out, but they had pre-emptively blown it up to aid the escape of the Soul Lord’s chosen. The thought spurred a spike of irritation that the demon was swift to quash.
Belphegor made his way to an area cleared of debris. A hole in the ground yawned with mouth full of darkness and stone, flanked by imps in the garb of enforcers. The demons straightened when they noticed their lord, but were not acknowledged as the fiend made its way into the dark. They had failed today, and a snubbing was only the beginning of their punishment. Within the tunnel was an aged human woman, standing stiff backed with a lamp in hand.
‘Lord.’
‘Hello, my dear. What is the status of our wayward branded and champion?’
They started down the passage together, the mortal positioning herself a respectful step behind her lord.
‘Gone, by all accounts, disappeared into the darkness. We have search parties out hunting but I doubt they will be able to track them down.’
‘And why might that be?’
She paused before answering. Even if the demon was hiding it, the woman knew the Belphegor’s temperament well enough to tread carefully. Slothful it may be, but once roused the lord’s anger was a titan that stopped at nothing and no one.
‘You know as well as I that Sestus would not have led them out here without reason. The enforcers reported a severed rope at the exit to this tunnel, likely a guideline of some form.’
‘And if you had to guess where this rope leads?’
‘A path to the seventh circle. One made by the urchins.’
Her thoughts mirrored Belphegor’s own. Those damned children and their abyss touched leader thrived within the bowels of the city. They had no reason to go beyond its walls, neither the frozen wastes below nor the scorched sands above held anything of value for them. If Sestus had sent the Soul Lord’s chosen away however, it would not be to a safehouse in the darkness. They had built a path out of the eighth circle, and likely done so in expectation of the mortal’s arrival. Belphegor glared into the dark of the tunnel as if it might provide answers. Instead, it coughed up a small slice of entertainment.
‘Well, well, well. It seems greedy little Illiath finally bit off a little too much.’
‘It appears so.’
The sight of Lillith’s final descendant’s corpse was a disappointment, though one far outweighed by one of the other bodies.
‘Lived like a bug, died like one too. Isn’t that right, Sestus?’
Belphegor wandered over to the severed head of the Soul Lord’s most loyal underling, picking it up in one clawed hand. The fiend took its time examining the rigid features, giving extra attention to the gemstone eyes.
‘Did you know that these eyes were made by Magareem personally?’
‘Truly? Sestus did not spawn with them?’
‘No, these were invented by the Soul Lord, and the process of their creation died with it.’
Belphegor’s eyes roved the bloody scene.
‘Oh, and what do we have here?’
The old lord placed the head gently on the floor as something else caught its attention. Against a wall was a strange ring of thorns, dyed red with dried blood. Belphegor made its way over to the object, bending low to examine it.
‘We are currently unsure as to what it is. Those who have touched it report a strange feeling and pain after extended exposure. I have teams working to…’
The woman was interrupted by a sudden burst of laughter from her lord. Belphegor straightened, tugging its jacket sleeves back into place with habitual fluidity.
‘Do not bother. I know what this is. It appears we now have a know how the urchins cured the mortal of the stone bindings.’
‘Oh? Was this the object glimpsed in the feeds?’
Upon investigation of Mickie’s abrupt escape, the spire’s staff had discovered a conspicuous gap in their video records of the statue hall prior to the mortal exit. However, this did not extend to the event in question. There had been a small moment in which an object appeared on the floor of the hall as if from thin air. Then, just as swiftly, it was gone.
‘Yes, this here is a wreath of Soul Flayer bramble. About as crude as crafting pottery with a jackhammer, but it would have worked. It also explains how Illiath managed to lose a fight with its pet gorgon present.’
Belphegor ran its eyes over the scene. Blood coating the floor and the wreath, Lillith’s heir dead by a wound matching those imparted by the mortal’s firearm. As usual, the lord’s second was swift to catch on.
‘The gorgon turned itself to stone?’
‘Indeed. Get your teams to shift their investigate to the smuggling channels, let’s see if we can use this to weed the garden.’
With some luck, they would be able to uncover one of the urchin’s distribution networks, something Belphegor could leverage.
‘Of course, Lord.’
‘Also, once we’re done with the meeting, make sure Sestus’ eyes find their way to the Transcribers. Them and that robot we scooped up.’
‘You have plans?’
‘I do, and I will have you carry them out personally. Now come, I wish to see the end of this tunnel before the others arrive.’
The old demon’s mood appeared to have been buoyed by Sestus’ death. It was enough of a shift that the fiend’s second felt comfortable addressing some other issues as they walked.
‘What of the hive?’
Belphegor released a long sigh.
‘The district has been subdued. However, it appears that a group of insects managed to escape up one of the towers before my forces could catch them.’
‘So, they are no longer an issue?’
‘Not quite. If they somehow survive the sands and make it back down here, who knows what sort of damage they will cause.’
‘Shall I organise a hunting expedition then?’
‘No. I have something better in mind.’
The was a finality in her master’s tone that the woman recognised. She held her silence throughout the remainder of the walk. They soon stood in the expanse of darkness that was the true body of the eighth circle. Flying machines roamed the black, filling the expanse with the roar of engines as spotlights scanned for life. Belphegor did not expect them to find the mortal or the gorgon, though some trace of their passage would be beneficial.
‘There was something noted by the ground team that arrived first.’
‘Oh?’
‘A strange report. The enforcers all swear that while they were out searching the dark, they heard something.’
‘The mortal?’
Belphegor would need their names if one of the teams had heard the Soul Lord’s chosen escaping and returned empty handed.
‘No, nothing like that. They all report having heard some kind of strange music. There was an attempt to track it down, but no source was uncovered.’
The old demon sighed in disappointment. Likely the dark playing tricks on some of the weaker willed fiends.
‘Report to me if any teams note something similar.’
Belphegor knew it was likely time to head back into the tunnel. It was generally best not keep demons such as these waiting. Yet, the old lord took a few moments, glaring into the darkness while it tried to puzzle out the role of the branded mortal. What was so important about the boy that Sestus would accept death to assist him? Whatever is was, Belphegor was not willing to let the Soul Lord’s chosen slip through its fingers.
‘I suppose we’d best get to the meeting. The house heads are likely already at one another’s throats.’
Luckily for Belphegor then, all its problems were heading in the same direction. All the lord needed was a pretext for an armed excursion, and it just so happened that there was a scorched district and convenient scapegoat ready and waiting.
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In a deep, guarded corner of the spire lay a small workshop. It was filled with the tools of a Transcriber, strange instruments and materials designed to assist in the carving of runes. In one corner a monstrous metallic form stood sentinel, glaring with gemstone eyes at an aged woman hunched over a glowing orb.
Belphegor selected only the best for service in its personal staff, and this human was no exception. Apart from being a master administrator she was also an adept Transcriber, an uncommon skill for a mortal. The runic language of hell was often beyond the comprehension of those not spawned within the nine circles, yet she had found it surprisingly easy to pick up.
The focus of her attention was the core of the Mechanist’s wayward mining robot. It had been pulled from the wreckage of the transport and hauled up the spire, ready for her ministrations. As she worked, the woman mused upon the layers of her master’s plans. When they first learnt of the machine under their nose, Belphegor had not ordered its capture or destruction. Instead, the old lord had figured out how the Mechanist kept track of its creations, and commissioned a device through which they could monitor the machine. It became the perfect spy, one unaware that it was even delivering intelligence.
For decades Belphegor had left the creature to its own devices, not interfering as it made contact with the urchins and struck up a relationship with their leader. Occasionally they would use a piece of gathered information, but only when Clink was free of the scene and clear of suspicion. Except, the woman mused, for this last time.
Carefully, she completed the carving of a rune on the orbs surface, then started on another. Belphegor had pulled out all the stops to try and catch the Soul Lord’s chosen, using its observation of Clink to set an ambush. Yet the mortal was gone, and now the machines cover was blown. The remaining urchins would never again trust the robot, not after the ambush.
That did not mean the machine was no longer of use, however. As if it had been waiting for this very moment, Belphegor had taken Clink’s demise in stride and initiated another plan. A plan that was now reaching completion as the lord’s second completed the finishing touches on the machine’s core. She straightened, stretching bones that had felt too old even when she was still aging.
Once her body was as comfortable as it was going to get, she turned to the monstrous metal frame. A cavity on the chest was open, exposing a slot perfectly sized for the modified core. The glowing orb fell into place easily, and moments later the room was filled with sounds. Air hissed, servos clicked, and metal scraped against metal. The woman took a couple of slow steps backwards, gazing up at the robot as it awakened. Dark irises sparked to life, flames trapped in a cage of facetted crystal, eery eyes meeting hers. If Clink could no longer serve Belphegor as a spy, then it would do so as a weapon.