Kalistra remembered what it had been like to be sure of herself. With the brighter colours of a pleasant memory, she recalled her younger days amongst the tribe. A prodigy of Transcription, with a mother who taught her the ways of her people. A titan in the young gorgon’s eyes, her mother ventured out into the wilds of the fifth circle to support their people.
When the hunters had started to go missing, Kalistra had thought there was no chance her mother would be one of them. Sure, others in the tribe might fall, but never her. So, when Illiath had finally made itself known to the gorgons, and presented them with her mother’s head, it had broken something in Kalistra. The balloon of self-certainty burst, leaving her just as broken as every other retch in this accursed realm.
Afterwards, Kalistra had done what she could, had sacrificed for her people just like her mother. Only, where her mother had found a kind of peace in her sacrifice, it was the abyss that claimed the younger gorgon. There was more than one occasion in the intervening years where Kalistra envied her for that. Where her mother got an end, she had gotten the arena.
On those accursed sands she had taken up the broken remains of that false assurance and forged it into something truer. Kalistra achieved what few gorgons ever had, the ability to elevate her cursed vision. To turn to stone that which had no eyes. It was a moment that would have been cause for celebration amongst her people. A gorgon achieving an ounce of control over their curse, a step along the path to true freedom. In the arena she was told not to use the power in a fight, it made for poor entertainment.
Eventually the fights had blurred into a ceaseless grind of blood and death. Each one took another chip from the haggard remains of her soul, leaving her shaper and more deadly, yet lesser for the exchange. Who knew how long she had continued that way, all for the purpose of protecting her people. When the mortal had been set before her, she had thought little of it. They did that sometimes, sacrificed someone weak to wet the crowd’s appetite for blood.
Only, the mortal had not been weak. He had power of his own, and fought her with a fury that did not speak to an absence of hope. They were both broken, certainly, but here was someone who forged ahead all the same. It had stoked emotions Kalistra thought were long dead, and as they danced to the death, she had remembered her people. Her tribe, coasting along the endless river, hunting the murk of the mangroves, begging her not to go as she made the deal with Illiath. Kalistra had remembered it all, and reawakened a desire to see her home again so visceral it consumed all else.
So, when that same mortal she had fought, had barely survived fighting, came to offer her freedom, Kalistra had allowed herself to be convinced. She had known the folly of it, that she was condemning her people to death. Yet, ever since the fight she had been unable to stop thinking of her tribe. The dam had burst, and it made enduring the arena that much more difficult. Despite her better judgement, Kallistra had accepted the offer of escape, and now she would have to live with the consequences.
It had been of her tribe she had thought when she made the deal with Ziz, and it was of them again now she thought as she gazed upon the inverted waterfall. Kalistra had to admit there was an element of excitement to her new binding. Only a gorgon would understand how significant the control it offered her truly was. To her people, a solution to the burden of the stone gaze was more than just a convenience. It was the fulfilment of an ancient purpose.
Ziz had known that and dangled the offer of control before her. Kalistra had known it was a trap, yet the bait upon had been so enticing that she had taken it all the same. Now, if she could get back to her tribe with this power, they might be able to use it to create a cure for them all. Beside her Mickie and his strange little partner were discussing the chamber. Words that failed to register through the intermingled excitement and fear that warred within her.
Kalistra could feel the power emanating from the thrumming cord of blood. It resonated deep within her, the new bond between Ziz and herself pulsing in time with the strange heartbeat. She did not know the true significance of this place, only that it was the same kind of ancient as the primordials. Old as Hell itself. Carefully, she withdrew the egg from its holder before returning Mickie’s jacket to him.
‘Stay here. I think… I think what comes next will be dangerous.’
Her ally seemed unsure at first, but he knew the nature of bindings. This was something Kalistra had to do, and she could see that Mickie understood that. Approaching the inverted waterfall felt like wading downriver in the rapids of the fifth. The power pulled upon her, threatening to sweep her up and pull her in if she lost focus but for a moment.
In her hands the large egg had grown warm, and she could feel movement from within. Even in its current form Ziz could sense the proximity of the power. The primordial felt the call of the blood just as she did, as she suspected the little demon Miz-Mag did from the circles above. Kalistra felt that the very act of turning away would rip her apart. Ziz’s intent was driving so powerfully towards the blood that their souls would begin to tear if she did not do the same.
Even so, as Kalistra came to stand atop the pillar of stone in the centre of the small lake, she hesitated. Before her the blood flowed upwards in a pulsing river, moving to some unknown rhythm for some unknown purpose. She knew she had no choice in the matter, it was either do this or die, yet she was rather suddenly unsure of herself.
One of the core tenants of Transcription was to always act with thought and intention. Runes were workings of the soul, and one must always be certain when carving them. It was a principal she had lived her whole life by, right up until she was thrown into the arena. Perhaps it was the thoughts of home that brought that rule back to her now, staying her hand mere feet from the blood. It was an odd moment to find an old piece of herself, but these things never happened at the right time.
She straightened, squaring her shoulders and gripping Ziz’s egg tightly. The primordial seemed to have sensed her hesitation and was restlessly shifting about within. Kalistra felt a nostalgic ache for that person she had once been, whole and unbroken. Her principles had been stripped from her, and while it was pleasant to rediscover them, she could not afford to let them govern her actions. If she was going to save her people, she needed to act swiftly with whatever was at hand. Right now, that meant an ancient primordial. Kalistra took a step forward and shoved the egg into the inverted blood flow.
The first thing she registered was pain. When pushing Ziz into the blood she had gotten some on her, and it burned her scaled arms worse than any flame. Yet that was nothing compared to the agony that next washed over her. The twisted wrenching of a soul in flux was unlike anything Kalistra had experienced before. As an experienced Transcriber, she had an acute awareness of her own soul space. The result was a front row seat to the transformation of her very essence.
Through the haze of pain, she felt her bond with Ziz growing. The blood flow had sucked away the promordial’s egg, and now power flooded it. Around her the chamber was in turmoil, but Kalistra hardly had the capacity to even notice. She felt as Ziz’s soul bled through into her own, shaping her as she shaped it in turn. Consciousness slipped and for a moment all she could see was a red haze, and all she felt was a desire to be free.
Then she was back, gasping and twitching on the stone pillar as blood gurgled out steam mere feet away. When had the level of the small lake risen that high? She wondered if Mickie’s was okay. The crimson mist within the room was so thick that Kalistra could hardly see to the walls anymore. Oddly enough though, the heat was far more tolerable than it had been. She even found the taste of iron in the air less nauseating than before.
Crawling along the ground she approached the metal stairs out, and in doing so confirmed that the exit was entirely submerged. The gorgon sighed and shifted to sit upon the hard stone. It looked like she was going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future. A twinge of pain that echoed the ordeal she just went through drew Kalistra’s attention to her brand. Shifting her blood soaked shirt she examined the mark carved above her heart. The single jagged line was now joined by another, a shorter puckered scar slightly askew from the first. If there was any meaning to it, she was unable to decipher it.
Kalistra settled back to wait. She was exhausted and would be unable to leave the chamber until the level of blood dropped. Mickie and Miz-Mag were not fools, they would have made it out before the blood covered the exits. That just left Ziz. The egg had not returned to the chamber upon the alleviation of her pain, though Kalistra was not worried. Her bond with the primordial had been strengthened, and through it she could sense the creature. Even now it drew from the place of power, growing and gathering strength. She had done as Ziz had asked, now all that remained was for her new partner to reawaken.
----------------------------------------
Mickie ran out of the topmost tower chamber, pausing only to grab Miz-Mag and plant the demon unceremoniously on his shoulder. His partner squawked an indignant curse, but Mickie did not have the time to care. He reached the top balcony and cast his attention outwards, expecting to see a swarm of flying machines converging upon them. He was greeted by open air, not a demon in sight.
‘Slow down kid. You need to be quiet.’
‘You said Belphegor was here. I don’t see anything.’
Miz-Mag winced at the volume of his response.
‘They didn’t come through the air. Look down there.’
His partner indicated down the side of the tower. Mickie glanced along the tiered layers, his attention landing on the lowest balcony. Figures moved down there, too distant to truly see. He staggered back from the ledge and out of sight before giving Miz-Mag a wide-eyed look of his own.
‘I told you.’
The demon hissed.
‘They’re here.’
‘How?’
There should have been some sign of the enforcer’s approach.
‘Looks like they came on foot. Used something to climb the walls rather than go across the lake.’
Mickie cursed.
‘Did you get a look at their numbers?’
‘My eyes are good kid, but they ain’t that good. At a guess though, I’d say there’s a lot.’
‘No shit.’
More than the presence of the enforcers, it was their mode of entry that twisted at Mickie’s guts. He had expected an air raid from the city, some form of scouting force to check if they were at the tower. An ambush like this stank of foreknowledge. Somehow, Belphegor had known that they had fled to the tower. Perhaps it had tracked them from Ziz’s prison, then taken the time to assemble its forces in secrecy.
Mickie leant against a metal wall and tried to breath deep, attempting to rid himself of the rising panic. He was supposed to be the one with surprise on his side. That was how he had made it this far, surprise and momentum. That was how he had lived. Being caught so wrong footed was jarring. He and Mag had failed to properly get at the tower controls, and Kalistra was either trapped or dead. Now the levels between himself and the gorgon were filling with enforcers, all likely on the lookout for them both.
‘Kid, I know it’s bad, but we need to move.’
Miz-Mag’s voice was uncharacteristically soft.
‘Move where?’
The question came out as a snarl. He knew what the little demon was going to say, and it lit a fire in his chest.
‘Out of here. We can’t save the gorgon, even if she’s still alive. I think you could survive the drop from the lowest balcony, we could avoid the lake entirely.’
Abandon his only ally. Let Belphegor scoop up Ziz again. The thoughts did more than just rankle at Mickie’s insides, it downright dowsed them in acid. He wanted to scream in frustration, to storm back into the control room or whatever it was and make the tower obey. Everything had gone to shit so quickly. Too fast for him to realise the situation was slipping through his fingers. Even now he caught a glimpse of a figure below, a shadow on a balcony, soon gone back inside the tower. Mickie flexed his branded hand.
‘No.’
He ground out. To his surprise, Miz-Mag did not immediately start protesting. The fiend released a long sigh, before patting him gently on the neck.
‘Figures. It’s always the hard way with you kid. What’s the plan then?’
His partner sounded resigned. Mickie supposed at this point Miz-Mag had learnt better than to try and talk him out of something like this.
‘They may have brought numbers, but that doesn’t mean they know what to expect. Belphegor never learnt the terms of our deal; it doesn’t know we’ve gained power by reaching the seventh circle.’
‘So what? Even that pendant of yours will run dry eventually.’
‘I know, but it gives me some knew options.’
Mickie called forth his weapon. It almost seemed to hum with pleasure as it appeared, the bone handle vibrating in his palm.
‘We’re going to hit them at speed.’
‘Ah yes, how elaborate.’
He ignored the sarcasm.
‘Look, you and I have been through the whole tower, we have a better understanding of its layout. I’m going to need you as ears and eyes while I run.’
Miz-Mag rolled its shoulders.
‘Alright kid. If we’re going to do this, we’d better not die.’
Mickie turned and started at a jog for the stairs down. He needed to cover some ground before the enforcers worked their way too far upwards. A calm had settled over the branded man following his decision to fight. The ambush might have caught him by surprise, but it had also narrowed the scope of his options. With no time to plan, the only way forward was through, and that realisation had allowed Mickie to clear his head of unwanted thoughts.
The bonded pair descended the tower at a silent jog, only slowing when the first signs of life rang up through the steel passages. Mickie killed his lamp as he neared the muttering group of enforcers and had Miz-Mag scout ahead. The little fiend reported thirteen. Mickie posted up at a corner of the passage and waited.
His pulsed thrummed as the group came close. Ten steps away. Five steps. Three. Mickie swung and took the first enforcer’s head clean off. The demon was tall, about a head taller than him. By the time its limp body hit the floor Mickie’s gun was clicking onto the next barrel. He pumped power into the weapon, and it was swiftly replaced by an equal torrent from his pendant.
As he took out the next demon, a third enforcer cried out in alarm and attempted to bring its own gun to bear. Mickie threw his own weapon at it, nailing the fiend right between the eyes. It staggered as the corridor began to fill with the rest of the scouting team. They piled out of rooms like wasps from a slapped nest. Good.
The branded man closed on the disoriented enforcer. He grabbed the demon by the head and slammed it against the wall a couple of times. Then, shifting its weapon around, he hugged the creature to himself and emptied its gun into the shouting scouts. They fired back, bullets thudding into the twitching body of Mickie’s makeshift shield.
When the demon’s gun clicked empty, he let it drop, recalling his own weapon from where it lay on the floor. He drove forward, running towards the remaining enforcers. They were huddled in doorframes, the ones smart enough not to run out into the open at the first shout. Power sang through Mickie as he fell upon them, his soul a conduit between the gun and the pendant. A bullet clipped his shoulder, another his thigh, yet pain was distant, pushed away by the clarity of the violence.
Mickie broke through the squad and dropped his still twitching shield. Without checking to see if any demons remained alive, he ran. Speed mattered more than anything now. He reached the stairs descending to another level and ran right by them. Miz-Mag cried out in alarm.
‘Kid! What in the nine are you doing?’
He did not reply, only moved as quickly as he could towards another section of balcony. Behind him shouts went up, echoing from the lower levels. Mickie broke onto the balcony and darted up to its side. Still another four levels between him and the blood lake.
‘Hold on tight Mag.’
The branded man whispered, and his tiny partner’s response shifted into a shout as he dropped off the side. It was about eight or nine meters to the next balcony, and Mickie landed hard on the steel floor. The impact rattled even through his demonic resistance, shooting pain through his knees and lower back.
‘By the blood kid, give a demon some warning next time.’
Mickie did not give any warning as he dropped down another level. This time he crumpled with the impact, spikes of pain running up his legs and spine. All he allowed himself was a single small grunt as he landed. Just two more levels to the lake. As Miz-Mag cursed him anew the branded man considered his options.
Dropping between the levels was by far the best way of getting by the enforcers, yet his protesting body made the prospect unlikely. He could not afford the risk of a broken bone. That left the tower itself. The pyramid structure of the building meant these lower levels were substantially larger than those above. Extra space would make it easier to keep the enforcers on the back foot, but not solve his greatest issue.
There were two sets of stairs between himself and the lake. Two points at which he had no doubt Belphegor would establish bottlenecks. Even if he hit them at speed, they could still slow him down enough to let others close. Trapped inside the building Mickie would be swarmed and overrun.
‘Reports say he’s up a level.’
‘Shit on your accursed reports, I heard something.’
The voices rang out from a nearby passage, informing Mickie it was time to get moving again. He rose and moved to the arched entry way as an idea came to him. The first enforces gun barrel preceded it onto the balcony. Mickie grabbed the weapon with one hand and yanked the demon into the open. There was shout from the passage, but he was already moving. Even as the enforcer struggled, he dragged it to the balcony’s edge and tipped over the side.
Demon first, Mickie fell onto another level of hard steel. His demon cushion hit hard, head cracking against the unforgiving floor. Mickie crashed into it; his own landing softened but nowhere near enough to be comfortable. The breath was squashed from his lungs as his legs slapped painfully against the ground.
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Miz-Mag was bounced right off its perch, rolling a couple of feet to lay in a groggy daze. They could not afford the time to rest, however. A crack sounded from above and something drove painfully into Mickie’s back. His jacket held but the bullet broke a couple of ribs, just wide of his spine.
Gasping for air the branded man scooped up his partner and staggered into a nearby passageway as gunfire peppered around him. One more level, just one more level and he would be at the lake. Surely the blood in that chamber had receded. Kalistra would be free, she could assist him in making it the rest of the way out.
Miz-Mag seemed unharmed for the most part, just a touch disoriented. Mickie stuffed the little demon into a jacket pocket as he half stumbled, half ran down the passage. Almost there, he was almost there. In the confusion of his descent the branded man realised he was unsure of his current position. All the halls in the tower were eerily similar, and only when Mickie stumbled upon an opening onto a catwalk, did he get a hint of where he was.
The only problem was that a squad of enforcers was there as well. Mickie turned the corner and was presented with the thick air of the tower’s central chamber. A metal bridge connected two parts of his current level, the catwalk forming a strand of the messy web above the lake. The enforcers were most of the way through the crossing, faces twisted in discomfort at the hot air.
The slip in discipline meant they took a fatally long time to notice him. Just as the first demon was opening its mouth to shout, Mickie fired into the group. His shot dropped the leading few demons, not killing them at his current range but still removing them from the fight. The others in the team crashed into those ahead, causing a miniature pileup.
A demon screamed as it slipped and tumbled end over end into the boiling blood. Mickie fired another two times in rapid bursts before turning and running. The encounter with the enforcers might have been a stroke of bad luck, but it was paired with the first bit of good news he had received since arriving in this damned tower. Through the opening into the inner chamber, Mickie had spotted the final staircase to the lake, and there was not a single enforcer guarding it.
The branded man stumble ran down the corridor, his stride lengthening as his body repaired itself. It must have been the first group he encountered. That fight had distracted Belphegor’s squads, lured them into leaving a seemingly useless staircase unguarded. After all, he would need to cross the blood lake if he was to exit that way. A risky proposition even without all the guards firing at him.
Mickie weaved around the circumference of the central chamber, hardly pausing to check if a turn was good before taking. At one point he saw another squad down a separate intersection, but did not slow to engage them. All the group received was a single blast from his gun, hopefully enough to drive them into cover and let him gather some distance.
Shouts began to ring out through the corridors as word spread of his position. The enforcers were closing in, he needed to find Kalistra and get out of the tower before they had him pinned. Mickie reached the stairs with a palpable sense of relief, hardly slowing as he turned to run down them. He was so focused, in fact, that he failed to glance down an adjacent corridor.
The only sign that there was something lying in wait was a large blur out of the corner of his eyes. A massive figure boiled out of the unchecked passage and drove into Mickie’s side. He was suddenly airborne, sailing over the very same stairs he had just intended to descend. Gravity soon took up its inexorable hold and the branded man came crashing down on the midpoint of the staircase.
His body flopped and head slammed into a step as he tumbled down to bottom level. Mickie’s vision strobed as lights shifted and swam before him. The was something wrong with his right arm, it was uncomfortable, painfully so. He tried to move, to crawl away from the stairs. The closest he got was a half-hearted flop across the metal floor.
The stars in his eyes resolved into a deep pounding in the side of his head, and Mickie’s vision was impeded anew by blood. The must be a gash on the side of his head, where he had hit the stairs. Something large and heavy was following him down at a much safer pace. Thudding footsteps that soon brought a set of giant steel legs into view.
Mickie tried to slide backward, but the attempt to move his right arm was met with a spike of pain. He glanced at the limb and found it twisted the wrong way. The branded man turned to keep his arm off the ground as he scrambled backwards. Blood still ran down his face, but his head was already clearing, fog lifting enough for Mickie to realise just how screwed he was.
The giant machine he had last seen within the collapsing pillar approached. It’s thick legs were almost too large for the stairs, and as a result the robot was taking its time. As Mickie struggled back to his feet, he noticed more than just the hand he had shot was damaged. Steel plates along its body were warped, battered, and entirely missing in places. The giant might have survived the fall beneath the pillar, but it had paid a price to do so.
Mickie attempted to call his weapon and gasped as it appeared in his broken right arm. The gun thudded to the floor, and he scrambled to pick it up with his other hand as the machine drew closer. He needed to run, maybe put a shot into the big guy and disappear down one of the two side passages. Kalistra was down the one to the left, but he could not tell if the lower level was still flooded from here.
The branded man made to dart sideways but stopped short as someone stepped out of the shadowed passage. They were tall, well dressed in a suit of strange scaly leather and grinning with a smile devoid of all humour. Blood red hands came together in a slow clap.
‘Ah, it is good to see you have not gone to rust during our time apart.’
Belphegor said, and chuckled. There was a hint more ice to smooth baritone than before, but Mickie hardly noticed. He was back in the dark under the arena, listening to this accursed demon talk as pain warbled through his body. Mickie could not stop himself, he took a fearful step away from his old captor. Belphegor’s smile grew a touch more genuine at the reaction.
‘Still as talkative as ever I see, though judging by your reaction you have not forgotten me. Tell me then, my little enigma, did you think I would not feel the power beneath our feet? That I would not know to expect you?’
Desperation gripped Mickie’s heart in a vice. He could not go back to the arena, not again. The branded man glanced about, searching for somewhere that he could run to. While Belphegor held his attention the giant machine had finished its descent. It now stood partway between the path to the second passage and the staircase. If Mickie wanted to flee, he would need to slow the machine first.
‘Planning to run? After you came all the way down here? And to think I was looking forward to a nice catch-up.’
Something shifted against Mickie’s side, and Miz-Mag poked its bleary head out of his pocket.
‘Hey kid, that was some tumble you took, who’s that I hear talkin…’
The tiny fiend trailed off as it took in the frantic look in Mickie’s eyes. Slowly, his partner turned and noticed the two enemies that had cornered them.
‘Oh boy, oh no. Kid run, run now.’
Surprisingly, the reminder of Miz-Mag’s presence helped calm Mickie. The familiar squeak of his little partners voice drew the branded man back to himself. He was not Belphegor’s prisoner, and no matter what else came, he never would be again. Near the staircase the metal giant abruptly made a sound that it took Mickie a moment to process as words.
‘It is present.’
The sound was like a cement mixer churning metal shrapnel, grinding and piercing all in one. When one of its undamaged arms raised to point at Miz-Mag, Belphegor’s attention sharpened.
‘Is it now? How very curious.’
The old lord stared at Mickie’s jacket like it had just insulted the demon’s mother. Miz-Mag shrank back, as if to hide from Belphegor’s sight.
‘I always wondered how you managed your little escape. To think you had help this whole time.’
The demon stroked its goatee and took a slow step forward. Mickie glared and prepared to run.
‘Help escaping the spire. Help fleeing the city. Help taking what was mine from me.’
Each sentence was punctuated by another step forward, and a twisting in the demon’s tone. Belphegor’s anger slipped into its voice, and each word seemed to press upon the wounded mortal.
‘Kid…’
He ignored Miz-Mag’s whine. They would only have one chance to slip away, and he could not afford to screw it up.
‘I tried to go easy on you, to talk things out as friends should. But, my dear enigma, you have spat upon my goodwill one too many times.’
The demon reached into the pocket of its jacket, attention slipping away for the briefest of moments. Mickie ran. He darted towards the large machine, prepared to make for the side passage. The giant noticed his approach and reacted. It raised an arm and reached for him, clawed hand unfurling. Then, for some reason, it hesitated. The machine paused, halfway through blocking Mickie’s path. The branded man was not going to question the move, it was just what he needed to slip by.
‘You seem tired.’
Just out of view, Belphegor spoke, and the words caught Mickie’s soul in a vice. He felt the weight of them, almost physical. A force that seemed to ratchet up the air pressure inside the tower. The branded man stumbled, tried to shake off the force of Belphegor’s will. His soul pulsed with effort, expanded, and was crushed by the intent of the old lord.
Mickie fell to his knees, more exhausted than he had ever felt in his life. His bones were denser than lead, eyelids dragged down by invisible anchors. Somewhere, behind the tired haze, a part of him wailed in anger and fear. Yet, he did not have the energy to listen. Just staying awake was hard enough. Someone chuckled nearby, and Mickie rolled his head up to see Belphegor striding his way.
‘You almost pushed through. I’m impressed.’
Blinking slowly, Mickie attempted to get his brain to work. If only he could have a moment to rest.
‘Kid, what are you doing? Snap out of it.’
Something jabbed painfully into his side, and Mickie groaned, attempting swat at whatever had caused it. Only, he used his broken arm to swing, which hurt far more than any jab. The pain coursed through him, scratching away the lethargy with bloody claws. He felt a distant urgency now at Belphegor’s approach. The old demon had a strange looking blade held loosely in one hand; a weapon coated in glowing runes.
‘I would have liked to have worked with you. However, the time for leniency has passed. I will know the nature of your deal and what you did with Ziz, even if I must rip it from your memories myself.’
The ache of his arm was shaking off that unnatural fatigue at an increasing pace, but it would not be fast enough. Belphegor was closing upon him and seemed intent on using the strange knife. Mickie tried to move, but even lifting his hand from the floor took a gargantuan effort. It almost felt as if the tower were vibrating, a susurration to lull him to sleep.
Belphegor took a slow step forward, blade poised, then paused. The building shuddered around them with the sound of creaking steel. The steady vibration Mickie had been feeling intensified, became a rumble, then a roar. Above their heads came the shouting of enforcers, those out on the catwalks crisscrossing the large chamber.
Mickie risked a momentary glance away from Belphegor to find that the blood lake was not just boiling, it was downright churning. Steam poured off the crimson liquid in a viscous cloud, creating an expanding field of fog. Even as Mickie watched it rolled out towards him in a wave, engulfing the lower levels of the tower. Focusing back upon Belphegor, the branded man found his old captor had lowered the rune carved knife. It looked at Mickie now with a kind irritated fondness.
‘My dear enigma, I would ask what you have done here, but I know you will not answer. That is fine. I have however, realised I might have been a touch too enthusiastic.’
The demon turned to the giant machine, now a hazy outline in the bloody fog.
‘Take him. I shall pull his memories when the circumstances are not so… extreme.’
The rumbling was intensifying, Mickie could feel it running up his body, shifting his broken arm painfully. As the giant machine approached, he finally shook free enough of the fatigue to stand. Legs shaking with both effort and the quaking of the tower, the branded man took an unsteady step away from the metal giant.
‘Impressive that you managed to free yourself so quickly. I am excited to find out how.’
Belphegor commented, sliding the dagger back into a fold of its scaly jacket. The machine was only a couple of meters away now, and to Mickie’s eyes, it appeared to be struggling. There was something beyond simple hesitation now in its jerky movements. It was as if the robot had two contradictory objectives, and both were fighting for control. A metal leg lifted, then fell short, an arm reached for him, then twitched away.
‘Kid something’s wrong with it. Run away, quick.’
Miz-Mag sounded on the verge of hysterics, jerking at Mickie’s jacket like a rider at a horse’s reins. Except Mickie could not run, he could barely stand between the exhaustion and unsteady footing.
‘What is wrong with you. Hurry up and grab him.’
Belphegor seemed to have taken note of its metal servant’s hesitation. The old lord barked out more commands to the machine, which appeared to only make its twitchy movements worse. With a sigh the Belphegor turned back to Mickie.
‘Well, if you want something done right.’
At that moment the ground bucked, a single upwards lift that had Mickie tipping backwards to the floor. And he was not the only one to fall either. Above their heads came a series of screams followed by splashes as enforcers fell from catwalks. The sound was followed by a massive gurgling burst of blood. Liquid that was hot and terribly painful sprayed across Mickie’s face, ripping his attention back to the lake.
Something had risen from the crimson depths. A shadow in the fog that shot upwards into the air. Confused shouts came from the enforcers on the catwalks, but they cries were drowned out by a shrieking squawk. Through the red fog Mickie could not see what was happening, but he could hear the violence underway. Gunfire and screams, more splashes as demons fell from catwalks.
‘There you are.’
Belphegor spoke softly, as if to an angry pet. Mickie turned the old demon’s way and found it fixated on the fog overhead, as if it could see what had emerged from the lake. Finding that the shaking of the earth had lessened, Mickie took the chance to take a few steps back. He came up the edge of a staircase, the one leading down into the lake. There was nowhere else to go.
Above him the screeching sounded closer than before, and the enforcers were attempting to coordinate their attacks. Belphegor was still distracted by the commotion while the metal giant continued to stutter and twitch. Abruptly, the old lord shifted its attention back to Mickie.
‘Well, that answers one of my most pressing questions. Sorry for the delay, dearest enigma, events are ever distracting.’
The demon took a step forward, and Mickie took a corresponding step backwards, onto the stairs.
‘Kid do something!’
Miz-Mag cried, but Mickie had no tricks left to pull. Belphegor was not Illiath, not a demon against which he could fight. A mere few feet away the lake gurgled and bubbled, representing an option just as bad as Belphegor.
‘What’s this? Are you going to go for a swim?’
His old captor chuckled as it reached the top of the stairs, but the expression fell when another screech echoed through the fog, coming from incredibly close by. Something slammed into Mickie’s shoulders side on, and he was suddenly falling towards the lake. Blood rose to meet him, then rather suddenly, began to fall away.
Belphegor roared and lunged as Mickie was pulled into the fog, dragged upwards. He was not falling, but flying. The lord of sloth might have been swifter than its title indicated, but still failed to reach him in time. The branded man shot out over the open lake, something grasping him painfully by both shoulders. Hot air whipped by, and gunfire rang out from the catwalks above, bullets leaving twirling tracers in the fog.
Then they were out, shooting through the large archway and into the desert light. Mickie ascended out of the fog and found himself flying above the spiky bone woods. Miz-Mag shouted something, but he could not hear it over the wind roar in his ears. The branded man glanced up and made out the distinct silhouette of a bird, shadowed against the cavern light above.
It was Ziz, born anew from the power of that strange, inverted blood waterfall. With a roar the primordial announced the beginning of its newest cycle, even as it carried Mickie further from its bonded partner.
----------------------------------------
They flew for what felt like an age over the desert. Eventually the dead ground of the bone wood gave out to cresting sand dunes. Mickie craned his neck to check for pursuers, but it looked as if Belphegor had been too slow in its response. In fact, there was a good chance the enforcers had not brought any flying machines with them to the tower. They had entered through stealth over the sides after all.
Claws tightened painfully on his shoulders, and Mickie glanced up at the shadowed outline of Ziz as it released a powerful squawk. He had no idea where the newly hatched primordial was taking him, though the creature seemed to have an idea of its heading. Ziz finally started its descent when a new smudge appeared in the distance. It was too indistinct for Mickie to make out, but looked to be the sandy colour of the rocky pillars and cavern ceiling.
Having been some distance up in the air, the speed at which they had been moving was only noticeable by the whipping of wind and gentle roll of dunes below. As Ziz brought him closer to the sand however, Mickie became rather suddenly aware of their velocity. The primordial had done little to bleed off speed on the way down.
‘Kid! Ask it to slow down a touch, would you?’
Miz-Mag had to screech very loudly to be heard over the roar of the air. It was a mark of the little demon’s sudden nervousness that it managed to be heard at all. Mickie tilted his head back to shout up, but the words morphed into a cry of alarm as Ziz abruptly released him. There was a moment of weightless momentum, in which he continued forward while gravity took its hold. Then Mickie’s legs clipped the peak of a dune. In a shower of sand, he flipped forward, tumbling down the sandy slope. A poor landing on his right arm reminded him that he had broken it only recently. His demonic healing might be good, but it was not instantaneous.
After what felt like an age of twisting and spinning the branded man reached the base of the dune and came to a stop. He groaned through a mouthful of sand, busted arm wailing anew. Rising slowly, Mickie pulled open a jacket pocket to check on his diminutive partner. Miz-Mag was curled up and woozy, half buried in a pile of sand. Carefully, he pulled the little guy free and set it upon his shoulder.
A nearby squawk drew his attention. Ziz had performed a long circle, and was now coming right at them between the dunes. The young primordial hit the sand at a pace slower than their own, yet seemed unable to stick the landing. It tumbled to a halt with an indignant screech, only seven or eight paces from where Mickie stood.
‘Serves the damned chicken right.’
Miz-Mag muttered blearily from its perch. Battered and bruised as he was, Mickie was inclined to agree. Ziz stood slowly, providing the mortal with his first clear look at the primordial’s new incarnation. It was far more birdlike than the giant that had been locked away beneath the seventh circle. Bronze feathers coated its body and flared off a long tail. A serpentine neck held a beaked head that now blinked a bleary eye of burnished gold at them.
Ziz made a low, chuffing noise and shook the sand from itself, stretching massive wings as it did. Mickie noted the appendages seemed strangely flexible, with claws emerging at an elbow joint. The overall effect was that of an oversized, prehistoric ostrich. Though one capable of flight.
‘Can you understand us?’
Mickie asked, and the avian’s head tilted at the sound. Ziz chirruped in response, and the branded man felt something odd, as if the air around them shivered.
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
He sighed, and pushed back the borderline panic threatening to swamp him. The flight from the tower had given him time to think, though the conclusions he was reaching were grim.
‘Is Kalistra okay? Did she get out?’
Ziz huffed and again the air shivered. After a moment it puffed up its feathers and shook its long neck side to side.
‘No? She’s not alright? Then why did you fly us so far away? We need to get her out!’
Belphegor had been waiting at the entrance and indicated to Mickie it felt something beneath the tower. The branded man did not know what kind of state Kalistra would be in when she emerged, but whatever her condition, he doubted she could take on the old lord and his army. The panic, which Mickie had meant to keep under lock and key, bled forth in a stomach twisting wave.
‘Kid, we can’t go back.’
Miz-Mag spoke softly, trying to sound reasonable.
‘So, we just leave our friend?’
He hissed. Belphegor was going to want to contain Ziz, and Kalistra would represent a way for it to do so. Once the demon discovered his allies binding, it would do everything in its power to hold her.
‘You almost died getting out kid. Do you think Belphegor didn’t notice Kali wasn’t with us? That it won’t be keeping an eye out in case we come back?’
Ziz approached the arguing pair, silent and with head poised, listening. Mickie noted the large avian’s approach and turned to face it.
‘And you? The hell were you thinking, taking us so far away? Kalistra is bound to you, if she gets caught, then you’re in for it as well.’
The primordial said nothing, coming close to him. Mickie’s panic began to twist into anger.
‘Take us back. Do it now.’
‘Kid…’
Miz-Mag began, but was cut off as its partner stumbled backwards. Ziz had headbutted Mickie’s chest, not hard, but with such speed he had no time to react. As the branded man righted himself, he came face to face with a large eye of burnished gold. The primordial made a long, low sound and the desert vibrated about them, with more intensity than it had before.
‘You…’
The voice was soft and high, like that of a child. It echoed from the very air around them, which shuddered and warbled with something akin to static. Mickie froze, mouth half open to ask what the damned bird was doing. Ziz remained focused on him, with an intensity the branded man realised was concentration.
‘You… not return… I return.’
‘What? Why not me? You can’t help Kalistra alone.’
Ziz seemed to struggle with a response to that. Whatever arcane art it used to speak slipped, and it took a moment for the primordial to regain its hold.
‘You help… I help… different.’
On his shoulder, Miz-Mag seemed to have recovered itself.
‘Different how? Come on, make sense big guy.’
The head tilted towards Mickie’s partner. A gust of hot breath nearly sent Miz-Mag tumbling from its perch.
‘You get…’
There was a pause as Ziz searched for the right word.
‘Friend. Get friend, help.’
‘Friends, what do you…’
Mickie trailed off as it occurred to them.
‘The Kindle Kin.’
He remembered what he had seen just before landing, the rocky shape in the distance. What was it Ziz’s previous incarnation had said? To look for the ruins at the broken plateau. Ziz gave an abrupt, affirming squawk that caused Miz-Mag to jump.
‘Kin… yes.’
The primordial lifted its long neck and turned, facing the direction in which they had been flying.
‘You go. I go.’
Then, to his surprise, the oversized dino-ostrich lowered its head and gave him another bump on the chest. Only this time it stayed pressed to him. Mickie was suddenly very aware, that just a couple hours ago this creature had been an egg. Hesitantly, he raised a hand to the large head and ran fingers through bronze feathers. Ziz gave a warbling chirrup and nuzzled against him.
In his head, Mickie had been lumping this creature in with the chained giant that preceded it. After all, were they both not Ziz? He could not however, imagine that old monster getting up close and personal with something it considered to be an abomination. No, this avian was distinctly removed from its predecessor, both in appearance and temperament.
‘Don’t worry buddy, we’ll sort it out.’
Ziz raised its head to peer at him.
‘Yes. You go, get Kin.’
‘And what will you do big bird?’
Miz-Mag asked, then shrank back as the primordial glance its way and made a distinctly hungry sound.
‘Yummy one. I go.’
‘Yummy one? Kid, you hear that?’
Mickie’s partner squeaked and scuttled behind his ear. The branded man scratched Ziz on the neck.
‘Mag isn’t for eating buddy.’
He released a slow breath. The newly hatched primordial’s clear anxiety helped him master his own. Simply rushing back to the tower would help no one. If they were going to help Kalistra and secure an exit from the circle, then they were going to need help.
‘Alright. We’ll go get the Kindle Kin. I’m not sure what your plan is, but make sure you’re careful alright. Belphegor is going to be gunning hard for you.’
Ziz rumbled low into his palm, then straightened back up. Seemingly satisfied that the two of them were going to do as they were told, the young primordial set off. It ran along the sand with a uncoordinated gate, wings struggling to flap in the narrow space between dunes. After a couple false starts the avian was airborne, heaving itself up and into the open cavern.
‘By the blood, I’m surprised we survived the trip out here. That bird is shakier than a slime demon in a blender.’
Mickie sighed.
‘Yeah, hopefully it’s good enough to not get caught until we get back.’
He shifted his attention to the dunes. Unable even to see their distant goal from his current position. Ziz better have thought its actions through, because this was going to take a while.