Ziz was the first to notice the change when it came, and Kalistra saw it through the primordial’s eyes. Her partner had been taking a rest in the craggy recesses of the cavern ceiling, when something drew its attention. A shape, distant even to its eagle eyes, and racing across the tops of the bone trees, low enough to almost clip them.
Kalistra knew it had to be Mickie. Whether or not he had the Kindle Kin with him was unimportant to her. At that moment, all she could think about was that he had finally come, and it was time for her to fight. The gorgon pulled back from Ziz and fell into her own body. Immediately, she began to draw upon several woven threads, tiny replicas of her connection to the primordial.
They were crude things, fragile and ugly. Yet they worked. The darkness around her was replaced by multiple overlapping visions. She saw the chains that bound her, the door to her room in the tower, the dead demons on the floor, and even the ceiling overhead. Multiple snakes fed her what they saw. It was a confusing mess, but Kalistra revelled in it.
The individual eyes of her serpentine hair were far weaker than the pair she had lost. Yet the picture they provided was absolute. Kalistra could see in every direction at once, and even obtain multiple angles of the same thing. Spending too long like this was nauseating however, already she could feel the beginning of a headache coming on.
Having ensured everything was operational, she released most of the serpents, keeping only two active. Forwards facing, this pair were her surrogate eyes, and she could stay within them as long as she wanted. Kalistra coiled into herself as she settled in to wait, her hair as fixated on the open doorway as she was.
The sounds of fighting were already echoing through the halls by the time someone arrived. A harried mortal woman stumbled into the room and Kalistra immediately recognised Belphegor’s second. Some of the tension she held within eased. It was one thing to deduce the identity of her visitor, and another entirely to confirm it. Taking a few deep breaths, the woman let her features settle into an expression of bland disapproval. She straightened and approached Kalistra, stepping over the corpse of a demon guard.
‘I imagine you’ve heard the commotion. I should have expected Mik to make a scene.’
‘It is time then?’
‘That it is. For better or worse.’
The mortal stopped just out of arms reach. Kalistra did not swivel her head towards the visitor, her serpentine hair doing the work in her stead. She noted that the older woman had a firearm held loosely in one hand. Things might not be as certain here as she had hoped.
‘Are you going to release me then?’
‘I am. But first, we are going to have a little talk. We are already short on time, and things are only going to get worse from here on out.’
Mickie’s sister levelled a scowl at the gorgon.
‘How in all the circles did he find the Kindle Kin? What are they even doing here?’
Kalistra acted as if she was still unable to see the expression, shrugging and staying silent. After a few moments the old woman scoffed.
‘Keep your secrets then. So long as Belphegor dies, this situation is salvageable. Did you figure out Typhlopidia’s trick?’
‘I did.’
The answer clearly took the mortal by surprise. Kalistra used the momentary silence to cut in.
‘You said you were Mickie’s sister. That is not possible.’
Her visitor recovered quickly enough, expression shifting to inquisitive. The old woman started pacing, keeping her attention fixed upon the gorgon. Then, with sudden and casual ease, she raised the small gun. Kalistra reacted with the speed of the striking snake, lunging for the mortal. Her scaled claw was yanked to a stop mere inches from the weapons barrel. That was it then. Her worst fears had been proven and now she was going to die. One second crawled by. Then another. Then came the dry rasp of laughter.
‘Incredible. I only wanted to keep you motivated, but to think you actually did it.’
The gun fell back into a more casual position.
‘Bit of a crude method of validation, I know, but we are short on time. That means questions will have to wait.’
Her visitor started pacing again.
‘Suffice to say, as odd as it seems, I am Mickie’s sister. You may call me Lucia.’
‘And I’m just supposed to take your word for it?’
Kalistra snapped, chains still taught against her arms and legs. Lucia settled a disapproving look on her.
‘Believe what you want, I’m not here to put you at ease. I’m here to give you a job.’
The old woman stepped up to Kalistra, stopping close enough that gorgon could brush her wrinkled skin.
‘We are officially out of time. Do you want out of these chains or not?’
Kalistra gritted her teeth. Having just had a weapon pointed at her, she was not feeling particularly trusting. Yet the sounds of combat were growing louder. The old woman was not wrong when she said they were out of time.
‘Very well. Questions can wait.’
Lucia smiled.
‘Fantastic. Now hold still and shut up. I’m going to work and talk.’
The old woman produced a portable transcription device and began to etch a rune into one of the cuffs. She seemed to sense the gorgon’s attention.
‘Belphegor’s a paranoid son of a bitch. It has the only key to your bindings, so I’ll have to crack them myself.’
A rune was completed, one which Kalistra thought might be the symbol for Sever. With a crack the steel encircling her left wrist split and fell to the floor. Lucia started on her other arm.
‘Now, once you’re out we’ll need to track down Belphegor. I’ve got someone keeping tabs on the old boy, so we will have its general location.’
Another restraint fell to the floor. Lucia started on one of her legs.
‘Whatever happens, we cannot let Mickie get to Belphegor without us.’
‘Why? He is a capable fighter.’
The old woman threw here an irritated look before continuing returning to work.
‘Sure he is, and I’m certain he will be of use if he shows up. Belphegor is a monster though, and if Mickie faces it alone, he will lose.’
Lucia winced.
‘And Belphegor has something nasty planned for Mickie if he does.’
One Kalistra’s legs was freed.
‘You’re going to have a chance because you’re with me, and I know how to kill Belphegor.’
The gorgon chose to wait until her final limb was free before posing a question. When the binding fell to the floor a palpable sense of relief washed through her. All that remained was the collar about her neck.
‘The lord of sloth has a weakness?’
She asked as Lucia straightened with a groan.
‘These accursed old bones.’
The old woman huffed then flinched as a crash came from nearby.
‘Not a weakness as such, but a threshold.’
She said, staring work on the collar about Kalistra’s neck.
‘Belphegor’s ability is simple, but no less monstrous for it. The old dog has created something like a barrier within itself, using the power of its soul. This both empowers it and allows it to resist any form of incoming attack. If you want to hurt it, then you must overcome the barrier.’
Lucia made the technique sound simple, but Kalistra knew something like that would have to be impossibly complex. She wanted to ask questions, but the feeling of the transcription tool at her neck kept her mouth closed.
‘What I’m driving at here is that if we want to kill Belphegor, then we need to hit it hard. A single strike, so powerful that it overwhelms the barrier.’
With a final long scratch, the old woman completed the rune she had been carving. The chocker about Kalistra’s neck grew uncomfortably hot. For a moment the gorgon thought something had gone wrong, and she was about to have her neck snapped. Then the metal cracked and fell away from her throat, and Kalistra was free.
‘Is that something you think you can manage?’
Lucia asked, a wary edge entering her voice as the eyeless gorgon rolled her neck. Kalistra’s vision swam as her serpentine hair danced in delight, mirroring her own emotions. Now free of that accursed chain about her neck, the gorgon reached for her power.
Normally, when she had gathered enough, she would direct the strike through her own eyes to attack what she was looking at. This time however, she drew on her connections to her serpentine hair. As her vision became an overlapping mess of perspectives, power built. Kalistra directed her attention at one of the guard bodies nearby, and pushed the power through the bond to her snakes.
There was a moment of resistance as her constructions strained with the force. Then her attack burst forth, and the dead demon was turned to stone. Kalistra laughed in delight and turned a wicked grin on Lucia. That smile was all the answer the old woman needed.
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Wind roared, engines rumbled, and Miz-Mag screamed. Whether out of fear or joy, the little demon did not know. Around it the desert and rocky ceiling spun past in a blur of colour as the flyer spiralled through the air. It had only intended the move to be a swift shift to the side, dodging a large net that was launched towards the aircraft. The controls of the vehicle proved unwieldy and insidious however, and Miz-Mag slipped mid adjustment. The resulting manoeuvre successfully dodged the net, but also threatened to toss the demon from its vehicle.
Swinging a leg out, the little fiend managed to hook a foot on a button. It used the added leverage to shove the control stick back into place. With a groan of effort, the flyer’s various rotors straightened out, and the transport levelled. Miz-Mag let out a breath of relief and stretched out aching muscles. It had been holding on for dear life for what felt like an eternity.
The little fiend took a moment to regain its bearings, glancing over the side of the aircraft at the distant tower. Luckily it had managed to avoid barrel rolling straight into the sandy ground, instead sending the aircraft upwards. With the dual benefits of being out of net range and having a good vantage, Miz-Mag took a moment to survey its handiwork. Across the tower teams of Kindle Kin were fighting demons and slipping through shadowed archways.
Each metal hybrid had a smaller, weaker Kin backing them up. When dropping out of the flyer the sentient bulldozers had carried their fleshy counterparts with them, protecting them on landing. Personally Miz-Mag did not get it. The Conductor it could understand, but these other Kin lacked that old fart’s special sound powers. At best they were a liability.
The Kindle Kin had been adamant though. When Mickie relayed Miz-Mag’s thoughts, their leader had assured the demon that Kin were more effective in pairs. The little fiend had concluded that it was their funeral, and let the matter drop. Miz-Mag adjusted its grip on the control stick, shifting in the direction of the singer horde.
At that moment, something slammed hard into the flyer, jolting it to the side and almost send Miz-Mag careening off. Glancing back, the little fiend noticed a hole in the aircraft, punching right through one of the rotors. Beyond that, two dark shapes darted through the desert air like piranhas coming for a slab of beef.
‘Oh, by the balls.’
Two sleek and sinister flyers shot towards Miz-Mag at frightening speed. One of them seemed to stutter in the air, and the small pilot heard the whistle of projectiles flickering past. Miz-Mag hooked the throttle and gave his clumsy whale of a machine some gas. The flyer lurched forwards, before a scream of steel grinding steel rent the air. Smoke began to billow from the punctured turbine and the vehicle listed dangerously to one side.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Where in all the nine circles had Belphegor been hiding those accursed things? The two enemy aircraft came at Miz-Mag like wolf on a wounded deer. The tiny fiend was having more than enough trouble keeping its own flyer in the air. Another gunshot rammed into the hull, not hitting anything serious but ruining Miz-Mag’s effort at stabilisation.
‘Sorry kid, looks like you might be alone in there.’
Placing its finger on the metaphorical trigger, the fiend prepared to pull its disappearing act. Turning to make a rude gesture at the encroaching flyers, Miz-Mag’s eyes widened in alarm. Something large had collided with one of the sinister machines. A tail twisted about the skinny fuselage, taloned feet puncturing the steel body for purchase. Even as the little demon’s own floundered ever closer to death, a long neck withdrew from the enemy flyer. Ziz ripped the enemy pilot from its aircraft and tossed the demon away like an unwanted doll. Even through the rumbling gasp of its engines, Miz-Mag heard the creature scream as it tumbled to the distant dunes.
Ziz uncoiled itself from the flyer and launched into the air. It shoved the damaged aircraft down as it did, and the ship dropped to join its captain. Miz-Mag willed the primordial to turn to the other enemy flyer as it veered away. If the big bird moved quick, it could get to the machine before it put on any distance. Instead, the accursed avian started towards Miz-Mag’s shuddering vessel. The little fiend cursed and wrestled with the controls to stay aloft for just a handful more moments.
That all went to the dogs when something heavy landed on the flyer’s tray. Immediately the aircraft tipped, flipping like a coin and tossing Miz-Mag out into the open air. The little demon caught a brief glimpse of Ziz, still half clamped to the back of the vehicle as it twisted. The big bird’s eyes were wide with stupefied surprise. Then the demon was screaming out in the open air as it hurtled towards the desert.
‘Boil brained stinkin’ bird!’
Miz-Mag cried into tangy air. As if in response, something snaked out of sky and scooped it up. The little fiend was suddenly lying flat a bed of feathers, pressed down hard as its momentum was arrested.
‘Yummy one. You don’t fly?’
The voice came from all around. Miz-Mag cast about and realised it was resting atop Ziz’s head. The primordial’s long neck bobbed in a mesmerising fashion, keeping them steady as the creature’s body flapped in place.
‘Don’t call me that, bird brain. I only fell because you decided to flip my damned aircraft.’
Ziz made a low squawk that vibrated Miz-Mag atop its head.
‘Mickie, said help.’
Good old Mickie, the demon mused, could not touch a plan without scattering it into pieces. The demon cast about, finding the enemy aircraft performing a sneaky turn. Miz-Mag had been worried the second pilot might flee after watching its buddy get pulled from the sky. Looks like it had overestimated the idiot’s brain power. As the final flyer completed its turn and lined them up for another pass, a plan fell into Miz-Mag’s lap.
‘Hey, Squawky. Seeing as you downed my last vessel, I think it’s only fair you help me snag a new one.’
Ziz attempted to eye the little demon, tilting its head and almost throwing Miz-Mag off.
‘Squawky? I am Ziz.’
The demon cursed as it clung to the feathers.
‘If you’re callin’ me yummy, then I’m callin’ you Squawky.’
The primordial grumbled low in its throat.
‘I am, not Squawky.’
‘Yeah, whatever you say. Now focus up, we got a plane to catch.’
Ziz made a harrumphing chirp, and swivelled towards the approaching flyer.
‘I help, because Mickie asked.’
It sounded almost sullen. Miz-Mag had no time to revel in getting one over on the big bird however, as Ziz began a sudden and steep dive. Wind roared past and the little fiend gripped the surrounding feathers for all it was worth. The primordial twisted and spun in the air, all of a sudden coming at the flyer from the side. Miz-Mag caught a glimpse of the pilot’s face before they hit the vessel, and the little fiend cackled at the wide eyes and slack jaw. Ziz caught the flyer like a hawk snagging a frog, its head snaking into the narrow cockpit.
‘Hey old boy, I think you’re in my chair.’
Miz-Mag said, a grinning in glee as the enemy pilot wailed in fear.
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Gunfire punched Mickie in the gut as he slammed the demon into the wall. The branded man gasped and doubled over, but still managed to keep hold of the enforcer’s neck. He tossed the fiend to the ground and planted a foot on its rifle. The creature seemed about to say something, but Mickie had just finished pumping power into his weapon. The barrel spun over from the gun’s last attack, and his adversary’s head became a meaty spray across the floor.
Mickie staggered back as he pulled the trigger. He felt as if a car had just rammed into his stomach. Glancing down, the branded man discovered his jacket had held against the gunshots, better than he had anyway. Trying to master his throbbing gut, a gurgling scream drew Mickie’s attention to the end of the hall. A giant steel figure was standing with half a demon in each of its giant hands.
The Kindle Kin Hybrid turned to Mickie and made a grinding sound that was vaguely appreciative. Behind it the bulbous eyes of its flesh partner blinked slowly at the carnage in the hall. Mickie had come upon the pair whilst searching for Kalistra. They had been pinned down by a squad of enforcers, safe but unable to move further into the tower. Unfortunately for Belphegor’s demons, Mickie had arrived on the other side of the blockade.
It had not taken long for the branded man to dismantle the band of demons and give the Kindle Kin a chance to strike back. Waving vaguely in the direction of the duo, he staggered back down the hall to continue his search. This had not been the first time he had paused to fight, nor would it be his last. Mickie’s role in the assault was to act as a roving attacker of sorts. While searching for Kalistra he would also take the time to strike at any demons he came across, thining Belphegor’s numbers and soughing chaos.
Only, he had been at it for what felt like an age now, and was no closer to finding the gorgon than when he started. The fatigue, which Mickie had pushed aside while seeking the Kindle Kin, was now making itself known. His last rest had been the time he spent knocked out following the fall from the pillar. That must have been days ago, though he had no way of knowing under the desert’s eternal sun.
The exhaustion manifested as a lethargy in his limbs, and a slowness to thought that made him sloppier than normal. If Mickie had been fully rested, that demon would have never been able to shoot him in the gut. As the mortal stumbled back into a run, the sound of music echoed from the hall with the Kin. It was the war song he first heard in the palace, though faint with only a handful of singers contributing. Even so, the music seeped into Mickie’s bones, his back straightening ever so slightly as his stride lengthening.
Up ahead a staircase came into view and the branded man decided it was time to descend to the next level. He expected Kalistra’s prison to be well guarded, and he had seen nothing of the sort so far. Stepping off the stairs, Mickie came face to face with a pair of harried demons. Instead of trying to fight him, the duo turned on their heels and bolted. The mortal was fast however, his gun up and firing before the demons had taken two steps. One went down in a spray of gore, but the other was just wide of the weapon’s blast. Mickie took off after the remaining enforcer as it dashed down the hall. The fiend was larger than the short imps, but not quite as tall as he was. The branded man’s legs chewed up the distance between them until he was almost within arm’s reach.
‘Lord! He’s here Lord!’
The cry took Mickie off guard, and he missed his first swipe at the demon. As the fiend made to call out again, the branded man caught it around the back of the neck. He flicked the panicked demon sideways, and it careened into the wall before tripping to the floor. Before his enemy could so much as cry out Mickie was upon it. The steel barrel of his steaming gun swung into the demon’s head, hitting three times before bone gave out.
The words the fiend had said only registered when he straightened from its corpse. It had called out for its lord. Glancing up, Mickie realised he had almost made it to the end of the hall. Ahead the passage opened into what appeared to be a larger intersection. Echoing from that space, was one of the strangest sounds Mickie had ever heard. It was a low groan, like steel under strain. Only, where stressed metal was constant in its efforts, this noise warbled without rhythm.
Slowly, the branded man moved up the hall and into the open space. It was indeed in intersection, multiple passages converging upon a large room. On one side the steel gave way to open air, and Mickie caught the familiar sight of a catwalk. That had to be the open interior that hung above the blood lake.
He hardly had time to do more than register this however, as his attention was drawn to the room’s occupants. Dead enforcers littered the floor, some still in their final throws of death. Amongst them was a grey figure, seeming so small where it lay hunched and unmoving on the dark metal. Close to the dead Kindle Kin was a badly damaged hybrid. With legs warped beyond use, it was from this creature that the odd moaning came. The hybrid tried to drag itself towards its dead companion, letting lose another whine of despairing loss. Steel arms reached out to claw at the floor, but were unable to shift the creature so much as an inch. Strong as the metal Kin was, it was pinned entirely by the foot planted on its back.
Belphegor stared down at the grieving singer with something that resembled curiosity. The old lord bent down and flipped the metal giant onto its back. For all that it was injured, the Kindle Kin was not helpless. It swiped at Belphegor with a steel claw, and for a moment Mickie hoped he might see the old fiend injured.
Instead, the head enforcer caught the metal claw about the wrist, and promptly tore the hybrid’s arm off at the elbow. Belphegor did the same to the other arm, then spent a moment examining the Kindle Kin as it flailed helplessly. Mickie watched in silence, knowing he should flee, and knowing that he would not. With an almost gentle touch, Belphegor reached down and grasped the hybrid’s fleshy head. The Kin’s eyes rolled about like a maddened animal’s, until suddenly, they met Mickie’s own. The singer, a peaceful creature that had been warped by a cruel machine, seemed to calm as it looked into the Song Spinner’s eyes. For the briefest of moments, Mickie saw that same bone deep confidence he had felt from the smaller Kin before the assault.
Belphegor ripped the flesh of the hybrid from its metal shell. It came free with a wet and messy tear. Mickie saw the Kindle Kin’s eyes widen in pain, then fade out of focus as it died. Gore coated cables and machine parts slid free from the body as the old lord lifted its prize high. Belphegor examined the gruesome remains of the hybrid, tilting the head back and forth to get a good look.
‘I heard about the Mechanist’s little experiments, but I must say I never expected to see one on the Seventh.’
The old lord tossed the dripping flesh aside and turned towards Mickie.
‘I’ve had the palace lockdown undone, and my sources told me about what happened in the ninth circle. Though nobody seemed to know where the pesky Kindle Kin had gotten to.’
Belphegor’s eyes held none of their usual amusement. The mask had slipped, revealing the true demon beneath.
‘Things would have been easier had you simply talked to me, little enigma. We could have worked together. I have always held a soft spot for your kind.’
Mickie’s gaze fell on the remains of the hybrid, mind still on the calm confidence it displayed before its death. Why did he inspire such feelings in these creatures? Could they not see how he was using them for his own ends? The hollow Mickie had expanded within himself cracked, and pain began to leak in.
‘I gave you so many chances, so many opportunities to open up.’
Belphegor continued.
‘I reached my hand out to you, and you spat on it.’
The demon adjusted the sleaves of its suit and stepped off the hybrids body. Mickie saw the cruel intent in its eyes and a spike of fear slid down his back.
‘Well, congratulations, my patience is gone. I tire of you and that accursed gorgon.’
All Mickie could think about was the singer’s arm on his sleeve, the feelings it projected into him. He knew he could not face Belphegor, knew he should run. He stepped into the room anyway.
‘Not fleeing then? Truly a first for you.’
Belphegor noted his approached and stopped only a few feet from the hybrid’s corpse. Behind the demon, the open air of the tower’s interior yawned, a catwalk stretching off to some distant wall. To Mickie it looked like the mouth of some great whale, opening to swallow Belphegor whole. If only it could be that easy.
‘Where do you get it?’
He suddenly found himself asking.
‘Oh? Now you wish to speak?’
The demon said, pausing in its approach.
‘Very well then, where do I get what?’
‘That utter self-assuredness you drag around like prized horse. The idea that you have some right to know me, know my story. That you think you can drop the pillar without consequences.’
Belphegor smiled wickedly at him.
‘Believe I have a right? Oh, my dear enigma, I thought you smarter than that. It is not about what I believe, but what I want. They call me Slothful, but I have always thought the title to be a touch misleading.’
Mickie stopped his own approach several feet from the demon. Subtly he started to trickle power into his weapon, charging for the next strike.
‘You see, it is not lethargy that makes me act so slowly, but patience. For centuries I have bided my time in the black city, watching and waiting. Now, finally, the time has come for me to move. The Sovereign’s obsession with the living world has taken them from the lower circles, and the palace guardians are dead. I shall have it all.’
Belphegor reached into its jacket and fished out a familiar looking blade. The branded man had last seen it next to the blood lake, during his failed attempt to free Kalistra.
‘First though, I will have your story, little enigma. Even if I have to rip it from your soul personally.’
The old lord abruptly started forward. Mickie had been expecting the movement, and reacted by shooting it in the head. The empowered blast kicked his arm up and had the mortal taking a step back to keep his balance. Belphegor strolled right the cloud of dark smoke.
‘Ouch.’
Beyond a layer of dark soot and a few slices, the fiend appeared unharmed. It swung at Mickie with the knife and the branded man danced back from the strike. He sidestepped into Belphegor’s guard and swung his weapon at the demon’s head. It bounced off like he had struck one of the metal walls. Mickie’s eyes had time to widen, before Belphegor’s free hand caught him in the ribs.
Bones shattered like matchsticks and the mortal was tossed sideways through the air. He hit the ground hard, bouncing and sliding onto the catwalk. For a moment Mickie’s eyes were filled with the web of metal bridges, floor upon floor of them. He coughed and rolled to his feet. There was something wet and heavy in his chest, making it hard to breath. The branded man reached under his shirt and pulled the shattered rib from his lung, just as he had done previously in the arena. Belphegor was walking casually towards him, knife in hand.
‘When I first heard of you, I was worried. The Soul Lord was quite the scary fellow, you know.’
Mickie coughed up a mouthful of blood and spat it over the catwalk.
‘Fuck yourself.’
He shot Belphegor again in the head, pumping energy into his gun for another strike. The barrel spun and he fired, once, twice. Before he could get a third shot off the demon was lashing out with its free hand. Mickie tried to dodge aside, but the strike caught him in the jaw. His head snapped back, and he almost stumbled right off the catwalk. Catching himself on the railing, the branded man tried to turn and attack.
A foot caught him in the ankle, and Mickie gasped as he fell to his knees. Belphegor stepped up to him, wiping its face clean of soot with a small cloth. The demon tucked the little square away and smiled at him. Unlike when he had used the charged strike, the repeated gunshots had done nothing to the demon at all.
‘I think it’s time I brought our little game of cat and mouse to a close.’
Belphegor said, spinning the rune carved knife in its hand. Mickie said nothing, his eyes falling to the two dead Kindle Kin. Why had they trusted him? Did they not know that all he was good for was pain and suffering? A hand wrapped about the back of Mickie’s neck. He wondered if the Conductor was still alive, if Miz-Mag was bringing more Kin to the fight, if that glint of bronze he spied amongst the catwalks had only been his imagination. Almost on reflex, the mortal began to pump power into his weapon, his soul a conduit between gun and pendant.
‘Remember, that I offered you a better way. What happens now is not my fault, but yours, dear enigma.’
Belphegor said, and stabbed Mickie in the chest. The branded man gasped as the knife slid through bone and flesh to pierce his heart. The steel was hot, scalding his insides as something strange slithered forth from the blade. It wormed through his heart and into his very soul.
Show me.
The voice was Belphegor’s, coming from within Mickie very body. The demon was in him, in his very soul.
Show me.
The lord of sloth grasped the mortal from the inside out and demanded. Mickie was paralysed, unable to move, unable to think.
Show me who you are.
Foreign tendrils of power riffled through his consciousness, searching for something. Seeking the story of the man sent to the bottom of Hell. Mickie tried to push back, but it was hopeless. He was a dear caught in a bear trap. The power dragged forth memories he had buried deep within himself, and the mortal was dragged out of the desert tower. He was sent tumbling back, back to a time when he still walked the world above, back before that same world had broken him.