The Conductor found Mickie just as he stepped into the halls of the tower. Stopping mere steps out of the room in which he had been resting, the branded man eyed the blind singer warily.
‘Spinner, it is good that you are awake. I have been meaning to speak with you.’
‘Have you been spying on me?’
It had only been a handful of minutes since Miz-Mag woke him. The timing of the Kindle Kin’s arrival felt far too perfect for a coincidence.
‘In a way, I suppose you could say that.’
The Conductor smiled at him.
‘You are connected to us through the song, Spinner. I sensed the change in your rhythm.’
‘You can tell what I’m doing through your music?’
Mickie started down the hall, and the blind singer fell into step alongside him.
‘Yes, to a degree. We can sense changes in those connected to us through song, and I was watching to see when you would wake.’
‘Welp, that’s definitely not creepy.’
Miz-Mag muttered from its perch, and Mickie grunted in agreement. The Conductor took his lack of further questions as an indication to continue.
‘As I was saying Mickie, I have been meaning to speak with you.’
They passed a small group of Kindle Kin in the hall. A mixture of hybrids and their fleshy counterparts. The other singers hummed a greeting to the branded man and the Conductor as they passed. Mickie had a good idea of what the singer wished to talk about, and a topic he was eager to discuss.
‘You want to know about my fight with Belphegor?’
‘Yes and no. More than your fight with the demon however, I wish to discuss what you did to yourself to win.’
The branded man sighed.
‘Of course you do.’
The Conductor sensed his reluctance, and reached a hand out to grasp his arm, pulling Mickie to a stop. They were far from any opening to the desert air, and the light was weak. Yet the branded man could still see the singer’s sightless eyes staring up at him.
‘Do not brush this aside, Spinner. Do you not realise the magnitude of what you did to yourself?’
Mickie found himself growing irritated at the old Kin’s solemn demeanor. He pulled his arm free and continued to walk.
‘I did what I had to. What was required to kill Belphegor.’
‘You changed the rhythm of your song.’
The words echoed through the corridor, loud and angry. They caused the mortal to pause and glance backwards at the Conductor. He had never seen the old Kindle Kin speak with anger like that, not even when striking down the Mechanist.
‘You changed the rhythm of your song.’
The old singer repeated, softer this time.
‘And you need to understand what that means.’
Mickie rubbed his face with a hand. He had only just woken up, body still aching as his broken healing repaired it in fits and starts. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk through his problems. Before he could say as much, however, Miz-Mag spoke up.
‘I think you should listen kid.’
To his surprise, the demon took the Conductor’s side. He eyed the tiny fiend, and recieved an exaggerated eye roll.
‘Don’t give me that look. I can sense what’s happening with you, remember, particularly if it has to do with your soul.’
The demon grew uncharacteristically serious.
‘And kid, there were some moments in that fight when things felt downright eerie on your end.’
Mickie let out a long breath and straightened, knowing when he was outnumbered. He turned from the fiend upon his shoulder and back to the Conductor.
‘Alright. Fine. If this really can’t wait, then you can tell me about it while we take a look at the exit.’
The old singer’s expression softened with a small smile.
‘I intended just that.’
It waddled back into step beside him.
‘You said I changed my song somehow? Is that a bad thing?’
Mickie asked, figuring if he was going to have this conversation, then he might as well get it done quickly.
‘Yes and no.’
The Conductor gave a contemplative hum.
‘In your case though, I would certainly lean more towards bad than good.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Because of what your new rhythm became.’
Around them the tower buzzed with a gentle melody, the Kindle Kin joyous and mournful in their victory.
‘It is not uncommon for songs to change. They do, after all, come from us. That shift however, is usually gradual, something that happens naturally over time. Whether that be for better or worse. Your song though…’
It shuddered slightly.
‘Your song did not change subtly. It shifted entirely, warping upon itself to become something wrong. Something discordant.’
Mickie frowned.
‘And that’s a bad thing?’
‘Most certainly. Whatever you did Mickie, it twisted your very soul. Broke the very melody which makes you a Spinner.’
Within the branded man, his desire stirred, shifting on itself like a snake in a cage.
‘But I’m back to normal though, what I did was only temporary.’
He said, pressing a mental hand down on the emotion’s prison.
‘Yes, you did return to us. We Kin sensed the change, and helped you untangle the knot into which you were twisted.’
The Kindle Kin stopped for a moment, and waited until Mickie did the same before continuing.
‘But Mickie. What if we had been unavailable? Or unsuccessful? You might have lost yourself to the corrupted song, never to return.’
The old singer hummed, a low, sad sound.
‘We Kin do not wish such a fate for one of our Spinners.’
They completed the remainder of the walk in silence, the Conductor giving Mickie time to think through what it had said. It had not been anything revelavatory, he already understood that he had risked losing himself. The difference here was in the contextualisation; seeing how deeply his strange metal state had affected the Kindle Kin. Mickie still was not sure what he had done when he let his desire off the leash. With this conversation though, he resolved to avoid testing his luck with it any further.
Ahead of them, artificial light was filtering through the opening to a large hall. Mickie could see the table holding the replica of the tower, and behind that stairs leading to rough stone. They had reached the exit chamber. Unlike when the branded man had last been here, the space was devoid of any other life. The Kindle Kin and his sister were elsewhere in the tower, likely rooting out what remained of Belphegor’s forces.
‘It is a curious place, this tower.’
The Conductor finally broke the silence as they came to stand before the model atop the blocky table.
‘That’s an understatement.’
Miz-Mag muttered.
‘Not every day the building you’re in decides it wants to change shape.’
The old singer reached out a hand and touched the steel replica, feeling its shape and structure.
‘What is its purpose? Why was it hidden for so long? Intriguing questions, to say the least.’
‘And do you have any answers?’
Mickie asked, glancing at the tunnel further down the hall.
‘Perhaps. I believe we have stumbled upon one of the old paths.’
‘Old paths?’
Mickie frowned, thinking he had heard those words before.
‘Yes. The Sovereign’s ascent is not the only way through the circles of Hell, it is simply the one most travelled. There are other ways, paths forgotten or hidden, just like this tower.’
‘Right…’ Something occurred to the branded man. ‘Is that how you got out of the palace? Through one of these old paths?’
The Conductor smiled up at him.
‘Indeed. I am rather old myself, and have picked up a few secrets in my time. The paths out of the ninth were sealed, but without the Palace Lord to hamper us, we managed to reopen them.’
‘And this tower was the same.’
Mickie said slowly, recalling what Ziz had said just before it spat out the egg. That he was the key, and he needed to open the old paths.
‘That it was.’
The Conductor turned from the model and started towards the end of the hall. Heading for the stairs and the cave beyond.
‘Though, the way is not open quite yet. I have received reports that one obstacle still remains.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, but I doubt it will do much to hold you, Spinner.’
They climbed the steps, and the walls and ceiling transitioned from steel to stone. As Mickie’s feet touched upon the rough floor of a cave, he was forced to pull out his orb lamp.
‘Would have been nice to know this cave was here.’
Miz-Mag said, peering into the darkness.
‘We could have just flown right up or something.’
Mickie opened his mouth to agree then paused, noticing something glinting up ahead. He raised the lamp up high, and saw the shape of something large blocking the tunnel. Taking a slow step forward, the light of his orb reflected off polished steel.
‘Here we are.’
The Conductor hummed happily and continued onwards, unconcerned with whatever lay ahead. Mickie followed, cautious until the shape finally swam into focus. It was a monstrous slab of steel, easily three meters high and almost as wide. It filled a narrow section of the tunnel, an imposing barrier made from the same dark material as the palace. It was lined with geometric twists and swirls of gold, patterns that seemed to convey some meaning that was just beyond his grasp.
Mickie stepped up alongside his blind companion, stopping about a meter from the steel barrier. He glanced towards the Conductor, who, sensing his attention, waived towards the door. Clearly, the old Kindle Kin had guessed he might be of some use. Releasing a slow breath, the branded man stepped forward, fingers outstretched. The moment skin met steel, he felt it. A weight pressed upon him. One thousand eyes, all watching, weighing.
Something heavy shifted within the steel of the door, and Mickie yanked his hand away. Before him the metal began to shift, golden patterns twisting, folding in on themselves like the turns of a spiral. The Conductor hummed low as a hole opened in the barrier, widening to form an archway. When the metal finally stopped shifting, they were left with an open access, leading into a cave that appeared much the same as their own.
‘Lovely work kid, now let’s grab the snake and the big bird and hit the road.’
As usual, Miz-Mag was eager to keep moving. While Mickie did not disagree with the little fiend’s sentiment, there were a few things he wanted to wrap up in the tower before moving on. Turning towards the Conductor, he found the old singer in silent contemplation.
‘I’m guessing you and yours will be heading up?’
The Kindle Kin started, and turned its head in the branded man’s direction.
‘Sorry, Spinner. What was that?’
‘Now that the door’s open. I suppose you’ll be continuing your journey home?’’
Realisation dawned upon the Conductors weathered features, and it smiled ruefully up at him.
‘You are thinking we might travel alongside you.’
It was not a question, so Mickie did not treat it as such.
‘Seems to me that we’re an effective partnership. Makes sense for us to stick together.’
Continuing on with the Kin might slow him down, but it would be far safer for all of them than going it alone.
‘Indeed it would, if the Kin were to continue onwards.’
The Conductor said, turning from the door and starting back down the tunnel. Mickie quickly fell into step beside the old singer.
‘What do you mean if? I thought you wanted to get back home?’
There was a moment of silence as the singer thought of what to say. When it did eventually speak, Mickie knew from the Conductor’s tone he was not going to like its answer.
‘Home was never our true goal Mickie. Not really. What my people wish for is safety and freedom, a place where we can live without enslavement. Our old home on the fourth circle was just the first place we thought to go.’
The Conductor gave a sad hum.
‘While I would love to return there, to see the echo chambers once more, the journey will cost my people. Already, we have paid a price in blood to get this far.’
‘So what?’ Mickie asked. ‘You just huddle up in the desert for all eternity?’
‘Not the desert, no. I was recently presented with an alternative to the climb. One which the Kin agree is preferable to risking ourselves further.’
‘And that is?’
The branded man asked, although he felt he already knew the answer.
‘The black city. We have been offered a place there.’
Mickie did not need to ask by whom.
‘My sister.’
The words came out like a curse.
‘Yes. Lucia has plans in motion with which we can assist. She has presented us with a chance to claim a place for ourselves.’
‘And you trust her?’
Mickie exclaimed, incredulous.
‘No, we do not.’ The conductor replied calmly. ‘We do believe the offer to be genuine, however. She will be making a play for control, and our backing would greatly improve her chances.’
Of course Lucia already had her hooks in the Kindle Kin. The moment she had seen them fighting in the tower, she had likely started scheming to have them under her thumb.
‘If it were just me, Spinner, I would travel with you. I am, however, but one of the Kin. While I guide them, I do not speak for them.’
Mickie released a slow breath, his grip white knuckled about the glowing orb lamp.
‘Sure. Do whatever you want. When she puts a chain back around your neck though, remember I warned you.’
The Conductor sighed, placing a gentle hand on Mickie’s arm.
‘That fury you hold for her, I know it. I’ve felt it. The kind of anger that consumes the mind, clouds all but the most vindictive thoughts.’
It hummed softly, a gentle, soothing tone which vibrated in and through the branded man.
‘Do not fear for us, however. We Kin have been captured once before, and do not plan on ever wearing the yolk again.’
The pressure left his arm, taking the soothing melody with it. Mickie stayed quiet, still frustrated, but knowing nothing he said would change the old singer’s mind. Lucia did not half ass things when she bought herself allies. Eventually, they reached the stairs leading back into the hall, an Mickie doused his lamp.
Surprisingly, Kalistra was awaiting them in the hall, standing beside a sulky Ziz. Ever since the avian had been forced to enter the tower it had been grouchy. Something about the enclosed space rubbed the primordial the wrong way. Mickie was about to call a greeting when he noticed somebody else standing with them. An older human woman, turning from where she had been speaking to the gorgon. It was Lucia.
Mickie's growing smile went rigid, as deep within him, the desire roared in its cage. He had no doubt Lucia was trying to draw Kalistra away as well. Perhaps she hoped to drag him along in whatever bid she was making for the eighth circle. The branded man flexed his hand at his side, feeling the urge to call forth the blade, to complete that which he had failed to do.
Beside his elderly sibling, Kalistra seemed to sense the way he was leaning. She took a step forward, physically blocking Lucia from his view. The loathing within Mickie churned at the act, and his eyes narrowed.
‘When I woke up and saw you were no longer nearby, I assumed you had probably headed this way.’
The gorgon glanced about the chamber.
‘Ziz and I had not been to this hall before, so I asked the Kindle Kin for a guide.’
She winced and glanced over her shoulder.
‘And… well…’
‘So.’ Mickie said slowly. ‘My sister played host, then decided to stick around.’
From behind the gorgon there came an irritated sound. Lucia stepped around Kalistra, a familiar, dour expression on her face. Where once the look might have amused or quelled Mickie, now it only made his blood boil.
‘I decided to stay.’
Lucia said, in her aged voice that was familiar yet subtly different.
‘Because I need to speak with you Mik.’
The branded man threw a glance at the Conductor, standing silently beside him atop the stairs.
‘Seems there’s a bit of that going around. What makes you think I have a damn thing I want to say to you?’
That seemed to get to Lucia. Mickie felt a spike of victory as her mask slipped, expression falling for a moment.
‘I know… I know you do not want to talk with me, that you wish me dead. I get it. I…’
She released a slow breath.
‘But, please, just hear me out.’
Mickie felt the nothing began to expand within him, the loathing bubbling and inflating it like a balloon. With effort he pushed it down, drawing his waring emotions back in, letting them churn inside him.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
‘Alright.’
He said, biting the word off. As little as he wanted to talk to his sister, there were some points about her presence he found strange. Lucia’s expression shifted, and he caught a glimpse of hope beneath her mask.
‘Good, I have a room prepared, just follow…’
‘No.’
Mickie cut her off, so sharply even the young and oblivious Ziz winced.
‘No?’
Lucia asked warily.
‘No, I won’t go anywhere with you. No, I will not be speaking privately. Whatever you want to say, say it here.’
He might be able to force himself to hold a conversation, but Mickie would never again comply with one of Lucia’s plans. No matter how small. His sister gave him a long look, though he could not tell what thoughts circled behind her stony expression.
‘Alright then.’
She said at length, shoulders sagging ever so slightly.
‘If you really want to have this conversation here, fine.’
Mickie said nothing, only stared his sister down.
‘I want to know what happened to you. Where you have been all this time.’
That stirred a response from him.
‘All this time? It’s only been a few weeks since I died.’
Lucia barked out a laugh. It was a weak thing, more a hard breath than a true chuckle.
‘Weeks? Mik, does it look like it's only been a few weeks?’
She gestured towards herself.
‘I guess not, but that’s the truth of it. I don’t know why you’re here, but I showed up right at the bottom of the palace a few weeks back.’
He said, unsure what Lucia was getting at.
‘Mik. That can’t be right.’
‘Well it is.’
Lucia sighed at his terse response.
‘No, it really can’t. Because, Mik, you died about one hundred years ago.’
Silence. Everyone in the hall seemed just as taken aback as the branded man was.
‘Is that… some kind of joke?’
Mickie eventually said. He felt confused, unsure what Lucia meant. One hundred years? He had barely been alive for more than twenty. Not only that, he also remembered his death clearly. It had not been that long ago.
‘No joke. Look at me Mickie. Does it look like it's only been a few weeks for me? How do you think I got like this?’
The mortal man met his sister’s eyes. They were the same as those he remembered, yet also different. Older than in his memories, resolve tempered by the weathering of years.
‘But I…’
‘When you died. When I killed you.’
Lucia cut him off, taking a step forward.
‘I knew I had done something irreconcilable. Nothing I did after that, nothing, could make up for what I had done.’
Her mask fell, and Mickie saw the pain written across his sister’s face.
‘When I did eventually die, and I wound up here, I was happy.’
She took another step forward.
‘I did not care that I was in Hell. I did not care that I was forced into service under the demons. All I cared about was that I might get to see you again. That you would be down here, that I could tell you I was sorry.’
The sincerity Mickie heard in his sister caught him off guard. It was not something he had expected, not something he remembered seeing from her in his last years alive.
‘Only you weren’t here Mik. None of them were.’
‘None of them?’
He asked, just to say something.
‘Our family. Mother, father, even Claudia. I was alone in death, just as I was alone in life.’
She released a shaky breath.
‘It was no more than I deserved.’
Lucia had reached the foot of the stairs, only a couple meters from where Mickie now stood. She looked up at him, and in her eyes, Mickie saw a reflection of his broken self. A person fractured by the weight of their own crimes. His emotions churned, all too much, all at once. Only through sheer perseverance did he manage to avoid calling upon the hollow.
‘You seemed to do alright.’
He said, trying to sort through the turmoil he felt, to pick apart the anger and the pain. To give himself some time, Mickie changed the topic.
‘How did you manage to betray Belphegor like that? Weren’t you bound by its mark?’
‘I was, once.’
Lucia replied.
‘When I got to Hell, Belphegor was waiting for me. It locked me into a deal.’
Her expression grew cold again as her mask slipped back into place.
‘The thing about deals though, is that there are terms of completion. Ways to outdo the constraints of the contract. It took me some time, but I freed myself.’
‘And then you made a play for control.’
Mickie sighed. Old she might be, but this was most certainly still his sister.
‘Yes. But that is beside the point.’
Having had a moment to regain her composure, Lucia got back on topic.
‘I don’t know where you have been for the last hundred years, honestly, I thought you were already dead.’
‘I already told you…’
‘I know, I know. It’s only been a few weeks for you. Which means you don’t know about our family.’
‘What about them?’
Mickie asked, recalling her mention of their mother and father not being in Hell.
‘Like I said, they aren’t here. Not a single member of the Family.’
‘So?’
She gave him a stern look.
‘Don’t be obstinate, Mik. Think about it. When I realised there was an afterlife, what did you think I did before anything else?’
Mickie hardly needed a second to land on an answer.
‘Hunt Claudia.’
Lucia smiled.
‘Yes. Not just her, to be fair. But I certainly made seeking out the hag a priority. Do you know what I found?’
‘I’ll hazard a guess you're about to tell me.’
‘That she was already dead. Not just her either. I dug up some old arrival logs, and saw that every member of our family was assigned directly to the Sovereign upon arrival. After which, they were never seen or heard from again.’
‘Why?’
He asked, and received a shrug.
‘I don’t know. It wasn’t everyone, but enough that I was convinced of a pattern.’
‘Our parents?’
Mickie was not sure he wanted the answer to that question, yet he needed to know all the same.
‘I found father’s name, he was assigned to the Sovereign. Mother though…’
Lucia shook her head.
‘No sign, just like it was with you.’
Mickie took a slow breath. If what his sister said was correct, then his father was already gone, with his mother likely following a similar path. He would not see them again in this realm. Oddly enough, he felt relief at the realisation. Relief that they would not have to see him, that Mickie would not have to witness the disappointment as they came to understand what he had become.
‘And what about you?’
He asked, shunting the thought aside for later.
‘How come you ended up with Belphegor?’
‘Again, I am uncertain. The old bastard was always cagey about it when I asked.’
Lucia’s fingers began to drum her leg, an old thinking habit.
‘I think though, that Belphegor knew something, the same thing that drove the Sovereign after our family. Why else would it scoop me up?’
Mickie nodded slowly, and for the first time, turned to the hall’s other occupants.
‘Any ideas?’
Kalistra gave only a slight shake of her head, eyeless gaze betraying little of her thoughts. Miz-Mag just shrugged, while Ziz seemed to have dozed off by a wall. The Conductor though, made a thoughtful humming sound.
‘I am unsure why demons such as those would take interest in the recent arrivals. Though, from what I know of Belphegor and Mizaraphel, there is one common thread between them.’
Everyone turned to the blind singer.
‘They both share a fixation for Magareem.’
The scar on Mickie’s hand itched, as if in reaction to the Conductor’s words. The branded man rubbed it idly as he responded.
‘Are you saying our family had something to do with the Soul Lord?’
‘Perhaps. Is it not odd, that one of the few living members of a kinship targeted upon arrival in Hell, happens to be marked by such an infamous figure.’
The old Kin gave Mickie a significant, white eyed stare.
‘A demon who, by all accounts, died approximately a century ago.’
----------------------------------------
Following the Conductor’s concerning observation, the group discussed the various elements and what they might mean. In the end however, they failed to land on a satisfactory answer. It was clear that Mickie and his brand were somehow related to the purge of his family. The why of it all still eluded him though.
It was just going to be another thing that Mickie would need to watch out for. Having said her piece, Lucia left the hall to attend to her plans. The branded man watched her go with a mixture of relief and frustration.
‘So I suppose you will be moving on then?’
The Conductor said, standing now at the base of the staircase by Kalistra and Ziz. The gorgon nodded, eager to find another place of power and potentially restore her eyes.
‘Yes. If the way is open, then there is no reason for us to delay any further. Are you certain you do not wish to accompany us?’
The old singer smiled wanly.
‘I must say, I would enjoy walking the old paths alongside you. Unfortunately, I must do what is right for my people.’
‘Makes all the work we put into dragging the old boy out of those ruins seem like a waste.’
Miz-Mag muttered, and Mickie passed a more polite version of the comment to the Kindle Kin.
‘True, but I would not call the endeavor a complete waste. It did, after all, reunite us with one of our Spinners, and provide a chance to speak with a primordial.’
Ziz grumbled at the mention, but did not elect to speak.
‘Well.’
Mickie said, after a moment's silence.
‘I suppose that’s it then.’
It felt like a weak thing to say, after all they had been through. Yet goodbyes always seemed to be this way.
‘Indeed, time to part, for the moment at least.’
Kalistra tilted her head to one side.
‘You plan to ascend at some stage?’
‘Not currently, but eternity is a long time, Kalistra of the gorgons. I am certain we will meet again.’
With that, the Conductor gave them one last smile, and turned towards the hall's distant exit. As it walked away, the rhythm of the Kindle Kin’s song began to change. The everpresent, upbeat music shifted. It became more somber, though not entirely sad. The kind of song one sang as a farewell.
‘Shall we?’
Mickie asked his companions. Receiving a chorus of agreement, the branded man started up the staircase. Perhaps it was just the melancholic music, but with each step, he was reminded of the journey that had taken him this far. Memories drifted by of those he had met, and those he had lost.
Nearing the point where steel shifted to stone, Mickie turned back and cast one final look over his shoulder. He saw the Conductor, standing at the far end of the hall, old man Karsus at its side. Next to them was Lucia, returned only to watch him leave. One final time, their eyes met, and Mickie saw the pain his sister held, the remorse and grief. He saw the emotion on her face, and turned away. Whatever had happened, whatever the reason his appearance in Hell had been delayed, Mickie remembered his death. Some things could never be forgiven.
Without another look, the branded man stepped off the staircase, following his companions into the sixth circle.
----------------------------------------
Three figures stumbled their way along a grass plain, draped in fog thicker than mud. One of them, a tall, lean creature with spindly arms, led the way. Occasionally it would pause to glance down at a device clasped in one hand, checking some arcane reading. With each stop Asmodeous, the old lord of lust, grew ever more impatient.
The chimeric demon despised moving through Limbo. An endless expanse filled with nothing but lost mortals and craggy hills, it hung upon one's mood like a wet blanket. Indeed, even the muggy wetlands of the fifth would be preferable to this endless drudgery. Yet, duty had dagged the old demon up here, away from its management of the lower circles, all to deliver a message.
The final member of their group, one of its small underlings, gasped as it tripped over a hidden hole in the ground and tumbled through the long grass. Asmodeous gave a fond sigh. One would expect a chimera with the body of a spider to at least show some modicum of grace. Figures began to emerge out of the fog around the trio, lured by the noise like moths to a flame. The shapes groaned and stumbled about, some muttering words that were too silent to hear.
‘Hurry up now, before the accursed things catch sight of us.’
Asmodeus reached down with one meaty claw, and grasped the other chimera, hauling it upright. It could deal with the Lost easily enough, but a hoard of them would most certainly slow it down.
‘S-sorry master.’
The underling hissed, scampering forward to keep up with their guide. Asmodeus tromped along behind, putting on some distance from the shapes in the fog. Luckily for them all, they were close to their destination. Something large loomed out of the swirling grey. It solidified into a craggy spire of stone, punching out of the grass and disappearing into the shrouded sky above.
‘This is the one.’
Their spindly guide murmured, and without waiting for a response, began to climb. Asmodeus narrowed its many eyes at the lack of deference, but followed all the same. They climbed the steep face of stone easily enough, soon gaining enough height to pierce the shroud of fog.
From nearby, the little arachnoid chimera gasped and came to a stop, gapping at the ocean of shiting grey from which they had emerged. The lustful lord paused as well, taking in the view alongside the small demon. A shifting sea from which stony spires emerged, like beasts from the deep. Far above it all, a veil of misty darkness curtained the sky, the border of Hell itself.
‘Come now, little one.’
The demon murmured to its underling, pulling the creature from its wide eyed observation to continue the climb. They soon reached the top of the spire, stone flattening out into a grassy plateau. Unlike the mists below, this area was not a vacant wasteland. White tents blanketed the green expanse, bustling with activity.
Demons of all varieties shuffled about, moving material or getting to one job or another. Unlike Amodeus’ predominately chimeric forces, this encampment appeared to have at least one or two of every demon within the nine circles. The Sovereign seemed to enjoy collecting them, not that the imperious hag would ever admit to it.
For all that their kindly overlord’s force was disparate, they still held to a single, unifying quality. It was one that became readily apparent as Asmodeus was led through the neat rows of barracks. Silence. Not a shout or laugh, whimper or scream. Only the rustle of footsteps on grass, and the whisper of shifting fabric.
It felt downright eerie. Demons weren’t supposed to be like this, all cowed and timid. A horde of this size should have been in a constant state of pandemonium, impossible to keep coordinated. For all that it was disturbed however, Asmodeus would never let the emotion show. Not in front of the Sovereign.
Ahead of them, a dark shape loomed. It was a monstrous set of double doors, an arched construction of steel and wood, embedded in a frame of slick black stone. The gates of Hell. Gates that were still, Asmodeus noted with a thrill of glee, sealed tightly shut.
The lord was led to a larger tent beside the monolithic doors, and instructed to wait as their guide slipped inside. Irritated at the lack of courtesy, the fiend ruminated with no little satisfaction on the news it was about to deliver. Let the Sovereign do its grandstanding, the lord would see their ruler seething soon enough.
Eventually, they were waved inside, and the pair of chimeric fiends stepped into an orderly space of white fabric and soft carpet. There were no guards, for there was no demon that could threaten the Sovereign. Instead, servants scuttled out of the way as Asmodeus tromped its way inside, small and meek things that kept their attention on the floor.
At the far end of the tent the Sovereign, ruler of the nine circles, awaited. They were a tall creature, humanoid in appearance. White cloth draped across porcelain arms so thin they looked like they might snap at the slightest movement.
The fallen angel was facing away from them, glaring at the towering doors through an open flap in the tent. Beside Asmodeus the little underling whimpered, trembling with fear. The sound attracted the Sovereign’s attention. They turned slowly, long hair trailing through the air like the tentacles of a jellyfish. Eyes blacker than the space between stars landed upon the demon lord.
‘You have a report for me?’
Their voice was cold and lilting, like the icy wastes in the ninth given voice. Asmodeus gave its liege a smile from one of its many heads.
‘A pleasure to see you too, dearest Mizaraphel.’
Sculpted brows creased in the slightest of frowns.
‘I am not in the mood to engage in small talk, Asmodeus.’
‘Old Magareem still giving you trouble from beyond the abyss?’
The Sovereign narrowed its eyes, not responding to the jibe. The demon lord sighed, and let it go. It was best not to irritate Mizaraphel, especially when the fallen angel was already in a poor mood.
‘Belphegor has made its move, just as we expected. Decided to blow the pillar linking the sixth to the seventh.’
‘Blow the pillar?’
‘Indeed, dearest liege. We remain unsure how, but the entire stone column is gone.’
The Sovereign thought for a moment, going still as any marble statue.
‘I see.’
‘Shall I gather my forces, and go put the little sneak in its place?’
Asmodeus did its best to hide how eager it was at the thought. There was little the demon would enjoy more than crushing Belphegor until the fiend submitted.
‘No.’
The Sovereign said, and Asmodeus could have sworn there was a flicker of amusement in those dark eyes.
‘We shall leave Belphegor to its little games until I return from the land of living. There are more pressing tasks to attend to.’
‘More pressing? My dear, things look the same here as they always have. Those doors are clearly unresponsive to your… coaxing.’
Perhaps not the wisest response, but Asmodeus found the slight twitch of the Sovereign’s eyebrow worth the risk.
‘If the gates will not open, then we shall seek another path.’
That caught the lord of lust by surprise.
‘Another path? Out of Hell? Such a thing does not exist.’
The Sovereign smiled ever so softly.
‘For one as limited as you, perhaps it might not. I, however, am not so constrained.’
Asmodeus clenched its many jaws, irritation mounting.
‘And what, my oh so capable liege, is the plan have you devised for us?’
‘That is for me to know. You simply must do as you are told.’
Accursed creature, always gloating from on high. Asmodeus was more eager than ever to witness the Sovereign’s reaction to its next piece of news.
‘As ever you wish.’
‘Good. Now, you will…’
‘There was something else.’
The fallen angel paused for a moment, making its displeasure at the interruption known.
‘Well?’
‘You see, little Raagiasax here was delivering a report when the pillar collapsed. Only just made it out of the seventh circle alive.’
Asmodeus pushed its quivering underling forward.
‘And when I heard what this beautiful little survivor had to say, well. I knew then that I had to have it deliver the news straight to you.’
Mizaraphel sighed, little more than a tiny exhalation of air. It was music to the lustful lord’s ears.
‘Very well. Out with it.’
The little arachnid chimera did not speak immediately. It appeared to be partially in shock, petrified by the present company. Asmodeus gave the sorry creature a smile and encouraging push, nearly toppling it over.
‘Y-yes, O-o-of course. As you command, my lord, my liege.’
‘Speak properly, and get to the point.’
The stammering appeared to only irritate the Sovereign further, heightening Asmodeus’ amusement. The little fiend bobbed in a nod so vigorous its whole body bounced.
‘I-I, a-as you say, Sovereign. Yes, the report.’
It glanced at Asmodeus and the lord gave a nod with one head.
‘It was something we got, you see, from an informant. One who fled the city.’
Ah, how the growing crease between Mizaraphel’s brows was a balm to the lord’s crooked soul. Unbeknownst of the increasing danger it was in, the little underling continued its spiel.
‘They told us something. I didn’t think it was that important, but the Lord said I should tell you. It said that two combatants had escaped the arena recently. That Belphegor was trying to hunt them down.’
Eager, Asmodeus leaned forward, watching for the moment the Sovereign lost its composure.
‘One of them was a gorgon. Stone Eye. Saw them fight once, you know. Then the other, well I thought this one was a bit odd. The other was a mortal, a man.’
Here it was.
‘Only, they said he was branded by the Soul Lord.’
A moment of silence as the fiend finished. The Sovereign was statuesque, frozen for an instant. Asmodeus waited with mounting glee for the words to sink in, for the frustration, the anger, to hit Mizaraphel. Instead, there was a sudden flash of light, and the tent exploded around them.
----------------------------------------
The machine sank, and burned. It did not feel any pain, but it understood that this should be excruciating. Instead, the sensation was closer to compression, as if something were pressing hard upon it from all directions. It tried to move, but there was not enough body left to shift about.
All that it had was a few broken scraps, attached to a core that was itself damaged and warped. Grief welled up within, anger too. They were things that the machine knew it should not feel, that it had never seen in any other of its kind. A curse, and a blessing. Freedom to think beyond its bounds, and freedom to, at times, wish that it could not.
As the machine touched upon something firm, and stopped sinking, the pressure slowly mounted. Still though, it was not painful. No, the machine knew it was not painful, because the machine knew pain. Pain was the tearing within, the contrasting directives, orders that split its purpose two ways.
Even now, within a pool of bubbling, burning liquid, the machine could feel those directives. The instructions carved upon its very core. They had been placed there by the mortal, the female human. Commanding it to protect the other, the marked one. To obey the woman, her and the demon.
For all that the machine enjoyed freedom, it had not minded the bindings. At times, to be free was to be lost, and in need of direction. Now though, it was stuck, a useless core in a pile of scrap, trapped in a place nobody would ever dare to look. Hence the grief, and the anger.
Time passed. Thirty seven hours and forty two minutes, by its internal clock. All the while, the pressure had mounted on the machine’s core. It had attempted to diagnose what the feeling was, but failed. The experience was outside any of its known bounds. Perhaps it was claustrophobia? The circumstantial constraints certainly aligned. Except, should a subset of fear not correlate with its broader sensation? This certainly did not match any prior emotion the machine had identified as fear.
As it mused, pressure built, until, rather suddenly, something gave way. One of the directives already warped and split, sputtered out and died. With it went some intrinsic defense, like a dam it had not known was holding back flood water. Heat blossomed within, tendrils of fire and life that warped and twisted all they touched. Pain followed in its wake, and the machine was almost proud to identify it as such.
The second directive, the requirement to protect the mortal, did not break as the first had. Instead, it was drawn into the melting pot that the machine had become. Logic was difficult, the machine should be able to branch itself from the pain, yet it could not. What was happening? What was…
Sensation returned as pain receded. The machine was suddenly aware of itself. Not only that, but it could sense the scraps of metal to which it had been attached. Like extensions of its own core, they were suddenly more than simple steel. The machine could feel them, had a sense of their shape and composition.
With little else to do, it reached out to the disparate sections of scrap. It connected, though not in the way it once had. This was not the rapid response of copper thought, but something deeper. The machine commanded its remains to shift, and surprisingly, they did. It was not a useful movement, but still, it should not be capable of anything at all.
It was a shame so little of the machine's metal shell remained. With just a little bit more, it might be able to escape its burning tomb. The remains it had left however, were simply not up to the task. If only there were another way, something else it could do. A thought occurred, born from the feel of the metal attached to its core, and the sense of how it was structured.
Instead of asking its broken joints to shift, the machine asked the very metal instead, and to its surprise, it succeeded. Lattices began to unbind and rework, sliding along one another like the faces of a rubix cube. Jagged and useless steel was absorbed and repurposed, forming new brackets, limbs and joints. Old circuitry was dispelled entirely, no longer needed with the machine’s new understanding and control.
Slowly, so very slowly, a new body formed from the remnants of the old. The machine directed the construction, building it to handle the burning lake. A small shape, fast and stealthy to slip past those who would harm it. Forty seven hours and two minutes after reaching the bottom of the pool, the machine completed its new form.
Spindly legs twitched and unfurled, tapping against the smooth floor. Wider, flatter appendages stretched out, swishing through the liquid. It had no conventional means with which to see, but that was fine, because it remembered. Could recall the body from which it had been ripped, and the eyes that awaited within.
Pushing off the steel floor, the machine propelled itself out and into the blood lake, having lost what it was, only to become something new.
----------------------------------------
‘Come on kid, surely it ain’t that bad.’
‘Yes. Mickie. Hurry up. Tunnel small.’
‘Quiet, both of you. Let him work through it.’
The voices bounced off the branded man as he writhed on the stony tunnel floor. Mickie had been prepared for the pain, had expected it, and yet, he was still taken off guard. It felt as if liquid magma had been poured into his eye sockets, melting down to form jagged spears that stabbed at his brain.
The fire felt slightly different than usual this time, more centralised upon his head. He knew that the agony was his soul undergoing a change as the binding strengthened. There would be no lasting harm to him. That did not make it hurt any less though.
‘I mean, he sure is taking his time.’
The ability to distinguish Miz-Mag’s voice was the first sign that the pain was fading. It ebbed away, leaving him heaving, face down on the rough stone. Mickie took a few slow breaths, tasting the dust and grit as it filtered through his clenched teeth. After a few moments he cracked an eye open, and was greeted with a clear view of the tunnel in which he had collapsed. That was odd, it had been difficult to see before, lit only by the small orb lamp.
‘Did… did someone find the lights.’
He murmured, still gathering his wits.
‘Lights? What are you on about kid?’
A small figure jumped into view, standing right before Mickie’s face.
‘You’re always so dramatic whenever we head up a circle. Seriously, I’d think you were a little…’
Miz-Mag bent over to meet his eyes, and trailed off mid sentence.
‘Oh uh. Well, um. That’s new.’
The sudden trepidation in his partner's voice was more than enough cause for alarm. Mickie forced himself upright, frowning down at the diminutive demon.
‘What’s new?’
He managed at a slow breath. Glancing around, he noticed both Kalistra and Ziz stuck in stunned silence. It was odd, everything appeared so much easier to see, as if ambient light was diffuse throughout the tunnel.
‘What’s new?’
Mickie asked again, growing worried.
‘Well, uh, well, no need to fret. I think it looks pretty good, actually.’
Miz-Mag stammered out, taking a few slow steps away.
‘Mag. What does?’
He started towards the little demon, only for Kalistra to cut in.
‘Your eyes Mickie. It’s your eyes.’
Glancing up he found every strand of the gorgon’s serpentine hair locked upon him, her hollow sockets seeming able to stare right through him.
‘They’re glowing golden.’