Time was difficult to gauge from inside Parry's memory space, but Styak felt much had passed. Digging straight down, it had bored a truly deep chasm of memories. Looking up, the faint light of the surface was a small square, dim and distant. While it was no prison to the demon, not since the Ritual of the Fifth Step, it still felt claustrophobic.
Styak uncovered a few juicy memories along the way, including a time Parry had been reborn as prince of the Ffolley Protectorate eight years from now, and another where she'd been a unicorn filly. Shame that last one had magic "current Parry" couldn't use, some of those spells had tremendous potential.
Down again, into the next memory cell, a single bright spark Styak placed on the tongue...
> The Rebuilt City in its eternal night, a view from the window of a great house, the sweet sounds of enslaved souls toiling in their eternal torment, music to demonic ears.
>
> "Tasker," a voice behind Parry, professional and obsequious at the same time. "Tasker, they're ready."
>
> The dim light obscured nothing from its eyes, not with his bloodline, not with its abilities. Few demons rise to the position of tasker, charged with the trust of an Archlord to fulfill a great working. In that service, in pursuit of that goal, a tasker's authority was absolute. Royal houses would bow to their demands. Demon lords would make way. A tasker could not be impeded, lest the answer to an Archlord.
>
> Tasker Parry nodded and followed the functionary, a fourth-class demon in what must be its hundredth century of servitude. It knew its way around the great house. They made their way into a receiving room, where the house's family had gathered. Parry could hear frantic whispers as they approached the door, all of which fell silent when the servant flung them open and the tasker strode in.
>
> "Marques, I will not take much of your time," Parry began, taking instant control over the gathering. The Marques and their entire immediate family, including the aged old Marques its parent, the spouse, the several children, some cousins and nephews, all staring with a mix of terror and avarice: demons want power, and a tasker has power to spare.
>
> "We are at your call, now and forever, Tasker Parry," the Marques spoke for the whole family, of course. "Our lives have purpose only to assist in any working of the Archlord."
>
> "Well said, Marques," beamed the tasker, yellow-red irises of its eyes flashing with (they all hoped) mirth and tolerance. "So sorry that spirit wasn't at the fore during the Worm War. The Archlord could have benefited from your enthusiasm."
>
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>
> The spouse swallowed audibly, fangs ground together. Parry could almost read its mind, they knew this was coming, they knew their cowardice had finally caught up to them, that the family was going to pay for failing to fling themselves into the Archlord's martial folly last decade.
>
> "I deeply regret I arrived only after the battle had be won," the Marques tried, using clearly rehearsed words. "It is the great disappointment of my existence that I was not part of the raiding party that day."
>
> "Be of cheer, then, Marques. You have a singular honor now, more than great enough to still any tongues that claim your house is built atop cowardice, treachery and dereliction."
>
> One of the children put a clawed hand on a fierce-looking flail. A tiny movement, but enough to make the Marques pale. "Others will talk, of course. Of course they will. But talk is talk, we are eager to prove them all liars."
>
> Parry drew his sword. It instantly sucked the light from the room--including the red glow from every eye. The blade screamed of hunger and malice. For a moment, it looked like the Marques was going to weep.
>
> "My working requires the use of Gorge." Everyone in the room knew that sword's name. "The Archlord has entrusted it to me for a time. It is a valued servant, and servants must be tended. And fed."
>
> Parry turned the hilt and presented it to the Marques, who looked at it as one might a viper. "Your house is sprung from the high bloodline, on which Gorge must sup. I leave to you, Marques, the choice of which of your family you'll feed it to."
>
> A step back. The baneful sword drooped in the Marques's palm. With a curt bow, Tasker Parry spun and left the room, closing the door, and waited.
>
> "No false exits to that chamber, seneschal?" Parry asked the servant.
>
> "None, Tasker, no windows. The chimney was stopped up as you requested." The demon nervously dug its claws into the exquisite carpet. "But they might teleport out?"
>
> "That won't be an issue," the tasker said offhandedly, listening at the door. Whispers within became shouts. Became threats. One of the family was sobbing. It didn't drown out the wails of their herds of slaves. In fact, Parry thought it made for a fine counterpoint.
>
> "We all have our tasks to perform."
Styak staggered back from the memory, it burned the tongue and drew fierce tears to its eyes. The Demon Lands! The Rebuilt City with its thick air, the games of the powerful, the opportunities, the possibilities.
I have to get back. I must! I will find a road home, and if I can't find it, I will build it myself. If I have to wade through blood or eat my pride, so be it. If I have to steal grace or scrape crumbs of power from this horrible world, so be it. I will return to my home with might in my hands enough to rain destruction down upon all the Houses!
Deep in a dark hole in the bowels of the boy's memory, a cat smiled and it is a good thing no one was there to see it.