Rodan awaited her in the sunlit corners of the tower’s arches. The dark-skinned man’s expression remained hidden as Valencia approached, largely because he deliberately faced away from her. Only a slight nod acknowledged her presence as the armored woman drew alongside. He inhaled slowly, a cupped palm filled with black, shriveled berries held beneath his nose. Nerves steadied, the mage turned to her, eyes squinted at the sunlight behind her.

“Damn this, and damn you.” He spoke, tone despondent. “We should never have taken this job. I warned you all, and none listened.”

Valencia’s mask showed none of the thin smile that crept onto her lips.

“Despair the abyss, or rage against it.” She simply offered. “The choice remains yours alone.”

With a grunt of disgust, Rodan shoved several of the berries into his mouth and began to furiously chew. Valencia let him seek comfort in the poison on his own terms and gazed out over the tower’s edge. Naught but barren rock and broken corpses lay below, littered all the way to the canyon’s mouth. The fields of slaughter overflowed with such carrion that even vultures refused to draw near.

“You know very well there is no choice in this matter.” he finally spat.

‘Should you chose to stay, we will remain with you.” Valencia assured him. “You know this.”

“And willfully damn us all to be killed?” he laughed, derision in his voice. “You have offered this vestige of horrible hope, one that will see us all subjected to things worse than death, and there is no choice but to reach for it.”

“The risks are known. None of us enter this blinded by ignorance.” She rebuffed, hands folded across her chest. The clank of her armor as her weight shifted nearly drowned out the hissed reply.

“Simply because we know the danger does not mean it can be avoided.” Came the low, furious hiss from Rodan. “An arrow flies at you. You recognize its make, it’s speed, know where it will pierce and what damage it will inflict, yet you cannot step aside. There are things that outweigh the power knowledge holds. And where we tread is filled with those horrors.”

“You have made up your mind, then.” She surmised with a sigh.

“You came here to convince me.” He glowered and spread his wiry, muscled arms. “Behold, I am swayed by your honeyed words.”

A lie, they both knew. The mage tucked his short robes around himself and popped another shriveled berry into his mouth. A short-term way to steady oneself with the poisons within, yet why concern oneself with potential consequences upon health decades down the road when death could come at any moment. Toxic though it might be, it was no worse than the poisoned air they already breathed simply by virtue of being within Famine’s throne.

Where Valencia was weighed heavily by her carried armaments, the mage needed no such weapons or armor. A Grafted, his only sign of being armed were the scars that dotted his forearms. Scars where his arms had been cut open and the resonant metals of magic grafted into his flesh. His magicks, he carried within, in a literal sense. Where others of his kind modified their bodies into the shape of their desires, Rodan followed tradition to its very letter. In the years Valencia had known him, she could not recall a single change made to his flesh, a stark contrast among his peers.

It was this that she could hold a begrudged admiration for, at least. Were she a weaker woman, she might have even held envy for how luck smiled upon him. Rodan held control over the forces he commanded, refused to allow himself to be warped by them. She was afforded no such luxuries. Valencia had once been human, same as him, she faintly recalled. There were no words to describe that inhabited her skin now.

“We run from one devils to face another.” She spoke, her voice not soft, yet lacking its usual edge. “A fate not of great fortune, I realize.”

“The Machine Children could be described by many words. Unliving. Hateful. Relentless. Uncaring. Evil, in their own primitive way. But I would not call them devils. They lack that sheer malice and delight for suffering.” Came the reply. “Many who have never seen a demon would describe them as such, yes. But they are oh, so, wrong.”

“Then you shall have rich opportunity to educate them upon the morrow.” She smiled beneath the mask.

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

“I should be fattened upon all the false hope you feed me.” He grumbled, but did not rebuff her.

“This will not be my last journey.” Valencia spoke to him. “This much I know. And as long as I survive, well, I will work to ensure those with me do as well. I will scour these lands in search of what I pursue. But, should you wish to part ways when this is done, I’ll not hold it against you.”

There was no further reply, and with his promise secured, she turned and strode away. Her eyes squinted into the sun as it slipped into the narrow gaps upon her mask. To the shade she hurried, and along its path she trod.

Johann and the orc had not stirred from where she had left the two. Ul’eth slept, face contorted in pain as the blackguard kept watch. A human and orc in close proximity without bloodshed, Valencia mused. A sight that never truly failed to impress her, if but mildly. Yet what was the Throne good for, if not the creation of extraordinary circumstances. The blackguard sat, huge greatsword drawn and rested upon his knees as he kept watch.

“Ready thyself.” He chanted a mantra quietly, eyes locked upon the canyon’s mouth. “Steady thyself. For on the morrow we go to die.”

“We go to live.” Valencia cut in. “Keep remembrance of this. I would not lead us blindly into the abyss.”

It was tribute to the size of his proudly groomed mustache that she barely caught the crooked smile beneath. The disgraced nobleman nodded at her, expression oddly content.

“Lead, and I will follow. Death holds no fear for me.”

“I am uncertain if that is a good thing.” Valencia sighed. “A man with little left to live for spreads the danger to those around himself.”

“Words to soothe your worries, I cannot offer.” Johann shrugged. “But when I die, it will be in glory, so that my family may have something proud to remember me by.”

Valencia turned and looked him in the eye, her tone deadly serious now.

“No matter how great the glory, no matter how sweet the fame might seem, do not cast your life away inside the hellplanes. If in doubt, flee. Run for all you are worth, even if you must leave some behind.”

Silence was her answer as she settled in to wait. And once more, she sank deep within her own being. Once more, she fought for control of her own being. Another small battle in a war she had waged silently for years now. Another small victory, another defeat perhaps. But she persisted, and the sickness that permeated her soul endured. The thing slept within grew with every passing heartbeat. One slim tendril at a time, it latched on and refused to let go. In truth, she was unaware how many of the others knew. If they even knew. Years of memories were hazy within her brain, many blurred together by virtue of mundanity. Yet there were those that remained clear, all this time later.

Every moment, every smell, every sound of the final days was rendered in perfect detail. The end of her humanity, the demons she could recall down to the most finite detail. In perfect, vivid memory than only helpless horror could conjure. But she refused to shy away from those memories out of fear. Instead, she immersed herself, if only to further strengthen her resolve.

The morrow promised a day filled with hellfire, and Valencia relished the thought.

“What is our plan, beyond an aimless plunge into one evil so we may escape another?”

She blinked at Johann’s words and raised her head. Again, time had flown far too quickly while she was within the landscape of her own memories.

“A simple one.” She uttered.

“The best ones always are.”

“Trapped as we are, with an entire legion beyond the rocky walls of this canyon, we have no immediate escape. What we can do is travel along the hellplanes until we are physically out of reach of the Mechanus Legion and then rip another gate back to the surface world.”

“Easy.” He guffawed. “To those who would not know better, perhaps.”

“True. It will be anything but. We move, and we stop for nothing. Remember this. Demons may be glorious to slay, but doom will be our fate once they begin to descend upon us.”

“In and out.” He sighed. “If only it were so simple.”

“Do not falter. Do not turn back. Push forward, kill whatever stands in your way and make sure Ilorath survives. Without her, we are doomed not to death, but to damnation.”

“Not killed in body, but also in spirit.” He nodded, expression somber.

“Should we fall elsewhere, our souls will return to the Great Wheel and be turned anew into a different life. Should we fall below, there will be no such mercy.”

"Aye. Demons and such."

"Ilorath should endure the openings, if all goes well." She sighed and resisted the urge to rub her temples. "yet it never does."

"Isn't the elf that worries me." Johann grunted. "It's her."

"Worry for yourself first, and then the orc." Valencia suggested. "Should any of us survive, I would wager a fortune upon it being her."