It was easy to grow complacent when power was easily given to you. There were times I felt like a god, and everything was beneath me - even the Org. Then there were times I felt like a cockroach, just trying to avoid being stepped on to scurry back to my home. Either way, I wasn’t very good at hiding what I truly was. It was only a matter of time before my secrets flowed as freely as my blood, and there would be nothing I could do to negate that pain.
I idly spun the revolver as Rodney programmed in the portal coordinates into the machine. This was certainly living, as opposed to painting runes in blood on my hands and knees. Took some of the weight out of the situation, though. Neutered it in some way. Not that I was complaining - I did not miss the smell, the artistic struggle, or the maddening tunnel through planes.
My left hand was still caked in my own dried blood. I should probably wash that off before doing any kind of diplomacy. Instead, I pooled my energy to form my obsidian gloves, that glowed with beads of crimson. If their barest of illumination was anything to go by - which was their intent - I currently was far from corruption. My favorite place to be.
[I could feel it when you used your divine abilities.]
I turned to Wight, almost dropping my weapon at the brief shock of being taken from my roving thoughts. He took over, spinning the gun and returned it to my hand. The perfect crime. Not that Rodney was currently watching…
“Yeah? Oh, you were possessing me that time, huh?” I tilted my head to him. “How did it feel?”
[I am undecided. I have conflicted thoughts.]
He turned to look at the portal, crossing his arms as if in deep thought. It would have to be something we picked back up on when we weren’t so busy. I did wonder why it was so conflicting for him, though. Things were never simple.
My mind idly went back to the H-Mix. Ever since I located their hiding place and knew of their existence, there was a looming inevitability that bit at my soul. I was putting my body through a lot already - becoming a battery for divinity and demonic energy had surprisingly done me little damage since gaining the powers of Balance. Coincidence or part of a greater plan? I couldn’t even decide what to have for dinner, let alone plan for reality-fixing destiny.
“Portals forming now, let me set back up and then it’s all on you.” Rodney shot me a glum smile as he returned to his chair.
I could tell this was going to be a long and tiring day. Even going to Hell twice in twenty-four hours was unusual - or at least it was supposed to be. Between all that we had going on and Wight’s choice to allow me more corruption resistance, the background radiation of the Lowers was less of a threat. Still, at least I could come and go whenever I pleased, without having to stay beyond my desires. Did I just put that out into the world?
The Blank gave me a thumbs up, his headset and viewing device at the ready. I wondered how different it would be with his patron - if he got one. I didn’t need more voices rolling around my bruised brain, interrupting my noir introspection. Even my own thoughts were too much some of the time.
[Do you want me to hide within the gun again, Eric?]
“No.” Hiding - that was a sad way of phrasing what had seemed so normal before. Of course, now that he had a proper form and could energize my abilities from afar, it seemed unneeded for him to - yeah, I guess - be hidden away. “I think out of everything, that is one thing we don’t need to hide anymore.”
[As you wish.]
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His reply came out impassively, but I was pretty sure I saw the slightest upturn in the sides of his beak. “Right, let’s go… uh, fix our mess, I suppose.”
“First time for everything,” Rodney murmured all too loudly.
I gave him a brief bow, as sarcastic as my body would allow. Still not fully recovered, but I didn’t feel the need to be at peak efficiency for talking some demons down from forming a union or whatever was going on. If anything, I’d end up encouraging them, which sounded even less violent. I thought.
With one last spin of the revolver, I stepped through the portal, the brief second of discomfort washing through me before I was once again atop the scorched plains of the Lower Hells. I turned around from the emptiness in front of me, and bit my bottom lip at the sight of what was once been the nightclub.
Wight filtered in beside me. “That’s quite the development in… what, a day?”
[Hmm, yes.]
Out of the rubble, a large stage had been built opposite rows of raising benches in a rough arch like an amphitheater. The benches were filled with the gray demons giving rapt attention to what was going on atop the main platform.
Possibly a dozen feet tall, the stage had a few benches of its own, as well as three podiums roughly constructed out of what was possibly a bar. A handful of gallows sat at the other end of the raised platform, three of which held dead and rotting corpses of punished helper demons.
“I feel like we have walked in on something that will end pretty badly for us.” I slowly crouched down beside Wight, hoping we had drawn no attention yet.
The crowd seemed to be enraptured by a speaker at one of the podiums. The tall demon was speaking in an odd dialect that I didn’t understand - which was a first, as demonic was generally universal to some degree, however implausible that seemed. They sounded angry, or at least pretty dogmatic about whatever points they were making.
[It turns out the Overseer demons rule over the Helper demons to keep them from uprising and trying to take over Hell. They have old power, which is why their language is different.]
“What?” I turned to him with a furrowed brow. “Why is this the first I am hearing about this?”
[You tend to shoot first and ask questions later, Eric.]
I opened and closed my mouth before my obsidian mask clouded my face to hide my expression.
//Audio and Visual clear. Seventy-eight demons ahead.
Maybe the pigmen village had ruined my sense of scale, as I would have expected there being a lot more crammed into the seating area - but on reflection, it made sense. It wasn’t that large. More of a university lecture hall than a colosseum. One of those usually had fewer corpses hanging out at the front trying to drive some lesson into thicker skulls.
“Thought’s on approach?”
[Are you asking me, or the Rodney?]
//These demons have ranged weapons. I’m unable to advise further.
I narrowed my eyes. So they did. So far my time in the Lowers had mostly been spent around demons who believed clubbing something to death was the peak of technological advancement. The Helpers had a variety of implements of death that resembled the fishmen harpoon guns more than anything - or perhaps crossbow-type weapons like the Skull demons had. Being the target for fifty of those would be a quick way to be a pincushion.
[I would suggest; go with your heart.]
“Thanks, Wight.” I rolled my eyes beneath my mask. This didn’t seem like one of those situations. Despite giving the demons a helping push in this direction, my care for where it led from here had faded away. I saw demons that needed to be killed. All of them.
But what would the Org have me do?
Getting a reminder of the brief wouldn’t be good for much. It had just said to clean up after myself - but there was always an angle to it. Coming home with two red crosses on my report card might earn me a one-way ticket to Partridge chewing me out, and I was liable to burst and run the halls crimson if pushed the wrong way.
Reality was straight forward. Options were to kill them all, or go and try to talk them out of something they really wanted to do. If this was some manner of sitcom, I’d be dragged on stage as the hero and expected to make some kind of awkward speech. They’d sit there uncomfortably receptive before the revelation that they either didn’t understand a word or found some misunderstanding with a phrase or two. Either I’d be crowned their king, or chased off by an angry mob.
My eyes fell on the presumed dissidents hanging from the hastily constructed rafters. Wouldn’t be a good look for me. Not that Wight would allow such a thing, assuming I couldn’t just portal back to the basement.
Go with my heart? Fine, we’ll draw the lots from the hat to determine my action, not showing the audience that all the neatly folded pieces of paper had the same answer written upon them. It was just luck of the draw, I supposed - the showman Eric shrugged at the underwhelmed watchers.
I withdrew the knife and handed it to Wight.