The dark was so thick that the lantern cast upon mere silhouettes of the trees to the right of the road and the air so close that the horse's beating hooves sounded in Rodrick's ears as if they weren't coming from below but to the side. To the town of Mireton he rode on the direction of the inn keeper where he last spent the night after his business in the forest was complete. The horse breathed heavy and the way forward was mysterious to him but the beast was quick of mind, agile and strong. For hours it carried on without complaint or want of food or drink. Spellbound, as if possessed.

They came at last to tall wooden gates on which was written Mireton in script that swooped and twisted like vines.. It was built atop a swamp after large deposits of silver were discovered, bringing miners, and business scoundrels for to whip their backs. All the water had since been drained and cobblers hired, taverns and brothels opened, tanneries and hunters supplies as well, for Mirewood forest was thick with game. And thus the town thrived.

Rodrick tied his horse to a stand outside the tavern door where there was a trough that should have been full of water. The horse scanned it and nudged it with his snout, then looked to him with a grunt. He straightened the collar of his leather riding jacket that cut off mid thigh, and he took the tattered tri-fold cap from his head and wiped his brow before replacing it to enter the tavern.

The town folk were making merry with an evenings dance. Rodrick walked through as a storm cloud sullies a picnic. He made way to the bar where he found the barkeep laughing at the patrons as he swiped a rag over the lacquered wood at the far end, paying no mind to the stranger. Rodrick hailed him but he continued to ignore. He removed the falchion from it's scabbard on his hip and slammed it against the counter leaving a dent. The steel was rough forged and built heavy for purpose. Chopping.

The barkeep shot him a grimace and stormed over red in the face with furrowed brow but before he could speak Rodrick dropped some coin into a small pouch before him and drew the laces closed. For a second he dangled the bag before letting it fall to the bar.

‘Georgianna Braggard’ he said with a dry tone. ‘Where is she?’

‘House on the hill. Can't miss it. But I warn you, she is damned.’

Rodrick chanced a knowing smirk.

With one swift action Rodrick replaced the sword. ‘Water for my horse.’ he said.

Indeed the house was unmistakable, large and imposing in it' overlooked the town. The cobbled driveway made for a long walk. Hedge lined it after a certain distance away from the road. Gold statuettes of cherubs with wings turned into marble statues which led to the wrought iron gate at either side of which was a statue of a Cerberus hound that stood tall and broad. Imposing to the living I’m sure, Rodrick thought.

The great doors of the mansion creaked outward. What stood in the doorway illuminated by the lights would have been mistaken for an invalid if not for the finery it wore. Wispy haired and limping with a mangled face and a hunched back. Formerly a man.

‘She expects you.’ It said as it drew the gate open. And it led Rodrick up the steps, who grimaced and eyed it sideways, the stink of rot lingered on it.

There were red drapes that cost a pauper's salary of a year inlaid with gold filagree and accented with black patterns from far lands. As he was led through the house he took note of the exorbitant paintings and the finest of furniture. Ceiling tall doors were open and exhibited a vast library without question complete. Ways led to more ways to rooms upon rooms. More space than one could ever hope to fill with an army of servants. Fitting for one such as Georgianna.

At length they came to an enormous, ill placed hearth that was in the shape of a lion's gaping maw and seven feet in height. The back wall of it was black brick. The hunchback continued on.

‘Wait.’ it said and disappeared into the opening. A whoosh of flame licked the ceiling of the fireplace making the eyes of the lion glow fierce and red over it's snarling face. And at once it cut off to reveal a passage with the smoldering butler's hand outstretched toward the opening.

The walls were not so glamorous as the rest of the house and the chamber was far from tidy. Shelves held jars that contained roots and fingers. There were frog bodies and raven beaks and multicolored fluids but all dark. There were stacks of grimoires on the floor and spells written on the walls. It was ironic he thought that these were for protection. Georgianna sat at a bench grinding at a mortar with her cauldron set to bubble in a much smaller hearth.

‘You're dismissed Chad.’ the butler's bones creaked as he bowed.

‘Will you sit?’she said. Rodrick shook his head. She slid the mortar and pestle aside and began to unwrap a leather pouch. From it she produced a black wrapped cigar and a box of matches.

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‘Will you smoke?’To this he hesitated a moment, but then slid the chair opposite hers. He lit a cigar and they sat and stared a while.

‘You're a brave man, smoking from the stock of a witch.’

‘You know why I've come.’

‘I know.’ she pressed her index finger to the patch of flesh between her eyes. Rodrick nodded.

‘I can't have just one more year? Just a little while longer? For there is much to accomplish.’

He blew smoke through his nostrils then pulled off his cap and set it on the table.

‘You've wasted your gift on pursuits of the flesh. You know that's not why he gave it to you. And it wasn't why you asked for it. You knew this day would come.’

‘I'm but an old woman, rider.’ At this Rodrick chuckled.

With a smirk he said, ‘You and I both know that you are no mere woman.’

Mounted on the wall behind her was a row of men's heads as trophies and under that those of children, and then those of women.

‘She who swallows covens.' he filled his lungs. ‘Even if I wished it so, there's nothing to be done. He is a stubborn god.’

‘Malak could have come himself.’she said with tears streaking her mascara.

‘Madame should Malak had appeared to you, the unkindness of his punishment would unmake you. It would be as if you never were, past and present, in body or memory.’

‘So that's it then?’ she smote her cigar on the table. ‘You waltz in after all this time, after I've built so much through all my years. And at the snap of his fingers it's over. This day comes for you as well. I hope you know.’

Rodrick pulled the blade from it's scabbard and placed it on the table. He pulled from his belt a pistol, powder and shot.

As he packed the gun she spoke with tears. ‘Have mercy. You could just leave. I could lavish you with all the treasures in the world, you could have my house and my land. Just...let me go.'

‘I can help you beat him. You’ll be free. Free forever.’ This gave Rodrick pause.

With a callous tone he said. ‘Is it mercy what you gave them that hang on your wall?'

With venom in her voice she said, ‘No. And it's the same I'll show you.’she jumped from her chair and thrust her hand at Rodrick as if to cast some spell but he went on packing. At length he set the pistol down beside the sword.

She let out a shriek that blasted away the mortar and pestle, the jars all fell and crashed to the ground and the books were cast to the back wall. The room shook but the rider remained unmoved. He tugged at his gloved right hand until it came free to reveal an embellished gold gauntlet engraved with runes from the beyond and filagree. The fingers came to sharp points and small sockets were carved all along the wrist.

With a gutteral howl she attacked with all her supernatural might. Her torso contorted as she wailed. With patience the rider sat with one hand folded over the other. Georgianna collapsed into her chair. His hat had fallen to the ground and he moved to retrieve it.

Through painful gasps she spoke. 'What are you? Some swashbuckler of the high seas? Some marauder of far islands?'

Dusting the cap off on his thigh he said, ‘No. But I like their hats.’ and he placed it on his head. Rodrick then picked up the pistol, took aim, and pulled the hammer back. ‘There is no pain this way.’ he said. She straightened her torso up in the chair and the pistol thundered into her left breast.

The death rattle was long and hoarse and just as he thought it over Georgianna drew a fresh breath and continued on with it. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen. At length he became impatient and grabbed his sword and drew it across her throat that she could no longer croak. And then he began his work.

With the dead hag stretched lengthwise on the table he hefted the blade and with a crushing blow her skull burst. And then across her forehead he chopped again so that the bone was in four to be pulled apart just enough to fit the gauntlet. The brain squished as he tore through the blood that welled on her face. From the wound he pulled gray matter and connective tissue and cords on which her eyes dangled. A slurp came from the bowels of her skull as the material shifted causing bubbles to surface. And then at last he caught hold of his prize. The seat of her soul. In a normal person it was the size of a grain of rice but in such beings it swelled to the size of a marble. Malak's touch. With a knife he drew from a back sheathe he cut it from it's binds and into a cavity of the gauntlet he placed it which slammed shut in response.

A flood of memories imposed themselves in his mind. A lifetime of chanting, spell weaving and hedonism, debauchery and ritual. Agony also and torment.

He rode home with a head full of misery. The images wouldn't stop for hours. It was always the same.

Home for the night was a hovel dwarfed by that of Georgianna in tidiness, luxury and size. A heap of rubble long since burned to ashes in ages past but still he clung to it. The door was ready to fall as he pulled it to. Underneath was a cellar with a bed and shelf absent of pleasantries that resembled a jail cell more than a home. Upon the shelf was a wooden chest banded with steal trappings wherein he tossed the calcified gland to join the others. Beside it was a glass globe wherein was suspended such a gland indistinct in appearance from the others. But it meant everything. For it was the seat of Clarissa's soul.

With the globe in hand he retired to bed and removed it from it's enclosure then placed it in the gauntlet. It snapped shut to project ancient lamentation on his mind. And so the Archfiend Rodrick laid to rest.