The room was an absolute wreck.

Polly’s had a reputation for wanton indulgence and the suite Dal had been given proved it. The opulent room was covered in debris as if a hurricane of empty wine bottles, discarded lingerie, and half-eaten snacks had blown through it during the previous night. Amazingly, the furniture and furnishings still looked tastefully elegant, but the scattering of food, balloons, and sparkling confetti transformed the stuffy upscale room into a den of excess and vice.

A long formal table, complete with sterling silver utensils and finely crafted glass flatware, stretched down one wall. It was surrounded by enough finely crafted oak chairs to seat two dozen people. From the table's state of disarray, it was obvious that it’d been the site of far more than a posh dinner party. A feather boa, a bullwhip, and a length of silk rope were only a few of the odds and ends that were scattered among the half-empty plates and platters. Of the items’ owners, there was no sign.

The only diner left was a white goat contentedly munching from a heaping bowl of mixed salad greens.

Across the room from the grazing goat, a softly crackling fire danced in the ornate fireplace. Its flickering light leaped and played across the sleek shadow panther rug stretched across the floor in front of the hearth. Piles of pillows, each a different size, and color, were arranged around the pelt, providing a rough indicator of the size of the crowd that had gathered before the roaring fire. It was as if a king had held court on the gleaming black fur rug.

Perhaps one had.

Vex sat on a large, high-backed chair that resembled an ostentatious throne. It croaked quietly as it shifted on the massive chair, occasionally tossing furtive looks toward the bed when it wasn’t glowering at the woman seated across from it. A gaudy crown sat atop its head, threatening to slip off every time the murder toad shifted upon its throne. Vex struggled to keep the headpiece properly situated, a task made all the harder for its refusal to release the golden scepter it clutched in one clawed hand.

“You can take that thing off,” said the woman sitting by the fire. Sylvia’s skin was the pale green of polished jade and her voice was warm as a spring breeze. “Someone will probably show up to gather the props any minute now.”

“I cannot take off my sparkle hat!” Vex's agitation was obvious by the pitch of his anxious croak. The slaad brandished its golden scepter at the curvaceous woman who wore a top that seemed to be made of vibrantly colored leaves. The garment was cropped short, exposing a generous swath of her flat midriff. Hugging her hips was a snug skirt of the same material with a scandalously high hemline. Despite the nymph’s provocative outfit, Vex showed little appreciation for Sylvia’s impressive display of her feminine charms.

Fortunately, she hadn’t chosen her outfit for the slaad’s sake.

“Human Daalthaan must see that I have established dominance over this room! We will rule these four walls with an iron fist!” The long, fur-trimmed cape Vex wore rustled against its back as the slaad rose triumphantly to its feet. “When the time is right, we will invade the rooms next door and claim them through a rite of battle!”

The slaad enthusiastically thrust his gleaming scepter into the air like a triumphant soldier hoisting a flag above conquered territory. “Then we will lead our armies down the hall until the entire floor is ours!”

The hulking abomination had grown louder with each word, finishing his declaration in a gurgling shout that had the nymph arching one meticulously sculpted eyebrow.

“What the fuck are you yelling about, Vex?” Dalthan’s muffled voice rose from a cocoon of blankets on the huge sleigh bed set against the adjacent wall.

The slaad spun toward the bed with a startled croak. “Our conquest! It has begun! While your fragile body was asleep, I have been busy claiming new territory!”

Sylvia rolled her eyes as she gracefully rose to her feet. “I’m glad you’re finally awake. If I’d had to listen to this battle junkie for much longer, I think I’d have thrown myself into the fire.”

The pile of blankets that had sprouted an arm and a leg suddenly grew still. When Dalthan finally spoke, his words were accompanied by the rise of one corner of the blankets as he attempted to peek across the room.

“Vex,” the [Rogue] asked, his voice ripe with trepidation. “Who is in the room with us?”

“It is a female,” the blue slaad responded mournfully. Its coal-black eyes watched the nymph approach the bed. “This one may be even squishier than the priestess. There is no place for her on the field of battle. She will be killed, and her softness will nourish our foes.”

Diplomatically ignoring the slightly misogynistic abomination, Sylvia focused her attention on the emerging thief. “You’ve already forgotten me?” The [Nymph Druid] asked as she sauntered her way toward the bed with an exaggerated sway of her hips. “I’m hurt. I thought we had a special connection.”

What followed was a brief scuffle between Dalthan and the blankets that were wrapped around him. As Sylvia grew closer, the struggle became fiercer, eventually ending with Dal tumbling off the far side of the bed in a chaotic whirlwind of flailing limbs and constricting bedclothes.

Syliva’s golden eyes, the color of sunflower petals, blinked as her confident strut toward the bed came to a stuttering stop.

A heartbeat later, Dalthan’s head popped up above the edge of the mattress. The [Rogue] took a moment to brush a hand through his dark hair before he pointedly patted the mattress. “Sylvia! So glad you stopped by! Why don’t you come over here and relax? We can catch up while Vex grabs us some breakfast.”

Vex shook his head, momentarily forgetting about the crown it wore. “This blue slaad does not need any food.”

Dalthan frowned, dragging his green eyes away from Sylvia to watch Vex struggle to remain in costume. “...Is that a crown? Nevermind.” Dal did his best to relay his desire for some alone time with the nymph through selective wiggling of his eyebrows and a handful of suggestive nods. “I would really appreciate it if you’d go grab us some food, partner.”

The slaad lowered its clawed hands, apparently satisfied that the crown would stay where it belonged. “No,” Vex said simply. “Eat the female if you’re hungry, Human Dalthan.”

Dal’s emerald eyes returned to Sylvia where he was confronted by the nymph offering him a speculative look. The [Rogue] licked his lips and let his gaze trail down the nymph’s luscious body.

“That is the best idea you’ve ever had, Vex.” Dal sincerely praised his new best friend.

Sylvia’s musical laughter rang through the room with the natural melody of a bird’s song. “From the looks of the room, you had plenty to eat last night. Besides, we don’t have time for anything like that.” The nymph ruefully shook her head. “I was told to make sure you’re ready for another chore. I doubt you have enough chips for any new gear, so that means we need to stock up on consumables.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Vex immediately perked up.

“You mean potions?” The thief asked as he tried to hide his disappointment.

Sylvia tossed a look over one slender shoulder as she made her way toward the door. “Yes. Potions. I’m going to take you to one of the best alchemists in the city. Most people would be thrilled to have a private interview with the Lord of Flies, so try to look excited.”

The [Druid] tugged the door open before facing the rogue. “I’ll be waiting for you downstairs. We’ll go to Beelzebub’s lab and then, maybe, we’ll put something hot and spicy on the menu for dinner.”

“Yes!” Dalthan crowed with an enthusiastic fist pump.

The [Nymph] rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me wait or I’ll find someone else to leave with.” Before Dal could reply, Sylvia had stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind her.

Wasting no time, Dal leaped to his feet and used the mattress as a springboard to launch himself across the room to his pile of discarded clothes. “You know,” the thief said as he began to tug his rumpled outfit into place. “I don’t remember anything that happened last night. Isn’t that strange?”

“The story is short, Human Dalthan.” Vex quickly tucked his crown under one arm and stepped into the [Rogue]’s shadow. In the blink of an eye, the murder toad had sunk up to its waist in the pool of darkness. “Lady Belial took off your clothes and then you fell asleep.”

Dalthan’s flurry of movement came to a sudden halt. The thief dropped the sock he’d been holding and glanced up with a look of mounting horror twisting his handsome features into a mask of unbridled panic. “Belial undressed me…”

***

“...and you fell asleep!” Syliva guffawed, the tittering laughter sounding like an entire choir of chipmunks chittering in delight. Everyone on the street turned to see what the nymph was laughing about, many of them soon directing their attention toward a shamefaced Dalthan.

The [Rogue] pretended not to notice the unwanted attention.

The first time he heard her laugh, he thought it was charming and brushed the pang of embarrassment off with a gallant smile. The novelty began to fade by the fourth time she’d doubled over in a fit of giggles. By the sixth, he was quite ready to plant the business end of his dagger into the back of her neck.

Vex was no help. The murderous abomination had been sulking in his shadow and refusing to come out ever since the employees at Polly’s had requested that the slaad return their props before he left. Vex refused, diving fully into Dal’s shadow in an attempt to abscond with its new regalia.

Polly herself had to resolve the issue by reaching into the thief’s shadow to drag Vex out by the scruff of its neck. The polymorphed dragon had, literally, shaken the slaad like a dog with a rabbit in its jaws. After Polly’s impressive display of dominance, the slaad’s pride was in such utter shambles that it had shuffled dejectedly into Dalthan’s shadow and had yet to reemerge.

Normally, Dal would be quite happy to have a woman like Sylvia all to himself.

Unfortunately, there wasn't anything normal about this date

“I had a long day,” Dalthan grumbled, shoving his hands into the pockets of the long coat he wore. “The last thing I remember was Agadeem trying to get me to talk about my pa.”

The mirth written across Sylvia’s enchanting face withered and died as the [Druid] abruptly straightened. The nymph sent a furtive glance to either side of the road as if she was suddenly worried that their conversation would be overheard by the various passersby.

“Agadeem? Do you mean the [Witch-Queen]? What did she want to know?” Sylvia spoke in hushed tones as she stepped close enough to him that he could smell the lingering scent of honeysuckle that clung to her skin.

“She wanted to know about my pa.” The rogue lifted his shoulders in a tired shrug.

Sylvia blinked in confusion. “What did your fath-”

Dalthan held up a hand to forestall any further inquiry. “It feels like people have been asking me questions ever since I arrived here. When is it going to be my turn?” Dal scowled as Sylvia fell silent. The moment lingered, hanging over the two like a boulder teetering on the edge of a cliff.

Sylvia seemed to be on the verge of demanding an answer when she visibly relaxed. The tension drained away from her as her chest heaved in one long, deep breath. When she spoke, it was with the patient tone that he remembered from their meeting in the kiosk outside the Mausoleum.

“What would you like to know?” Not waiting for an answer, the [Druid] resumed their trip down the street.

Dal couldn’t resist dragging his feet long enough to admire the sway of Sylvia’s hips in that snug skirt before he quickened his steps to reach her side. He felt that he’d been pretty discreet about checking her out.

The smirk she shot him when he reached her side said otherwise.

Dalthan offered her an unapologetic grin. “Well, start with this Balerik guy. Everyone talks about him like he’s important, but I never heard of him until I ended up here.”

Sylvia reeled back as if he’d slapped her, though her steps never slowed. “Lord Balerik is not a ‘guy.’ He is an [Archdevil]. The last archdevil. Sometimes you’ll hear people refer to him as The Last Prince because he is the last ruling prince in Hell.”

The nymph continued in a lecturer’s tone, “Lord Balerik led an uprising in the lower planes. Through personal power and judicious use of alliances, he overthrew the ruling devils and claimed their realms for his own. Once he became master of the lower planes he reforged the cults devoted to the old rulers of Hell into a unified religion. In time, that religion allowed him to transcend into a true divinity.”

“So he killed everybody and took their stuff?” Dalthan was trying to expand the scope of his knowledge into a truly cosmic scale and failing miserably.

Sylvia snorted in amusement. “Not entirely inaccurate. He didn’t have to kill all of the other [Archdevils]. Several of them chose to throw in their lot with Lord Balerik once his victory seemed assured.”

“Speaking of,” Sylvia’s steps came to a stop outside one of the nondescript doors lining the eighth tier of the Hub. Without any further preamble, the nymph raised a hand and rapped soundly on the wooden door.

Dal had noticed that as they climbed higher into the city that the shops, and the people, had thinned out considerably. There was still a level of foot traffic to contend with, but up here there were no goblins in animal furs or lizardfolk with equipment made from bone. The folk he did see were red-skinned demons with leathery bat wings or beholders bobbing lazily through the air. The only humanoids he’d seen since they’d arrived on the eighth tier were tall, imposing warriors wearing armor as black as a traitor’s heart.

His attention was pulled back to the door when it soundlessly swung open. On the other side of the portal, beneath the pale green glow of a mage globe, stood a man of roughly Dalthan’s height and build.

When he spoke, the man had a strange, droning voice that seemed to buzz through the air from every direction. “You must be the Experience and Levels representative. I’ve been expecting you.”

There was something strange about the man that Dal couldn’t quite put his finger on. Everything about the man was colored in dark shades of gray. From his skin to his clothes, to his eyes and hair. As Dal studied him longer, he noticed that it was impossible to make out the man’s finer details. It was as if someone had taken a pile of gray clay and formed it into a loose model of what a man should look like.

It all clicked into place when he stepped inside. Once Dalthan’s eyes adjusted to the dim green light, he could see why the man’s details had been so difficult to make out.

It was because every inch of the other man was moving. Now he could see tiny shapes fanning their wings and crawling atop one another to maintain the appearance of a living human. Dal wasn’t staring at a person. He was staring at a swarm of thousands upon thousands of insects.

And from the buzzing sounds all around, the mimicry in front of him was only a small part of the lab’s insect population.

“Allow me to introduce Beelzebub,” Sylvia said to the shocked thief. “The Lord of Flies.”