The shack Dalthan had grown up in was a drafty hodgepodge of different kinds of wood held together by crooked nails and wishful thinking. Like most of the housing in Wavecrest’s ghetto, its construction was a testament to the ingenuity of necessity. Though it might have offended the sensibilities of architects everywhere, Dal’s home in the Low Town district had been a bulwark against the wind and rain that constantly rolled in from the sea to lash at the city like a teamster’s whip cracking against the back of a stubborn ox.
For the young boy, the safety of home and hearth began and ended with protection from the weather. There were, after all, other kinds of storms that swept across the Sol’Magor household. As a child, Dal had learned to fear the sound of an empty bottle smashing against the wall far more than the boom of thunder tearing across the sky.
The thief wasn’t sure why the [Archdevil]’s story made him recall those days living with an angry drunk. There was something about the story that made him think of the smell of brine in the air and the flicker of a single candle defiantly glowing in the center of the home’s only room. Try as he might, the [Rogue] couldn’t quite put his finger on why the image was so vivid. It was almost as if he’d heard the story before. Almost. But something was different. Something was missing.
Unaware of the frown twisting his lips, Dalthan tried to will Brenton Sol’Magor’s gruff voice to the forefront of his mind. The harder he tried to recall his father’s words, the more they slipped from his grasp like water rushing between the fingers of a closing fist. By the time the devil had finished its story, the [Rogue] had given up trying to excavate the old memory. He chalked the entire feeling up to a strange sense of deja vu.
Besides, Brenton Sol’Magor had never had anything important to say in his entire life. The less time he spent thinking about his pa, the better.
“Who are all these people you mentioned? Mephistopheles? Zariel?” Dal asked as he shook his head to rattle his thoughts back into place. “I’ve never heard of any of these people.”
The man-shaped swarm lifted one of its writhing arms in what was unmistakably a dismissive wave. “Long ago there were nine Lords of Hell. Each one held the title of [Archdevil]. Like me, Mehpistopheles, Zariel, and all the rest ruled over their layer of the lower planes. Balerik changed all that. Now there is only one Lord in Hell. Some of us kept our title, though we are not technically [Archdevils] any longer.”
Curious, Dalthan decided that now would be a good time to identify their host. As if they’d merely been waiting for the thief’s invitation, white letters immediately sprang into existence above Beelzebub’s head. [Living Swarm Archdevil] proved that the devil still held its title, even if he didn’t believe he qualified for it.
“Are you the only [Archdevil] still working for Lord Balerik?” Sylvia leaned forward eagerly, her amber eyes shining with a slightly manic gleam. “Of course, the guild is aware of your contribution to the Hub, but our records don’t list any other [Archdevils] living in the city.”
The living swarm seemed to consider her question for a long moment before it responded in its eerie droning voice. “Asmodeus and Zariel both fell in the last battle. Of the rest, I am uncertain. Mephistopheles was the first to join Balerik’s cause. An unrepentant schemer, I cannot imagine that he isn’t plotting someone’s downfall. Perhaps even Lord Balerik’s. Yesterday’s ally often serves as tomorrow’s target.”
Beelzebub turned to move deeper into its laboratory. “Of the rest, I do not know. The Hub is a sprawling place that touches every plane of existence. They could be operating in some far-flung corner of the multiverse, or they could be living next door, hiding in plain sight.”
The thought of sharing a wall with some ancient overlord did not sit particularly well with Dalthan.
The thief’s discomfort was validated by the sheer scope of power on display inside the laboratory. Glassware of all shapes and sizes was ferried from one side of the room to the other by floating carpets flies. Some of the larger containers were carried by enormous insects the size of Dalthan’s forearm. But the operation went far beyond simply shuffling material around. Open flames were being carefully adjusted by writhing ropes of bugs while still more insects were meticulously measuring ingredients for the alchemical reactions taking place all across the spacious chamber.
All of this, including a spot of polite conversation, was taking place under the direction of a single hive mind.
“Now, if we are finished with the history lesson, I would like to bring this visit to a close.” Beelzebub’s buzzing monotone voice held no more inflection than the blank, featureless face of the swarm mannequin. “Your presence has already reduced today’s efficiency by two-point-seven percent. If overall efficiency drops by four percent, I’ll be forced to recycle your bodies for raw material to offset the loss of productivity.”
Sylvia’s lustrous amber eyes widened as she blurted out, “We haven’t gotten the potions we came for!”
The nymph’s sudden outburst seemed to give the devil pause. “I was instructed to offer you a potion to aid in your upcoming chore. A potion is a singular term. This is not a charity, and I am already investing far more resources into this encounter than either of you are ever likely to generate.”
Anger flashed in the nymph’s eyes, completely overriding her sense of self-preservation. “We were sent here by Ancev himself. He clearly thought that we were worthy of your time.”
“Shockingly,” the devil began in its deadpan buzz, “I am not the Ur-Priest. I do not care what he sees in the two of you. I am entertaining you as a courtesy to him. You are fortunate that is the case, otherwise, you would have been devoured twenty minutes ago for wasting my time.”
“You’re the one who spent half that time talking!” The nymph seemed to be growing more agitated by the second. Her pale green skin was growing darker, and the locks of her hair were beginning to shift into a burnished blonde like leaves changing color with the turn of the season.
Dalthan placed a hand on the [Druid]’s slender shoulder as he spoke. “What if we can pay you for your time?”
The rogue’s touch drew Sylvia’s attention. The beautiful woman frowned and shrugged away from his touch. “There’s no way we can afford the potions Beelzebub makes. We need-”
Sylvia’s eyes grew round as summer oranges when the thief suddenly presented a faceted emerald as big as his fist.
Dalthan lightly bounced the massive gemstone in his hand as if he were testing the jewel’s weight. “I’d say this is worth six potions, at least.”
“Is there anything else in your pockets that I should know about?” Sylvia’s eyes flashed from the emerald to the thief’s lopsided smile, and then back to the sparkling gem.
“I’ll let you frisk me when we get back to the room,” Dalthan said with a positively lecherous smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
The nymph scoffed, but before she could respond Beelzebub broke in. “Allow me to inspect the item,” the devil said, his tone that of a consummate businessman. If a businessman spoke through the nightmarish flutter of thousands of insect wings.
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The thief began to deny the devil’s request, but the sudden sensation of flies crawling across the back of his hand made him jerk back with a yelp. His cry of alarm was immediately followed by Sylvia’s shriek as the glittering green gemstone tumbled from Dal’s outstretched hand. Fortunately, the [Archdevil] was made of sterner stuff. A veritable storm of black bodies and incandescent wings rushed through the air to engulf the jewel before it could strike the floor.
While the two adventurers looked on with expectant expressions, the writhing ball of flies lifted the obscured emerald and began to carry it toward a distant corner of the bustling laboratory.
“The gemstone is in immaculate condition,” the ancient devil said. “I will grant you two additional potions in exchange.”
Dalthan tilted his head back to give the shifting mass of insects an assessing stare. “You can’t be serious. That emerald is worth at least four potions.”
“I will grant you two additional potions,” the living swarm repeated, wholly unimpressed by the thief’s charming smile or implacable confidence. “And I will agree not to strip the flesh from your bones before you leave.”
Dal’s owlish blink gave way to a pained grunt as Sylvia dug her elbow into his side. “Okay,” the thief rasped as he turned to glare at his companion. “I guess two extra potions is a fair trade.”
“Excellent,” Beelzebub replied without a single note of emotion in his flat tone. “Then let me show you what I have to offer. Make your decision quickly, because efficiency has now plummeted by three-point-four percent.”
“You do not want to be here if it drops below four.”
*****
Dalthan held the three small vials at eye level as he and Sylvia worked their way through the Hub’s busy streets. Though each potion was the same size, they varied in color. One was red as a rose petal, one was blue as a marlin’s scales, and the last was a churning orange that constantly shook between his fingers.
“Please don’t fucking drop them,” Sylvia pleaded from a spot several paces to the side. She’d distanced herself from the thief the moment he’d taken the three potions from their pouch to inspect them.
“I’m not going to fucking drop them. Don’t be such a baby,” Dalthan said, firing her earlier insult back at her. Sylvia glowered, completely unamused by the thief’s antics. “Are you sure you don’t want to see them first? Here, this is the one that blows up.”
The [Rogue] pivoted and made to toss the vibrating vial her way.
The nymph’s reaction was to immediately dive behind a nearby sign.
At the sound of Dal’s laughter, Sylvia peeked around the corner of a sign that read ‘Jack and Jill’s Gourmet Water.’ “Don’t be a dick. I don’t know where you got that huge emerald, but I bet you don’t have another one laying around. That means we can’t replace those if you fool around and break them.”
“Fine, fine,” Dal said as Sylvia emerged from behind the sign. “This one explodes,” the thief said as he deposited the orange potion. “This one makes things small, and this last one makes them giant.”
“That’s not right,” the nymph said as the two continued their trip back to Polly’s. “Beelzebub said the blue potion was a Potion of Diminutive Size. The red one is Colossal Growth.”
Dal frowned as he tugged the drawstring of the pouch and stuck it into the pocket of his coat. “They’re my potions. I think I’d remember which is which,” the rogue said with an air of superiority. “The red one makes things smaller and the blue one makes them grow.”
From the expression on Sylvia’s face, the matter was far from settled. However, the issue was momentarily tabled when a confused Dalthan withdrew a ragged scroll from his pocket. Slick to the touch, the thick vellum was the yellow color of rotting teeth.
“Is that a quest scroll?” The [Druid] asked as she leaned in closer.
Dal gave himself a moment to appreciate the view afforded by the tilt of her body before he answered. “I don’t know. Let’s see.” The thief quickly unrolled the scroll to see what lay inside.
Quest Lord Balerik has tasked you with discovering the locations of the remaining Archdevils. Find them and uncover the truth of the Last Prince's ascent to the throne of Hell. Milestone 1/6
“Hell yeah! I just earned a milestone and didn’t have to do anything besides talk to a creepy bug man.” Dalthan grinned in triumph as he read over the short quest again. “I can earn six milestones from this one quest? Isn’t that a lot? I can’t wait to tell Belial about this.”
“Put that thing away,” Sylvia hissed. “You can’t tell anyone about this.”
Bewildered, the thief nevertheless began rolling up the quest scroll at her insistence. “Why not?”
“Did you read the fucking thing?” Sylvia was tense as a cat in a cage full of rottweilers. “The people, the [Archdevils] that the quest wants you to find? What if they don’t want to be found? If they get word that there’s some pretty boy thief trying to track them down, what do you think they’re going to do? They’re going to discreetly make sure that thief disappears.”
Despite the biting tone of the nymph’s voice, Dalthan shot her a gleeful smile as the quest scroll vanished into thin air. “You think I’m a pretty boy?”
The [Druid] groaned and rolled her eyes. One of her hands rose to let its slender fingers massage the bridge of her nose. “Would you focus for one fucking second on something besides fucking? Seriously. How did you get anything done before you ended up here?”
Dal considered her question for a long moment before his shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “The key to not being distracted by sex is enjoying a steady diet of it. That way it isn’t constantly on your mind.”
Sylvia eyed him speculatively as they approached one of the largest buildings in the city. “Is that a hint?”
Dalthan offered the gorgeous nymph a rakish smile. “More of an invitation.”
“Well,” she replied, letting the word dangle in the air for a long moment before threading her arm into his. “A private quest isn’t as impressive as changing your alignment, but it is something I’ve never actually seen before.”
“I’m going to get the alignment fixed,” Dalthan huffed, though Sylvia’s proximity made it difficult to feel too put out. “I don’t care what the damn paper says. I’m not evil. Tons of people back home would tell you what a good guy I am.”
“Sure you are,” Sylvia said, indulging the [Rogue].
What followed was an animated discussion of Dalthan’s history as a philanthropist in Wavecrest. The wealth he’d redistributed from the city’s financial district had propped up at least three bars and two brothels. There was simply no way to calculate how many lives he’d positively influenced through his injection of cash back into the local economy.
He was, in his own words, a savior of the working class.
By the time they’d arrived back at his room, the conversation had drifted to more intimate subjects. Sylvia had grown more aggressive, purposefully leaning toward him so that her warm breath played across his neck when she spoke. She occasionally shifted her shoulders to slide the soft curve of her breast against his captured arm.
The grin that bloomed across her luscious lips when Dalthan all but threw the door to his room open said that she knew exactly what she’d been doing.
“About fucking time you got here,” came a high, nasally voice of a bald man in black robes. He tossed a set of cards onto the table to the delight of the warrior sitting across from him. With a giggle of malicious glee, the tall, lean woman in leather armor raked in the pile of coins that’d been stacked on the table between them.
“We’ve been here for ages,” Keysha said as she began to deposit her winnings into a brown pouch. “That priestess you know handed us the quest scroll and told us to meet you here.”
“If you’d been much longer, Key would have cleaned me out. Shale already gave up.” Zaplixel jerked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the [Stone Golem] that was standing, silent as a statue, against the nearby wall.
Dalthan’s emerald eyes swept across the room, despair slowly creeping across his handsome features even as Sylvia began to laugh.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” the [Rogue] groaned.