Oziath approached the former Threewater mansion with hope in his heart. For the first time in a long while he felt – alive. The mansion, once the seat of the ruling family of the duchy, was now almost completely derelict. Only the west wing was haphazardly rebuilt and now the home of the Bone Sage. Or so Oziath was told.

After taking one look at the door, made from fresh timber sitting in the burned and twisted ancient door frame, he knocked. As if the inhabitant had waited on the other side, the door opened almost immediately. In front of him stood a small, young-looking woman wearing a hooded, black robe. She had very dark, brown eyes and an impassive expression on her face.

"Leave," she said in a flat voice.

"You must be the Bone Sage. My name is Oziath, and I need your help. I'll pay you handsomely."

A flicker of annoyance passed the woman's face. "Please don't call me that. Oh, and also, leave." She moved to close the door, but Oziath was not so easily discouraged. He had this one chance for a better future and he intended to seize it. He moved his foot to stop the door from closing and fixed the Bone Sage with a serious expression.

"Please, I have come a long way to seek your help. You are the only one who can help me now." The words appeared to have some effect on the woman, but Oziath could not quite discern what.

The Bone Sage spoke with a flat voice. "Well, thanks for warning me. Now please excuse me, the inquisition is about to descend on this place like a gang of wrath demons, and when that happens, the both of us should be somewhere else. And preferably two different somewheres." She sighed and made her way back into the half-repaired wing of the mansion, not bothering to close the door. "And I was just getting comfortable here."

Oziath followed her inside quickly, though the woman did not seem to care. Then he grasped the meaning of what he just said. He paused for a moment, thinking how to remedy the situation, then decided for honesty over flattery. The Bone Sage did not seem to be easily flattered. "Ehh, it seems there was a misunderstanding." The woman stopped and gave him a look, which made Oziath feel like an insect she was too lazy to squash. It made him shudder. "Well, when I said I came from far away, that meant the next town, Cloverbridge. The owner of the inn told me of you when I asked for someone who could heal my condition.”

The woman did not seem to react.

“Soo, now that we don't have to worry about the Inquisition anymore, what do you say? Will you help me?", he continued as he gave her a winning smile. Or hoped so, at least.

The Bone Sage sighed even deeper and dropped into a simple chair that was standing in the middle of the room. "David's spreading rumors again, is he now? That's bad enough, but since you already let yourself in, there's probably no harm in asking. What kind of help do you require?" She snapped her fingers, and candles randomly scattered around the room flickered to light.

In the candlelight, Oziath saw the reason for her ominous title. On the walls were shelves filled with every kind of bone imaginable, sinister-looking runes carved into them. He hoped that those were animal bones, but some looked awfully familiar. That's what you got from wild mages, he thought. No sense in stopping now.

"Ahh, honored Bone Sage," A flicker of annoyance passed the woman's face again.

"My name's Lucia. Bone Sage sounds ridiculous."

Oziath bowed his head lightly and then straightened himself. "Honored Lucia, I come to ask for your healing. I am a successful mercenary due to the battle rage that grips me whenever I fight. But it is a curse as well as a blessing. I cannot control it and do not remember what happened afterwards. My warband tells me that I slay without discrimination, friend and foe alike. I have built up quite the fortune in my soldiering days, but now I want to settle down. My wife and my daughter are everything to me, and I fear for their safety whenever I am near them. I haven't seen my daughter for two years.” He stopped for a moment, grief plainly on his face. “Whatever drives me to my battle rage, please heal me from it so I can live together with my family in peace."

"Hmm." Lucia examined Oziath from her chair. "Have you considered counseling? Maybe it's some deep-seated trauma from your childhood." She paused for a moment, as if considering something. "Did your brother steal your food when you were little?"

"Please don't mock me; this is very serious. I am convinced it has something to do with magic. My troop reports that I show supernatural strength and ability when I fight. I don't even know how to fight with a sword, normally." He shrugged sheepishly

"Yeah, that's obvious, really. Your stance is all wrong. You stoop too much, aren't ready to draw your sword quickly. I'd say you need more prowess, not less. Are you sure that you're a soldier at all? Maybe it's all just in your head and there's the problem."

Now it was Oziath's turn to be annoyed. "No, the last twenty-five years of my life are not just a fever dream." He gave Lucia an angry look.

"You're right, you're right. Who am I to judge? I'm not the archetypal soldier either, am I? It's just that there's nothing wrong with you. Magically at least." She paused for a moment. Thinking. "Can I see your sword?"

Oziath hesitated for a second. "Yes, of course, of course. But could you take it yourself? I fear that I will lose control when I touch it. It has happened before." He awkwardly kneeled in front of Lucia's chair, showing her his back, where a very long sword was strapped. The handle was made of engraved bone that showed no signs of wear or age. Lucia removed it with a fluid motion from the sheath and froze. The candlelights did not reflect in the absolute black of the blade.

"Oh," she said. "That's not good." Then a scream that felt like a choir of angels wailing in agony erupted in his mind, and Oziath lost consciousness.

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Lucia had known that listening to the mercenary was a bad idea. To be fair, her past self had thought so because she was simply lazy and had no interest in helping random strangers. Her current self thought that it was a bad idea because now her mind was apparently trapped in a cursed sword. But that difference of why she had thought so was of no importance, really. She had known.

But alas, it was too late now. Better focus on the situation at hand She noticed the outline of some creature in front of her and fixed it with her eyes. She could not focus properly, but she saw a humanoid figure with gray, too-long limbs, a pair of twisted horns sprouting from its head, and dark black eyes. Very dark. And not just black like a color, but black like the absence of colors, like the absence of everything. She felt a vast emptiness behind those eyes. Eyes that were examining her.

You have my thanks, Lucia. I was asleep for too long.

The voice echoed in her mind like the death cry of a million souls. So far, so ominous. Then she felt the spiritual force of this creature pressing down on her like a mountain, and if she had been some lesser being, she would probably have fainted. A hint of worry crept into her mind.

"I apologize for my ignorance, but who, or what, are you exactly?" A bit of courtesy was never wrong. Except if you deal with wrath demons, of course.

Your ignorance is forgiven, Lucia. I am Baal, Infernal Lord of the Deep. The Doombringer. Herald of Ruin.

A smile, like a crack in the fabric of the world, appeared on the face of the creature.

So this Baal fellow could appreciate manners. That was good. Though the rest seemed problematic. But it still did not really make sense to Lucia. "It seems to me that there's a bit of a problem. There are only three Infernals, you know. Abadon, Mephistopheles, and Moloch. And I should know, I studied the Deep so much, I basically live there."

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The smile widened to a grin, exposing black fangs that whispered the promise of utter obliteration in Lucia's mind.

You are more right than you know, Lucia. I have been erased from the course of history. Violently torn from fate itself. But you have the chance to remedy this – injustice. Baal chuckled as he spoke the last word, as if the concept of justice was a joke only he could understand. But you could free me from this prison, Lucia. You could bring perfect ruin to this world.

"That is an enticing proposal, but I'm afraid I have to refuse. It's not that I don't understand you, you know. Who doesn't want to see the world burn once in a while? But all in all, I still live here, and for the moment at least, I do have a preference for living over dying. Also, destroying the world sounds like a lot of work, and I am rather busy at the moment."

Baal did not answer, but she could feel the will of the creature creeping into her mind. That probably wasn't good, though she did not know how to stop the intruder. Then tell me, what is it you desire, Lucia? What is it you want?

The pressure in Lucia's mind redoubled and she could practically feel the intensity of Baal's stare. “What I want is for you to stop whatever you're doing with my mind.”

What is it you long for, so much it breaks you in two? You don't need to hide your feelings, Lucia. It is futile, in the end.

Her head started to ring like a bell and fragments of a vision began to flash in her mind. Impressions of a catastrophe of unimaginable scale. She saw continents breaking beneath her feet. She saw the very ocean boiling. She saw the sky itself burning with black fire. The power of it hit her like a blow. “No I was rather serious about that,” she said with a strained voice. “I really wish you'd stop that.”

Baal ignored the comment and focused even more on her. Could it be your fear? A terror deep inside of you that drives you ever onward?

Now old memories were dragged from the depth of Lucia's mind. Impressions of her childhood. Heedless riding through the forest. Her endless studying. She saw herself wandering the desert lands of the east, lost in the desert, the caravan long split up. She – Suddenly, Lucia felt the intruder slip away. Grasping for something that wasn't there. The pressure lifted and she dragged herself violently from these forced memories, looking at Baal. His reality defying grin had vanished from his face.

Curious. That never happened before.

She could not help it and gave him a smug look. “Seems your mind magic's not working on me, huh? Not where are we standing?”

Do not throw away this opportunity lightly. I could show you so much, Lucia. The endless revel of the crimson hall. The gardens of despair, watered only by the tears of the lost. Forever cursed to wander in its shade. I could bring you to the library of stone, its hallways overflowing with knowledge not meant for mortal minds. I know you desire it.

“Nah, I'm good. Honestly.” Lucia extended her perception to her surroundings, feeling for the echo of the Source. There was nothing. She could only feel emptiness surrounding her. Lucia furrowed her brow in confusion. That was weird.

"It is not that I don't value your hospitality, but could you tell me how to leave? I was kind of in the middle of something."

Your unwillingness to cooperate is irritating. Do not think that I won't punish your insolence.

She took a moment to think about it. It was absolutely impossible that she could feel no echo of the Source. It permeated all of creation. So whatever she perceived had to be wrong. Of course. Baal had tried to meddle with her brain, so he probably was doing a similar thing right now. But whatever he truly was, he was still banished in a sword. That had to limit its power. Oh, of course, the sword. She still held it in her hand in the real world. She focused on that feeling and could almost feel the bone hilt in her hand. Her hand which was gripping it tightly.

Now it was Lucia's turn to give Baal a smile. “I'd love to see you try.” She relaxed her grip, and her eyes snapped open in the real world. The sword of Baal clanked to the floor, its perfectly black blade still not reflecting the flickering candles.

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Oziath opened his eyes slowly. His head pounded, and he felt something lingering in the back of his mind, like a suppressed memory, too horrible to be remembered. He knew this feeling all too well. Somehow, he must have lost control, and now he paid the price. On the bright side, nobody would miss a wild mage, so it could have been worse. But he still needed someone to heal him. He dared not to imagine what could have happened to Asiel and Noroth had they been near him. He sat up and prepared himself for the carnage. Before him sat the Bone Sage slumped back in her chair, eyes closed. She was snoring slightly and was notably not dead. Oziath reached for his sword, immediately cursing himself for the impulse, but it was not in his sheath. "You are not dead," he said.

Lucia opened her eyes and sat up. She gave him a weary look. "So I am told, though sometimes it doesn't feel like it. Your problem's solved, by the way."

Now she had his attention. "What? How? And why did I not kill you?"

"There was nothing wrong with you to start with. Your sword was the reason for your battle rage. It contains some kind of deluded demon that thinks it is an infernal. I'm afraid me touching it woke it up.” Lucia slumped back into her chair. “But that's not your problem. I guess it's on me to deal with it."

Oziath dropped to his knees in front of Lucia. He had originally tried for a deep bow, but his legs were still shaky. "Thank you, wise Bone Sage. How can I re-"

"Oh, and you did not attack anyone. You just collapsed like a wimp. Now. Get. Out." He scurried out of the door as he heard Lucia call after him. "And don't even think about telling anyone about this."

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Lucia sat cross-legged in the middle of her room, meditating. Her sole piece of furniture, the wooden chair, stood discarded in the corner of the room. She only used it to show off in front of visitors. Fortunately, there were few of them. Surrounding her was an intricate pattern of distinctly sinister-looking runes, drawn with chalk on her floor. She was very proud of her work and had tried very hard to incorporate the hints of screaming faces and eerie eyes into her runework. It was not strictly necessary, of course, but as a necromancer, she, of all people, should be allowed to have a bit of fun. In front of her lay a black-bladed sword on a pedestal.

Lucia focused on the sword. Then she spoke. "Greetings Baal, would you care for a talk?" She waited a couple of minutes, but no reply came. Back to the drawing board it was, then.

After three failed attempts to destroy the sword, Lucia had moved on to a different approach. Establishing communication with the trapped Infernal. The thought was still crazy to her. But there had to be some spark of truth to Baal's claim because whatever the sword was made from, her echo forge hadn't even been able to scratch the surface of it. It was an improvised mess, but still. She'd never seen such a powerful artifact, and it was only meant to keep someone inside. Baal. Maybe he really was the forgotten fourth Infernal. And that would be an opportunity she could not pass. She felt a spark of excitement for the project like she hadn't felt in a long time.

The power you could theoretically extract from a trapped infernal was worth more than most kingdoms, but Lucia's mind was firmly on the dusty scholars from Westend. A fourth infernal, and she had found it. She would rub it in their faces until the day they died. Anonymously, of course, lest the inquisition decide to pay a visit to her and her new infernal friend.

But then reality came crashing back at her. She failed to talk to him. Again. Lucia sighed and stood up in her runic circle, trying to manifest some positive thoughts. A monk of the Sightless had once advised her to do so and she attempted it every now and then. It rarely worked, though. No that was the wrong direction. She was not too disappointed that it hadn't worked. After all, this was just her 34th try, and above all else, she was a realist. Life had taught her well and truly that things never work on the first attempt. Or on the 34. Which was a good thing when you think about it. More chances to learn or something like that.

Lucia's flailing attempts at thinking positively were rudely interrupted by a faint, yet familiar, voice in her head. Greetings, Lucia. I rejoice in hearing your voice again. Truly, I do. But it is hard for me to speak with you. So very hard. Maybe if you touch the sword, it will be easier.

Despite herself, she had to smirk. The oldest trick in the book, yet Ball managed to deliver the line full of grace. Even if he wasn't an Infernal, she couldn't deny that he had style. "Yeah, that's a gracious offer, but the last time was more than enough for me. Don't worry, though. I'm working on something for you that will make it easier and safer for me to speak with you. It'll take some time to figure out, but a millennium trapped in a sword puts these things into perspective, doesn't it? Anyway, I thought about what you said when I was trapped inside the sword with you. That you are an Infernal, I mean. I'd hate to seem distrustful, but do you have any—you know—proof?"

After a while, Baal spoke again. I could give you more than proof—much more. But as you are not inclined to touch the sword, I must resort to mere words. You tried to destroy this vessel and failed, is it not so? Does this not strike you as extraordinary?

"Yeah, that's true. How did you know, by the way? Could you feel my attempts to destroy the sword, or do you have some sense of perception?" Lucia took a quill, paper, and an ink bottle from the deep pockets of her robes and started taking notes.

Since you've awoken me, I can feel my surroundings. Feel the life that permeates everything. It disgusts me. And you need not burden yourself with the task of destroying this vessel. If it had been possible, it would have escaped eons ago. But there is a way to rid this world of me if you so desire.

Lucia could practically see the malignant smile in these words. She was intrigued. "And what would you have me do?"

Cast this vessel into the Infernal realm. It is all but indestructible here, but in my world, it cannot contain me. I would take back my long-forgotten throne and could grant your every wish, with power beyond your feeble mind to comprehend. I know it entices you, I have seen your mind.

"So let me recap this. Assuming you are actually a long-forgotten infernal and not just full of shit, you want me to open a real physical portal into the Deep and then let you loose there. And all that for a faint hope that you actually hold your word. Historically, Infernals are not known for being true to their words. I mean, Mephistopheles is literally the Great Betrayer, isn't he?” Lucia paused for a moment, thinking. “How would you even create such a portal?"

The simultaneous death of a million souls should suffice.

Lucia sighed. “ Come on, now you're being ridiculous. That sounds like way too much work."

I could destroy the Mage's Guild for you.

Lucia raised an eyebrow. “Just because you've read my mind doesn't mean you know what I'm thinking.”

Don't be coy, Lucia. I know you will help me, eventually. As for the fine details of this plan, I am open to negotiations.