Oak’s relief was short-lived.

He spent a couple of minutes gathering himself on the floor of the tavern and letting the aftershocks of the hits he took to his wards settle. He was just about to get moving again when there was a noise on the square outside. A buzzing of wings. The sound waves carried the truth of the matter to him, and the Ears of Amdusias painted a picture to his mind.

Three giant centipedes, just like the ones he had run into before, had just landed on the square. Two of them were skittering towards the ruined front of the tavern.

“Oh, for the love of Ashmedai, can’t I get a fucking break here?” Oak whispered and tried to haul himself up by grabbing a nearby chair. One of the chair’s legs snapped, and he fell back down, slamming his face against the floor.

Two of the three centipedes heard the noise and took flight, wings buzzing and mandibles clicking excitedly as Oak groaned and got himself to a sitting position. He leaned back against a fallen table and gasped for breath. The cleaver shook in his hand and no matter how he put his fingers, he could not seem to get a good grip on the handle. He was bone-tired.

“Demon of Wrath, grant me strength,” Oak prayed, even though he knew it to be a fruitless endeavor. He was beyond Ashmedai’s aid.

The first giant centipede flew through the ruined doorway and took a beeline straight for Oak’s face.

No plans now, just violence.

He raised his left arm to guard his face. The impact sent him, the table, and the centipede chewing on his arm, sliding backwards for a couple of feet.

Oak lifted his cleaver and struck down. His edge-alignment was off-kilter, and the cleaver bounced from the centipede's carapace. The mandibles cut him to the bone and the little spiky legs of the disgusting insect were raking his chest and stomach, leaving bleeding furrows in their wake. His second try bounced as well, but on the third hit he struck between the plates of chitin and the cleaver sank deep.

The centipede screeched in pain and writhed on top of him as Oak let go of the cleaver's handle and started pummeling on the blades back with his right hand to sink it deeper into the centipede's head. He did not dare pull the cleaver free to strike again, since his hands felt so weak he might drop it.

When the second centipede slammed on top of the first one and started climbing it to get its mandibles around Oak’s neck, despair truly hit him. His left arm was clamped inside the maw of the now mostly dead centipede and he could not get it out. His right arm flopped uselessly as he tried to punch the second insect, but the monster ignored him and let out a pleased hiss as its many eyes looked at the delicious meal in front of it.

Hells.

Oak tried one last time to lift his right arm, but the limb refused to move. His attempt to shoot flames at the centipede’s face resulted in a single spark. He sighed and closed his eyes.

I am so sorry, Geezer. You were the best.

Crunch.

His eyes snapped open. Powerful jaws clamped on the head of the centipede about to eat Oak’s face and lifted the monster into the air. Geezer had come for him. The hellhound’s teeth cracked the chitin holding the insect together, and he shook the monster hard, slamming it against the ground and breaking it apart. The insects' disgusting innards covered the floorboards.

Correction. Geezer, you are the best.

The last centipede skittered cautiously into the tavern and took in the scene before it. Geezer walked past Oak and settled between him and the centipede. Even though the hellhound shook in fear like a leaf in the wind, Geezer stood there all the same and bared his teeth in a snarl, hackles raised.

It was over quickly. The centipede launched forward, wings buzzing and hissing up a storm. Geezer snatched it out of the air, and after a brief struggle, ripped it to shreds.

Oak pulled his left arm free from the dead centipede's maw and he feebly tried to push the monster's corpse off of himself. In the end, Geezer had to help him do it. When the hellhound sat down next to him and started licking his face, Oak felt tears flowing down his cheeks.

“Good boy,” he said and buried his face in Geezer’s coarse fur. “The very best.” And right there, lying against his best friend in the entire world, Oak finally let sleep take him away.

***

If Oak dreamed during his sleep, he did not remember it when he woke up. He did not know how much time had passed, but it must have been a while since he was extremely thirsty and desperately needed to pee. Geezer was lying next to him on the floor and raised his head when he noticed that Oak had woken up.

“I would hug you if I could,” Oak said to the hellhound and smiled. “Thank you for saving my ass.”

Geezer let out a pleased huff and gave his nose a lick. “Yeah, I love you too buddy,” Oak said and started the laborious and painful process of getting up, so he could take a piss. These were the only trousers he had, and he was not going to piss himself while wearing them. He would also need to retrieve the backpack he had made, which held all of their water supplies.

Oak moved slowly, like an old man with bad joints, as he stumbled onto the porch of the tavern and pissed on the street.

If this was what victory felt like, he could do without.

After relieving himself, Oak went to retrieve his improvised backpack, and Geezer came with him. He tried to move with care so he would not accidentally open wounds that had already clotted and achieved mixed results. Trickles of blood ran over already dried patches of red, adding to the stains on his clothes.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

He was not too worried. He had lost a bunch of blood already and he was still kicking, so could a bit more be so dangerous, anyway?

With a bit of encouragement, Geezer pulled the backpack out from under the stall where Oak had stashed it and carried it back to the tavern. Oak followed with the speed and grace of a crippled toddler. He decided that bending down to pick up his sword and shield from the market square could wait until tomorrow.

Once they were both back inside, he opened the backpack and drank a wine bottle full of water before hunting down a bowl and letting Geezer drink as well. As Geezer drank, Oak stared at the stairs leading up to the second floor of the tavern and thought about beds.

There might be some upstairs, but the bedding has surely rotted away by now. Right?

In the end, he was just too tired to find out and went to sleep behind the tavern's counter, under Geezer's watchful gaze.

***

As Oak’s third day in Ma'aseh Merkavah dawned, hunger was beginning to really show its face and his ribs were absolutely killing him. Even though some of his wounds looked a lot better already, thanks to the Branch of Buer and the Boon of Demonic constitution, he was still too badly hurt to go exploring.

A terrible weakness had taken hold of him, and the mere thought of standing up sickened him. Hunger pangs ravaged his empty stomach, and he was prone to spells of dizziness.

This meant that he had to just bear it for now, and rest.

Geezer had found Gluk’s corpse yesterday and decided that the ogre was on the menu. At least one of us is not going hungry, Oak thought. He had a lot of time on his hands as he waited for his body to heal and recover, so he took a look at his soul. The soul itself was the same bright, opaque ball of solid flame. The spiral of black metal surrounded by ever turning gears that was now inside the center of his being had gained a new soul to fuel his powers.

Gluk’s soul was making the same journey as the souls of the centipedes he had killed, flowing through the spiral to the furnace at the top and back down again. By just looking at it, Oak could tell Ashmedai had been correct. The worth of the ogre’s soul, in terms of fuel, equaled all the souls of the centipedes he had killed thus far combined. He still checked the interface to make sure.

Status.

Infernal engine

Current status:

* Souls: 32

* Fuel: 6

* Attunement in progress

With the addition of Gluk’s soul, the fuel count had doubled. The sight made Oak feel slightly better about his many injuries. No wonder the ogre had been a tough nut to crack.

The cycling of the fuel in his infernal engine was kind of nice to look at, but sadly, it would not do him much good at the moment. He had probably not collected enough souls to fuel any new boons yet and even if he had managed that, he would need Ashmedai to grant those new powers to him. That would only happen after he found another grove or got out of Ma'aseh Merkavah.

Adding another boon to the Branch of Buer would really make my day right about now, Oak thought and smiled even though the circumstances were less than ideal.

On top of his injuries and the ever present hunger, another issue was raising its ugly head. Oak was disgustingly dirty, and he smelled like an open sewer, which he found highly uncomfortable. Back home, he would wash himself every other day with water from a nearby stream. Now he had blood and centipede guts in his beard and no water to spare for hygiene.

The fact he was a Warlock was most likely the only reason he was not currently dying from a multitude of infections.

Funny how much a man can long for soap when none is available. Seems to be a common trend on this little mission. I will surely appreciate small luxuries like warm food and clean clothes a lot more if I survive this deathtrap.

Oak giggled at the thought of himself hugging a piece of freshly baked bread and let out a moan of pain when the giggling disturbed his cracked ribs.

There is a certain nostalgia to this, though. Reminds me of some of the raids that went badly during the war. Running scared, bloodied, and hungry in the woods with the lads. By the Chariot, I was a mad bastard back then.

Geezer jumped up from the pit, licking his chops and padded next to Oak, tail wagging.

“Enjoyed your meal, huh?” Oak asked and scratched the hellhounds' sides.

He could spot no large changes yet, but if they survived and kept killing, Geezer would grow and change. All the scrapes and bruises the hellhound had sustained fighting the centipedes had healed in record time, and the last of them had vanished after the dog had eaten his fill from Gluk’s corpse for the first time. That did not happen to regular dogs.

It wasn’t only Warlock’s that kept what they killed. If all the stories Oak had heard were true, hellhounds grew in power as they aged, and they gained a measure of lasting strength from the flesh of the recently departed. The effect was supposed to be stronger if they themselves made the kill.

The dog sat down and panted happily as Oak continued to pet him. They spent the day away lying next to each other and recovering from yesterday’s ordeal. Oak tried to keep the constant thoughts of hunger and pain at the back of his mind by spoiling Geezer with scratches as much as he could in his current condition.

For the first time since the ritual had transported him and Geezer into Ma’aseh Merkavah, Oak had nothing better to do than think. His thoughts turned back to the North. To Spoke, and Jarl Shaw’s attack upon the town. He had been so occupied with survival that the fate of his neighbors had not entered his mind.

It’s not like I had any close friends living there, but sacking the place was a rotten thing to do. I hope Shaw chokes on his ambition.

Above all, Oak hoped that Soot had somehow made it out alive. She was a killer to the core, and she had always treated him fairly. Not a kindred spirit, but worthy of respect all the same. He would not mind seeing her again one day.

He also spent some time planning for the future.

In a day or two, they would have to move and start traversing through the city, no matter how dangerous it would be. Recovering from injuries took energy, energy he was not replacing since he had nothing to eat. Unless you counted the ogre or the centipedes, but Oak was not brave or hungry enough to try either option just yet. He knew a man could survive for weeks without food, and he was willing to take his chances for now.

If things did not improve quickly in the food department, he would have to reconsider.

Going without for weeks would leave him too weak to fight. If things went wrong again, he might die. He would need to keep his eyes peeled for any buildings that could reasonably be expected to store foodstuffs that would have kept all this time under preservation runes. A barracks of some kind might be his best bet, since armies always needed non-perishable goods and he did not think hardtack could even go bad unless it got wet.

Oak complained about the food during the war often enough that he was pretty sure his younger self would have burst out in laughter if someone had told him he would one day be desperately hunting for hardtack, but needs must.