Mockery Deathmatch Episode 9 - Defiance
Mockery Deathmatch Episode 9: Defiance
WARNING: This episode contains graphic elements and violence. Viewer discretion is advised.
The March
The sound of silent clattering metal, grinding marrow, and footsteps surrounded Dulcis, who walked at the center of the skeleton army. Fifty warriors flanked him in loose formation as they marched in the dark, wet underground tunnels toward the Colosseum. His face was burning hot, yet his spine shivered from the bloodstained clothes on his back. His eyes darted across the terrain ahead while his mind raced through every possible escape route.
To his left, Durnil argued with the samurai warrior through the occasional grunt and short sentences.
"We strike hard and fast," Durnil said, shield clanging against his back. "Overwhelming force before the Tyrant fully awakens."
The samurai skeleton casually sliced a grey, hairy cat-monkey creature in half that jumped at him, and continued like it was nothing. "Rushing in without strategy is how we lost the last three Cycles. Patience wins wars."
"Patience gets you killed when facing an S-rank."
"So does stupidity."
Dulcis kept his expression blank, trying to look commanding instead of terrified. They'd probably been doing this for centuries, probably had the same argument every Cycle.
A low rumble shook the ground beneath them.
Everyone stopped.
A persistent ticking began from water drops leaking on the stone ground. Yellow splatters glowed on the walls ominously when the path before them opened thirty feet across. Steam hissed from the edges where rainwater met superheated rock below.
Haggarath raised his hammer. "Durnil, bridge it."
The spiked skeleton stepped forward, planting both hands on the ground. Bone erupted from the earth, weaving itself into a skeletal arch that spanned the gap. Ribs interlocked and spiraled into support columns, the whole structure fusing together in seconds.
Dulcis stared with bags under his eyes.
"They can do that...?" he thought to himself.
When he felt like he was being watched, he cautiously turned his head and in the midst of the busy skeleton army saw one of the skeletons watching him silently, looking directly at him. While the army crossed and boots clattered on the bone bridge, Dulcis and a smaller skeleton in animal cloth stared at one another for a while before he marched off. Dulcis's heart was pounding loud enough for him to worry if anyone heard it.
When Dulcis regained his calm, he saw Durnil and Haggarath waiting for him on the other side, with all the skeletons behind them.
He quickly got on the bridge and noticed how sturdy it felt. He looked down into the sinkhole, where deep down, magma bubbled far below, casting orange light that made the skeleton bridge look like it was glowing from within.
He crossed quickly, with his heart hammering.
"My lord," Haggarath said, voice like grinding stone. "You've been quiet."
Dulcis forced himself to meet those burning eye sockets. "I don't participate in needless chatter."
Haggarath was still for a moment, then nodded humbly. "Wise. A leader who listens learns more than one who speaks."
"Oh god, he's buying it," Dulcis nearly sighed mentally. Haggarath stayed in place, causing Dulcis to feel uncomfortable quickly. "So—The Bone Tyrant. What should I expect?"
Haggarath stood tall. "Brutal. Barbaric. Sadistic, and proud. The Tyrant was once a warlord in life. He conquered three kingdoms before an ally of his betrayed him, giving him over to his enemies. They buried him alive in molten gold.
I'd consider myself petty and prideful on regular occasion; however, the tyrant has a rage boiling in him that is eternal. He cannot be reasoned with, cannot be bribed, cannot be turned. He is wrath."
Dulcis felt his tongue get dry and swallowed.
"I see—How strong?"
"Hmm... every warrior he kills feeds his power." Haggarath paused. "But he's never faced erasure before. Your presence changes everything."
Dulcis's stomach twisted.
"And if that doesn't work?"
Haggarath's burning gaze intensified. "It absolutely will."
The army stopped marching and waited in place. Ahead of them, the Colosseum appeared through a path full of bushes and trees underground. Massive stone walls rose from earth like broken teeth. Torches burned a magical yellow.
The structure was enormous, easily the size of three city blocks. Carved symbols covered every surface, spiraling inward toward the central arena.
"We're here," Haggarath said.
The skeleton army fanned out, taking positions around the Colosseum's perimeter. Dulcis found himself walking toward the entrance with Haggarath at his side and a dozen warriors at his back.
Inside, the arena floor was smooth stone stained dark with centuries of blood and scorch marks. Empty tiered seats rose on all sides.
Dulcis looked around in awe, almost forgetting what he was there for.
In the center, hovering high above the arena, were two half disks that together formed a circle with a hole in the center.
Dulcis pointed at it before asking.
"What's tha-"
When a heavy pulse interrupted Dulcis.
The circle between the two halves began emitting a beam of yellow light in the center of the arena, drilling the very ground in shockwaves.
"He's awakening," said Durnil, who put his hand on Dulcis's shoulder to keep him in place.
After the light faded, from under the ground began pushing up a 30ft wide basket of bone with a big flame resting in it, and underneath it a big spine that attached a terrible disk-like set of ribs, vertebrae clicking into place one after another almost like a cage. Long arms assembled themselves from hundreds of individual bones, covered in a mold of gold plating and molten jewelry and accessories all over his body. After its legs formed, weapons materialized, armor grew, and with an ape-like proportion of long arms and shorter legs, the tyrant stood in the arena.
The Bone Tyrant rose.
And when he roared, the sound shook stones from the Colosseum walls.
Dulcis took an involuntary step back.
Durnil placed a hand on his shoulder. "The stage is yours, my lord."
He then walked away.
None of the skeletons in sight.
Dulcis spun, watching in growing horror as the skeleton army climbed into the tiered seating, taking positions like spectators.
"Wait," Dulcis said, voice barely above a whisper. "You're not-"
"WITNESS!" Haggarath's voice boomed across the arena. "The Sleeper judges the Tyrant! Let all who see this moment carry word of what erasure means!"
The skeletons began to cheer.
Dulcis stood alone on the arena floor, a fifty-foot monster of bone and rage right in front of him.
Underwater
Underground, surrounded by water was a mysterious corridor. Ella and Alessandra stared at each other, rage bubbling up in Ella when a song howled through the halls.
"Oh fuck off!" she said before her head shot back with her eyes wide and her pupils glowing green.
Alessandra saw an opening and headed for Ella and punched her down, but stopped before she could follow up as she felt something tug at her mind.
There it was again, the weird urge to walk toward the song bubbled up from somewhere deep in her chest.
A small suggestion turned into a nudge, and a nudge into a command by force, difficult to resist. A mental tug of war took place in her mind while in the background Ella started marching away.
But the fight didn't last. Her eyes grew heavy and in seconds Alessandra's expression had gone blank, and eyes unfocused.
Idly she stood in the corridor for a while with the sound of water streaming behind her, then she fell in line and took a step forward.
The two women marched their way through the long narrow path with their minds blank, puppeted with a bending of their will.
But Ella's necklace flared green, illuminating the room once, and Ella's mind woke up mid march. "Come to me, oh warrior. Come to me, carriers of rage. The water will soothe you. The depths bring embrace."
Ella couldn't move her body in the slightest, it just did on its own. But she was certain now, she heard the voice of a woman and it called to her.
And her body listened.
Suddenly Ella's mind was interrupted when she heard a heavy boot hit the stone followed by a crack and a grunt.
Alessandra had made it closer and her eyes were still nearly grayed out, but she fought with everything and had stopped her body by force while fire erupted along her arms, the pain snapping her back to consciousness.
Out of breath, she dropped down on the stone and caught her breath.
"W-what is this?"
Ella heard her, but still had no control over her body. When she turned around a corner, her heart sank, seeing a corridor covered in water that rose rapidly to her ankles, knees, and waist.
Alessandra, who was on her way in the opposite direction, was caught once more in a trance, fully paralyzed and frozen, her joints stopping her from resisting this impulse.
"Ahhh..g..... N...No.... I- You can't.."
Soon, choking on her own words, Alessandra's body was overtaken and marched with full confidence into the corridor full of water where Ella's body was carried by dead men.
Another one of them watched Alessandra float by, and as consciousness flashed her by, the last thing she witnessed was a hand coming toward her and her vision went black.
Gasping for air, Ella awoke in an underground cathedral with massive columns that rose from the water, covered in barnacles and strange aquatic growths. Statues lined the walls with merfolk.
At the far end of the room, on a raised platform stood an ornate well, surrounded by pillars from which water fell down like miniature waterfalls.
Ella turned her arms over, confirming that she had control of her body again.
She brushed her hair out of her face to get a better view of her surroundings when she noticed she was alone...
Where'd Alessandra go?
Where could she find an exit?
Then again, the faint sound of a song emerged, but this time directly from the well at the end of the room. She didn't waste a second and slapped her hands on her ears,
clenching her eyes shut while her ears rang.
She shook her head and collected herself, she stepped back in anticipation when Alessandra stepped next to her from behind.
Ella distanced herself in a split second and got her guard up while she breathed heavily and tried refocusing her eyes.
Alessandra was, however, not focused on her, but had her eyes fixated on the well.
She glared at it in anticipation.
Her lips spoke something, but Ella couldn't figure out what was said.
Then, Ella looked to the well again and witnessed water spew from the well, followed by two arms that gripped the edges from the inside, and a head of hair wallowed.
A woman crawled out,
stretching her limbs as her first half poked out of the well and her hair draped behind her.
A beautiful yet terrible scene unfolded in front of Ella as her lower body was serpentine, covered in scales that reflected colors during movement. Her torso was humanoid, pale blue skin marked with tattoo-like patterns. Her green hair flowed around her like seaweed, alive and moving.
The ringing in Ella's ears faded slowly, and the flowing sound of water hitting stone echoing in the big room finally played in front of Ella.
"How curious," she said, voice melodious. "Women?"
Ella and Alessandra stood with their guard up.
"You're... a siren..." said Alessandra.
"And you're not part of my design," the Siren replied, while she swam in mid-air and appeared between Alessandra and Ella.
"But since you made it here, I'm sure you'll be useful—"
She placed her hand on Ella's face, but Ella slapped it away.
"Fuck off," Ella said.
The Siren laughed. "Such fire! I like you. Both of you, actually. Strong. Capable. Exactly what I need."
"For what?" Alessandra demanded.
"To populate my kingdom, of course." The Siren gestured to the cathedral around them. "This island will belong to me. I'll fill it with my children, born from the strongest warriors I can find."
"It seems that you two were the only strong ones nearby."
"I'm not," Ella spat, and turned away to head back to the pit with water she came from.
"Ohoho, where do you think you're going?"
Ella felt her body become buoyant as if underwater, even her hair and clothes started moving.
The Siren began singing again.
When suddenly Alessandra appeared in front of her. "Alright, that's enough of that."
and blasted an open palm of fire straight into the siren's face.
A smoke, sand and dust cloud covered the siren's face but then faded as her face looked unamused but very offended.
Surprised, Alessandra tried gaining distance but was too slow. A feral growl came from the siren while a tornado swirled into the well with force, nearly pulling everything in.
Ella took the opportunity to swim away from the scene and instead leave the way she came, but just as she made it to the little square window in the ground, she witnessed a group of undead corpses fighting their way through, one even grabbing her leg, then another one grabbed her, and another one.
In that moment, Alessandra's wings became magical and ethereal in nature, propelling her forward as she headed for a gateway at the end of the hall, bypassing Ella.
What had happened to the siren?
Ella looked back and saw the siren with a big smile and glowing eyes, arms lifted, preparing something.
Then, in a fraction of a second, a big-teethed creature surged upward, carving its teeth through the very ground beneath them and around them, its mouth closing around them both.
Capturing both Alessandra and Ella. Darkness. Water rushed in from all sides, and in chaos, both tried to gain control over the hard stream pulling them around.
Then impact. They crashed down with water like a slip and slide and dropped down on something soft with a bounce.
It was quiet. It was dark.
Then a green light shone.
And both Ella and Alessandra saw one another, as they now realized where they were...
In the belly of a beast in the depths of the ocean.
The Deal
Roy looked down at Marigold's leg.
"Wait a minute," he said, grinning. "You're not human, are you?"
Marigold propped herself up with the stick she'd been holding to walk. "Yes, that'd be correct."
Marigold looked with a blank expression that revealed her eyes beneath her bewildered hair.
By the time he looked in her eyes, he hesitated, and his smile nearly faded.
Clearing his throat, "So that's why my power didn't work on you, huh?"
Roy stepped back, stretching off to the side from Lyra, who supported Marigold.
Roy looked at Lyra. "Fun fact, I used to fix things, before all this. Engines, clockwork, that kind of stuff." He gestured at Marigold's knee. "This is way more advanced, but the principle's probably the sam—"
"What do you want?" Lyra interrupted him.
She looked in his eyes without blinking, determined to cut the crap.
"Oh, you know, I can fix her—"
"Now why would you wanna do that?"
Roy hesitated to speak but fell right back into the same body language, like putting on a mask.
He smiled. "Why I wanna help? Cause I can."
Roy pointed northeast, toward where the jungle opened onto higher ground. "Our base is at the Hollow Tree. Alessandra's base. They've got a workshop full of salvaged gear. I saw it when we were there."
He paused. "Of course, getting in might be a problem. It's fortified and overrun with guards..." He looked at the ground.
Lyra remained stoic without moving an inch. "Was that an attempt at compassion? We both know you're more clever than that, now cut the bullshit."
"What do you want?"
Firm, she awaited an answer while she glared at him.
A few seconds passed when a grin appeared on his face. "Hehehe. You're pretty smart, y'know that?"
Roy brushed dirt off of his pants. "I'm thinking that the structure of the bandits won't hold on this island with all that's going on, so I'm thinking of stepping out...
However...I might need a couple things from the hideout."
"Things?"
"Some of my gear, perhaps some magic items while I'm at it."
"Huh... wait a minute, maybe they even have some replacement parts if I can find them."
Lyra's jaw tightened. "Let me guess, you want me to fetch your stuff for you."
Trying to hide his smile, he looked away. "Technically, you're far more capable than we are. I bet you could manage."
"And if I refuse?"
Roy shrugged. "Then your friend stays broken. Your choice."
Lyra looked at Marigold, who met her gaze.
"Lyra," Marigold said softly. "I'll be okay."
"You don't know that. I can't leave you here!?"
"I'll be okay," she repeated. "I am not of use in this state... For the time being, just go."
Lyra clenched her fists and looked at the pitch black ground.
"Fine, I'll hear you out..."
Roy could no longer fight the smile that forced through.
By a campfire sat a silent Winger, staring into the fire. On the opposite side of the tomb, Roy, Marigold and Lyra faced one another between the moving shadows and the cavern lights.
Off to the side sat Marigold with her back propped up against the empty monument pillar. Next to her stood Lyra and Roy across from one another.
Lyra sighed and broke her eye contact with Roy to face Marigold. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
Lyra paused, her face concerned and serious.
Roy's missing teeth showed while he smiled. "C'mon! I'm helping you, no?"
"You're helping yourself," Lyra replied.
They glared at each other, then Roy's expression hardened. "You done?"
Lyra turned toward the cave exit and put her hat back on, which she had hanging on her back with strings.
"Roy."
"Yeah?"
"If any of you lay a finger on her, I'll cut them all off."
Lyra didn't wait to hear his response and left through the hole in the wall.
It was silent, and showers poured outside while lightning flashed on Marigold's pale skin.
Marigold and Roy stared at each other, her attention then turned to Winger sat by the fire.
Bone Tyrant
The skeletons cheered in excitement with every explosion and dust cloud that emerged from the battleground.
Big hits of stone echoed through, all the way to the back row, from the Bone Tyrant's massive club forged from spines and femurs hitting the ground. In the middle of the chaos, a small frame evaded the attacks while hovering around at top speed.
Dulcis's heart hammered against his ribs, but his mind was empty.
His big purple eyes were wide in anticipation, darting around in all directions to scan the scene in front of him. He wasn't given any time to form thoughts. The Tyrant had incredible speed for something that large.
Dulcis dodged a very close strike, the club passing so close to his head he felt wind pressure ruffle his hair.
The cheering got louder.
But just when he believed he'd evaded the attack, a third arm formed on its body in a split second and slammed down on Dulcis with full force.
His body bounced and ragdolled from the stadium stone, crashing down and rolling away.
Dulcis tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. Everything hurt. His vision swam, doubled, refocused on the Bone Tyrant walking toward him.
"Hehe... of course...."
"What else did I expect."
"Look at that thing..."
"I- I'm done for..."
The Tyrant raised its club.
Dulcis threw his hands up defensively, squeezed his eyes shut, and screamed, "NO!"
A purple aura exploded outward from his body. A shockwave that crashed over the Bone Tyrant like a tsunami, and made the skeletons run and dodge for safety.
The wave kept going.
It hit the arena wall, ate through stone leaving a perfect semicircle out of the Colosseum.
Every place touched evaporated as if bitten out of existence and the Bone Tyrant who caught the full wave, nearly vanished, leaving nothing but its torso and its legs. A massive piece of its head fell down and the flame snuffed.
Dulcis opened his eyes and nothing was there. The Bone Tyrant was no more, and the view before him showed nothing but high trees in a dark night, illuminated by three red moons triangling above him.
With widened eyes he stared at his hands.
Slowly, all the skeletons climbed back up from their cover, watching Dulcis in the middle of the Colosseum, and the remnants of damage he'd left.
For a moment it was utterly silent.
Then, one by one, the skeleton army rose to their feet. Haggarath's voice rang out across the ruined arena.
"BEHOLD! THE SLEEPER'S JUDGMENT!"
The army erupted in cheers that shook what remained of the Colosseum's walls.
Dulcis sat in rubble, wounds all over his body and his clothes and hair a mess.
He looked up at the night sky, and stared at the moons in confusion and awe.
Haggarath descended from the stands, his massive frame casting shadows across Dulcis's small form.
"Magnificent," he said. "Just as powerful as the prophecies suggested."
Dulcis tried to stand, failed. Haggarath reached down and lifted him to his feet with surprising gentleness.
"You've done what none of us could do. You've created a permanent death."
"Erased him completely," Haggarath continued. "His soul, his essence... There's nothing left to resurrect in the next Cycle."
Around them, the skeleton army began descending from the stands, reorganizing into formation.
"We march for the Siren next," Haggarath said. "She dwells in the Drowned Cathedral at the island's center. Her song compels the weak-minded, men... don't let it be you."
The samurai skeleton looked around as if looking for something. When he spotted the smaller skeleton amidst the crowd, watching Dulcis, he then looked at Dulcis as well.
But Dulcis hadn't realized. He was somewhere else, his hands still tingled with residual energy, and on his lips, a faint smile emerged.
Interrupted by the sound of rubble coming down.
The entire group silenced and looked up only to witness a group of lesser demons watching them from above.
"Lord," Haggarath said, following Dulcis's gaze. "Witnesses."
Dulcis snapped back his focus and looked at the demons, then at Haggarath's burning eye sockets.
The skeleton army watched, waiting for his decision.
Dulcis took a breath.
"We leave no witnesses," he said firmly.
Prompting the army to prepare to launch themselves out of the colosseum.
Durnil pierced the final lesser demon on his spiked back and shook its limp body to slide off in the mud.
He turned back, looking at some other skeletons. "That should be all of them."
"Good, 'cause that was close... I wouldn't want to be on the other end of the Sleeper's erasure if we messed up this mission and word spread."
Durnil turned to the other skeleton nearby. "I don't love the stealthy approach, but I must admit, if stealth and tactics wipe out our biggest foes like the Bone Tyrant just now, I believe I should be able to endure it for a bit longer."
Durnil looked at a big yellow puddle of magic rippling in the air briefly.
"That's the signal. Let's head back. We don't have as much time for the Siren Queen."
They all grouped and headed back towards the colosseum.
Unfortunately, they had missed a spot, as only 15ft away, behind a tree, hid a smaller lesser demon. "The sleeper walks...?"
Quickly, he turned around and flew east as fast as he could.
The Scorched Plateau
Iden walked through burning jungle, searching for his destination.
The Scorched Plateau rose ahead, a volcanic rock formation with a flat, disk-like surface. Under and around it, vein-like glowing magma glowed from it.
Instantly, he teleported himself to the plateau, and at the center stood a ritual circle of 12 smaller circles, carved directly into stone, symbols that glowed light.
There stood a buff 12 ft demon with four arms, hardened red skin, and black hair smoothly combed back, working at the circle's heart.
Half of the smaller rings had a person standing in a magical tube-like forcefield; the other half were children of various ages.
Iden stopped at the circle's edge.
"Ah, a guest," Azrathar said as he looked up and smiled.
"I was just about to get started on my offering for this cycle. Care to join me?"
"I'm not here for that," Iden growled under his breath.
"Oh? That's alright."
He then nonchalantly continued prepping his ritual without looking up.
"So what are you here for, son?"
"You disrupted my offering," Iden replied.
"I don't recall doing such a thing. Clearly, I'm in the middle of my own."
His tone was calm and his demeanor posh... perhaps even condescending, but whether it was or not, any time he spoke, Iden felt his blood boil.
"Your disciples fought in the cycle and destroyed my ritual ground. I too was in the middle of an offering."
"I see," said the demon, as he stepped to one of the circles and carved a symbol in the face of a crying woman. "No, please—no, please, NOO!!!"
A choir of cries and screams filled the plateau, as children cried for their mother and her husband next to her cried out for his wife.
"My apologies for that," Azrathar said, raising his bloodied hand in a casual gesture. "How about this: I'll compensate you with one of mine when I'm finished. The children produce the most exquisite fear. Very potent."
Iden's eye twitched. "That's unnecessary."
"Unnecessary?" Azrathar tilted his head, amused. "But you came for compensation."
Iden remained silent with a stoic expression.
Azrathar turned his body to face Iden properly.
"Really, it's no problem at all. I insist, pick one," he said casually as he waited.
"Something wrong with my offer?"
"Your methods are wasteful," said Iden as he glared at him.
Azrathar laughed. "Wasteful. How curious." He moved to the next circle, trailing a claw along the forcefield. The man inside flinched.
"By what metric do you measure waste, shadow?"
"You're too random and chaotic, your ritual produces excess suffering with no purpose."
"No purpose?" Azrathar carved another symbol, this time into the man's arm. Blood ran. The children screamed louder. "This is my purpose. Fear perfectly aligns itself with the will of our prince."
"It's inefficient."
"Efficient." Azrathar straightened, his eyes focusing on Iden. "Efficient toward what end? Darkness has no efficiency standard, son, only appetite."
Iden's hand summoned his blade. "Don't play stupid, you know what I mean, you take too long. You cause needless—"
"Needless?" Azrathar's smile widened. "That's the second time you've alluded to that word. Needless according to whom, to what?"
"According to proper service to our prince."
"And what constitutes proper service to the Prince of Lies?" Azrathar moved to one of the children's circles. A girl, maybe eight years old. She pressed herself against the far side of the forcefield, eyes wide with terror. "Please, enlighten me, I'm just trying to understand."
"Quick. Complete. Purposeful."
"Purpose, huh," Azrathar traced the forcefield with one claw, watching the girl flinch.
Iden's face increasingly carried weight and anger.
"What's so hard to understand about purposeful service to the prince?"
Azrathar smiled.
"You see... We serve chaos incarnate, yet you speak of purpose as if he's defined meaning and purpose for us. Tell me, where does this purpose originate?"
"From the contract. From service to our Prince."
"Ah, but you see..." Azrathar turned, walking toward Iden. "That sounds an awful lot like the enemy... Our Prince is the great rebel. The first to reject authority, order, imposed meaning. He granted us freedom from such constraints. And yet you..." He gestured at Iden with one blood-stained hand. "...you chain yourself with morality that only makes sense if you'd side with goodness."
"Tell me, are you an agent of goodness, son?"
Iden's flames crackled in his arms. "Ridiculous, what I'm simply referring to is having discipline, discipline isn't a weakness."
"No one said it was. But discipline toward what? You keep stealing concepts from the enemy, which... I would commend, if only you'd understand them better..."
Azrathar returned to his ritual, carving symbols into the air now, each one making the prisoners scream louder. "Needless. Purposeful. Proper. These words assume a standard exists. A measuring stick to live up to...or perhaps... A secret nod to the enemy's concept of right and wrong."
"You're not making any sense. In allegiance to the prince of darkness, why wouldn't I be able to set a code of ethics sufficient to serve my lord with discipline?"
Azrathar raised an eyebrow.
"You can do whatever you want, I'm all for that. So why is your personal code of ethics suddenly imposed on mine? Did you really come all the way here to bark at me because someone other than you has a different reason or method to serve Satan?"
"I thought you were arguing from oughts, and oughts point to someone who enforces that ought... Just like the enemy.
"But surely as a demon you don't speak of allegiance to Him...
So why even come here? Is your opinion more true than mine?"
The screaming of the people became too loud.
Iden closed his eyes and inhaled through his nostrils.
"Our lord is crafty, he's cunning, he's intelligent, and he is those things because he is efficient. Therefore, my acts of service to him are rooted in efficient service and not chaotic waste."
"Efficient." Azrathar laughed again. "You sound like a bureaucrat. A middle-manager demon clocking in for his shift. You didn't strike me as the religious type." He said while he chuckled and gestured with a long knife the size of his forearm, full of sharp teeth on the sides. He leaned over the little girl's circle. "Shall I show you chaos? Real chaos?"
He began lowering the forcefield when a big burst of fire emitted from Iden's feet, creating a momentary silence.
Azrathar looked up in surprise.
Iden felt a fire in his core.
"Don't." He stepped forward before he could stop himself.
Azrathar paused. "That's fascinating. Why not?"
"Children are..." Iden's jaw tightened. "There's no strategic value."
"Strategic value in corrupting innocence? I'd argue there's immense value. Today's children are tomorrow's adults, which shape next week's society."
Azrathar's smile turned predatory. "Unless... you don't mean strategic value, but you're telling me that it's wrong."
"Wrong, needless, unnecessary, ayayay..." Azrathar raised the forcefield again and looked with disgust at Iden while walking away from the child. "You, you keep appealing to categories that can't exist in our framework. We serve ultimate evil--"
Iden interrupted. "Exactly, and ultimate evil is--"
"The negation of good," Azrathar filled in quickly. "Yes, it's not the presence of something arbitrary you made up for dinner today, son, more the absence of something that simply is."
"If our enemy is light, and the absence of light brings shadow, then whatever you do becomes the separation or distancing from that light. You're either darkness or you're not."
Azrathar slowly circled Iden.
"And yet you act as if we can derive oughts from our ises while walking as shadows. The prince of darkness IS cunning and crafty, therefore we OUGHT to serve him a certain way, or else... what? It's objectively wrong." Azrathar scoffed.
He spread all four arms. "So tell me, Icarus, aren't you flying a little high?"
Iden's pentagram emerged from under his feet as his blade slowly engulfed in a dancing flame next.
"Ah, there it is." Azrathar's expression didn't change.
"How beautifully chaotic of you."
"I serve the Prince with discipline and honor!" Iden said.
"Honor!" Azrathar's laughter boomed across the plateau. "Do you hear yourself? You serve the father of lies with honor. You serve corruption with ethics. You serve chaos with order." He moved closer.
His smile disappeared suddenly, and his voice dropped.
"You've made Satan in your own image, shadow."
SHWOOOSH, a pillar of fire the size of a skyscraper released itself from Iden as he tried to keep composure in rage.
Wind blew across the area, sending their clothes and hair flapping, and each time the wind blew the scars of the plateau, the dormant magma lit up and increased the temperature of the ground they stood on.
The fire stopped, and Iden took a deep breath, then composed himself again.
The plateau was silent for a moment.
"You're twisting my words."
"I'm exposing your foundation." Azrathar gestured to his ritual circle.
"And even if I did twist your words," he smiled, "wouldn't you commend me for my impression of our prince? Hehehehahaah!"
"Listen, son, I embrace what we are: destroyers, corruptors, agents of the great unmaking. You pretend we're something noble." His voice hardened. "There is no nobility in damnation, no honor in the pit."
"No, in our plane, there's only appetite and the freedom to indulge it."
Iden's arms sparked like static. "Without standards, we're animals."
"And what's wrong with that?" Azrathar held his eye contact and smile for a while before he shrugged and moved back to his ritual. He stretched and then picked up his weapon, prompting his prisoners to start wailing in fear.
Iden was quiet, in thought.
"You're thinking," Azrathar said, amused. "I can see it. The cognitive dissonance eating at you." He moved to the woman's circle again, the one whose face he'd already carved. "Let me make this simpler."
He drove his claw through the forcefield and into her chest.
She died instantly. The children screamed desperately while her husband roared and cried out.
Azrathar withdrew his bloodied claw. "You see? Even now, watching me kill, you appeal to necessity. To... purpose. To should, shouldn't, and ought." He stepped toward Iden. "You're not angry because I broke some demonic protocol. You're angry because you still believe murder is wrong."
"No, I don't. You're a wasteful blasphemer to our prince, and I think your methods are--"
"Liar." Azrathar's voice cut like a blade. "You're angry because you still have a conscience. Because despite serving darkness, you cling to light. Because..." He studied Iden more closely. "Wait."
Azrathar circled Iden slowly.
"You still smell mortal," he said quietly. "You're not fully damned yet, are you? Still bound to the living realm. Still... clinging."
Iden's rage built up again. "What did you say?"
"Ah." Azrathar's expression shifted to something like pity. "And there we have it. You're no capital D demon, but I give it to you: you could have fooled me, son."
Iden stepped forward. "What do you mean by that?"
Azrathar gestured with his two arms while the remaining two were folded. "You haven't fully embraced what we are because you haven't fully died to what you were." He waved one hand dismissively. "No wonder you're confused. You're still trying to reconcile two incompatible existences."
"My service is complete!"
Iden with massive force punched Azrathar in the face.
The impact cracked the very ground underneath them, but he stood strong and took the punch.
...
"Your service is contradictory." Azrathar turned back to his ritual. "But I'm done wasting time on you. Run along, child. When you've fully shed your mortal conscience, we'll speak again."
He moved to the first child's circle and began lowering the forcefield.
Iden's core tightened, but then he stopped himself, about to turn around and leave.
When he heard a collection of screams, followed by a slicing sing of a blade.
Iden turned around and witnessed all 6 children decapitated on the ground.
"Oh, I figured you didn't want any compensation, so—"
Their parents screamed and cried, but Iden no longer heard any sound.
The plateau itself erupted.
Magma burst from fissures in the scorched earth as grey flames exploded around Iden with such force that Azrathar actually stumbled backward, all four arms raising defensively. His confident smile faltered.
"What—"
Iden launched himself at Azrathar faster than he could think, engulfed in dark flames.
The first strike took Azrathar across the chest. The second severed one of his four arms at the elbow. The third would have taken his head if he hadn't thrown himself backward, crashing through one of the ritual circles.
"Wait, you're proving my—"
The blade pierced his chest and spawned spikes of shadow from within.
The plateau shook. Magma geysers erupted around them, turning the scorched earth into a hellscape.
Azrathar fell to his knees, black blood pouring from his wounds. He coughed, tried to laugh, but only managed a wet wheeze.
Iden stood over him with a cold glare.
"You'll... see me again," Azrathar managed. "Next Cycle... We'll... continue this conversation."
"No," Iden said quietly. "We won't."
Fire consumed Azrathar completely. Not even ash remained.
Iden heard a voice from behind him. "Master, the sleeper walks the island— AHH!" A lesser demon appeared from a dark cloud of smoke in the forest. Its eyes were wild with terror when it saw the state of the Scorched Plateau and saw Iden standing over the corpse of his master.
It turned to flee instantly, but Iden materialized directly in front of it. The demon crashed into him and bounced backward.
"The Sleeper," Iden said, voice cold. "You mentioned a Sleeper. Explain."
The demon paused. "I don't serve your—"
"Then you're of no use to me."
Iden grabbed onto his head with his big palm, his arms started sparkling with fire embers right by the demon's face. "WAIT WAIT! Okay! The Sleeper walks the island! I saw him at the Colosseum!"
He waited with his eyes closed in anticipation, but Iden removed his palm.
"Colosseum?"
"Yes, he erased the Bone Tyrant completely from existence. It seems he teamed with the skeleton army. I saw it with my own eyes."
Iden's eyebrow raised. "Erasure?"
"Complete obliteration! He destroyed half the Colosseum with one gesture!" The demon's voice cracked. "I'm the only demon that made it out alive. If the eraser gets you... you're not coming back for a new cycle."
Iden's face remained stoic.
"Where?"
"I overheard the skeletons talk about the Siren Queen. If they're headed there next, then Northwest is likely where they're headed... Please, I only came to warn—"
Iden vanished immediately.
The Hollow Tree
Lyra moved through the jungle in the dark until the Hollow Tree rose ahead.
She'd circled the area twice, counting guards, mapping patrol routes, looking for weaknesses. The place was far quieter than she'd expected, and far less organized. Something was up.
The main entrance was a gaping wound in the trunk, torches flickering inside despite the lingering humidity from the blood rain. Two guards stood watch. They were constantly looking over their shoulders.
They looked very uneasy.
Lyra roamed around for a while, trying to find an alternative entrance Roy mentioned, but to her horror, she was bitten by a snake on her leg. She quickly launched a net of rope that constricted it.
"Shit... why me..." Lyra whispered to herself while looking at her bite.
She pressed on and soon was able to find a crack in the wood partially hidden by vines, like Roy said.
Inside, the Hollow Tree was a maze of carved corridors and chambers spiraling up. She moved quickly, following Roy's terrible map toward what he'd marked as "workshop 2nd level."
Lyra almost let out a scream but stopped herself with her hand covering her mouth. Bodies lined the halls.
These looked recent. Guards in blue, black, and gray walked around keeping watch. Her stomach twisted as she stepped over a body.
After some climbs, Lyra managed to avoid running into the enemy. And then she found the workshop.
The door hung half off its hinges, the room beyond ransacked. Lyra slipped inside, pulling out Roy's list. Wrench, specialized. Calibration rods, set of three. Wire coils, copper and silver.
"What the hell... Were they ambushed?" she whispered to herself.
She found most of it scattered across workbenches, tossed aside by whoever had torn through here before. The box of magical items was harder—Roy said it would be locked. Lyra dug through drawers and cabinets, but couldn't find it at all.
That's when she heard a crash outside.
Lyra pressed against the doorframe, with her heart pounding and her eyes widened in anticipation. She heard the sound of something dropping near the main entrance.
She mentally prepared herself to look on the count of three. When she did, she saw a small figure with wings, crawling across the floor and leaving a trail of blood.
She was an elf.
Her wing was torn, hanging at an angle that made Lyra wince just looking at it.
Every instinct screamed at Lyra to leave, but what if she was a prisoner that managed to escape?... Also... She was dying.
Lyra's hand tightened on the bag strap. She could walk away. Finish the mission. Get back to Marigold. No one would know.
"But you'd know," she told herself.
"Fuck," Lyra whispered.
She moved before she could talk herself out of it, crossing the corridor in quick strides and dropping to one knee beside the elf. The small woman's eyes fluttered open, unfocused.
"Can you walk?"
Lyra looked down. Her lower spine was possibly damaged from whatever had attacked her. Moving her would be dangerous, but leaving her here would be a death sentence.
"There has to be somewhere I can..." Lyra looked around with an increasingly hard thump in her chest. Medical supplies. Clean water. Bandages. The workshop might have something, but she'd need more than that.
The sound of heavy footsteps made her nearly sick.
She took the girl on her back and hid behind a flipped workbench in the corner of the room.
A big minotaur emerged from a side corridor, his massive frame blocking the entire passage. He looked around in silence, and waited without action.
What was he looking at? Why wouldn't he leave?
Lyra was going crazy as she sat there holding her breath.
Then, slowly, footsteps left the room once again.
Lyra stood slowly, and when she saw the empty room, she let out a sigh of relief.
She looked at the girl, now sitting with her back against the wall, half unconscious, breathing heavily. "Just hang in there, I'll be just a moment."
Lyra poked her head out of the room to see if the coast was clear, then proceeded to roam the other corridors.
"Come on, come on... there has to be something out here—"
A heavy thumping stopped her in her tracks.
Purely on instinct, Lyra jumped to the side, evading a massive swing of a sword by just inches.
The attack hit a wooden wall next to her, shattering on impact.
She looked up and saw a big minotaur man with red eyes.
"Found you."
Lyra's threads glowed. The minotaur prepared for another attack when Lyra's leg felt numb and sank to the floor.
"Why!?"
Noticing a sudden burning, she lifted her leg sleeve and saw that the snake bite had started swelling, and the bite wound was colored red, yellow and purple.
The minotaur raised his sword overhead, both hands gripping the hilt. Lyra tried to move but her leg wouldn't respond, the paralysis spreading very fast, creeping up her thigh like ice water through her veins.
No no no!
She threw her hand up, to launch toward the ceiling, but her fingers were already going numb and the threads fell limp.
Lyra breathed heavily in panic as she saw the sword come down.
A blur of motion crashed into the minotaur from the side, sending the massive creature stumbling. The sword embedded itself in the floor inches from Lyra's head.
Lyra blinked through the haze of venom, trying to focus. A man stood between her and the minotaur, breathing hard. Dark hair. Lean build. A half-orc with piercings. She knew that face from somewhere—
The village! The man who'd run past while she was beating the shit out of Roy.
The minotaur got up, his red eyes blazing with fury as he turned on the newcomer. "Gadav!? What are you—"
"Sorry, Borgamel," he said. "I'm afraid I need to ask her some questions."
EPISODE 9 END.
Post Credit Scene
Roy lay by the fire, half-asleep. Winger sat motionless against the wall, staring at nothing.
Marigold leaned against the pillar with her walking stick beside her, the ancient book open in her lap.
She'd been re-reading the passage about the Sleeper's servant:
"The Jester cannot do the will of The Sleeper, for if left to their own will, gluttony will surely corrupt it."
Then, on another page below:
"Herald and Jester are rarely one and the same."
Marigold paused on those lines. Rarely one and the same. That implied they could be the same, but usually weren't. Two separate beings then?
Or perhaps roles that could overlap.
She flipped back a few pages to another passage:
"The Herald. The First Waker. The Forerunner. The Jester."
Her processors stalled on that word. Forerunner.
Forerunner to what? The Sleeper?
If the Jester couldn't do the Sleeper's will without corruption, and the Herald and Jester were rarely the same being, then who, or what, did carry out the Sleeper's will?
Marigold looked up from the book, scanning the tomb around her. The tear symbols on the pillars—dozens of them, spiraling upward in patterns she'd documented but not fully analyzed.
She pushed herself up with the walking stick, limping toward the nearest pillar. The tear symbols glowed faintly red in her enhanced vision.
Oh... blood rain.
But beneath one of them, nearly obscured by centuries of dust, something else caught her sensors.
A second symbol.
Marigold brushed at it with her hand, then used her duster. Eventually, something began to glow, blue.
A crown.
Marigold stared at it with a blank expression.
She looked back at the book in her hand, then at the crown symbol glowing blue in the darkness.
What else is in this place?
Marigold gripped her walking stick and began limping toward the passage leading upward to the ritual chamber, the book tucked under her arm.
Winger looked confused and followed her with his eyes as she stood at the bottom of the stairway looking up into the darkness above.
She paused, then took a step when a voice cut through.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Marigold turned back and saw Roy looking at her with one eye open.