Hell's Songbird - 6

Once off the bleak mountain, the slope rapidly shifts from foothills into a grey dusty plain. The plant life eking out its existence here is brown and dry, ready to collapse without warning. Leaves don’t drop from stems, but become dust clouds as Ilya swoops low. Her wingbeats ending the struggles of leaves and sometimes whole plants. Her flight path dips between the boulders at the speed of a jog. It stretches my capabilities, following her weaving path; I almost kiss the earth even before we increase speed, causing Mr Message to buzz happily with news.

[Flight [Ap](19->20)

Fly [Ap](6->8)

Balance (1->4)]

A bump on the horizon shows ahead, and the rumbling wagons on stone gradually become clear. Ilya veers upwards and by the time the wall’s details are discernible, we’re a half-kilometre high at least. The wall itself is some 14 metres across and nearly 40 metres tall. Before it are hectares covered by row upon row of tents, supply dumps with various sized crates, barrels and bales of materials stacked in orderly lines. The tents’ material shows signs of being crafted from flayed skin suspended from outer tent poles of bone. Most poles are a single piece and taller than me, so I don’t know what giant creature they’re from. The song from the camp is stately, orderly, and mean. It runs through me like one of J’s grim game soundtracks when the villains come on screen, notes resounding with impending violence.

Closer to the wall are rows of medieval siege equipment, with a sizeable gap between them and the wall. Catapults stand larger than a McMansion—likely with some fancy name—and giant metal crossbows take up more space than a corner store sit behind the wall. They’re all made fully of blackened metal, and I’m clueless how anything could load the crossbows. Cannisters packed with scores of car-length bolts sit beside them, looking as if they put the whole thing into place to fire them.

“Do the catapults fire those metal shards?”

I hear amusement light up Ilya’s song before she replies, and her laughter makes her voice rich. “Trebuchets, don’t call them catapults. The crews get angry if you use the wrong name. When there are lots of small targets the trebuchets load up with metal shards, and the ballistae use explosive scatter bolts. If they’re sheltering behind siege towers or larger foes are on the field, they might use solid ammunition.”

Her course spins on a new heading and I come to halt trying to manage the turn. Repeatedly I catch up only for Ilya to twist away, and increase the pace. I risk teleport to catch up, and almost receive an arrow through a wing. Dropping back as I dodge I note the unspoken rule of her training: copy what she’s doing to the best of my ability.

Focused on doing my best to stop her slipping away, Mr Message chirping away at times, I only notice the new wall when we’re almost upon it. Of A double layered construction, the Devils’ camps are set between the walls, along its length, additional walls split the camp. I can only imagine it’s in case Demons breach another location and outflank this spot. Ilya’s path eventually takes us past the outer defences and continues to speed up as we climb. She spins to face me and I dodge in the moment only after I’m away from her new direction do I realise she’s hovering.

“Show me your bow.”

The burning white arc is my hand, and the duet of its song fills air with a strange harmony. Angry, vicious, chaotic notes lay across a beautiful orchestral symphony that only peeks through when the chaos stutterers momentarily. I focus on its song as Ilya examines the bow, not moving to take it from my outstretched hand.

[Resonance [B](15->16)

Oh, so I need to focus on things to improve my powers? Okay!

“Isaac!” the sharpness of Ilya’s words snaps me from the music. “I asked if you’ve shot your bow as yet.”

“Yes, I was in a cell, but I think I’d lost my mind.”

Fear makes me shiver, but my heartbeat doesn’t twitch a beat faster.

“The initial days, years…” Ilya’s song goes still before it jumps around fast. Her words rise from amid the music, but I only catch the question’s end. “-did you hit anything with it?

“Oh, one of the green spike headed things, and then I dented up a metal plate that blocked the door. After that Oragō zapped me, I couldn’t focus to fire another arrow.”

“Loose, another arrow,” Ilya directs me absently, her focus on my glowing bow.

“Huh? Don’t you mean fire?”

Ilya’s gaze locks on me with laser intensity. “You shoot a bow, or loose an arrow. You fire crossbows, ballistae, and other catapults.”

“Why the different terms?” I ask in honest confusion.

“Does it matter? If you use the wrong one, you’ll confuse troops—so use the right one,” Ilya insists sharply.

I just nod and decide I’m never issuing a single order.

Wait, is that a doom flag? Darn it. No, I’m not in a Light Novel, but my life, or is that death, is sure messed up.

Ilya’s sigh is pure frustration, her gaze unwavering makes guilt twist my stomach in knots. A shame faced smile gets loose, and she shakes her head at me. “Just shoot your bow. I want to see your technique.”

The ground is so far below I can’t make out anything, and so I question without thinking. “What do I aim at?”

“Pick a shape among the clouds to use. I want to see your draw and release.”

Her unconcerned tone prompts me into action. Spotting shapes among the clouds of this place’s grey dismal sky, I aim for one at random; a sort of nose, or maybe a rude cod piece. The burning white fletching caresses my check, and the arrow draws a pure bright line through the grey when I release.

“You’re gripping too tight. Relax your fingers more around the bow. Hold the bow so it lays across your palm and just close your fingers to steady it. When you are aiming, you really want it resting in the v between your thumb and forefinger, not clenching it.”

“What happens if I drop it?”

Her amused smile matches her merry notes. “Does that look like a normal bow?. If you’re worried about that, drop it now.”

She ignores my wide-eyed stare and motions me to do it. Prepared to teleport beneath, I let it go, only for it to vanish the moment it leaves my hand. Edged mocking laughter bursts from Ilya at my surprise, but the painful barbs within it have misery ring in her music.

“It’s a Power, little lamb. The arrows are one thing, as they’re released energy. The bow itself will never survive out of arm’s reach.”

[Combat Summary:

Hordeling x1

Total experience gained: 160

Erinys: +40

Archer: +40

Fighter: +40

Priest: +40

Blind Luck (3->5)

Soul Bow [B](15->16)

Recurve Bow [Ap](12->13)]

I can’t help the giggle that escapes, but Ilya’s stare is critical.

“Really?”

At her stern look, I pull my bow close. “I killed a Hordling, it was a surprise.”

“None of them would be this close unless they’re being herded,” Ilya states grimly, turning on her wing tip to head in the direction I’d shot my bow. “How do you know what you killed?

“The same way I can select a Class, I’ve no clue how, but I know.”

Ilya glides downwards with increasing speed. The air rustling through my wings sets me shivering as the memory of descending to a flaming river hits again. Ash in the breeze is coarse against my skin, an aggressively wielded emery board scouring at my skin but failing to draw blood. The atmosphere is a gravel rash of misery. Its bitter bleak sadness nips kisses across my face, and leaves poisonous despair on my lips.

The music of a Spell from Ilya swims towards the wall, carrying with it the faintest echoes of words. I don’t know the cause until I see the specks swarming over the grey ground far below. A black-feathered arc suddenly expands across my course, almost smashing me aside as I shoot past Ilya. Her laughter chases after me, its merry notes tickling against frayed skin and nerves while I slow to a halt. The suddenly bright airy music of her song falls into the hissing static coming from below.

Specks have grown to the size of fleas, each pecking about for blood. Despite how far our course took us, and the dozens of kilometres we fell, we’re another dozen up. The size of the army arrayed beneath is clear, ranged out as it is across an area large enough to swallow Sydney without a blip. Some fleas hop and claw towards me, but fortunately are still so far away. A glance upwards—and a desire to be close—sets me near Ilya again.

[Greater Teleport (Self) [Ap](4->5)]

Her wingbeats push the air about me. The thick ash moving like snowflakes against my ice white skin. Fear digs and twists within me but hasn’t caused a single extra heartbeat, despite my guts tying into knots.

“Another army inbound, with two already hitting the wall,” Ilya says thoughtfully, a frown lining her brow, and its tension crinkling her nose.

My bow’s still out, and the hopping fleas are climbing higher, making me wonder if they’re guided by its whiteness. “So, what do we do?”

Ilya’s song rumbles low, before it tickles up through scales in a snickering laugh. “While we could snipe at them whatever comes to swat us would be too dangerous for you. Plus, I’ve orders to give you a full tour. I can’t disobey orders.”

The focused expression is all the warning I get before reality sneezes again. Warned this time, I catch a hint of music on fast forward. We’re nearly at ground level with the grey ash covered terrain, with a cloudy white pool sitting in a depression close at hand.

[Perception (11->12)

Resonance [B](16->18)]

Ilya raises a hand, and I hold my question at the warning in her gaze. The motion continues casually brushing hair back from an ear, her eyes focusing on something behind me. Her gaze has me paying attention to the song as pleasant as nails on a blackboard mixed with a metallic rasp of a knife across a sharpening stone. A promise of violence amid shifting steel and the clopping of hooves.

“We’ll get to killing things later. Now pay attention. The white water shows it will take you to the Astral Plane. Colours represent its planar attunement, and natural Gates have a similar colour effect regardless of if they’re liquid or energy. However, Spell created Gates either won’t show any attunement or it will have a faked effect. Don’t assume that a coloured energy effect means a Pool or Gate is leading to the Plane you expect. Focus your True Sight and look at the energy present,”

The lecture comes to a halt as something snorts behind me, and I spin to find a horse and knight regarding us with more beyond. Both have flame-filled eye sockets, the knight’s music low and ashamed, while the steed’s contains vicious satisfaction. Flames and soot have discoloured the plate armour, leaving it a baked and blackened mess.

“Why are you on the Supplicants’ Road, Erinys?”

Its words echo from the armour, adding a weird DJ distortion to the infernal language’s harsh edge.

”I don’t answer to you, knight. Take your patrol and go,” snaps Ilya, her hands dropping to weapon hilts.

The metal armour creaks for a moment—the knight half turning away—before groaning, and snaps back to us. “My orders are to question all I find on the supplicants’ road.”

“That’s fine. You questioned me, and I answered, so go,” growls Ilya, the menace shown around Oragō now boiling with rage.

“You will answer properly,” the words resonate out of the knight’s armour with a harsher tone. The change as dramatic as another having snatched up its microphone.

The air snaps about us and we’ve shifted again. Now nearby spires are jagged teeth reaching to chew at the sky above. Chipped and broken, if they were teeth, then they’d need urgent dental care. The closest look discoloured with vile blackish-green stone: two spires frame a bubbling grey pool. There isn’t copper in the air, but a pungent sulphur chewing at my nose.

“Death Knights, I hate them,” Ilya growls, the rage within setting her stalking back and forth in quick twitching motions. Every time her foot strikes the ground, dust and ash swirl about.

“Did you move us or did they?’” I ask, unsure of the menace surging about in her song.

The snort I get releases her hold on the rage, but it’s only when her chorus of bitter laughter ceases that she takes time to explain. “I moved us. They can’t teleport themselves or others. Death Knights have some innate abilities with fire, and some infernal attacks. The only reason I moved us is breaking more toys isn’t trouble I need right now, especially not with three armies coming at Hell’s walls. They might decide it justifies further punishments.”

“I didn’t know what it was.”

My words get her to stop at least, and she turns to consider me. “There is so much you don’t know. The undead that serve Hell still have their Souls. They’ve blackened them with foul deeds that should have seen them transforming into Devils except one twist of fate or another. They did worse than so many boiling in Hell’s pits, but they still have their Souls.”

[Infernal Lore Unlocked!

Infernal Lore (1)]

The words are sharp with bitter envy, jealous rage, and spite, a far cry from any music I’ve heard from her so far. “So you hate them because they still have Souls, but don’t you still have one?”

“I know I don’t. I felt it shatter in the lake. You’re so weird, never speak of Devils having Souls. Usually, the Damned Souls end up in Hell’s lakes or pools. They stay there suffering until broken down they’re transformed into Devils depending on how evil they were in life.”

[Infernal Lore (1->2)]

Ilya’s music carries such grief in it that each note makes my eyes prickle hot with tears. A fact that earns me a look of disbelief. “What were you going to say when we appeared by the Pool?

“Why did we move away so quick? Wouldn’t me sniping them have gotten me experience?” I ask, but I’m quickly unsure with the blank look I get. “My Profile has counters for experience.”

Ilya’s blank look turns hard, and she frowns, though the menace is fading from her song. “I don’t know what your Profile shows you, but an imprint has nothing called experience on it.”

“I told you my Profile has more things on it,” I reply, wincing when her look turns back into a glare with hard notes to match.

“When did you get this experience?” demands Ilya.

“I got it at the same time I learnt I killed a Hordeling.” It’s an honest answer, but the look I get is incredulous Ilya clearly unsure about believing me.

“I can’t read your thoughts to see this Profile, but a stray Hordeling or a dozen are one thing. An army means flying Demons, along with ones that can teleport. I’ll take you somewhere to practice sniping at strays. Now continuing about these pools,” Ilya says, waving at the water. “This is one of the minor ones that lead to Gehenna. Have a look at it with True Sight.”

“Telepathy is for reading thoughts, right?” I ask. “Does it let you speak to people?”

“Do I need to explain everything to you?” demands Ilya, her voice suddenly sharp

Motioning to myself, I give her a head shake. “Apparently I can get dressed, so that’s covered.”

Ilya’s gaze narrows dangerously. “Only nearly everything.”

“So mean.”

I don’t reply aloud, wanting Telepathy to share the words and receive a smile along with Mr Message’s acknowledgement.

[Telepathy [B](1->2)]

“At least you can talk to others. There are some species that can’t talk normally; if you’re tapped to deliver a contract to one of them, you’ll need be able to speak into their minds,” Ilya says, relief obvious in her face and music.

“Deliver a contract?”

The sigh I get feels like I took a long step back, but she explains regardless. “It’s one of the Erinys’ roles; we deliver Hell’s messages and contracts. We’re one of the few Devils able to go to the Material Plane without being directly summoned.”

“Would they send either of us given you’re not in favour and me they want gone?” I ask, wondering if I could see actual sunlight again, and yet I don’t like the sound of her song.

Her nod is stilted and forced. “It’s not unknown for Wizards to capture Erinys; our blood and feathers are useful spell components. If they suspect it’s one of those cases, they’ll risk those like us, instead of potentially waste a useful messenger. That way if things go wrong-”

“We’re in Hell and doing mailroom duty.” I finish, but don’t score any amusement.

“Or worse,” agrees Ilya, with an ill-boding shudder as stress ripples in her song. “They assigned me to a high-ranking Devil for a time. It’s not a posting I’d recommend, I’d prefer the mailroom.”

[Resonance [B](17->18)]

I catch the flicker of an image the music carries in it, and don’t want her dwelling on it. Her memory of screaming and outrage has me shuddering away from the image of her assault.

“How will they know how many Demons you’ve killed? I mean, they said they wanted you to double your kills. I assume they’re not just going to take your word.”

She only gives a slight sigh of frustration before Ilya stabs a finger at the forearm guards I put on. “Put your hand on the crest on your bracer, and focus on seeing inside it again. It’s enchanted, similar to an imprint stone, and tracks the rush of energy you’ve gotten from kills.”

“I didn’t feel any rush,” I grumble, but I don’t try to see inside the crest, just listen to its song. “It says I’ve killed one Least Demon, but I killed a Hordeling. Would this have belonged to someone else previously?”

[Resonance [B](18->19)]

Ilya's serious demeanour breaks as she regards me in amusement. “That’s what they are, and few of them Ascend to higher Tiers. Have you looked at the Gate energy with True Sight yet?”

Busted, I focus on the Gate and True Sight shows a whirlpool of dark energy, salted with ash. “It looks like water with ash going down a hole.”

[True Sight [B](8->9)]

“Exactly. I wanted to show you the other one first. This Portal leads to Gehenna, but it won’t let you return here. Never go through a Portal before checking if it will allow you to return. There are some locations that you can’t leave without permission from their creator or ruler.”

[Planar Portals Unlocked!
Planar Portals (1)

Planar Lore (10->12)]

“Why does the energy look like its filled with ash?”

“The energy of Hades being siphoned away,” Ilya says motioning towards the Gate. “There are other places where it’s a one-way Gate from Gehenna, so I guess it balances in the end. Two-way Gates have currents in both directions, I’ll show you another one soon enough. The pooling energy will match the Plane to which it connects, if it’s two-way.”

The grey sky presses down so much, I want to be anywhere else, the miserable music not helping me to push the mood aside. “How do we get onto a World?”

“Why do you want to be out on a world?” asks Ilya suspiciously, her notes growing tight and sharp.

“Sunlight.”

As soon the word leaves my lips, Ilya’s music regains its curious edge, but she just nods thoughtfully. “In that case I know a place we can use for combat training; the things there need killing as well.”

“What sort of things?” I ask warily as fierce chords hum around her.

“Undead, lots and lots of undead. It was overrun by a Demon Lord named Orcus thousands of years ago. I was actually hired by a Wizard out of the Exchange to help loot some ruins. Though you can find other worlds like it via the archives. Overrun worlds are rare enough, and their contracts get moved into their own section. That lets you find their names, after that it’s just learning enough magic.”

Sarah’s B grade horror movies comes to mind at the word undead. “Do you need to hit zombies in the head?”

“Hit them with your arrows and that will likely be enough,” Ilya retorts gleefully. “Yeah, let’s do that. It’ll get you stronger, and you can practice Blessings in a place where it will attract less attention. Plus, there are still Gates open there that lead into the Abyss, so I can see it being needed for a full tour.”