Chained - 2

The work crews don’t even swear as I race over the wall’s fallen remains. Beyond the breaches, regiments are setting barricades fashioned from spears and the bones of fallen Demons. A wicked hedge, taunting the attackers, and a defensive position all in one. Kytons’ chains extend to hold the structure upright while massive mallets wielded by the long arms of Uhlobo smash barbed spikes of dull infernal steel in place.

My sprinting path takes me between rows of orderly troops carrying bales of materials. One thing Hell certainly does well is imposing order; Devils adhere to its laws and processes throughout its realms. On the common war front with the Abyss, every Devil’s interest is in ensuring the things oozing from the Abyss face destruction.

Even before I near the trebuchet’s crew area, I can tell things are well and truly amiss. Of the twelve trebuchets, only three still stand; one appears as if it needs to be torn apart and reset. The smell of forges lighting tells a grim story all its own, as sulfuric rock scents the air. Fast repairs would normally rate the use of Mana unless other demands weighed heavier upon its supply. If the forges were being fired by rocks normally used for munitions, things were beyond the grave to truly critical.

“How far does the damage stretch?”

“Initial reports say at least fifty leagues in both directions. That’s only from the immediate banner signals I’ve seen,” replied Nerezza, her focus on unwinding broken chains.

“It’s over ninety now,” Cojet snaps, looking up from the trebuchet’s pieces even he is assisting in wrestling apart. “What did you get?”

“Abyssal plates from a siege tower, a few hundred low-quality weapons and armour, and a succubus in a net.”

“Cursed benighted Souls, and no time to play with it. Cage it, unload the carrier near the forges, then get back on the double,” commands Cojet. He doesn’t finish barking out orders in a cracking snarl before he turns back to the creaking frame.

“I’ve orders to report to the Mother’s cave in Nessus.”

My statement causes Cojet to pause, and as he turns back towards me, I see he’s blinking slowly. Though I know well it’s not from stupidity, his mind is already running probabilities, and from his gaze, he likes none of them.

“Angel’s bollocks, what stupid timing. Fine, tell the quartermaster though, I’ll need two Kyton replacing you.”

“I won’t have time for the paperwork my order stated told the commander has already been told.”

“Told, not ordered! Very well, get going,” snapped Cojet. He gestured a paw for the carrier, and I toss it to him without further words. When even the higher-ups are being told, it’s best to let paperwork fall to someone else.

*

The bitter orange portal to Nessus sets me out at the base of a mountain pass facing the Citadel Malsheem. It seems I was fortunate enough to beat the reinforcements as I can see regiments streaming down towards the Portal - its event horizon still rippling from my passage. Clouds of ash blocked the sullen light in this Plane, stretching between horizons. There was no attempt by sunlight to peek through for none existed, only seething flames that showed in the rare gaps. This was a Plane abandoned by light and hope; devastation and sorrow were the lightest emotions to call it home.

Dust ladened gusts rippled across the marching ranks, already passing through the fortification’s gates, and I quickly get out of their way. Lines of Skeletal knights, their gazes filled with burning flames, march in the regular steps of the Undead. Black armour soaked in sin, regret, and seasoned with misery wrapped around their bones. The pets of Devils known as Bone Lords, the enchantments from armour, weapons and form thicken the air near them with fine sulphur. To my gaze, the flames within the hollow eye sockets allow me to see the horror and despair filling the Soul within each. Underlying the sulphur, the sour taste of dishonour, and cruel deeds bring with it a bittersweetness as my forked tongue tastes the air again.

My gaze takes in the fortifications around the portal, and I can see work crews already reinforcing them, the powers that be apparently not taking any chances. Even as I dodge away from a regiment’s first rank, I turn my back on it. The Citadel might be the principal place of Power on this Plane and serve as Asmodeus’ command centre, but it’s not where I’ll find Mother. Instead, I set my path towards planar north, looking towards the great ravine and ice fields beyond. I head towards the nearest nest with an eye on the sky, cursing Erinys and the others that get to bloody fly under their own power. As I approach, I see it’s occupied and snort with relief. The petrified crest of the undead Roc blending in with the jagged stone of the landscape, where it had made its roost.

The Nogazi Devil sitting on its neck had the build of a jockey and would barely reach my chest. Mottled red and black from head to toe, it appeared as if formed of blood itself. Even the shape of the cloth and armour wrapped about its form drips and oozes in continual flowing motion. Yet somehow, when it speaks in the infernal tongue all I hear are dry, rasping tones, as if baked sand is shifting underfoot in a searing midday sun. Its blood-filled gaze looked over me, a smile twisting its lips as it scents the dagger I hold up. The enchantments, though Abyssal, still tug at the air between us.

“Kyton, where do you need passage to?”

“As far North as your beast will fly.”

“It can handle all the way to the great glacier, its enchantments are sturdy.”

“That’s where I need to go. If we can leave now, it’s yours.”

When it nods, I move up the ramp to the last ridge before the roost’s hollow. A leap takes me from ridge to Roc’s back, and I set the dagger in the rider’s hand.

“Stand in the middle of the platform. Don’t let any of those links rest on bone. I’ve no desire for the enchantments to shatter from their cold in mid-air. I’ve stops to make along the way.”

Fucking Devils still getting caught in their fine print; the stops could be anywhere, and I’ve already paid them the dagger.

“How much for direct?”

My husky words could etch steel with the cold they carry, but with this blood made thing I can’t even tell if it blinks.

“Two more daggers, or a gladius size blade at least, or if you’ve…”

When I bring out a gladius with flames rippling from its blade, its words still at the enchantment’s heat.

“Direct to my goal, and we leave right away.”

“Done.”

At my agreement, the greedy thing snatches for the sword, and as I let it grasp the hilt, I close a trap of my own.

“All the way’s to the Kyton Mother’s cave it is.”

“Oh.”

Straight north to the glacier wall is a trip enough, but the location of the roost near Mother’s cave triples the distance. Yet now it’s agreed without ensuring it held an advantage in all the links of the agreement being forged.

It takes off instantly, but I’ve already got chains locked on the platform’s edges. At the sound of my feet impacting metal, the Roc’s flight path turns violently the rider using the change in direction to throw me off. Obviously it wouldn’t be his fault if I fell off, and if my chains touch bone, then the agreement breaks. Chains grab tight on every edge and I lock my knees against their pull, as the fort below swings about again, already far below.

With my body parallel to the ground, I watch the regiment vanishing into the Portal, while Wizards atop the blockish enclosing walls stay focused on the entry. More regiments - Undead and Devils alike - come out the fortress’ gates, and I wonder how many of the million held within will stream towards the front from here. The few roosts within the fort’s walls emptying as the last flyers depart. Another minute would have had me scouting far afield, seeking a means to reach the Mother; the great ravine alone would have taken a week to cross on foot.

*

Wind.

The whistling sound of it is never-ending, slipping into every crevice of this place, bringing out the strangest melodies with its never-ceasing motion. The leather membranes of what remains of the undead Roc’s wings send a snowbank free from the targeted roost. Even though it looks like it might land, I flex the chains and use its momentum and changing tension to throw myself well clear. Ice crunches under the impact of chains and feet as I land and I see the Nogazi looking at me. The sneer crosses its lips even as the Roc changes course, its wings flaring to bury me under a new snowdrift.

Its revenge for our agreement is less than petty, as neither cold nor the weight bothers me. Though if I’d bothered to learn its name with Analysis, I might have seen if I could get an Erinys to drag him through Hell’s Courts for fun. The Demonic rider had been worse than a scamming rogue driver, his direct route was - I’m sure - far from it, though we had stopped nowhere along the way. Yet it was a path I’d taken so infrequently I lacked the certainty to be sure with calling him on it.

Chains lifted me free from the drift, and their length sent me skipping from the top of one rock pile to the next. The lip of the glacier wall approaches fast, and I see the cave mouth I need. The whistling of the wind competing with the ringing anvils crying from within. Wards across the cave mouth welcome me home as I set my feet on the smooth ice within. The barrier holding away ice, snow, along with other trash such as the rare unwelcome visitor intent on suicide.

Sundered breastplates, broken weapons in so many shapes and forms, even the odd skull, line the walls as I head deep within. The ice underfoot gets clearer as the passage grows deeper until great metal links, each larger than a shipping container, shift beneath it and become visible. Their movements are energetic and let me know that Mother’s more active than I remember from my time here. Chains swing and dance within the unfreezing water below, where normally it was rare to see even one of those links sway with even the slightest force. Something roused one better-left languishing, resting, comforted by the anvil’s cry, as near to sleep as a Devil might get.

When the passage brings me out on the underground ice flow, my eyes take in the sight within. Forges sit within the area in rows, like processional in a cathedral, lined up in worship at She who had birthed us. Large yellow orbs, larger than the links I’d seen below the water, glow with life as her gaze rests on me even from this distance. Comforted only by the knowledge that she hasn’t yet killed me provides the strength to continue to advance, even though common sense tells me to run.

Though if I had any claim to that I never would have returned. The pain of her gaze sends pleasure bounding within me and I stride forward, careful to time every pace with the tempo of the anvils’ beat. Within the massive hall, I’ve another kilometre or more to stride before reaching a place where she might greet me.

Only upwards of Mother’s jawline sits above the ice field, and yet she’s so motionless that it seals tight against the chains’ links and covering along her skin. The reptilian scales of the Great Mothers blend with chains of night, older than Asmodeus, and far from humanoid. Indeed, her long snout rests upon the ice, stretching away three hundred metres, if not more to the jaw’s hinge. The long neck reaching down to her body far below hides behind the veil of chains. Every chain forged by the Titan’s hands alone binds their agreement and seals her Draconic form to this place.

#Child#

The word isn’t spoken into air or mind, but impresses itself on those nearby with Her Will alone making her attendants start. Procedure discarded, the senior of them pauses a beat before continuing from further along the script.

“The mother recognises your presence, Sidero, last child borne by her Will. What gifts do you bring in homage?”

#Enough. She is here at my command.#

Chains conceal the attendants’ faces as everyone else here, but I can tell from posture alone when they freeze in fear.

“As you called Mother, so did I come to hear your will.”

The words of ritual slip from my tongue but one of many things impressed upon me before I had left this place.

#Asmodeus wishes one of mine to aid a Priest of a mortal’s god of the forge. He needs one with my chains, yet I find you are the last of my hatchlings wearing them. Do only what the contract requires in aid, gain his prize if you can. Leave all you have gained through stealth here, someone will forge you some things in return according to my will.#

I drop the accumulation of months on the war-front to the ice at my feet with no idea how she knows. The attendants’ posture reacts aghast, as the tons of metal quickly accumulate in mounds around me. I know they’ve Wizards among them and to my knowledge my Inventory ability doesn’t show to Wizard senses. The possibility I might have brought something dangerous near to the Mother must be what fills their gazes with rage. The most junior of the attendants collects the items into a carrier that they tuck back under chains before Mother speaks again.

#All others but my child leave.#

Her Will presses down with absolute rulership, and every Anvil’s worker ceases between beats. The air cracks while some disappear, bare feet or boot soles slap against the ice as the rest flee from the cavern. Only when the echoes stop does her Will make itself known again.

#When the moment comes, go straight till you feel it beneath your feet. Come back with it all.#

The Shockwave that I had felt in Hades seems but a trifling to the one that smashes within the cavern. Beneath my feet the buckling ice field shatters into dust, and the weight of my chains pulls me straight down. The links of Mother’s chain move and create opposing tidal eddies to ensure I plunge unhindered. For only a moment I raise an arm to strike for the surface, but the straightness of my plunge rings a true strike with her words.

I do not know how this water isn’t ice, as even through my species’ immunity to cold I can feel it clearly. Darkness sits on me as the forges from the cavern have plunged with me, their magical fires go still one after another. When the last of them wink out, the rule of Darkness is absolute. Further and further away I can feel the tidal eddies of Mother’s chains, yet still I drop. The weight of my chains continues my descent, yet it seems too slow.

Forcing my will into my chains, a circle of spikes reaches overhead, and I force them to stay aloft even as the spikes change. With all the precision I can muster, I change them into rotor blades. I push, and I know I’ve made a mistake as I feel them press unevenly on the water, and I lose touch with one eddy. A chain’s glancing blow breaks bones and throws me back the way I’d come before another swirls past. The dark water tastes of my blood, and through the pleasure I realise the cause. I spit the tip of my severed tongue away, and what remains isn’t even able to touch my broken front teeth.

The pleasure from broken bones and severed flesh alike sets my mind ablaze. Though I can’t see, I can feel the motions of Mother’s chains and something metallic far beneath. The sense of it fading as my tumbling course sends me hurtling away. A massive chain comes past and I extend my own in desperation to hook where I can feel a seam. Hooks slide smoothly across Mother’s metal bonds, and instead of the seam I feel a hook crushed between links. The swinging almost sends me further away but changing the crushed hook I release in time and regain lost ground. A game of snatch and release with more chains finally sets me right. The tip of my regrown tongue works against - once - broken teeth as my feet sink ankle-deep into the soil, hopefully wading distance from the metallic mass I feel.

The pressure of the water so far down grinds against me with crushing force. Chains extend around me, and spikes turn into shovel blades, provide a means to get closer. When I set my hand against metal, at last, I can feel its mass properly and find it’s larger than the eight tons I had gained from the war-front, and there’s one tiny problem. It’s too big for me to store, as when I focus Inventory on it nothing happens.

While the cold here is intense it’s not a danger, but the pressure of this place makes my flesh feel as if in a wonderful vice. With mounting pleasure singing through flesh and bone, it’s unclear how much time I have.