Chapter 13
“We’re still here,” Fara noted.
The rest of the party had shifted to the far side of the portal chamber during the conversation. They wanted to be far away from Sirion, for what little it mattered.
“Even if I had known the truth, it wouldn’t have changed anything,” Rys said. “I always suspected the angels of being involved. King Mylar’s rebellion needed external support, not to mention the resilience of the portal itself.”
“Who was she?” Alsia asked. “To you.”
“Technically, just somebody I worked with. Sirion became an angel lord after the Cataclysm and led the angelic host against the armies of the Infernal Empire. She managed to keep us from crushing them entirely. I fought her once, and she chopped off my arm before sinking the city I was defending.” Rys made a chopping motion on his right bicep.
“I’m sorry, what?” Fara said flatly.
“We were enemies. Then we negotiated peace terms, and I became the longstanding liaison between the Empire and the angels.”
“You fucked her, didn’t you?” The fox’s eyes narrowed.
“Many times. The more powerful an angel is, the greater their… humanity.” He frowned.
Sirion had almost been too human. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn that had really been her.
For what little closure it gave him, he accepted that feeling. How many of his old friends and acquaintances had died while he had slumbered? What had been his last words to them, or the last thing he did with most? As much as he desired power, he often enjoyed the company of others.
His blood ran cold the more he thought about the topic, so he stopped. Focusing on the present was far wiser.
“Yes, I noticed.” Fara placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “We need to move on.”
Before they left, Rys appropriated a few portal shards. If he could take those with him, so many of his problems would be solved.
Somehow, he doubted things would be so easy.
They set off toward the site of the main battle in the palace, in the central wing of the complex. The smoke and flames died down as they got closer, but a pyre of dragonfire lit up the darkening sky.
The walls and ceiling of the throne room had been melted into pools of stone and metal. Thousands of square footage of opulent estate had been obliterated and covered in slag, blood, and ash. The throne room itself was large enough to contain a large army, and the supporting rooms made it the size of a large castle.
Countless corpses littered the ground. Hundreds upon hundreds of charred and brutalized humanoids, and dozens of dragons and other devils. Gore and chunks of flesh could be seen everywhere.
In the center of it all was the unmoving form of a true monster. A six-legged beast that resembled a dragon, but was a mishmash of prismatic scales and black fur. Its size was comparable to an adult dragon, but its figure was not. A distended head bearing two shattered ebony horns jutted out from its misshapen body. Its tail split at the end like a snake, but each end bore axe blades.
Burns coated the beast. Huge gouges had been carved into its flesh, and half of its scales were missing. Slick, black blood pooled on the surrounding floor.
Despite the wounds, the monster lived. Merely standing near it caused an overwhelming magical pressure to bear down on Rys. Waves of magical energy billowed off it. The being was a veritable demigod.
This was Duar. The second-oldest infernal alive, right after Malusian himself.
Or he had been the second-oldest infernal alive. Because, in reality, he was dead. This wasn’t real.
But it felt real.
In this strange moment, Rys saw something that he never had before. Duar’s monstrous form. One of the greatest secrets that a royal devil could hold. Before dying, the devil had returned to his human form, and died like that. That had been the state that Rys had found him in.
“Is this Duar?” Fara asked quietly.
“Malusian’s right hand.” Rys’s voice was thick with emotion.
The infernals stirred restlessly. Grigor and Fred remained grim-faced, but the tension in their bodies was strong enough that if it unwound all at once, they would explode.
“Rys, is this safe?” Grigor asked.
“I know Duar. He won’t attack us,” Rys said.
“This is too dangerous. A devil in their monstrous form will attack on sight. We should…” Fred trailed off at Rys’s glare.
“Stay here,” Rys said. “All of you.”
Then he strode over to the devil that had granted him freedom from Lacrissa, and who was responsible for so much of Rys’s path in life.
With every step, the magical pressure increased. Rys almost felt that he was suffocating.
This felt real. As if he were truly in the presence of Duar himself. The greatest of infernals were demigods, and Duar had fought an army of trained dragons. That same army could level entire cities or fortresses. Even Rys doubted his own ability to stop Mylar and his dragons.
Duar remained in this world after the destruction of the portal due to his foresight. If the portal fell, who would be capable of restoring the Empire afterward? The portal made it convenient for infernals to reside in Harrium. Royal devils had difficulty finding powerful summoners that could maintain them.
Rys had been one of the few who could. Ariel gathered most of the rest. Once she lost her last portal, she relied more heavily on summoning. The other alternative was what was known as a pact.
An infernal could make a deal with a mortal, and that deal could power the summoning, so long as the mortal and infernal continued to fulfill it. Pacts were a nuisance, as they required immense resources and constant maintenance. Duar had constantly renewed his, and sometimes vanished for months at a time while Rys prepared a new one for the devil.
The memory of how the idea had come up returned to Rys as he approached Duar. As though his mind dredged up memories related to the infernal with each step.
“Yes, I’m sure. I’d say there’s no better place for you than in the exterior court of Ruathym, Talarys. It’s a junction of mortals, magic, infernals, and politics with a wrapper of ambition and a core of much-needed stability—which describes you in a nutshell. You think these recent cultists are linked to Ariel?” Duar said one evening, back when Rys worked for him as a minor general.
“Recent” had been over three decades ago. But Duar was millennia old, so that was the equivalent of the previous Tuesday.
“Maybe. They’re trying to form pacts with powerful infernals and build underground empires beneath our feet. They might be trying something else,” Rys had answered.
“That would be foolish. If they don’t pick a side, they’ll make an enemy of everyone. We’d crush them as fast as they’d form a pact.” Duar chuckled.
Rys hadn’t been so sure. “Perhaps. If they were still there by the time we found them and squashed them. Pacts make it possible to summon royal devils, but it’s still very difficult. If you want to find the people capable of forming and maintaining one, then you’ll need to cast a wide net and you’ll need them in a place where you can test their ability to maintain the pact under pressure. Of course, once confirmed, you can whisk them back to friendlier territory.”
That caught Duar’s attention, in a way that had reminded Rys of when he had returned from his encounter with Azrael during the Cataclysm. “Royal devils? So this is related to Ariel.”
Rys had shrugged. “It’s only been a century and you’ve already removed several prized members of Ariel’s cabinet. Give it another two or three centuries and she’ll have no choice but to wage open war for the portal if she doesn’t come up with an alternative,” he had said. “We’d be in the same boat if we didn’t have the portal. So she is hunting down anyone capable of summoning royal devils for her.”
“All too true,” Duar said, his expression dark and his orange eyes glowing for a moment. “These infernalists, you call them… see if you can capture some. Perhaps we should investigate our own alternatives. I might have an idea for using these pacts to reinforce the Empire, now that we only have one portal left. Choice is everything, after all.”
Choice, Rys thought, coming back to reality.
Duar had given Rys choice in a life where he had none before. Ironically, Duar himself had little say in his own life.
The pacts had backfired. Nobody else was interested in the idea, and Duar was the protector of Ruathym and Malusian’s palace. The fact he could now survive the portal’s destruction somehow solidified his position, in the twisted thought process of other infernals.
So it was that the general responsible for protecting Ruathym and the portal was also the one who was supposed to survive its destruction.
At the same time, the usage of pacts by Malusian only justified Ariel’s use of them. The Eternal Game increased in intensity, and Malusian and Ariel found themselves drawn into larger and larger battles. It didn’t take long before many felt that one would eventually battle the other directly.
The Infernal Empire wasn’t great at planning. For some reason, a nation run by a race infamous for capriciousness and selfishness didn’t think about the long term.
“In either case, I will have failed in my duty. A martyr, I am forever marred,” Duar had remarked darkly to Rys after Malusian’s council, where he had been more or less forced to take on the role of protecting the portal. “The price of brotherhood and duty. Never forget that, Rys.”
In the present, Rys shook his head to clear his thoughts. He was becoming too sentimental. Unlike Sirion, Duar had died while he had been active. This was nothing new.
But the chance to speak with his old mentor was new. What would Duar say to him, with his final words?
Before Rys spoke up, he noticed something odd. Looking out past the melted walls and windows, he noticed that the landscape had frozen. The smoke in the air didn’t move, shadowy figures remained still, and the city as a hole was trapped in a single moment in time.
Even close by, Rys noticed that the pocket dimension appeared to be struggling. A piece of rubble fell to the ground, but didn’t kick up any dirt or dust upon impact with the grimy ground.
A foreign presence lingered in his mind, and it felt familiar to Rys. Greater in magnitude than the castle, but it came through its connection.
Was this the Labyrinth? Was its power struggling to maintain a being as great as Duar in this recreation?
If so, that meant there was a limit to its power. But that was cold comfort, given Duar was a being close in power to an actual archangel.
“Duar,” Rys said.
Seven baleful eyes opened and each burned with a jade haze. Duar seemed to smile, as much as he could in this form. Blood streamed through his ebony teeth, splattering on the ruined tile floor.
“Rys,” Duar replied in perfect Royal Devil, as a truly powerful and honorable devil such as he would.
Nostalgia flooded Rys at the sound of his former mentor’s voice, as he hadn’t heard it in centuries. The Labyrinth’s power pushed at Rys, and he suddenly found himself drawn into another memory.
This time, he was in the throne room, but it was intact. Rys had kneeled in the vast emptiness of the chamber. Only two figures joined him.
At the moment, the Cataclysm was in full swing. The Reapers invaded Gauron and the Infernal Empire defended its land. Soon, the angels would intervene and everything would spiral out of control. But for the moment, Rys was Lacrissa’s agent and pet.
Lacrissa herself stood in front of Rys, wearing little other than a jeweled thong and bra. Rys only saw her backside in this memory, but it was a damn fine one. She was, after all, the Succubus Queen and probably the sexiest woman in all existence.
In front of her stood Duar, wearing the same black and silver noble’s outfit that he had probably worn for the past thousand years. He even wore a cape, which had fallen out of fashion centuries ago, apparently.
Black was a reviled color among royal devils. It was an unchanging color in fashion that worked too well. Any devil could pull off black, but what about something more garish? Devils loved chasing fads and new fashion trends. The fact that Duar favored black, and so much of it, spoke volumes about how little he cared about social perception.
It also said a lot about his raw power, as he could ignore what others thought of him and still remain this powerful. If anything, he probably wore the damn thing all the time to piss other infernals off.
“I don’t recall any of your succubi being capable of manipulating the Reapers, General Lacrissa,” Duar boomed. “As such, I don’t need them in the south. I need a leader. Power, leadership, and fighting ability are what matter in command. Perhaps even signs of intelligence, and an ability to recognize the fact that one’s own forces do not grow on trees.”
Lacrissa’s shoulders stiffened. “Oh? So you want Tallie? Is that it?” she crooned. “Well, if you insist, Duar. Tallie, you know what to do. Go be a good pet and follow Duar’s commands. Be sure to show off all your power, leadership, and fighting ability. Maybe bring back a few dozen sluts for me, while you’re at it.” She giggled. “Oh, and remember—don’t let anybody else waste what is yours. They don’t grow on trees.”
Anger had surged in Rys as Lacrissa’s mental manipulation took hold. Duar scowled and thundered at her, but it wasn’t until Rys returned from his battle with Azrael that anything could be done.
Then, and only then, had Rys been freed. And he owed it all to Duar.
Once again, he returned to reality. The presence of the Labyrinth faded somewhat. Rys suspected it was feeding off his memories in order to maintain Duar, but that was an uneducated guess.
Duar remained in front of him, in his monstrous form. No sign of his black and silver outfit now.
“As I predicted, I have become a martyr,” Duar said. “Even so, you live on. The Empire will not, but everything that it means also lives on with you.”
Rys felt his breath catch in his throat.
“My service to my brother is ended, after all of these millennia by his side.” Duar choked out a booming laugh around all the blood pouring from his maw. “My duty is done, my body spent, and the magic that comprises my being is returning to the planes beyond. But you are free, Rys. You lack the bonds that tied me down. The future is yours, in a way it should have been long ago.”
The devil shifted, and it was clear he didn’t want an answer. Had he been thinking about these words? Or did they come to him naturally?
“You’ve held this threadbare wreck of an Empire together better than any of us. You are a mortal raised within the Infernal Empire, with the power and will of the greatest of any of my kin. Even as our work was undone by mortals, it shines the brightest in you. The time of infernals, and all divine beings, has passed, but not our legacy.”
Stretching his head toward the sky, Duar closed his eyes.
“I am the last of Malusian’s infernal generals. Perhaps I should be selfish and full of hubris for once. You are my legacy, Rys. I shall claim you and your future as proof of everything that we accomplished, and that this doesn’t end here. You know what it means to be an infernal. You hold bonds with us that have transcended that dreadful Cataclysm and even the Eternal Game between Ariel and Malusian,” Duar continued. “If there is to be a new Empire, it will be born from your strength, and not the weaknesses of others such as Kauros.”
Silence fell. Rys found himself at a loss for words.
For all his personal desires and struggles to claim power, Rys had never claimed a mandate or a legacy. He had fought for everything and assumed others would never accept him easily. His allies were carefully chosen, and he avoided needlessly antagonizing others in order to minimize conflicts.
But through all of that, he had never imagined that Duar saw him this way. The Empire had shaped Rys. To be given the blessing of one of the infernals who helped build it was… complicated.
But Rys knew how to respond to Duar now. Beyond all else, they were friends. Just like Grigor and him.
“Really, Duar, you’re thinking too small,” Rys said, forcing arrogance into his voice. “I’m not going to rebuild the Infernal Empire. It never even expanded past Gauron. I’m going to make something far grander. A nation that will span Harrium itself.”
Empty words right now, while Rys had so little power. But he wanted power, didn’t he?
Duar chuckled, and the motion caused cracks to appear in his neck. “Well, I’m glad that your ambition burns as bright as ever. I’d say to walk before you run, but given how young you started rune-crafting, that’s foolish advice. Just be sure not to trip, Rys. Your countless enemies will be sure to swoop on you given the opportunity.”
The pair exchanged grins.
“One final warning,” Duar said, turning serious. “Your knowledge worries others. Word has reached—”
Rys’s mind blanked out as the seal stopped him from hearing Duar’s warning. By the time it returned, the ancient devil had finished speaking.
No, Rys realized, the simulacrum was failing to keep him together. Most of his body had frozen in place. Only his head moved.
“Thank you, Duar,” Rys said. He fought to keep his tone steady.
“Go, Rys. Mylar and his dragons will return, and you have work to do. It is good to see Grigor and Frederick with you, but do remember Asa as well. Those bonds are valuable,” the old devil said.
A moment later, Duar froze up entirely.
Nothing moved in the entire pocket dimension. Not the smoke in the distance, or the dust on the ground, or even the ancient devil laying in front of Rys.
He stared into space for several long minutes. The others let him be, although Fara leaned against him to keep him company, her tails curling around his back. Fred and Grigor paid their respects, even though Duar couldn’t respond.
Whether history had been changed or not, it seemed that Rys had broken the defense mechanism.
Hopefully, that was good enough. Because once he returned, he had an obelisk to break and power to regain. And with it, he would have the strength to deal with Avolar and the schemes of the Malus League.
For the moment, he remembered an old mentor and friend.