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Writer's pictureIsaiah Burt

Diabolical Ascension XII: Freedom Flight

Updated: Apr 10

This is the twelfth chapter of Diabolical Ascension, the saga of Zeraga Baal'khal, the Doomfire. Discretion is advised due to graphic content.


The eleventh chapter, Raveled Fates/Web of Oubliettes, can be found here:



Image credits (in order of appearance): Petr Joura


A cold sensation of sprouting and growing, emerging, permeated Baal-Kephor and Maraduamnaa. All around reverberated the frenzied screams of gathered jût. Baal-Kephor and Maraduamnaa were still red, fleshless specters, and the thick, sticky webbing and thorny vines endemic to the Razzatha’ar’s domain constricted the devil and the glayruk. Before them stood a jût clad in a cloak of white scales holding Baal-Kephor’s war-blade and inferno rifle. The jût wielded the former like a baton as he bellowed to his kin all around; the latter he gripped in his meaty fist like a royal scepter. Over the jût leader loomed the silver simulacrum of Zeraga Baal’khal, gleaming pale blue in the light cast by the runed maul gripped in its uppermost right hand.

 

The sight of one of those damn degenerates wielding his weapons filled Baal-Kephor with rage. He had forged both of them himself shortly after joining the Fangs of Azazel; they were like brothers to him. The devil called upon his hellfire and received only torment as thorny vines burrowed deeper into him. Unnoticing, the thieving jût leader kept preaching:

 

“The time of Lord Ik’kthatch has come. These two souls have arrived as he has foretold, and with their sacrifice, he shall become manifest. All glory to the Dragon of Eternal Wrath!”

 

All of the gathered jût roared back in ferocious agreement, many bashing their weapons against their armor and shields.

 

We need to do something. Baal-Kephor said to Maraduamnaa. I cannot muster my hellfire.

 

I know. Maraduamnaa’s voice was strained and weak, and the wordless gibbering had returned, stronger than ever. The might of Ag’graaza, a chorus of silent roars, pounded all around, anticipating its impending release. Maraduamnaa surrendered to it all.

 

In her mind’s eye, though she was not sure it could be properly termed such in her fleshless state, she saw a wall of flames. Within the fire lurked hulking, deranged silhouettes, those of the jût she so desperately wanted to kill. Her crimson form started to writhe and swell, soon followed by the wet pulsing of flesh overtaking her from the inside out: internal organs, bones, muscle, and scales; and then horns and claws. All of it transpired in but a few seconds; the tearing of her bindings, thick and wet, heralded the end.

 

Maraduamnaa emerged from her prison as a demon, as tall as Baal-Kephor and covered from head to hoof in gleaming onyx scales, and her belly was swollen with pregnancy. The spider legs sprouting from the former glayruk’s back and shoulders were as long as she was tall with spikes protruding from the final segments; above the beginnings of the spider legs were curved, rigid protrusions of jagged black bone that resembled sickle blades. Maraduamnaa’s eyes were orbs of fire, the same fire that she breathed on the jût who had stolen Baal-Kephor’s weapons.

 

Immediately, the degenerate became an effigy of Maraduamnaa’s hatred, his new, baleful radiance blotting out the glow of the maul behind him as his cloak of white scales became ashes. A wet roar of excruciation boomed from the jût’s throat as he fell to his knees, Baal-Kephor’s weapons clattering to the ground. The rest of the jût sprang into the motion, a tide of battle-hardened flesh surging toward Maraduamnaa. A cacophony of wet rips and snapping bones followed as Maraduamnaa became a blur of swiping claws and pistoning legs; the jût melted away like ice before an inferno.

 

Baal-Kephor wouldn’t have moved even if he had been able to, so transfixed was he by his lover’s paroxysm of rage. Soon, all that remained of the jût were mounds of red ruination; the silver simulacrum of Zeraga Baal’khal remained perfectly still.

 

Maraduamnaa turned toward Baal-Kephor. Her mind was a storm of rage, goaded by the wordless gibbering. All thoughts of the past and future were gone; there was only the perpetual instant of alarm that brought forth the urge to fight. And so Maraduamnaa brought her claws down upon her lover.

 

Maraduamnaa! Baal-Kephor cried. Stop! It’s me!

 

His field of vision turned stark white from agony as Maraduamnaa’s claws sliced into him. He didn’t notice himself falling back as his bindings were cut, and soon, he couldn’t feel any physical sensations at all.

 

Horror consumed Maraduamnaa’s mind as she took control of herself, forcing herself to not eviscerate what remained of her lover’s bare soul, the father of the child stirring within her womb. Strands of crimson mist flowed from Baal-Kephor’s body; he grew more translucent with each passing moment. Slowly, inexorably, Maraduamnaa’s claws descended upon Baal-Kephor, the gibbering goading her.

 

It is of no use to resist. hissed a demoniac voice within Maraduamnaa’s mind. You will succumb. You must succumb. That is the price of our power.

 

Gritting her teeth, Maraduamnaa telepathically lashed out at the other presence in her mind. It hissed in pain but surged forward a moment later, multiplied threefold.

 

Is this the gratitude we receive for aiding you? the three voices hissed. How truly pathetic you mortals are.

 

The voices multiplied further, each one piling accusations upon Maraduamnaa:

 

We saved you certain death!

 

We gave you power the likes of which you have never known!

 

We have been more benevolent than you deserve!

 

Maraduamnaa fell to her knees, throwing her hands on her head as the psychic onslaught overwhelmed her. It was all she could do to not lose herself to it. She opened her mouth and screamed. She screamed, and she screamed, and she screamed. Amid it all, disjointed images of Zeraga Baal’khal with Hellscythe in his grasp flitted across her mind, charged with a hatred that made the mortal understanding of the emotion into an understatement, and the rumbling, commanding voice of Ahriman, the First Demon, chanted one word over and over again:

 

“Traitor.”

 

Baal-Kephor took guilty pleasure in knowing that Maraduamnaa’s current torment meant that she was not going to lash out at him. He would die for her if he had to, but not here and not like this. Rising, the devil walked around his lover to collect his weapons.

 

The runes upon the maul held by the silver simulacrum flared with blue radiance; Baal-Kephor was a sickly shade of purple as he reclaimed his tools of war. Howling flames heralded the manifestation of a large, blazing orb above the silver simulacrum. From it fulgurated two demons.

 

The bat-like fiends were constituted of black bone and lurid flames, each one rivaling Baal-Kephor in size. The demons’ legs were proportionally larger such that their hind claws were larger than their fangs, and long, whip-like tails streamed behind them as they sped toward Baal-Kephor like loosed arrows. Howling flames made up the next verse in the song of battle.

 

                                                                    *

 

What kept Ik’kthatch’s frustration in check was that not all was lost. Not yet. He did not know how the glayruk bitch had freed herself, let alone ascend to demonhood, but even now, the veil between the chamber and Ag’graaza continued to thin, enough that Ik’kthatch had been able to call forth more demons of Rak’ghol, those beings of black bone and cleansing flame, manifestations of their lord’s unending hatred. And now that those beings were distracting Baal-Kephor, Ik’kthatch could finish what he started.

 

The enchantments that bound the demon lord to the maul were weaker than ever. Tendrils of his will slid through into the silver simulacrum beyond. It was an empty vessel, ripe for the taking, and after millennia of being so tantalizingly close, it finally belonged to Ik’kthatch. The runes upon the maul glowed brighter as the silver simulacrum stirred.

 

                                                                    *

 

Maraduamnaa rose. The demons that had catalyzed her ascension were now banished to the depths of her mind, and the power of Ag’graaza flowed through her stronger than ever. Never before had she felt so at home in a place. Outstretching one of her clawed hands, she fired a bolt of purple lightning at one of the demons locked in combat with Baal-Kephor. The lightning slammed into the demon’s back and exploded; it died amid a spray of fire and black bone slivers. Hissing, the other demon whirled around to face Maraduamnaa.

 

The silver simulacrum of Zeraga Baal’khal stepped forward, its eyes glowing with blue light. It pointed its maul forward, and a lance of jagged ice streaked forth, perforating Maraduamnaa’s shoulder. Dark gore jetted from the wound as she staggered back, and pain lanced down her arm. Her gaze snapped onto the silver simulacrum. It was already closing the distance.

 

Maraduamnaa tore the ice lance from her shoulder and threw it to the ground. Stalking forward, she cannoned her spider legs toward the silver simulacrum. All of the simulacrum’s arms became mercurial blurs; four caught her spider legs and held them back while the other two swung the massive, runed maul, its flanges whistling as they carved though the air. Maraduamnaa’s arms sprang forward like pistons, her claws latching onto the maul’s handle, and the words to a spell flowed from her mouth. From the mouth of the silver simulacrum came a counterspell, rendered in a rumbling, guttural voice.

 

The combatants jerked to and fro as they struggled and chanted, seemingly in thrall to a bizarre ritual. They finished their spells at the same time; chaos-flame coruscated across Maraduamnaa’s claws only to be snuffed out. She tried to pry the maul from the silver simulacrum to no avail.

 

Nearby, Baal-Kephor traded blows with the remaining bat-like demon. The devil relied mostly on his war-blade, now, and the demon’s never-ending flurry of claws and fangs combined with the vulnerability of his fleshless state kept him on the defensive. Baal-Kephor bided his time, hoping for an opening to take a snapshot with his inferno rifle, but he knew that the possibility became more distant with each passing moment. The ringing of metal against bone as he blocked and parried sounded to him like a funeral dirge.

 

Ik’kthatch laughed at Maraduamnaa. You should have just surrendered your souls to me. It would have been easier for you.

 

You will remain trapped. Maraduamnaa snapped back as she swept her hoof under the simulacrum’s feet.

 

The silver simulacrum fell, taking Maraduamnaa with it. The runes upon its maul glowed brighter as they crashed to the ground; a gelid wind laden with ice razors wailed forth. Maraduamnaa cried out as gash after gash opened upon her scales, gore beading up from the raw flesh beneath. She took one clawed hand off the runed maul to swipe at one of the arms holding it. Steel screeched, nothing more.

 

Baal-Kephor’s inferno rifle screamed behind. The demon had overextended itself, and the devil had seized the opportunity. The superheated ray punched through the demon’s chest, sending it flying back, tears of fire falling from it. In the time that the demon took to recover itself, Baal-Kephor fired at the silver simulacrum.

 

Part of the simulacrum’s side melted like candlewax, and its grip on the runed maul loosened just enough for Maraduamnaa to tear it free, at which point the simulacrum fell inert. A deathly, freezing sensation poured into Maraduamnaa’s body as Ik’kthatch invaded her mind; a desperate struggle of wills ensued.

 

Baal-Kephor fought with renewed vigor at the sight of Maraduamnaa claiming the maul. The remaining bat-like demon charged and became a frenzy of claws, fangs, and flames as it tried to overwhelm Baal-Kephor. His war-blade was like a black viper as it turned aside the blows and absorbed the brunt of the fiery torrents, and he darted back as the latest flames dissipated. The demon lunged, taking the bait; Baal-Kephor’s inferno rifle swung up, and superheated death screamed forth, evaporating the demon’s head. As the corpse dropped to the ground, the flames about it unraveled, leaving only clattering bones.

 

Maraduamnaa did not take notice of Baal-Kephor moving to join her; she had not seen his victory. She could not see the surrounding cave, or the radiant maul that she gripped tightly in both hands, or even her own body. Her mind was a maelstrom of fire and ice, her will slamming against Ik’kthatch’s again and again and again as each sought to possess the other. Fatigue encroached upon her like a prowling predator. She fought on because she had no other choice.

 

Surrender now, and I will make your death merciful. Ik’kthatch said. Since you are a demon, it will be that much easier to incorporate your essence into mine.

 

Maraduamnaa merely grunted as she weathered the next of the demon lord’s psychic onslaughts.

 

And then, he stopped.

 

Away from us, devil! Ik’kthatch snarled. You know not what you meddle in.

 

That is a lie. Baal-Kephor replied with no small amount of amusement. However, you know quite well what will happen if you do not let us take you.

 

Ik’kthatch gave a hissing, sardonic laugh. Pull the trigger of your inferno rifle if you have the stomach for it. Then, we will all be one with the Primordial Chaos-Void.

 

You have too much to lose to let that happen. Furthermore, after a defeat such as this, there is no guarantee that Ahriman will remake you, especially as a lord among your kind.

 

You have not defeated me yet.

 

Is that so? You have admitted that I hold your annihilation in my hand right now.

 

You would not dare use it, not with your precious lover and unborn child at risk.

 

You make the mistake of assuming that I am bound by the same constricting morality as so many mortals. Baal-Kephor tried to sound austere and unyielding, and his finger grazed the trigger of his inferno rifle. Still, his oath to Maraduamnaa, unknown by her, gnawed at the back of his mind: he would see her returned to the Thirteen Hells.

 

Pull the trigger, devil. Slay me, and you will be venerated among your kind.

 

Before Baal-Kephor could reply, Ik’kthatch cried out, and then the runes upon the maul dimmed.

 

You shouldn’t have spent so much time arguing. Maraduamnaa said smugly.

 

She then cast a spell. As she finished, her eyes turned purple, and chains of the same color wrapped about the head of the runed maul, sinking into it.

 

“That should do it,” Maraduamnaa said. She turned her gaze upon Baal-Kephor. “You need some flesh.”

 

Baal-Kephor nodded. He felt light and airy, as though he would unravel at any moment.

 

Maraduamnaa cast another spell, her hand wreathed in kaleidoscopic radiance as she held it out toward Baal-Kephor. With the last words of the incantation, the radiance leaped onto the devil, and an all-encompassing feeling of solidification swept through him as his corporeal form was restored, complete with his spiked pauldron, belt of skulls, and half tabard. Even though devils didn’t need to breathe, Baal-Kephor inhaled deeply and savored the visceral sensation of the cold, dank air filling his lungs to capacity.

 

“Thank you,” he said as he exhaled, oblivious to the inky, black star of chaos that emerged upon his throat for but an instant.

 

“You are welcome,” Maraduamnaa replied, “Now, let us see if Ik’kthatch knows the location of the other item we came here for…”

 

                                                                    *

 

Before Azazel stood a pale, thin, well-muscled devil clad in scarlet armor. Cerulean eyes gazed appraisingly at the Lord of Addaduros amid an expression set in emotionless neutrality. A pair of wings that were only bone sprouted from his shoulders.

 

“Lord Azazel,” the newcomer said with the obligatory bow. “I am grateful for the audience you have granted me. My name is Eligor, and I am one of the captains of the Sanguine Specters legion, sent by Lord Bhaaz to assist your Fangs of Azazel in their hunt for the Doomfire. Through our divinations taken from blood samples found in the nearby mountains, we have learned where Zeraga has gone. Strangely, too, we have also learned that the power of the Primordial Chaos-Void is quite strong in that part of Addaduros, as though the boundary between the planes is thinning.” Eligor paused. “Ahriman would not be brazen enough to attack the Thirteen Hells directly, would he?”

 

Azazel took a long drink from his goblet as he pondered Eligor’s words. Nearly draining the goblet, Azazel then held it out for one of his she-devil slaves to refill; this was done as the archdevil replied, “I am pleased that your legion has been able to trace Zeraga and that you live up to Bhaaz’s praises. As for why the veil between Addaduros and Ag’graaza seems to be thinning, all I can say is that perhaps it has something to do with Hellscythe.

 

“Since it aids your legion’s current alliance with my Fangs, Captain Eligor, I will impart upon you a piece of knowledge not widely known among you lower devils: Hellscythe was once a demon named Apollyon. Apollyon was forced into submission by Asmodeus and then chained to the weapon wielded by his precious Doomfire. I trust you grasp the supposition that follows.”

 

The Sanguine Specter nodded. “The First Demon wants to reclaim Hellscythe, and the thinning boundary will make it easier for him to do so.”

 

“Just so. Set your legionnaires to watching for signs of that as you continue your search. My Fangs will be sent similar orders.”

 

“As you command, Lord Azazel. Was there anything else you required of me?”

 

“No. You are dismissed.”

 

“Very good, Lord Azazel.” Eligor bowed.

 

The Sanguine Specter then cast a teleportation spell and disappeared, leaving Azazel alone with his nine chained slaves.

 

“Does all go as you wish, my lord?" asked Yaahaxa, her deep blue eyes focused on the goat-headed archdevil while her full, black lips curved into the suggestion of a smile.

 

“Yes.” Azazel drank from his goblet. What he had not told Eligor, what he dared not tell Yaahaxa, was his inkling that Asmodeus had not returned to Golgotha and was still on Addaduros. That was the real reason why the Sanguine Specters were here; Azazel had many diviners who could pick up Zeraga’s trail, but he wanted forces from another archdevil. The Lord of Addaduros had not confided in any of his Fangs about his inkling, either. One of his best champions, Baal-Kephor, was nowhere to be found, and if that, too, had connections to Asmodeus… Azazel perished the thought, having already contemplated it too many times. He had entrusted the task to Moloch, for the truth of Asmodeus’s whereabouts had to be known, and the minotaur-turned-devil, one of the Fifth Hell’s most powerful dukes, was perhaps the only one Azazel could trust.

 

And if it turned out that Asmodeus did indeed remain on Addaduros…

 

Azazel drank from his goblet again.

 

                                                                    *

 

It was as cold as Cocytus, a sharp, penetrating cold that sliced as deeply as any blade. No mortal could survive here; the deformed bones strewn about the ice tunnel were proof enough of that.

 

Baal-Kephor and Maraduamnaa had quested into the upper reaches of the mountain with Ik’kthatch as their guide. That was where the dragon egg of Kazanor was located; being constantly aware of its presence by virtue of its powerful aura had been a thorn in Ik’kthatch’s side for thousands of years. No jût band he had sent to find the egg ever returned. Baal-Kephor couldn’t help but notice the similarity between that and what Seth Zhar Ral had said of the silver simulacrum.

 

Their journey had thus far been uneventful. None of the jût they encountered had dared to stand in their way. The presence of the silver simulacrum, their god, had spellbound the degenerates.

 

Now we know how to make them obey. Maraduamnaa had said.

 

Baal-Kephor had given only a slight, grim aura of agreement. The jût were simply more meat for the grinder called war, and he thought little else of them. What truly worried the devil, however, was Maraduamnaa’s pregnancy, all too obvious from her swollen belly. Though he had no way to prove it, Baal-Kephor knew that the child was his and that it had been conceived in Azaba’ar. Had Maraduamnaa still been a glayruk, the child would have simply been a half-breed between devil and glayruk, a more vigorous version of its kind, an echo of the time before the exodus. But, now that Maraduamnaa was a demon… There was no telling how the meddling of Ag’graaza had warped her, their, progeny. Baal-Kephor tried not to think about the eternal slumber he might very well be forced to inflict. He couldn’t imagine how Maraduamnaa felt not knowing who, or what, she carried. Shuddering, the devil perished the thought.

 

He turned his focus on the ice tunnel; up and up it went. Maraduamnaa and Ik’kthatch marched slightly ahead, the former constantly scanning the gouges in the walls, left by predators that were conspicuously absent. Baal-Kephor kept his finger on the trigger of his inferno rifle; more than just the dragon egg of Kazanor awaited him and his companions here. He knew that as surely as he knew that the child in Maraduamnaa’s womb was his.

 

Finally, the tunnel leveled out; the entrance to a cavern loomed ahead, vaguely trapezoidal and appearing like the maw of a behemoth predator. About its perimeter, an arch of worked stone cut through the ice. Ik’kthatch slowed his approach.

 

Is the egg in the cavern ahead? Maraduamnaa asked.

 

No. Ik’kthatch replied. It is a presence I have never felt here before.

 

Lovely. Baal-Kephor moved to the front, his weapons brandished. Let’s see what it is.

 

And find out if you are too bold for your own good, devil.

 

The three closed the distance to the cavern and passed through the threshold. Within lurked stalagmites and stalactites of pure ice, glistening like saliva-wet teeth. A central path stretched from the cavern’s entrance to another opening at the back where a small child stood. Her skin was pallid, and her nose was red as if with infection. A stained, tattered smock clung to her, and she cradled a toy animal that was just as stained and tattered. She sniffled as her big, dark eyes took in the sight of the new arrivals.

 

“Where are mommy and daddy?” she softly whined, her voice underpinned with desperate hope.

 

Baal-Kephor knew that he should fire his inferno rifle and end it; the deathly child was a trap. Still, the devil could not bring himself to pull the trigger. Sympathy coiled inside him, a foreign feeling that brought confusion. He had slain hundreds of children during his eons of war. Why did he pause over this one?

 

A rush of wind to the devil’s left tore him from his brooding. The runes of Ik’kthatch’s maul flared; an ice lance flew forth. A wet, tearing sound followed as the child was impaled, her moribund face contorted into a mask of agony. Her weeping was so weak that it could only be seen and not heard.

 

Baal-Kephor’s gaze snapped onto Ik’kthatch. Why? Even as the devil soaked the accusation in indignance, he could not say why he felt that way.

 

You were too afraid to act on what you knew to be right. Ik’kthatch replied. So I did. You’re welcome.

 

The impaled child started moving again in a vain attempt to put her body upright. Her neck then twisted at an unnatural angle so that she could look once more upon Baal-Kephor, Maraduamnaa, and Ik’kthatch. “Mommy? Daddy?”

 

Baal-Kephor’s arm snapped forward, and the scream of his inferno rifle shattered the frigid air, its superheated ray erasing the risen child’s head. What remained of the corpse shuddered violently as pale blue mist enrobed it. Baal-Kephor fired his inferno rifle three more times. Each shot disappeared just before it reached the mist, through which could be seen the vague form of the still-writhing corpse. From Ik’kthatch’s maul fulminated a bolt of cerulean lightning that met the same end as Baal-Kephor’s rays.

 

What is happening? Baal-Kephor asked.

 

The capriciousness of Ag’graaza. Ik’kthatch replied sardonically.

 

Maraduamnaa stepped forward, flexing her claws. I will put an end to this.

 

An incantation rumbled from the demoness’s lips, guttural, bestial, inexorable. The mist thickened all the while, becoming nearly solid; all Baal-Kephor and Ik’kthatch could do was stand with their weapons readied. Maraduamnaa finished her spell, and torrents of crackling black lightning surged from her outstretched claws. The sight of it reminded Baal-Kephor of his duel with the three hundred and thirty-third incarnation of Zeraga Baal’khal, who had wielded black swords drawn from the Eternal Darkness. Maraduamnaa’s black lightning raked through the blue mist, causing it to emit an agonized shriek.

 

“Be gone, intruders!” The words came from the mist, and the voice sounded like it had once been human, but it was now layered and distorted. “Be gone at once!”

 

The stalagmites started shimmering. The next moment saw them transmuting into skeletal figures of pure ice clad in pristine iron armor; they bore swords and shields of similar make. The skeletons advanced, and pandemonium erupted as Baal-Kephor, Maraduamnaa, and Ik’kthatch unleashed a maelstrom of fire, ice, and sorcery, their foes melting away under the fury of their onslaught. Slowly, steadily, the three pressed forward.

 

The blue mist about the headless child rose into a pillar that nearly touched the ceiling, and the stalactites became more skeletons, dropping into the fray. Still more skeletons sprouted from the ground as naturally as saplings in an old-growth forest.

 

“You should never have come here!” cried the once-human voice.

 

The advance of Baal-Kephor, Maraduamnaa, and Ik’kthatch ground to a halt before the press of skeletons. They resorted to blade and maul and claw to fell their foes, the cracking of ice sounding off all around. The pillar of mist ahead formed into a floating, robed figure. Its only facial feature was a pair of pale, white eyes, and its arms ended in large, scythe-like blades. The specter ghosted through the skeletons and cleaved at Ik’kthatch. The demon lord’s maul became a blur of light and metal as he blocked both strikes, and a serrated sword of ice appeared in each of his four free hands. A frenzied duel ensued.

 

Baal-Kephor and Maraduamnaa moved away, focusing instead on felling the skeletons all around. Still more of the undead, if they could truly be called that, rose, but the devil and the demoness cleared a large enough patch of ground that they could once more bring inferno rifle and sorcery to bear, unliving screams adding a new layer to the din of battle.

 

Bright blue lightning erupted into existence about the head of Ik’kthatch’s maul as the weapon slammed into the specter. It screamed, seemingly in pain, as it retaliated; a dull ring followed as Ik’kthatch parried with his ice blades. Darting forward, the demon lord’s maul plunged into the specter’s chest; it screamed as blue lightning ravaged its whole form until, finally, it burst into a cloud of blue mist. New skeletons stopped rising, and those that remained were rapidly dispatched by Baal-Kephor and Maraduamnaa.

 

Were those demons? Baal-Kephor asked. If so, they are unlike any I have seen before.

 

Ik’kthatch laughed. If they were demons, we would not have triumphed. They are what remained of the human wizards before they began coupling with the frost giants and degenerating into jût. Until recently, they were slumbering, but the thinning of the veil between this place and Ag’graaza undoubtedly played a role in awakening them.

 

If they were slumbering, Maraduamnaa said, why didn’t you sent the jût to destroy them beforehand?

 

Ik’kthatch laughed again, heartily, sardonically, condescendingly. Do I really need to answer that question after how many jût you and your devil so easily slaughtered?

 

Fair enough. Let us see what waits for us beyond. Maraduamnaa began walking toward the end of the cavern. Baal-Kephor and Ik’kthatch followed.

 

The cavern’s exit led into a short, descending, switchback tunnel that opened into a cavern so large that it should not have been able to be contained in the upper reaches of the mountain. At the bottom sprawled a labyrinth of scintillating, kaleidoscopic crystal. Strewn about the enormous maze seemingly at random intervals were minarets of the same crystal crowned by magenta and blue flames.

 

The dragon egg is in the labyrinth, isn’t it? Baal-Kephor said dryly, flexing his grip on his weapons.

 

Why would it be any other way? Ik’kthatch replied.

 

Can you still sense the egg’s presence? Maraduamnaa asked.

 

I can. Heavy reluctance underpinned Ik’kthatch’s words.

 

Let us find out the extent. Maraduamnaa’s eyes turned bright purple, and the silver simulacrum convulsed. A few moments passed, and then the eldritch light left Maraduamnaa’s eyes, at which point she started chuckling. You have been wanting the dragon egg for quite some time, haven’t you? Not only can you sense its presence, you know exactly where it is in the labyrinth. Getting to it will be no issue at all.

 

You can teleport us there? Baal-Kephor asked.

 

That is the idea. Maraduamnaa replied. But, the Primordial Chaos-Void may have other plans for us. Be ready for anything.

 

The last statement was a command given to an inferior rather than a warning given to a friend, and it left a foul taste in Baal-Kephor’s mouth. Still, he didn’t say anything; Maraduamnaa wasn’t who she once had been.

 

The runes upon Ik’kthatch’s maul glowed bight, and tendrils of kaleidoscopic energy streaked from it into Maraduamnaa. She then began to cast a spell. With each word, more and more of Ag’graaza’s power coursed through her; it answered her call more easily than ever before, even after the thousands of years of study she had behind her. The pure chaos coursing through her being, like singing to like, spawned euphoria. The cadence of her spell became a guttural staccato, and the tendrils linking her to Ik’kthatch’s maul brightened, blotting out the sight of her icy surroundings.

 

And then, everything was swept away on an effulgent tide of unfettered magic.

 

Baal-Kephor, Maraduamnaa, and Ik’kthatch now stood at the entrance to a courtyard within the crystalline labyrinth. At the center was a pool filling with a swirling liquid of red, blue, and purple, the colors so thick that nothing could be seen beneath.

 

The egg is there, isn’t it? Maraduamnaa gestured to the pool.

 

Yes. Ik’kthatch started walking toward the pool.

 

A trio of screeches tore through the air as a towering demon appeared between the pool and Ik’kthatch, darkening the courtyard in its shadow. It was a charcoal-skinned, rangy, humanoid behemoth enveloped in flowing black robes emblazoned with ostentatious patterns of red and purple. Two wings, their feathers also red and purple, extended from the demon’s shoulders, and three necks sprouted from where its shoulders met. Each neck ended in a sinister, avian head bearing a red crest; eyes that were orbs of pure darkness; and an ash-colored beak lined with teeth. In its right, clawed hand, the demon gripped a monolithic stave of black steel and red runes crowned by a horned, bestial skull.

 

“You dare to intrude upon the domain of Xu’zurath?” the left-most of the demon’s heads screeched.

 

“Then you shall die just like all the others!” the right-most head answered, its voice thick with fervor.

 

The center head lunged and spat a lance of chaos-flame. More lungless howls followed as Ik’kthatch and Maraduamnaa brought forth chaos-flame of their own, colliding with Xu’zurath’s onslaught in mutual annihilation. Baal-Kephor fired his inferno rifle.

 

Xu’zurath pointed its staff at the superheated ray, and the demon’s weapon became resplendently scarlet as all of its runes glowed with new light. Baal-Kephor’s ray winked out of existence. Xu’zurath then outstretched its left hand. Three bolts of crackling black lightning leaped forth. Baal-Kephor, Ik’kthatch, and Maraduamnaa scattered; explosions followed as the stygian lightning slammed into open ice and threw up clouds of hissing steam. Immediately, they were sent running again as Xu’zurath fired a volley of chaos-flame rays from its staff.

 

There were too many; agony wracked Baal-Kephor, Maraduamnaa, and Ik’kthatch as they were scorched. Still, they stood, their weapons pointed at their foe.

 

How are we supposed to defeat this one? Baal-Kephor said to his companions. Its magic is unlike anything we’ve encountered before.

 

As if in answer to the devil’s words, Xu’zurath slammed the butt of its staff on the ground, and three bright green rays streaked forth from the crowning skull, one aimed at each of the demon’s foes. Maraduamnaa and Ik’kthatch countered with torrents of chaos-flame while Baal-Kephor flew to Maraduamnaa. The ray aimed at the devil curved to follow and exploded amid the every-colored fires brought forth by his companions.

 

Ik’kthatch broke into a run toward the pool as the lingering light dissipated. One of us must get to the egg. It’s the only way.

 

Despite the spell she had cast to control the demon lord, Maraduamnaa could not muster the willpower to stop him. It was all she could do to counter the next torrent of black lightning that Xu’zurath unleashed.

 

“Fool!” cried the demon’s central head as it snapped toward Ik’kthatch and spat a chaos-flame lance. From its staff streaked another bolt of stygian lightning that screamed toward the demon lord.

 

Ik’kthatch didn’t turn to face the wrathful sorceries hurtling toward him. Every stride and every bound took him closer to the pool; the colors within brightened at his approach. He swept his maul behind himself and launched a bolt of blue lightning at Xu’zurath as explosions from behind told of the demon’s failure to bring him down. He didn’t see Xu’zurath unravel his lightning with a mere claw-wave; he didn’t see Baal-Kephor and Maraduamnaa charging the mighty demon, unleashing a new onslaught of sorcery and superheated death.

 

The pool was only a few steps away now.

 

Ik’kthatch spread his wings and leaped.

 

“No!” Xu’zurath shrieked, the peal of its voice rising amid the eldritch din all around.

 

All sounds fell away as Ik’kthatch knifed through the pool; the silent gibbering that was the natural state of Ag’graaza enrobed the demon lord. Directly down lay what could only be the dragon egg of Kazanor, larger than Ik’kthatch’s head and covered in thick, brown-black scales layered atop each other. The sensation of raw power emanating from the egg was unlike anything Ik’kthatch had felt before. His mouth twisted into a smug grin at the knowing that this egg would not become a Fire-Bride of Pandemonium as all others of its kind had.

 

Outside the pool, Baal-Kephor and Maraduamnaa were at Xu’zurath’s feet, furiously trading blows and spells with the demon. A maelstrom of light, fire, and lightning surrounded them as their sorceries rammed against each other like horned beasts vying for dominance, drowning out the ringing of metal against metal. Fury filled Baal-Kephor’s heart as he fought, and he fed it so that he would not give in to the despair just beneath. He knew that this fight was unwinnable. Even if Xu’zurath was slain, there would still be Ik’kthatch, now with the dragon egg of Kazanor, to contend with; the demon lord’s betrayal was more than inevitable. Baal-Kephor fired a torrent of hellfire from his war-blade as his inferno rifle spat more superheated death.

 

Blinding blue light erupted from behind the titanic clash, surging out until it blanketed the whole courtyard. Xu’zurath’s right-most head whipped around and frenziedly, desperately, began casting a spell, one that abruptly ended as a bolt of lightning screamed from the tide and slammed into the demon’s chest, tearing the spell from its mouth and sending it staggering back. Three simultaneous and undeniably draconic roars drowned out Xu’zurath’s cries of pain and made a raging thunderstorm seem meek by comparison. A wingbeat that hammered the air into submission followed; everything was blotted out by the shadow of the colossal, three headed dragon overhead, as enormous as the fabled Fire-Brides and covered in brilliant, immaculate scales of purest white thicker than any armor.

 

Baal-Kephor looked up and knew immediately that he gazed upon Ik’kthatch unbound. Maraduamnaa rushed to Baal-Kephor, a spell flowing from her lips. Xu’zurath turned upon Ik’kthatch and launched many-colored volleys of eldritch wrath.

 

From each of Ik’kthatch’s three heads howled a hurricane laden with spears of ice that tore through the courtyard, leaving nothing untouched. When the wind cleared, there was only a desolate, icy waste surrounded by a different layer of the labyrinth’s walls, now crumbling and webbed with cracks. Letting out another chorus of roars, Ik’kthatch beat his wings and threw himself upward into the Primordial Chaos-Void beyond, his home plane welcoming him with open arms. The sight of the labyrinth fell away, and Ik’kthatch was finally free. Perhaps, he would see to it that Razzatha’ar received his due.

 

Perhaps.

 

                                                                    *

 

“My lord, the mountain containing the silver simulacrum has just erupted in an inferno of chaos-flame.” The succubus named Xirria gulped as she gave the catastrophic report.

 

Seth Zhar Ral inclined his horned head in acknowledgement. “I felt the quake. You are dismissed.”

 

Xirria wasted no time in teleporting away, leaving the Lord of Ancra-Vo-Yek alone in his throne room. He had a feeling that Dua Mara and her devil servant had failed since he had not heard from them in more than forty-five cycles, even allowing for how the influence of Ag’graaza twisted the flow of time. Seth Zhar Ral had to admit, also, that he was a little disappointed that he wouldn’t get his inferno weapon after all.

 

But, that was of little matter now. The Primordial Chaos-Void of Ag’graaza had just punched through to the mortal world of Argoron, and hordes of demons would inevitably come pouring forth. They probably already were. Ancra-Vo-Yek would have to be ready, sooner rather than later.

 

Luckily for Seth Zhar Ral, neither he nor his subjects were strangers to war. It might even make for a nice change of pace. The Lord of Ancra-Vo-Yek allowed himself a chuckle as he turned his thoughts to what had to be done next.

 

The End


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Next Chapter: Cathedral of the Horned Helmet Part I




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