Midnight Bounties 4 - Chapter 25

Hell felt different. Lightning still flashed between black clouds, fires as tall as buildings still reached for the sky, disgusting abominations roamed around lakes of blood, but it all seemed… just less. Maybe even less hellish?

Most of the demons who died in the battle had been reborn in the meantime, proving my theory that the Dhozen Fires would work perfectly fine without the squishy Dark Lord. Matter of fact, nothing really changed since the gods died. The Deeproot still offered powers of dark and light, elemental magic, and all the other goodies and it only took the eternal enslavement of a few hundred alien brains to some ungodly technological contraption from beyond the stars to keep it all running.

I stood on the same cliff from which I took to Morgefah’s prison. The same cliff from the dreams of Hell I had not even so long ago.

“We have a gift for you,” Arstemion said.

He was flanked by Tarnor and surrounded by their most powerful demons. They had taken on smaller shapes, none even double my size for a change. I looked up at the floating castle where I left the souls to suffer for all eternity, and then back at the demon generals.

Arstemion snapped his black clawed fingers and some of the demons moved out of the way for no other than Nasthran to pass through. The little black imp waddled his way towards me bringing a smile to my face. He was carrying a small, burnished box in both hands.

“And where were you this whole time?” I said grinning.

“My Lord, I have been tasked to bring you this most important gift.”

“Oh, it’s ‘my lord’ now, is it? That’s an interesting change, you little fucker.”

Nasthran grinned, showing his sharp black teeth.

“Bring it here, imp,” Arstemion said.

“So you are an imp, after all, Nasthran. Why did you get pissed when I called you that?”

“Of course he’s an imp,” Tarnon said as cinders left his mouth with every word.

“My name is Nasthran, Lord Tarnon. I’m a black demon, not an imp.”

“Black demons are imps,” Tarnon said and Nasthran rolled his eyes. “No, we’re not. We’re taller than imps and our tails are longer.” Tarnon leaned to the side to check the length of Nastrhan’s tail.

“Are you sure? I’ve always called black demons imps.”

“Well, then you’ve been offending our class for thousands of years.”

Tarnon rubbed his chin, not really seeming to care.

“Wait, what about dark ash demons? Are they imps then?”

“No, My Lord,” Nasthran said exhausted. “Imps are a specific race of—”

“My dear demon friends,” I said and clearing my throat. “I think you’ll have all the time in the world to discuss demon nomenclature once I leave.”

“Hah!” Arstemion laughed. “We have a long list of things we need to address, since we’ve been warring for so long that we barely had time to even get to know each other outside the battlefield.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” I muttered.

“Nasthran, offer the gift to the Spellmonger,” Morgefah’s demon general said.

The black demon, or whatever he was, fell to a knee before me and opened the little chest in his hands bowing his head.

“An eyepatch,” I said looking down at it.

It wasn’t much different than the one I used for years except that the black leather was stitched with a red, softly glowing thread.

“Nice gesture. How did you bring this together so quickly?”

“Take it,” Arstemion said. “And you will understand.”

I did as he said, removing the bloodied piece of cloth from my eye socket. My spellmonger abilities had healed the wound somewhat but it was still throbbing with pain. I put on the eyepatch and my Deeproot lit up.

[NAME: Eyepatch of the God Slayer]

[DESCRIPTION: Shaped by forces beyond even the God’s wills, Hell itself generates an item specific to the creature that killed one of the Prime Gods. The item takes the form most suited for the Slayer of Gods.]

[PROPERTIES: +20 strength, +20 agility, +20 stamina, +20 intellect]

[MAGICAL PROPERTY 1: HELL’S CHOSEN]

[Hell’s Chosen: Allows the wearer to communicate with the Lords of Hell.]

[MAGICAL PROPERTY 2: DOORS OF HELL]

[DOORS OF HELL: Allows the wearer to open two-way portals to Hell for either travel or to call on the demons for aid.]

“Damn, isn’t that something. I get to call you fellas when I need you?” I said, realizing that the pain in the side of my face had lessened substantially.

“We owe eternal gratitude to you, Spellmonger,” Arstemnion said. “You have freed demonkind and for that we will erect a statue in your honor. One greater than anything built in the overworld.”

“Well, you don’t have to go through any trouble for me. I’m not much of a statue guy.”

“And we will sacrifice a thousand of our kind daily in your honor.”

“I mean…let’s just have the statue, Arstemion. Seriously. I’m even less of a sacrifice-people-in-my-name kind of guy.”

“It shall be so,” Tarnon agreed.

“Bow to the Spellmonger!” Arstemion roared.

His voice boomed across the mountain and the valley below. Once again all the demons present on the cliff and all the creatures toiling down between the lakes and rivers of blood and magma fell to their knees chanting my name. Arstemion grabbed my arm and raised it.

“Slayer of Gods! Liberator of Hell! Brother to Demonkind! Frank Midnight, the Spellmonger!”

“Spellmonger! Spellmonger!” Hell chanted, shaking the mountains. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked the black skies. Wolf howled in tandem, joining the demons.

“Alright,” I said. “Thanks, that was…nice. I almost feel like one of you now.”

I didn’t want to come off as an asshole with them honoring me and all, but I was kind of sick of Hell and I really wanted to get home. My gaze wandered back to the fortress as the voices died down.

“Before I go, Arstemion, Tarnon. I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything, Spellmonger.”

“You two are the only ones who know the truth about the souls and the Deeproot. You two need to promise me you’ll lock up that place and guard it with everything you have. Nobody can ever know what is in there. Defend it with your lives.”

“You have our word, Spellmonger. Morgefah’s prison will never be breached. Demonkind will be the guardian of the deep truth until this world breaks.”

Dramatic words, but demons had a certain flair for it. I knew I could rely on them, and that was all that mattered. People had a lot of prejudice toward demons and for good reason, but one thing I learned was that they weren’t creatures without honor. On the contrary.

“Alright then. How does this thing work?” I said, pointing at my eyepatch.

“Imagine a place you know and activate the ability. It will take you there.”

“Aye.”

“So long, Spellmonger.”

“Aye, so long, Arstemion, Tarnon, Nasthran, and umm…the other Demons,” I nodded towards the rest. “I will see you again.”

I activated the new ability that my eyepatch offered, and the air screamed around me. A tear in reality appeared and widened like a fiery eye slowly opening.

“Go, boy,” I spurred Wolf on and we jumped through the portal, only to land on the Grace’s Road a few miles outside of Sankta Varath. A big smile stretched across my face. After breathing the brimstone-rich smoke of Hell, taking a lungful of Steelheart’s air felt better than sex.

“Gods damn it,” I muttered losing my smile almost instantly.

All along the road people were carrying big bags and sacks on their shoulders. Some pushed carts loaded with furniture, others rode their horses and donkeys with their children on top. Humans, dwarves, gnomes, elves, slater. There must have been hundreds and probably all filing down the road and traveling south. Their faces were bitter, terrified, wet with tears and dirty.

Seeing me, the line of people suddenly stopped. The terror in their eyes was clear as day. The fucking demi-god threat must have screamed into their Deeproot. Not that I wasn’t a sight sitting on my deviltail without it.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” I said, but that didn’t do much to change their expressions.

I looked over their heads toward the city from which thick pillars of smoke rose. Those weren’t the chimneys in Slag Street either, Sankta Varath was on fire.

I spurred Wolf on towards the nearest group of people. Women and children screamed, some ran into the woods, a few fell over their feet, their belongings strewn across the road. Only a single shaking dwarf remained in place. I rode up to him.

“Don’t be afraid, I just need answers.”

“W—Why. I’m not—Please…”

“Get a grip on yourself, dwarf,” I shoved my hand into one of the Vaultpacks on Wolf’s side and tossed the frightened fellow a king’s head. Despite being frozen in place, he managed to snatch it mid-air. Can’t scare the greed out of a Sankta Varathian.

“What’s going on here? Where are all the people going? What happened to the city?”

“The—The Quinta and—Army…the orcs.”

A gnome walked up to the dwarf and pulled him away. The terrified fellow seemed somewhat relieved. As soon as he realized he was in the clear he began running down the road.

“Miglor Stiltwitch, at your service, sir. For a price, of course,” the gnome said.

I tossed him a king’s head, too, and he caught it masterfully, stuffed it in his pocket, then looked up at me without uttering a word.

“Right,” I sighed and tossed three more gold coins his way.

“Aye, that will do. So, here’s the situation, big fellow. The Quinta have breached the northern wall with some kind of big shiny monster a couple of days ago. We thought all was lost, ye know? Them bastards came funneling into the city. Chaos, I tell ye! Chaos! But then the big thing apparently just fell apart the other day. Can ye imagine that? Just turned to a pile of shit, some say.”

“A pile of shit,” I repeated.

“Don’t take my word for it. Anyway, the First Army is fighting them in the northern part still, but they’re not doing great, we hear.”

“So the Quinta are in the city?”

“I don’t know, man. The King said they ain’t, but then there’s fighting all over the city. It’s a shitshow, brother. Anyway, what’s that whole slayer of gods thing in my Deeproot?” the green-haired gnome asked with a judging tone.

“It’s what it is,” I said, looking toward the city.

That big shiny thing he described must have been the Quinta’s secret weapon with which they destroyed the Nine Fingers. Could it be that killing Alevia made it fall apart?

“What about the Ashpit? Is there fighting there?”

“The Ashpit? You serious? Who the fuck knows, man…I’m from—Hold up,” he said, looking me over curiously. “You…Are you Frank Midnight by any chance?”

“What’s it to you, gnome?”

“Holy shit! You are! Hey everyone!” he yelled at the others. “This is Frank fucking Midnight! The dude Castelian is after! The owner of the Lusty Lion and the Midnight Bounties and all!”

I rolled my eyes. Even in times like these, Sankta Varathians never failed to disappoint when it came to keeping up with the latest rumors and gossip.

“Hey,” I snapped my fingers. “Up here, gnome. The dwarf mentioned the orcs. What’s going on with them?”

“Oh yeah, the orcs. My man, where have you been? The orcs rebelled again. Turns out Nergat is alive.”

“Oh, fuck me.”

“Yeah, totally. Fuck all of us. They’ve taken the southern part of the city. I guess that includes the Ashpit, too. Now the First Army and the Watch are fighting both the orcs and the Quinta. Also, Castelian is looking for you. Are you going to fight him? You taking bets?”

“No, I mean… I will fight—I don’t need to explain myself to you. One more question, gnome. Where are all these people going?” Miglor looked down the line of people.

“They running for their lives, brother. What do you think they’re doing? Everyone is trying to carve up a part of the city for themselves and us common folk are caught in the middle. Shit, some say there’s Tane dwarves coming from the east too, some even talk about duergar, but I don’t know about that. What’s a gnome to do, you know? I’m no fighter. I weave baskets for a living, pal. Well that and lately I got a stash of some high-quality silk socks, if you know what I mean? Two pairs for a single king’s head, how about that?”

“Duergar and Tane dwarves,” I muttered, trying to piece it all together.

“So that’s a no on the socks?”

“Here,” I said, tossing him two more coins. “Good luck, Miglor.”

The gnome bit the coin and stuffed it away quickly after giving me a deep nod.

“My pleasure,” he said and waddled off.

“Go, boy!” I said, spurring Wolf on.

We ran like the wind, using (Rift Walk) on cooldown to get to the city quicker. I tried to avoid riding over the main road because we caused too much panic for the civilians, so we rushed along through the forest. The sound of battle became ever louder as we neared the gates. I heard soldiers yelling, steel clanking, and catapults snapping as they released their payloads. Large boulders, some on flame, others exploding, shook the city walls as we approached.

A company of orcs stood at the southern gate which was half-open to let the refugees stream through. I rode up to their captain and he raised a hand to stop me. The other orcs immediately fell into a defensive formation. They were armed and armored, which was a bad sign. Orcs only wore armor during times of proper war, and I meant proper. Not just some random tribal skirmishes. Nergat was going all out, that fucking bastard. I should have known.

“No entry for anyone!” the orc bellowed as I reined in Wolf.

The deviltail propped itself up on its hindlegs then slammed down close enough to squash the captain beneath his heavy claws. Lucky for him, the orc had good reflexes.

“Wait—Frank boss?” he said, looking up at me and his yellow eyes widening.

“Where’s Nergat, captain?” I asked.

The orcs in the back relaxed somewhat, relief painted across their faces.

“You’re a god slayer?” the captain asked, his tone full of awe.

“Where’s Nergat,” I asked again.

“He—he’s in the command center, Frank boss. I bet he happy to see you.”

I didn’t think he would, but I wasn’t dumb enough to say that out loud.

“Where’s the command center?”

“In the Ashpit, it’s in—”

“The Midnight Bounties,” I said through clenched teeth.

“So it is, Frank boss.”

I breathed out slowly, nodded at the captain, and headed through the gate and into Sankta Varath. I looked to my left down Slag Street. It was half-abandoned though the forges that had dwarves in them seemed to be working tirelessly. Was it for the king or the orcs, only the dead gods knew.

I spurred Wolf on and steeled myself for what was about to come.

“Let’s go home, boy.”