Midnight Bounties 4 - Chapter 18

Arstemion’s mane fluttered in the hot, cinder-rich wind blowing over the mountain top. He spread his giant black wings as if stretching them and pointed at the gargantuan chain anchored to the mountain peak.

“This is your way in,” he said.

The iron chain was large enough to drive two carriages side by side up to Morgefah’s prison. I couldn’t grasp how it was even supposed to work with the chains being perfectly flat yet round at the same time and not moving under weight. The giant rock suspended in the air between the mountain ranges was apparently threatening to fly away unless anchored. There were smaller floating rocks and platforms strewn across the sky too, but they seemed to stay in place. But then again, I was in Hell and trying to apply reason to the things I saw would only drive me mad.

“I have to ask,” I said, slowly riding up to the base of the chain. “Why is Morgefah imprisoned in the first place?”

A warhorn blared across the valley and a great commotion began. Fires were stoked, forges bellowed thick black smoke, and demons in the thousands began to gather and stream toward the east.

Arstemion watched it all in silence before he sighed and turned toward me.

“Alevia will ride out today. I have to meet him in the battlefield.” That wasn’t an answer to my question, but it was an interesting bit of information no less.

“So he’s free to move unlike Morgefah? He can fight? What does he look like?”

“Yes, he can fight,” the demon general said and spat on the ground. His spit hissed and smoked, burning through rock. “He takes on a different form every time. Each worse than the last. I will die down there today. Perhaps more than once.”

“You fought him before?”

Arstemion nodded.

I looked to the giant prince of Hell, his seemingly impenetrable skin, the obsidian growing along his arms and legs, the immense, otherworldly power that radiated from him incinerating the very air he breathed. Even someone like Castelian, Shieldmother, or Snowdog would pale in his shadow and yet to think he could be killed? And not only that he could but that he had been and then returned lesser than he was? What was this creature eons ago then?

His chest heaved as he looked to the prison.

“To answer your question, Morgefah has never left his fortress. He whispers into my mind, into the minds of all of us through his magic, but even back when we warred against the Varians he never showed himself.” Arstemion sighed. “He hasn’t always wished to escape. He never spoke of his fortress as a prison until the Fifth Age passed and the Sixth began, your age.”

“My age? What do you mean? What were the ages before?”

“The grand ages of many Gods that preceded yours. That is all I know, Spellmonger. What I learned about the world I learned from Him and from what I see here.”

“The age of many Gods,” I muttered. “Does that mean there’s fewer Gods now than there were? What about Esheytan? Is he real?”

“I couldn’t know.”

“Snowdog said he would destroy the world. Is it true?”

“Snowdog,” Arstemion said and chuckled. “Why do I know that name?”

“His mother was a Spellmonger. Maybe she mentioned him. She was my predecessor.”

“Ginia, yes.” There was almost a smile on the demon general’s face when he spoke her name. “I remember her fondly. She too entered the prison. A shame.”

A heaviness washed over my heart and mind. Would Arstemion speak of me the same way in a couple of decades?

“You didn’t answer me,” I said. “Will Esheytan destroy the world?”

“Each age brings upon a new order. The Sixth Age saw the exodus of Gods and a great despair in Morgefah and Alevia. That is all I managed to stitch together throughout the centuries.”

“Damn them all,” I said clenching my teeth. “Morgefah better have some answers then.”

Arstemion grinned.

“May your deeds match your ambition, Spellmonger. These creatures are Gods for all intents and purposes, and their ways and motives lay hidden to us even through the ages. All we can do is obey or be vanquished.”

“Gods,” I muttered.

Was there truly no other use for them than to make our lives harder?

“Do you think there was a time before Morgefah? This Old World the duergar speak of? There’s a city of kinds…well, if you can call it a city. It’s outside the gates to Hell.”

Arstemion frowned as he looked down at the valley. Giant flesh machines lumbered among the ranks of his legions.

“There was, yes. See those creatures down there? They weren’t always part of my forces. Morgefah fashioned them out of remnants from the Clockwork Graveyard.”

“He did? Are they useful? How did he do that?”

“It doesn’t matter how, Spellmonger. The truth is that I hate those creatures. They are a sign of his desperation, of his weakness. Alevia doesn’t utilize these bastard demons; he has numbers on his side.”

I thought back on the initial battle when I plummeted down into Hell.

“You know, it’s not easy to tell your armies apart. Well, at least not for me.”

“We are of kin, yes. They are bound to him as we are to Morgefah.”

“Isn’t it strange, you know? Killing your own kind over and over again?” Arstemion gave me a tired look. “Right, right. We kind of do the same thing up there.”

“Kind of?”

“Well, we don’t get a second chance when we die to try again, you know?”

“Doesn’t that make it worse?” There was certainly some kind of moral or philosophical point to ponder there but I wasn’t really in the right headspace for it. I felt the itch of action. There were still a hundred questions on my mind, but it felt like I exhausted much of the demon general’s knowledge. Besides, he seemed distracted. His attention was on the battlefield below.

“Alright then, how do I even enter this thing? Will there be a door or something?”

“The fortress is shielded by magic. None of us ever entered. Only spellmongers can enter. Once you run up the chain, you’ll find your way, I’m sure.”

Another horn blared as he finished his sentence. Arstemion frowned, baring his giant sharp teeth.

He reached out a hand and black smoke shot in a straight line up and down with sparks and cinders crackling around it. From it, a house-sized spear materialized in his hand with red blinking eyes along the shaft. The obsidian scales across his body suddenly spread and thickened coating him in armor. A massive horned helmet burned itself into existence on his head, and a wave of power spread from the giant demon general.

“It’s time,” he said, looking down at the valley. The scene was eerily similar to one I had in my dream. I couldn’t tell if it was precognition or a memory.

“End this, Spellmonger,” he said with a note of urgency in his voice. “For the sake of all of us, be the last spellmonger, Frank.”

I don’t know what came over me in that moment, perhaps it was confidence, perhaps it was just madness, I guess my words resonated with both,

“I will,” I said.

Arstemion grinned for the second time then nodded. We spoke no more. He spread his monstrous black wings and dove into the valley, black smoke and cinders following in his wake.

I grabbed the reins of my deviltail and spurred him on. Wolf jumped onto the chain, and we made our way up to the fortress.

Down below, I saw the armies of Alevia approach the valley beneath Morgefah’s prison. There must have been hundreds of thousands of demons in his army. Some seemed to be as large as buildings, others giant slithering snakes, but most were human or dwarf sized. Flocks of winged beasts took the sky on both sides, charging at each other and the footsoldiers beneath. Burning catapults strapped to four-legged behemoths sent flaming balls of death at each other.

The dying had already begun.

How many centuries of war had these creatures seen? Each must have died at least once, some probably hundreds of times if not more and for what? An emotion I never thought I’d feel rushed through me. It was compassion for these demons.

We painted them as evil incarnate and in many ways they were, but in the end, I had to ask myself how they were truly different than the orc armies I fought? Or even our own Steelheart armies? We were all sent to face the blade unwillingly. If any of us had a choice we would have rather lived a life outside war.

My courtyard came to mind and all the unfinished projects there. The outhouse, Wolf’s stables, and adding another floor to the club. So much quiet, fulfilling work that would have made my days worth living.

Castelian’s ugly face came to mind, too. Was Snowdog going to straighten things out? What would I come back to? And fucking Tyfus…what was he doing? Fucking a goat probably or getting ploughed by one.

“I hope it gives you the clam, gnome,” I muttered.

Wolf turned his head and looked up at me quizzically.

“Easy, Wolf. We’re almost there,” I said, petting him on the back of the neck. As if reminding me to focus on the task at hand, I felt the familiar tug of the souls. I stopped my deviltail and grabbed onto the saddle.

[WARNING: Souls begging for the Everdark 702/1000]

[DESCRIPTION: More souls wish for the Everdark with every passing day, month, and year. Spellmonger, you can ignore a whisper, but can you turn deaf to the wailing cries of a thousand souls?]

“I’m fucking doing it,” I muttered through clenched teeth.

I quickly remembered not to resist it, though. I took in a deep breath and steadied myself for whatever message I’d receive. There was no screeching this time. Just whispers, hundreds of them slowly coming into focus.

“The underchamber, reach us,” one of the voices spoke clearly.

“Underchamber? In the fortress? Is that where you are?”

“Don’t let him reach the ship.”

“What then? What ship? What should I do first? Who are you people?”

“He sees you!” they suddenly cried into my mind and just as suddenly the voices vanished again, leaving me with those ominous words. My Deeproot chimed,

[You have received 6,000 experience points toward your SPELLMONGER CLASS]

[SPELLMONGER CLASS EXPERIENCE: 6, 200/41,000]

[You have gained +4 to your INTELLECT stat]

“Fuck’s sake,” I spat down into the valley and then looked up at the fortress. We were close, and I could see the feint shimmer of the magic dome Arstemion spoke of.

“You see me, don’t you, Morgefah?”

Nothing but the rattle of battle and the hot whipping winds answered. I spurred Wolf on with a newfound resolve.

When we reached where the chain anchored to the rock and jumped onto a platform at the bottom of the fortress, I heard a loud crack followed by a buzz that slowly dissipated. I realized we had walked through the magic dome without harm and dismounted Wolf, taking in the giant building before me.

The fortress resembled nothing I had seen before. From afar it looked like it had walls and ramparts dotted with towers, but none of that was really what I was looking at. The walls weren’t made of stone, but of giant deteriorated metal plates. In places where the rust hadn’t eaten through, they were shiny and smooth like the surface of polished armor. The towers were towers indeed, but there were no windows and no slits for archers. They too were entirely smooth. Some kind of leathery pipes were hanging from holes between the plates, and sometimes sparks would erupt there as the wind blew.

I pulled Wolf up a wide flight of stairs to what looked like the entrance. The gate seemed weirdly small compared to the rest of the structure. They too were made of strange metal engraved with carved letters I had never seen before. The language of Gods, I assumed. I felt a strange sense of emptiness looking at the whole thing. I expected, so close to the chambers of a God to feel a kind of overwhelming power maybe? Even the smell of brimstone was strangely absent. It felt…what was the word? Sterile?

I looked around for some kind of doorhandle or lever I could pull to enter, but found nothing so I did what first came to mind, I knocked. Wolf shook his head as I did. The deviltail seemed tense, though.

“What?” I asked my mount. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Just as I said those words, the same purple light I saw at the entrance to the duergar city washed over me. A moment later the door hissed then slid open and a waft of decay washed over me almost making me barf.

“Holy fuck,” I said, covering my mouth and nose. “Gods damn it, Morgefah. You’ve got to air this place more often,” I blurted out.

I cleared my throat, realizing I probably shouldn’t talk to a God like that, especially if he was watching as the souls claimed.

“Sorry,” I muttered to the black tunnel before me. “Alright, here I go.”

I sighed and looked at Wolf. The corridor didn’t seem large enough for me to ride him, so I decided to step inside first, holding his reins. As my boot met the metallic floors, a long meandering light turned on, snaking onward to the end of the corridor lighting it all up. I had little time to appreciate the magic behind it because a loud terrible scream echoed from the other end, followed by hurried footsteps.

I braced for the worst.

A human-sized creature of flesh and steel came running at me with two swords burning with light blue flames. Its face was covered with a helmet that time had eaten through, showing a disfigured face none of the demons below could compare.

It came so quickly, I barely had time to raise my swords and parry its attack. Our blades clanked across the corridor as it snarled inches from my face. I kicked it away.

“Fucking hell, you ugly bastard!” I yelled, using the moment to come at it with Mercy, swinging upwards and catching its wrist. The blade cut through with some effort but severed its hand.

The burning blade dropped onto the steel floor, but the creature barely noticed. It swung with the other and I ducked, barely avoiding the swing, but already lashed out with Traitor, pushing it through the creature’s guts and pulled upward, roaring curses and straining to move the sword.

The blade cut through the creature’s chest and exited through the shoulder. Black blood splashed the grey walls and the strip of light above. It dropped to its knees, but still somehow swung the sword. I kicked it down, stepped onto its arm and shoved both my swords through the back of its head. Finally, it stopped moving. I breathed out hard, somewhat disturbed by the effort it took to cut through the flesh and steel. The thing was tough as a nail.

[You have slain a Level 63 IMPERIAL SOLDIER]

[You have received 3,000 experience points toward your SPELLMONGER CLASS]

[SPELLMONGER CLASS EXPERIENCE: 9, 200/41,000]

I kicked the corpse on its back to take a better look and grimaced. Now that I had time to take it in, I realized just how disturbing that face was. The eyes were two deep sockets with tiny metallic eyeballs that shone in a faint white before they shut off entirely and turned dark. The flesh of its face was rotten and smelled like it, too. The nose was just a hole and its mouth was a malformed maw full of razor sharp teeth and a long, split tongue.

“Imperial soldier,” I scoffed. “What empire are you from, you ugly son of a bitch?”

The steel armor it wore was strange but seemed oddly flexible considering it was made of some kind of metal. I held one hand over my face as I widened the wound in its chest to take a look inside. The smells were almost unbearable.

There were some kind of organs mixed with strange tubes and contraptions melted to the flesh. The whole thing sent shivers down my spine.

I looked down the corridor at which end another door stood carved with more strange letters. I stretched my neck and looked back at Wolf who seemed a little startled.

“You stay here, boy,” I said, worrying about the poor thing’s nerves. This was no place for an animal. Not even a deviltail. But Wolf shook his head as if angry with me for saying as much. He howled and stomped his front feet.

“Alright, boy. Alright.”

I lit my cigar, wanting to calm my own nerves and then looked at the corpse of the Imperial Soldier.

“Well, that’s one down at least. Let’s see what else Morgefah has in store for us.”