Abyssal Road Trip

Rachel - Point of View - Some years earlier

“She persists in saying she shouldn’t be here.”

The growling voice outside my cell is familiar, and I can’t help but giggle at its frustration. The music inside my mind skips about with every hysterical note. Echoes bounce off stone, steel, yet more stone, and then me, which sets my flesh wiggling. As something within the walls takes over the giggle, my wiggling bones continue to shake. The invisible chains hold me tight, and the absurdity of this dream tickles deep within me. As the giggle dances within the stone, laughter erupts from me and rolls hysterically through the air within the cell.

“Stop it in there at once!”

Mr Growler’s tone is even angrier now, but his frustration just makes the giggles misbehave.

“Did the fall break her mind?”

The question comes from a crisp voice, female, oddly nice and a voice I’ve never heard before, at least not that I recall. Despite the light through the barred window, time seems to have lost all meaning. Sometimes I’d blink only to find dawn has become dusk again.

“I’m not sure, but her feathers are as black as any Erinys. We’ve had to bind her fingers open. If she can make a fist, the bow appears, and then the bindings break.”

The giggling finds delight within the chains when their words remind me of the restraints. When the links break, the stone above cracks and rocks crash to the floor. Growls come from outside as metal scrapes against metal, and the door slams inward, banging hard against the wall. As a spiked faced thing comes barrelling into the room, giggling notes find focus and the scream spills forth. Breathless and unbreathing, I still scream a pure note, and the thing’s head explodes.

The stone shapes they locked my fingers in shatter to the giggling song, and my fist closes as another spiked man appears in the doorway. Laughter rocks it back on its heels the instant before a fiery flower blooms in the middle of its face. The fletching at its end explodes in a gout of flames and drives it across the corridor into the wall beyond. Even before the now headless body falls, twitching to the floor, a metal plate appears to block the doorway. Already the fletching of another flaming arrow caresses against my cheek as I find my arms and stance at full draw with the white-hot bow I hold.

“You will let me out of here.”

Arrows impacting against the steel provide punctuation for every word. Their flames smash against the metal plate, and as they clear, I see the fist-sized dents accumulating. I think I’m through the twelve, or maybe the twentieth repeat of the phrase, when the flames on my bow die. Or maybe it’s me. No, I’m already dead.

Wait, no, I’m dreaming this weird dream, so not dead.

The dented steel wall disappears, and a woman wearing giant black wings appears, swaying within the doorway. No, the door isn’t swaying; it’s my knees that want to dance now that make everything sway. The giggles have eloped with the wall and run off somewhere.

We should have eloped. Then I wouldn’t have left him at the altar.

Did he go to the church? I didn’t make it even to the wedding week, T-Minus twelve days, and then dead.

A mental image of a coffin squeezed into my beautiful gown comes to mind, and all the strange amusement dies. As the scream rises to open my mouth, the woman is suddenly before me. Lips soft on my own as her kiss drinks the scream away, and my consciousness runs off to join a circus. Blackness floats down from the window as Julia’s voice whispers at me from memory.

You’re such a cheap drunk, Rach.

“Not cheap, not drunk. Why am I in Hell?”

The words murmur off my lips against hers as the woman pulls back, looming suddenly high above as the blackness swallows me whole.

“I know you’re aware again. Get out of bed.”

A different female voice calls to me, but the bedding’s weight is too lovely to shift. I’m not normally one for sleeping on my stomach since it squeezes the girls, but this bed seems fine for it. There is a dull roaring sound from somewhere close by as if someone’s AC needs maintenance, but it’s still no reason to get up.

“How do you know that for sure?”

Without opening my eyes, I murmur whatever comes to mind. The stranger in my room can leave with the rest of my weird arse dream.

“Devils don’t sleep. Now the Captain is expecting you shortly. Your leathers are on the chair. Get up and get dressed.”

The voice is growling suddenly like another I remember, and I hunt with futile grasps for a pillow to throw.

“Yeah, yeah, and all good girls go to Hell. How did you know I’d be awake now?”

I grumble the question even as my questing hands still find only sheets.

“Enough with the stupid questions. The Captain bespelled you, and she knew when you would be free. Now move before I drag you off that bed with hooks through your wings.”

Wait, hooks? Wings? Bespelled?!

The door slams shut as I force myself up and find I’ve ended up hovering in mid-air. Black wings silhouette the reflection that isn’t me, yet I know is indeed mine, on the glass of a wide window at the end of the bed. Yet the river of fire with its flames gleaming off the metallic city walls beyond it snares my gaze. Glimmering off the glass between is the face of a stranger, but I know somehow it’s mine. The mane of blood-red hair cascading down my now sun-kissed skin, dangling past confused eyes that hold my expression yet show as dark green instead of brown. Features fine and hard rather than the lively, friendly face I remember so well. The fire scorched and battered angelic wings appear as if blackened by soot; sitting motionless, yet rejected by gravity, I stay aloft. Time skips about as my mind bounces between reflection, flames and city, till finally the click of a latch anchors me in the present.

“The view is breathtaking. Welcome to Dis, young Erinys. Land and get dressed; we have your orientation to discuss, along with your barracks assignment. It might seem your fall was recent, but your adjustment phase is almost over according to regulations. Time to find your wings again.”

Without thinking, I turn in mid-air, wings motionless and held outstretched. I find my gaze locks with the woman from the cell.

Fire burns in her eyes as the black lips curl upwards, her gaze lingering over my sun-tanned skin. We look pressed from the same mould that I saw reflected in the windowpane. Blood-red hair spills, dancing around her as if a breeze is playing with it in the heavy, breathless air. The strands of hair dancing between the arched black wings rising high in the massive doorway, the hair’s movements guiding my attention down again. The dark seaweed green eyes stare at me from beneath finely arched brows as I look across similarly angular features to my own. Yet my gaze drifts downwards along the sharp blade of her nose and prominent cheekbones that detour my gaze to the Elven sharpness of her ears.

When her own gaze drifts downwards, she finds the lush lips and a pointed chin from the reflection. We seem so alike from what the glass showed me. She doesn’t seem to worry about how naked I am. The gaze tracking down past firm breasts, a washboard stomach that I’ve never had. Before landing on my wide hips and sliding along my legs, longer than they ever were in life.

Oh! Naked!

I start with the realisation of standing in mid-air au naturel, strangely more surprised by the nakedness than the mid-air part. It’s then the eloped giggle finds me again, bubbling up my throat, having slipped back unnoticed while I slept. The giggle turns to laughter as the winged woman continues her examination and watches, unphased as my body flexes with the strength of the sound. Somehow I know the grim music of the fire outside my window serves as the conductor to my laughter’s music, its ominous growling notes having found an outlet in my laughter.

“Your name will be Isaac.”

The words cut through my laughter, scaring it away in an instant. Even the sinister music of the fire behind me disappears from my grasp.

“No, my name is Rachel.”

Before I can demand answers, as if there are any in this dream, her words push my thoughts aside.

“It was, but you’re in Hell now, so you need a new name. Since you seem to enjoy laughing so much, have a name that suits you. It’s from an old tongue not spoken here - or anywhere within the Titan’s planes. There is folly from Mortal and Immortal alike for you to laugh at here. Now dress!”

The politeness of the tone vanishes with a crack, and I start in surprise. Wanting to be beside my clothes, I find my feet on the floor with no moment in between.

[Greater Teleport (Self) [Ap] (1->2)]

That’s weird. What was that?

Despite being sure it’s a dream, a stronger surety strikes me that even in a dream, I’d just be prey to the Captain. I dress with haste and find the clothes fit perfectly. The long leather pants, snug but still easy to pull on, tuck into boots that lace along the sides and reach just below my knees. An equally black bustier, made of the same strange leather, is cut to slip under my wings and lace up the front. As I put the braces on, it sends a pulse of musical energy tingling along my arms, meandering through my clothing and brushing flesh as it goes. The interior texture of the hardened leather should be rough against my skin, yet it’s as soft as wearing silk and doesn’t rub a bit.

“My name is Captain Oragō. You will follow my instructions till I find you a place in a training group,” stated Oragō, her tone as unfriendly as it is uncompromising.

“Why? What?”

The confusion in my voice is as clear to me as to how different I sound, though I guess that’s only clear to me.

“How did I get here?”

The words rush out before she can speak.

“You are in Hell now whatever role you had in a Celestial court; you’ve lost those privileges. Time to get started earning yourself a new place, Isaac.”

There is such anger and dissatisfaction in Oragō’s tone, clashing with the beautiful music underlying her words. Her sharp notes are fast and violent, smashing against the metal and stone before reverberating through the air. The clash of whips striking flesh somewhere close rings in sympathetic vibration to the rage inside her before echoing as I focus on it.

[Resonance (10->11)]

“But I wasn’t in a court.”

Only part of my thoughts escapes my mouth as the new message distracts me.

“Whatever you were doing, it doesn’t matter. Follow me!”

Oragō’s words overflow with impatience and contempt, yet I know none of her feelings are directed at me. Still, the words are barely out of her mouth before she’s already moving. Rather than risk her wrath, I follow as her movement through the wide greyish-red metal corridor turns to flight. My pursuit is clumsy, every thought causes a mid-air wobble, and another message thing brushes across my mind. It’s just as well the vaulted corridor possesses cathedral-like width with the erratic mess that my attempt at flight becomes.

[Flight [B] (1->2)

Fly [B] (1->2)]

Aren’t those the same things? How am I getting weird messages in my brain? Why am I in Hell? Why am I no longer freaking out? The thought of that makes the giggles return as I focus on Oragō. As the giggles erupt, I see her glance back. I’d like to keep pace. But after a few seconds in the air, she’s already far ahead. Distracted by a hideous thing speeding past, I spin in mid-air and nearly collide with the wall. The high arch ceiling spins overhead as my laughter echoes back to me.

I recognise Oragō’s wingbeat music, so wild and free, angry, but not at me. Her Song is ringing out, spitting her rage in reality’s face, yet somehow I know that none of it is personal to me.

“Why are you so hopeless at flying?”

The tone of Oragō’s voice holds only bafflement as she grasps a wing and halts my spin.

“I’ve never flown before!”

The truth of my protest just earns me a look of impatience from Oragō and even that she makes beautiful. Her reply is snarling and angry, lashing against my senses.

“What are you talking about, Isaac?”

“I don’t remember ever flying before, I certainly never had wings. Why am I here?”

As my fingers twitch to close into frustrated fists, Oragō’s icy gaze on them stills me in an instant.

“Because they decided you weren’t worthy of being one of them and sent you here. We’re fighting a war they don’t have the courage to fight themselves.”

Oragō’s expression is as resolute as her words, and her tone holds a conviction and belief that is scary, and confuses me even more.

[Sense Motive [B](1->2)]

“A war? With who?”

My confusion just makes Oragō’s gaze narrow in frustration, and her wings twitched as if to strike me as she growls her reply at me.

“The Abyss, the Demonic hordes, who else would Devils be fighting a war with? The blood war between Hell and the Abyss, the legions of Hell keeping the Demons at bay. A war the Celestials are too pure-hearted to win, too afraid of getting their armour dirty.”

“Abyss?”

I pat my shoulder just to make sure I’ve not actually grown a second head, because Oragō’s glaring at me like I’m the only freak in this place. As another flier zips by, I catch a better glimpse of it; it looks like they stapled a flying fox’s wings to a lamprey’s body, with nail thin clawed hands and feet tacked to it for good measure. The music coming from it was zippy and ugly like death metal sung by a chipmunk on crack, but with attitude.

“That was ugly.”

The words barely cross my lips when I realise I haven’t been speaking any tongue I should know.

“Pay attention.”

This time she directed the full force of her rage at me, and I bite my lip to hold words or screams at bay. Reality vanishes around us, and suddenly we’re back again. Well, actually somewhere different. An archery range populated by planet weird, but every being I see is shooting either a bow or crossbow. There are more black-winged women like Oragō, and I guess myself, but each is somewhat unique and firing arrows from blazing bows. Wait, or is the terming loosing? Julia would know. I’ll ask her when I wake up.

A thing easily four metres tall has a metal crossbow with arms longer than my wings, yet it’s cranking them back with steady ease. Crablike eyestalks rise from a bulbous skull, its split curved face hangs open with a double-hinged jaw showing row after row of curved teeth that extend within. Its form is massive and bulging, but I can’t tell if it’s caused by flesh underneath all the metal-plated armour strapped to it. The music from it isn’t a roar of rage or a howl, it’s an echoing dirge, grim and dark, that promises torment and despair for whatever crosses it.

A hand gripping my face pulls my gaze back to Oragō’s own. The walls of the range echo with the hum of a thousand sour drums and their cruel, striking beats; yet snarling at me close enough to kiss, her order is clear.

“Stay clear of the Lethe Trolls, they’ll eat you whole! I said place your hand on the orb.”

Oragō’s words strike hard, and I’m really out of luck. I was hoping to be dropped into oblivion again. Her free hand waving at the black orb on the wall makes it obvious what she wants, but she yanks me towards it.

“What is this place?”

While still uttering my question, avoiding face planting into the wall is a matter of luck rather than anything else.

“One of our training yards. Now put your hand on it.”

Oragō’s repeated order has even less patience than the second time saying it. When I grab for the orb, I figure I’m already screwed. Only instead of agony, it gives me a buzz that tingles down to my toes. Its music starts the giggles again as its notes tickle from my fingers up the back of my throat. When I glance at Oragō in confusion, she pulls my hand away and touches it instead.

“Why are we taking turns fondling a ball?”

My voice holds the confusion I feel so clearly and speaking at least shoos the giggles away.

“They left you with nearly nothing!”

Oragō’s scream is pure affronted rage as she stares at something in the air. I try to see, and suddenly the world’s illumination is like nothing I’ve ever known. The sullen grey sky lights up with black lightning streaking through the clouds, and like the orb, items here and there glow. Weapons, pieces of equipment, even my bracers, shine with what I know is Mana. Some don’t glow, rather they roar their power, nearly making me scream as the Truth of them settles in my mind.

[True Sight (1 -> 2)

Mental Resilience Unlocked!

Mental Resilience (1->2)

]

The Truth of them shines so sullen and angry in my sight.

The Truth of this Place.

I am in Hell.

This is not a dream.

Will I ever get out?

“We need to see the Training Co-ordinator,” Oragō growls. “She’ll not like this one bit.”

Oragō’s grumble only finishes a moment before we’re in another hallway. More reddish-black metal, high arched corridors, and doorways that look as if something’s maw is ready to consume its next victim. Devils of all shapes and sizes fill the corridor. I don’t even start taking them in as Oragō motions me to queue. Standing behind a Devil I try to distract myself by focusing on the notes echoing from it. Their sound reminds me of a bass played by an angry guitarist using a dirty distortion peddle. Note after note, their low growling tones chew at the air as they hiss against the cacophony within the corridor.

[Resonance (11->12)]

I don’t know what those messages are, but they’re certainly annoying me. They might even be worse than a marketing SMS at 2 am.

Does Satan’s messaging service have my number?

The random thought makes me giggle, provoking the thing in front to turn towards me, showing a maw filled with serrated, mismatched teeth. I don’t know why, but it makes me giggle even harder and the music changes as if I’ve goosed him. The Devil glances between me and Oragō, who’s appeared beside me blatantly unconcerned as I take in its appearance. Glowing yellow eyes in deep set socket fix on my face even as I look it over. Its lipless maw shows the rows of teeth stretching from ear to ear across the angled slope of its face, beneath a jutting nose. Crusty blue scales, bristling with jagged barbed spines, its muscles bulged under hide that looks so cracked it’s ready to flake. In the gaps, instead of raw flesh, I get glimpses of fires that burn within. I’m still laughing when it turns to flee, its movements lumbering as its claws scramble for purchase on the steel flooring.

“Why?”

The word I uttered in shock sounds like a sulky whine instead.

“Fallen, you giggle as another sister,” Oragō states thoughtfully and pauses as more Devils turn. Their music softens and hunkers down like animals in a storm, and the thunder of her crescendo hits them harder still. “Though she laughs when the knives are already in something’s guts, not in anticipation.”

The pitch of Oragō’s words ensures all hear her even over the din, and at the word Fallen other queued Devils decide they’ve other places to be. As the first flees, quick notes seed through more and more, and the exodus grows.

[Bluff Unlocked!

Bluff (1)

Intimidate Unlocked!

Intimidate (1)

Resonance (12->13)]

What now?

With the queue rapidly emptying, Oragō doesn’t hesitate to march ahead. The lilting chords of her song don’t leave doubt that’s exactly what she’d intended. The only one ahead of us not to run is a Devil at the door itself, but then from its stern cutting tones it seems it takes itself seriously. Barely forty centimetres tall, its skin is the colour of banked coals grumbling sullenly at the night, their red refusing to die into black cold charcoal. Its bat-like wings are tight against its back, the thumb spikes on their middle joint jutting up above the horns on its old man’s face. The icy blue gaze that regards us from deep-set hollows is distinctly unamused.

“Captain Oragō, what gives this office the displeasure of your painful presence,” the old-looking thing grumbled as it stared down at Oragō from its perch.

“I need to speak to the Co-ordinator Makaro,” Oragō replied, radiating a confident demeanour as she shows the thing a smile with far too many teeth.

Fingers twitching with nervous tension, I find my bow in my hand again and I wonder where it’s been. The music from its so vibrant, a soft rolling drum beat within the orchestra pit. Its limbs are translucent with power that glows white and pure, the song like a gurgling dam’s overflow constrained within its course. Yet a waving heat mirage of sounds sets screams across my skin. Tapping its glowing energy string, I hear a cello thrum, but the Devil’s notes squeak octaves higher as the air near the string growls in hunger.

“They stripped so much but left you a Devastation Bow. Celestials - there is no logic to them,” Oragō grumbled, her bared teeth look ready to sink into something.

When the door beside the thing opens without a further words Oragō just strides ahead and I hurry along behind. The orange light in the passage lit by the bow’s angry white glare. The doors shut behind me so quick they smack against my wings, but at least they don’t take a bite.

“Put your toy away Isaac,” orders Oragō, and even as I wonder how I’d do that, it vanishes again. The light in the passageway eases back to more neutral but ominous hues. “You might destroy something I don’t want dead.”

There isn’t a door at the corridor’s end, just a divider to prevent us from spilling straight into the room. When Orago steps right, I automatically step left and appear in the room far down the counter. When she glares at me, I will myself to move as I did before, and happily I cross hundreds of metres in an instant. The counter we’re at is kilometres long with plenty of space to be served, and there is precisely one attendant in the place.

[Greater Teleport (Self) [Ap] (2->3)]

Is that what I’m doing? What are those messages?

“Do that in the wrong place, you’ll end up working the mailroom.”

Oragō’s statement holds a grim warning tone, and before the giggle can escape, I bite my lip.

Did she mean the teleporting thingies or taking a different archway?

“Next.”

The hissing utterance from a medusa behind the counter is all that stops Oragō from continuing. Instead, she motions for me to stay put, and steps forward to talk. When they talk only metres away, I can’t hear a thing, and the surrounding air is glowing like Christmas Lights.

[True Sight (2 -> 3)]

Alright, enough is enough! How do I unsubscribe?

When Oragō steps away, a burning doorway appears in mid-air beside her and she ushers me in ahead. Remembering the doors slamming on my wings, I rush in where an angel would fear to tread. I almost stumble on the thick carpet on the floor beyond. The reception room possessed less charm than a rundown medical clinic, the inner office is currently oozing lots of things. Unfortunately, whoever furnished the room hadn’t let good taste seep into the place.

Tacky looking statues of nymphs and frantic orgies, with things far from pleasant, make up most of the decorations. They don’t just hit some wrong tones as much as crash tackle good taste to the ground and shove a tongue way down its throat. The only occupant in the room looks like a purple-skinned toad with black bat-like wings, she’s sitting in a chair that screams a desire for a throne and her pressure sickens me. Though the feeling of the throne could be just her size since I looked up, then up some more. She’s a bit to take in since even sitting, she’s easily six or more metres tall, with mass adding an unneeded presence to her frame in all directions.

At first, I wasn’t sure because of the shading so close to her skin tone, but I’m sure she’s wearing awful makeup when I look again. The colour adding redness to the thin lips around a dagger filled maw and the long claws that adorned her hands. The leather shirt she was wearing looked like it had tried to restrain her gut at one point but had long since rolled over to play dead. Her music is bloated with rotting desire and a yearning for things better left alone.

“Co-ordinator Makaro.”

Oragō’s words bear cautious respect, and I wonder at their respective positions since one uses a military title and the other seems ‘civilian’.

“Captain Oragō, you’ll explain why you and the recruit are here and not training.”

Makaro’s demanding words are spiteful and laced with annoyance as her music takes on a jarring, discordant melody.

“Co-ordinator Makaro, I have a record of the recruit’s imprint. Normally it’s not an issue, but she’s Fallen, not a damned Soul.”

Oragō raises a hand, and a glimmering crystal shows between her fingers. It’s pretty the way it shines, yet Makaro looks as if someone emptied a shearing pen on her rug. The glare directed at Oragō is petulant and makes me wonder if reactions like this would be why working in the mailroom would be BAD. After a moment, I hear a quick buzzing tone, and the crystal zips across the room to Makaro’s grasp.

“By the Dispatcher’s right nut. Captain, what is the meaning of this crap?”

“She was having trouble even flying,” Oragō replied cautiously, and a glance shows her gaze not meeting Makaro’s own. “I took her to a training yard, her imprint is from a primary orb there.”

The rumbling that starts sounds deeper than the river I’d seen through the window, and when Makaro surges to her feet, I realise she’s growling. With the giantess’ mass moving across the floor, the resonant tones make me wonder if an earthquake will start up.

“This is intolerable. There must be a way to avoid this coming back on me. Why didn’t you just….” Makaro stops whatever she was about to say and paces some more, and the room’s music suddenly changes to satisfaction. “Oh, I know.”

A book appears in mid-air, and Makaro starts leafing through it carefully, the flipping pages emitting sullen annoyed notes and rasping hisses. As more and more pages go past, her speed picks up till the book’s sounds have blurred into a static-filled with rage and discontent. When at last they stop swirling, the snap of near stillness is a shock that makes me blink. I almost ask a question till I catch what feels to be fear in Oragō’s song.

Makaro doesn’t speak immediately but peers at one page and then another, her music beaming like a Cheshire cat.

[Resonance (12->13)]

Seriously, I want to unsubscribe!

“Congratulation, Third Lieutenant Isaac, by my right as Co-ordinator and because there is not an Erinys training class currently in progress - I can graduate a Fallen early with full honours. Oragō, you will escort Isaac to Avernus, and once there, issue a recall of Second Lieutenant Ilya. Inform her that because of her achievements - and being that I’m indeed generous - I have assigned newly graduated Isaac to be her assistant,” Makaro said as she returned to her throne. “Clarify that her duty assignment is otherwise unchanged and ensure it’s clear that I expect even better results with the two of them working together.”

“Of course, Co-ordinator Makaro.”

“Very good, Lieutenant Oragō,” purred Makaro, as a tray of roasted meat appeared in mid-air beside her hand. “Next time, check the imprint before you bid on adding a new member to our training roster. I’ll be docking your pay for the budgetary gap. When she gets back, see what you can press the mailroom to part with from their budget for her services. Schedule the disciplinary hearing for Second Lieutenant Ilya, say a month. No, make it a year after she gets Isaac’s form destroyed. She should have relaxed by then.”

The Captain got demoted? Wow, so yes, Makaro’s the boss.

Wait, get my form destroyed? I go to risk a question, but the world blinks, and I find myself at a back of a long queue. Far ahead, a black pool stands upright, and rows of Devils march through, showing something to the guards before they’re allowed to step into it.

“And the day had such a promising start,” Oragō growls. The venom in her chords prompts me to close my mouth instead of risking questions.

Sarah - Point of View - Near Current Cycle

An enormous boulder nearly the size of a hill giant smashes apart only a few metres away, and a spray of shrapnel blasts across the siege engine’s crew. Two members close to the strike die in an explosion of blood and brains, though the rest of us fare the storm of debris relatively injury-free. Whether the Demons’ aim is improving or it was luck, I don’t know. Though given the sound of Devils screaming nearby, it made me suspect the former. Luck had no place being anywhere near Hell. The tension in the chains screams, but the metallic sound is nothing compared to their pressure making my nerves sing. My focus stretching through them; every twitch and flex of the links is apparent as we force the chains to shift the trebuchet’s arm further back.

As I lick away moisture beading on my lips, the acidic copper taste and heat of the Devil’s blood fills my senses. It's a taste that is growing all too familiar. Awareness focusing within the chains the stop surprises me when the ratchets cease their clicking and the arm’s mechanism locks in place. A kick of annoyance sends the Devil’s remains spilling clear of the platform. Her name hadn’t been something I had bothered to learn. Now, with her brains dripping from me, even the features were beyond my recall. Here near the ramparts overlooking the grey plains of Hades, fodder like her came and went with regularity.

“Sidero! You took a bath in her brain juice; you’ll be lucky if your chains don’t rust.”

Nerezza husky voice growls low under the grunt of the loading team.

“They don’t have brains, just a blood sack. I’ll make Thana lick them clean later.”

My reply making me wonder when the banter from the other Kytons on the crew had become so second nature.

“Only if you finish engraving the crest across my back,” says Thana, voice light with amusement.

“Finish her raven off. You need to start with the face on my thigh,” Nerezza demands, with her ever insistent tone.

“Pushy bitch!”

Even while replying to Nerezza, I could only wish telling her to fuck off wouldn’t risk complications. While the material of my chains rates above her own, Nerezza is still my elder and holds sway. None of the Kyton had considered scarification tattoos until I had etched my flesh to push up resistances. Now wearing them had become a fashion trend among us on the front, and my skills are in demand. An idle pastime having provided value with stopping me from joining the ape faced Devil in cursing banishment on the Ninth Plane of Hell.

“Loose!” Cojet screams, the noise drowning our banter.

Indeed, the crew leader’s bellow sounds well above the noise of the battlefield. The sheer volume of noise from the lungs in his barrel sized chest is likely audible to Devils and Demons alike a kilometre away. His bellow isn't just for our crew but also eleven others down the line. The crew chief is a Devil called an Uhlobo, in shape a cross between a silverback and black granite; he can wrap long fingers around my skull with length to spare. Like the earthen primate, he stands well above my height, and though he shares their long reach, he has no trouble walking upright. The Legions of Uhlobo Devils secure this section of the front for Lord Asmodeus; Kyton and other Devils, while useful to them, were on this stretch vastly in the minority. Though as foul-tempered as he is, Cojet holds the trebuchets’ teams to a steel-edged efficiency.

The trebuchet’s tension shifts as the counterweight falls, and the arm flings its cargo arcing forward. A spray of makeshift spikes blazing in hellfire tear through the air between the banners on the rampart our crew uses as target guidance. Hide slaps against metal as the counterweight rocks the trebuchet’s arm, the sling hitting it with every motion. The sounds above us ringing out even over the constant wind of this place. Black pennants embossed with Asmodeus’ symbol flutter in the never-ending wind emerging from Hades. The Greek God, who was the Plane’s namesake, not bothering to obstruct the Demon’s passage. Though at least he doesn't object to the fortifications that Asmodeus had set up on the border countless eons past.

As soon as the sling finished flopping about, the command comes to make ready. The crew leader hadn’t finished yelling when Thana’s and Nerezza’s presence joins me within the chains and we work together bringing the arm back a tooth click at a time. Silken pleasure brushing against my mind comes and goes as their awareness rubs mine, our minds sliding constantly within the material as link by link it shifts through the pulleys.

Familiar focus shows in their features beneath the chain veils, the tightness around the sulphur-yellow gaze extending down through all the whip tight muscles of their bodies. Once they would have looked a fearful sight, the pair of them perched across a blackened steel beam from me. The dull steel chains that shroud them, writhing in motions that make clear their excitement. I can feel the same energy in the chains as we move together, the layers of our pressing on each other. They mirror the movements of their chain shrouds in the tensing of the trebuchet’s own before each ripple of noise from the ratchet. Three of us working as one to reset the trebuchet’s arm faster than modern machinery could even manage.

“Two points to the left,”

Thana’s gaze shifts to the pulley on their side an instant before my own fixes on the one near me. I brace with a pair of infernal steel chains around the crossbeam as the platform under my feet moves. The red links were glowing against the blackened steel as if still hot from the forge, even though they are colder than the space between stars against my skin. Demons not immune to temperatures worse than the arctic have fallen to their links.

We continually reset the trebuchets as the assault drags on for cycles, till at last, the horns echo out to stand down across our battle lines. Even then, the crew doesn't relax finally Cojet gives the order to reset the station. The three of us together work to ease the chain’s tension while others begin collecting and racking gear. Gently relaxing the gears their presence in the chains excites me like lovers caressing intimate places, a sense peaking high and high till Cojet bellows.

“Sidero, join the dispatch and forage teams. Get something good for me,”

My teeth cut into my bottom lip as I snap my gaze the crew leader’s way for the rare stupidity of that instruction. Among the slaughtered beyond the wall will be Abyssal toys, and they don't run into the spectrum of good. It's hard to tell with his helm and grunting voice, but Cojet’s vibe is edge towards violence. Maybe at my lack of concern for the blood and brains of his kind that still decorated my chains; though equally, perhaps not enough crew members died, bets within Hell tend to the extremes. Unlike his weaker kin, the crew leader wore full armour, the taste of the enchantments crawls across my tongue and dances within my senses.

“Oh blight, you’re up,” Thana says as she waves for me to go.

I don’t reply as quick steps take me past Cojet to collect a carrier from the gear rack. As he glares at Thana, I shake my chains and smile behind the metallic veil as his curses burn the air. The unblemished steel it had worn through the cycles of fighting, now wears spots of frozen gore, and part of a cheek slithers from his vambrace. His response makes his mood clear though, and it wasn’t a noise he makes when angry. After cycles of fighting, he’ll be screaming with someone in their time during this break.

“You got something on you, boss.”

The carrier was a neat spatial gadget capable of carrying tonnes, yet it's smaller than a toddler’s fist. Bouncing it on my palm, I turn to go even as Cojet speaks again.

“Get going, Sidero, or I’ll flay you,” says Cojet, his tone still a growl but heavy with lust, not anger.

“Promises, promises,” the words purr from my lips as the extent of the blissful agony of working the trebuchet’s arm buzzs within me.

His chest inflates within the armour as air rushes in to fuel his bellow, only for Thana’s and Nerezza’s calls to distract his mock ire. Their husky voices growling playfully for attention even as they climb the trebuchet’s chains to check for wear.

“Oh pick me, flay me oh mighty one.”

“No. I’ll scream better, boss,” Nerezza says, the low tones prominent in their teasing even without mimicking my term for Cojet.

Not sure if the scariest thing is they’d like nothing less, or my physical changes that meant I’d be holding back orgasms if he did it. Pleasure and pain I’d once considered finely separated sides of the same coin. Now they weren't a coin, but an orb where all was one. While hearing of people not experiencing pain was one thing, experiencing only pleasure regardless was disconcerting. Of all the shocks of this place I'm sure that impact on my ongoing mental processes bites the deepest.

Kyton, like I was cursed to become, aren't true Devils, but still hold a place within the Hierarchy of Hell. They were here before Asmodeus’ arrival with the first infernal Legions. The great mother who hatched me has plans to remain here no matter his fate. I intend to gain redemption, for if any Devil finds out I have a Soul, there will literally be Hell to pay. As one of them, there are many roles to fill, whether it be foundries, siege engineer crews, interrogator, torturer or just playmate for those that leaned that way. Soul in Hell, those had positions within the Hierarchy’s rule books, but certainly not freely roaming.

I, Sarah Noth, now being of Hell, with a reforged body, and free will, yet unsure of my mental state, do bequeath nothing of mine to end in this place.

Idle thought causes a chain to shift and pluck the carrier from my hand. A mere moment of idle will alters the sharp tip into a net and encloses it, like filigree holding a gem. Heading for the wall where the foraging team banners are precisely according to regulations, I pick up the pace to join the ranks in front of them. My path taking me past other Kyton, so similar in build to me, each shrouded in near-matching chains. Despite this, each to me was unique as a face even from a distance, subtle patterns making obvious differences to my instincts. Though being one of a handful in existence wearing red infernal steel chains, most Devils here would know my name.

Yet even for me, the chain shrouds covering us were all most Devils paid heed to when they see us. The weight should have been impossible for our lean bodies to move in so easily, yet the chains that enfold us move as we will. Few wear them as but a scattering of chains overlaying flesh, a token modesty even as it reminds others not to cross us. For most, it is a heavy veil of a dress, a shroud of danger moving to our will. From the crisscross skull cap formed by the links to the spikes dancing around our ankles. My reward from my mother once weighed me down with a mass I could barely move. Now it dances about me, a burqa of ever-shifting flame-red steel, that signals my presence among the others.

They know me as Sidero, the most recent hatchling of the Kyton’s great mother. The first in eons found by Her Eminence’s Unholy attendants nestled within the accursed chains enfolding her vile greatness. My siblings have either found destruction or long graduated to materials beyond chains made of mother’s unique infernal steel. So the sight of them was a banner call to gawk at the princess.

Well, Gosh! Aren’t I the lucky one? Though luck still has no place being anywhere near Hell.

The usual grumbling occurs as higher-ranking Devils jump places among the teams; arriving last they form another line ahead of plebs like me. When the all-clear signal comes at last, the front rank heads towards the opening gate, and while they funnel through it, others take faster routes. Erinys and other flyers grab the sky rather than waiting for the mudfoots. Breaking from formation, other Kytons join me in racing for the walls. Chains reaching out, weights and spikes become hooks that rise and lift us to the heights of the wall.

Curses spit at us from those just exiting the gate when we land among the dead and dying demons. As my chains lowering me from the walls, I spot a fallen siege tower at the furthest point: steel plates, broken and buckled, were still useful for the forges. An attack appears to have scored a lucky strike, and the Demonic forces disorganised as always hadn’t bothered towing it back.

Leaving to others the foes closest to the walls, I lengthen my stride and race away. With every step, smaller dropped items obviously out of reach vanish into my inventory. The tower’s steel would be lovely alone, but there was sure to be Demonic fodder within, weighed down with armour to provide ballast for the tower’s motions.

As I leap again spikes end a broken existence beneath my path, I ignore the experience notifications, only one thing screams for a detour. A delicious Succubus, nearly dead and twitching, her ivory skin searing lightly in a net of burning steel. The hard soles of my feet stepping on a body lying across her legs demands her attention. The Demonic flesh bearing my extra weight makes the flames burn hotter. Lines of ivory flesh as clean as a northern beauty lead my gaze up to her oval face. The small eye-teeth and human-like ears making it clear this one is a lesser amongst them, even if I wasn't able to taste it in the air. Her dark eyes smoulder at the pain I'm causing by making the flames against it burn hotter than her dark red hair.

“Free me, I’m of Lilith’s line.”

Her voice carefully inflects the proper infernal tones, yet she wears the wrong outfit for one returning.

“You’ve got the wrong year’s colours in your crest,” I point out, checking a serious expression.

“These are the right ones,” her protest rubs against the air with silken promises, too little, and oh so fake.

The crest is always wrong and what we call out in case of scrying. The Succubus just made things easy by choosing the wrong counter-response. Words cut off as she and the net vanish. Cejot isn't getting anything good, but he’ll have slutty and cute instead. If she wants to defect or whatever, then she’ll need to be convincing of her ill intentions. Maybe she’ll wise up and really switch teams.

Spikes flicker as the path to the tower takes me past other nearly dead Demons. Mostly battle fodder, my minor contribution in their demise likely only nets me five or twenty experience here and there. Though making my way past hundreds, the trickle from notifications long disabled adds up. Another reason to spot a rich target far away, it gives a line of fast experience but will still justify the choice if I need to do so with my chains’ commander.

The carrier taps across the plating, stripping armour quickly from the frame, exposing the crushed bodies within. It’s unsurprising, given how far out the tower was, that only the common foot soldiers are within, crushed bodies of Dretch weighed down with awful armour. Since they’d served their purpose as a bookend to keep the tower stable, the forces didn't bother to drag any out when it had collapsed. Still living, Abyssal energy hums in the air, vibrating against my senses, hammer strikes in the forge of reality falling off true. Blades formed on the ends of the chains and guided by the vibrations, I point their way home.

By the time I’ve stripped the eight-floor tower to its frame, and I’ve picked the bodies clean, and the carrier is giving off a sense of fullness. The pulses from it cascade along the chain still holding it and make me wonder how the Succubus is enjoying the hotel stay. The shock wave catches me in midair as I leap down from the tower’s framework. Unexpected, and unheard of, the ground rises towards me, flexing like a wave heading towards a beach. Overhead, the peeling laughter of an obviously deranged Erinys fills the air, as the ground dropping away as I relax for impact. With barely enough time my will sends chains spearing downwards into the earth, and can buck upwards again, they slow my motion.

The metal frame squeals like a tormented Soul as the force of the earth twists it in place. The steel beams left behind from my scavaging bounce in time with every bone-jarring motion. In my prior existence in Sydney, I’d never felt an earthquake, but this one seemed extreme. The ground lurched upwards again and slaps hard against the bottom of my feet. A fragment of Abyssal steel carries with its motion stabs straight through flesh and bone alike. The pleasure of it spiking through my foot rides up my leg and gallops in a throbbing wave deep into my core, leaving my vagina twitching in its wake.

The tower’s frame toppling close even while I’m pushing the chains to dance me out of reach. Every jarring motion setting the metal through my foot twitching with exquisitely delightful sensations. As the ground continues to dance away, the chains form a spider-like suspension around me, holding me aloft as I rode the waves. The power I have somehow allowing the material of the chains, and their attachments, to shift in form, from weight to spikes, to blades, or anything I imagine. It also allows them to lengthen or contract with no apparent shift in width, no need to add mass or take it away, it just occurs.

Even with my eyes closed, I can tell how they are moving around me. Like having my eyes closed and moving my hand around, position and pressure from the chains I control ripples within my mind’s eye. So empowering, yet also alien and distancing. When a spike stabs through Demons alive or dead, all I feel is a shift in pressure. One moment resistance, becomes a squelch or a scream as the pressure shifts away. Is this what a drone pilot experiences or even less? I feel sorry for them, at least I’m close enough that I still know fully what I’ve done. Close enough to be aware of what my actions and choices have done. Is it enough to keep me grounded? If so, for how long?

The earthquake rolls on for long minutes, and the eternal fortifications, the siege walls of Hell crack and shatter in its wake. Overhead, the laughter of the Erinys continues as she rains fiery arrows of destruction down on mounds of bodies. Every buck or slippage of bodies gain a reward of an arrow that tosses bodies around with the force of its impact, let alone the following explosions. A body slides from a pile close to me, and an arrow catches it before it stops moving, showering me with flesh and bones.

“Stop blowing everything up bird brain.”

My voice sounds weird as I call out. Its growling, husky tones are sharp with the pleasure the metal in my foot is sending through me. Her laughing response comes with a flurry of arrows that pulverise more bodies around me. The desire to bring her down itches across me as things ooze from my chains. Though I can extend them some ten metres, the Erinys stays well beyond my reach, at least for now, but I’ll remember her.

The sound of my voice prompts me to raise the injured foot to tend to the spike. Every wiggle as it scrapes against bone would have caused my breath to catch from pain when still mortal. Now gritting my teeth to hold in the moans and resisting the temptation to play with it, I tear it out in a single motion. Vision narrows as lightning orgasms explode in my mind, and my body twitches in the aftershocks. The jagged spike having caught on bone going through has pulled them out when forcibly withdrawn. Fragments of bone and flesh fall away when shaking the spike flicks them free, and lets me consider the uncluttered steel.

Shattered steel had left a spike, with edges of serrated fish hooks down one side. Knowledge that I hadn’t possessed in life is instinct now. As my gaze slides across it, those instincts aid my understanding of how the construction was mishandled along with how the blow must have struck. The Abyssal steel provides a delightful burning sensation against my fingertips as my foot finishes healing. The cessation of pleasure, which should itself been agony, is spiteful and wicked, leaving me hanging on the edge of a frustrated orgasm. While the pleasure from my burning hands is enough to keep me twitching, alone it doesn't push me over the edge.

The spike disappears into my inventory, an ability that no other Devil seems to possess before temptation calls me to do something extreme with it. Perhaps I’ll make use of it for carving the face Nerezza wants. If nothing else it will be an interesting study to see how long she can avoid twitching from the steel’s caresses. Immediate pleasure versus long-term gratification of having the tattoo scar she desires.

By the time the ground ceases its convulsion, my own twitching is only just subsiding, and I race towards the wall. The Erinys I leave behind, but a glance finds that her destructive arrows are finding moving targets rising from the mounds. Maybe she isn't completely insane, but I did not know how she knew they were going to heal. I have my Analysis skill, but it's limited by line of sight. How the heck is she able to tell which mounds still have Demonic life within? No way was it luck as every mound I’d seen her drop arrows is spewing forth survivors. Rising to their feet to flee only brings them death.

She looks just as dangerous as the rest of her kind, lean black leather-clad valkyrie types, with blood-red hair and wings blacker than soot. Finely pointed ears I would have considered Elven, before seeing them adorning so many types of Devils in this place. Her strangeness doesn’t end with laughter but includes the unmoving wings that still somehow keep her aloft. Where other Erinys have bows wrapped in flames of sullen, angry red, her bow is searing white flames, and she's not drawing arrows from a quiver. As with the others, she’s a beautiful deadly cheerleader of the condemned and I wish I could pluck her like a chicken.

With teeth grinding from the frustrated pleasure I head striding towards the wall, flipping her the bird and I ignore the sudden silence from behind. It's not until I'm nearly a hundred metres closer to the wall that her laughter starts again, and explosions follow on its heels.

The devastation of the wall is concerning, with large sections broken or even collapsed. Even the main gates have been buckled off their mountings. Both doors are now laying on the ground with rubble sitting atop them. If the earthquake had struck even an hour earlier, they would be at Hell’s gates. Unless they’ve already returned to their home Plane they might well attack again. Wizards and Mages who are already worn down by the Siege, plus support work teams are clearing the rubble to restore what has fallen.

“Daughter, return to me now. Your commander has been already told.”

The whisper of the great mother’s voice hiss low but clearly in my hearing, even with the workers’ loudness close at hand.

Not pausing to consider the reason why. I race through the workers heading for the trebuchet. While my chains’ commander will have been informed, the rest of my chains and Cejot will have questions. Plus, I still have the carrier with Cejot’s toy to return, the carrier at least is essential, regulations have strict fines on equipment. If I didn’t move fast, the Portal to Nessus will be jammed with supplies and troops coming through, and my passage will have to wait. One thing I've learnt, the only thing mother possessed patience for was causing the downfall of enemies.