Infernal Investigations

Behind me, the various Pure Blood members and the fake Lord Montague came out from the scow, assembling on the pier.

I half-turned to face them, dagger pointed their way, the saber towards Hawkins. Most of the Pure Bloods had clubs or swords, but the guard from before had the muzzle of a rifle pointing out from under his coat, keeping the flash pan dry till he needed to shoot. There’d probably be pistols as well. They halted about thirty feet away, blocking me from the scow.

Maybe I should have risked the revolver after all.

I had one advantage. Clearly, they were running a con on the Pure Bloods. Either of them shifting within view would shake the gang members, maybe even lead to them turning on the two.

“Do you have any words, rat?” Hawkins yelled at me, now striding towards me.

His expression and demeanor were of boredom, confident that he had me trapped between himself and the Pure Bloods and other shape-changer by the scow.

He was right. Even if I dove into the Nover, odds were he and his fellow could dive right in, change shape into something more aquatic underwater, and then kill me. It wouldn’t be hard if they could comfortably swim, and I couldn’t.

“You’re looking in terrific shape after the warehouse,” I shouted to be heard over the rain. “From a burning pile of flesh back to being healthy in a few days?”

Hawkins’ bored expression turned to a scowl as his eyes narrowed.

“Yep, it’s me here to torment you again,” I said. “I’m shocked none of your group put it together yet. I’ll be honest: the more I uncover, the more I’m struck by a dichotomy. You’ve clearly had success keeping your nature’s secret in the past, but then there’s this entire scheme. Poorly done. But enough about me. Let’s get that flesh rotting again!”

I charged at Hawkins, hand outstretched.

He knew who I was and what I was capable of. He had two choices: either pretend to be human and risk the Diabolism, or change shape here and give away the game.

You provoke him without wanting to use it? Fool.

Hawkins lunged to the side, arms bursting from his sides and ripping his coats to shreds. His existing arms shifted, bone sprouting from both and forming into blades that slashed at me.

My saber dug into his leg, aiming to slow even a little. I tried to halt my momentum because I’d miscalculated. He hadn’t shifted this fast at the warehouse!

He howled as my saber cut into the side of his knee, but only went in an inch. It felt like trying to slice through hardwood.

I kicked him in the side while deflecting a bone saber with my metal one.

It felt like kicking metal, and I pulled back as Hawkins stood up, the wound on his leg reforming. Damnations, I’d hoped he’d take a dip in the Nover. I parried another blow, then sliced at his leg, scoring another cut.

Behind me, I could hear screaming and discharging firearms. Well, it sounded like the fake Lord Montague had made their decision fast. That or he’d been unable to answer their questions convincingly.

I fell back from Hawkins as his leg wound closed, sparing a glance behind me.

Not-Lord Montague was carving his way through the guard from before, his own bone-blades extending from his sleeves. One of the Pure Bloods lay bleeding out on the pier below, while another was chopping into the shape-changers side with a knife to little effect.

They’d worked him over as well, easily a half-dozen holes across the shape-changer’s body and a severed leg flopping about on the ground as well. Three Pure Bloods had made it to the scow, barricading themselves inside.

His wounds were already re-knitting. I’d miscalculated badly. Why had Hawkins not shown abilities like this at the warehouse?

I turned back to Hawkins just in time to catch another strike with the bone blade, my hand shaking from the force of the impact. In just the short time I’d looked away, he’d grown half a foot in height and more in breadth.

Two more arms were sprouting from underneath his current ones, only nubs, but swiftly lengthening.

“You challenge me, malcontent?” He yelled, raising his other two bone blades overhead. Bone grew from the one locked with my blade, flowing around it and trapping it.

Both blades came down. I let go of my saber, backing away. Bone carved into my shoulder, cutting deep. The second changed direction, slicing into my thigh till bone scraped bone.

I screamed just a second before a fist rammed into my face, knocking me off my feet. I tried to move my knife into a position only for another blow to shear it from my grasp. I stared dully at a hand stripped of fingers.

Okay. No Diabolism meant dying to this thing. If I had alchemicals, or even the revolver, maybe, but neither meant I only had one trick.

“Foolish Infernal. Your bluff has served you not, although I demand how you know of my fight with another of your kind that gave you the idea of faking diabolism?”

I was going to end up in the hells for this. Well, I already was destined for there anyway.

“Who said anything about faking?” I said, injured hand grabbing my focus. “Burn.”

Fire erupted from my hand, a black burning ball of flames that flew at Hawkin’s face. His clothes caught alight, and his flesh sizzled as the hellfire ate at him.

He stumbled backward, screeching as his hands tore at his burning face, trying to rip the burning flesh free. All he succeeded in doing was setting his own limbs alight, even the bone sabers burning.

Underneath my hooves, the pier’s wood warped, reforming into a set of maws across its surface, wooden teeth chewing at the burning Hawkins. They almost chewed at me, but I limped away, my thigh burning with each painful step.

The transfiguration wasn’t stopping either, creeping towards me and heading the other direction.

That’ll probably stop at the edges, I told myself as I hobbled away. Hopefully.

Not-Lord Montague was finishing carving up the guard, their form changing differently from Hawkins. Bone blades were pulling in, the rest of their body bulking up larger and larger. Much further and they’d resemble that poor fool the actual Lord Montague had turned into an ogre with Biosculpting.

The other Pure Bloods were on the scow, a couple of them firing firearms at him and heading inside the shacks they’d built on it. They had the right idea. Time to abandon ship.

I limped that way, trying to keep an eye on Hawkins. He screamed as oily black smoke billowed off of him, flesh melting to expose bones before regrowing. Bone blades lashed out, tearing through the demonic wood of the pier, but it matched him in tenacity.

One of the Pure Bloods emerged from the scow, a coach gun in hands. Both barrels fired, blowing chunks from the Shape-changer’s flesh. Not-Lord Montague howled, only for the dying guard to bury a knife into a joint.

It gave me the opening I needed to get onto the scow and through the door.

“You!” A Pure Blood yelled, straightening up from a chest he had been rummaging through. “You foulhorn bint! The hell do you think you’re doing?”

“You really want to argue this now?” I responded. Behind me, the Pure Blood with the coach gun slammed the door shut just in time.

The ship shuddered, almost sending me off my hooves as the side of the shack bent inwards, wood cracking and splintering. The floor tilted underneath us, and I hurried over to the far wall.

Definitely could increase their mass then. That was a problem.

“You warped his lordship with diabolism into that thing!” The Pure Blood continued even as his fellows got new muskets and coach guns.

They were aimed at me first till the wall splintered further and they reconsidered who should be their first target.

“The Shape-changer changed form before I even used any,” I retorted. “And do you really want to waste time on this?”

“It’s got a point, Jasper,” a grey-haired Pure Blood said.

Outside, the shape-changer roared in anger, and suddenly, the scow lurched again. A meaty paw burst through the wall, grasping and finding a Pure Blood. The man screamed as the paw closed, bones crunching underneath its grasp as it pulled him out.

Most of the wall ripped away with him, revealing the Shape-changer’s new form.

The shape-changer resembled a giant, bipedal toad, thick arms of scaly muscle having pulled the Pureblood into a pointy-toothed jaw that was chewing the shrieking human.

It wasn’t the only maw eating. The change in the pier had reached here. Transformed wood latched onto the shape-changer, chewing through thick blubbery flesh even as his flailing sent splinters flying every which way.

Not-Lord Montague roared as the animated wood continued to stab and gnaw at him. Tendrils formed out of wood corkscrewed into his eyes and joints.

“Tell the pier to kill it!” Jasper yelled at me.

“I can’t control it,” I said. “I didn’t make it. It’s the Diabolism possessing the wood. I’d say we should get unmoored before it notices we’re here and decide we’ll make a good meal.”

I saw something move in the corner of my eye.

Hawkins had broken free, bone blades cutting through the wood even as the hellfire still burned, leaving his upper half a burnt parody of flesh. Still, he was preparing to jump and probably would make it over here.

I was about to point it out when the Grey-hair noticed, screaming at Jasper as he discharged both barrels into it.

I went to the far side of the ship. Things had gone to the hells. Time to leave.

The scow lurched with the arrival of Hawkins, followed by more screaming and gunfire. I pulled out the tin from before, grabbing what remained of the paste. Hooves, calves, thighs, head, hand, forearms, even my tail. I hurriedly smudged as much of it as I could on as much of me as I could.

The scow groaned underneath me, wood crackled, and as the hull snapped, I jumped off the ship.

It was easier navigating the Nover when nearly all of me repelled its waters, and I scurried away as fast as I could, eventually making it to the next pier over and hiding underneath to watch the rest of the fight.

More strips of fabric torn from my shirt, more wrapping them around limbs. My thigh burned even more but I needed to get it closed. Same for the cut in my shoulder, and my ruined hand. I chugged my one emergency vial I'd had time to prepare. It would close the blood vessels and seal them off till I could get these wounds properly healed.

It did nothing for the fact that without the improvised bandage a chunk of my thigh would be swinging like a slab of meat off the bone. I tightened the binding, ignoring the flashes of pain and dots that appeared in my vision as I tied it off.

Only having one hand made it slower, my lack of fingers consigning the other one to be a weight. What had I been thinking? Even if I hadn't suspected their powers, trying to fight them just as a normal person? Foolishness.

The pier’s transformation had stopped before affecting the docks as a whole, thankfully. Another reminder why I shouldn’t be using it because if it hadn’t stopped….that would not have gone well. People stuck inside their homes, devoured by their furniture and walls? Not a pleasant thought. There’s no safe way to use Diabolism.

A reminder that just tossing Diabolism around was equally foolish. What would be the cost next time I set something alight?

I watched as the scow sunk, and the enormous forms of both Hawkins and Not-Lord Montague grew wings and took flight, Hawkins still trailing fire and smoke. One figure floundered behind them in the Nover, and I strode forward, picking him up with my only good hand and dragging him through the water to some stone steps.

With effort, I pulled Jasper to the top of them. By the end of it, my thigh felt like it was about to strip itself off my bone in protest, and my shoulder felt like it would fall off. Both were soaked with blood. Either I'd bled more than I initially noticed, or I'd reopened veins carrying this one up here.

He flailed about, hands reaching for a weapon. “You Foulhorn bi-“

His next word got cut off as I put the edge of a knife against his throat.

“Let’s not spout any unpleasantness, Jasper,” I told him. “You and I are to be friends, if only because your employers are probably going to be valuing you a lot less than I will.”

“I doubt it,” a voice said behind me. “Lay down your weapon! You are both under arrest.”

To my confusion, a dozen members of the Watch stood behind us. Yes, it was still raining and storming, but I hadn’t heard a thing or seen a hint. They must have been waiting. Following me, the Purebloods, or the shape-changers?

Amna and Tommy were among the assembled members, so not an ordinary unit of the Watch.

The one who’d spoken was a middle-aged orc, filed tusks mixed with greying mutton chops. He had two bars sewn onto the shoulders of his greatcoat.

Captain Malstein, presumably. Not that I would know that since Katheryn Falara was the one who got that name out of Amna and Tommy, who I also shouldn’t know.

I tossed my knife on the ground. “I work with Mister Voltar.”

Oh, his expression changed at that name. And not in a good way. But still, it needed to be said. Now, my disappearing would have consequences. Maybe I could even get preferential treatment?

“Of course he is,” Malstein said. “Well, at least I have a name to blame for letting a diabolist get out of hand. Did you intend to turn that pier into a hazard for anything that steps on it?”

“Could have been anyone that did that,” I said defiantly. “Just because I’m an Infernal, it doesn’t mean-“

“The Foulhorn did all of it, Captain!” Jasper shrieks next to me. “She used diabolism and summoned a pair of shapeshifting monsters to attack a noble of the realm! I saw it all!”

Kill them now, before they end you first, Malvia.

This is what saving people got me. The number of muskets leveled at me only added to my awareness that a single misstep or sudden movement could and would end with my brains splattered across the ground.

“Yes, I am a diabolist,” I admitted. “Yes, the pier is my fault. No, I did not summon any creatures, and in fact was trying to get rid of them to the best of my ability. This one-”

“We can handle questioning at the Coffin,” Malstein said, gesturing towards Amna, who produced a pair of handcuffs, familiar runes engraved on the surface. “Is that going to be an issue?”

I sighed. “No. No, it won’t.”

I put my hands forward, and Malstein glanced down at the back of my hand.

“Black Flame?”

“Former Black Flame,” I replied sharply. “Five years and hopefully till I’m consigned to the Hells.”

“An interesting tale, I’m sure. Another thing you can tell us in the Coffin.”

Who knew? Perhaps this stay would be as pleasant as the last. As long as they didn’t cut my fingers off.