Chapter 171: No Blood by the Hearth

 

Mahaila took one last hop as she ascended the last hundred meters of the cliff, ending in front of a stone wall. She tilted her head slightly, gazing at the stone wall that covered the side of the mountain. She was deep within the Iron Hammer mountain range, precisely where she had been instructed to go. Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved a special Grahanam Crown. With a flick, it began to vibrate and emit a low hum. She brought it closer to her ear, listening for the distinctive signal that would confirm she was in the right place.

Sure enough, she could hear the exact tone that signalled her proximity to her destination. It was a clever invention her master and his old friends had devised—a modified Grahanam Crown that transmitted messages through vibration and sound. Deciphering the code requires someone to teach you, no other way to figure it out.

After receiving confirmation, she pocketed the coin and approached the stone wall. As she passed through the illusion, she felt the coin in her pocket heat up and vibrate intensely. The stone wall had concealed a cave entrance, and as Mahaila moved deeper into the cave, she could sense the familiar cold seeping into her skin. Then, a soft voice rang in her ears, a unique hymn that marked the presence of the ever-dramatic Shadowborn.

 

Pale is the prison I doom thee to dwell

Room for just one but two in the cell

Dusk is upon us, know that it has fell

Darkness is honest, are you to yourself?

 

Then she paused as she waited for the prompt for the password. Soon enough, the voice came forth again.

 

What is the dreamer’s lie?

 

“All nightmares have an end.” Mahaila replied, and the cold faded away. Mahaila sighed as she continued deeper into the cave.

It didn't take long before she heard the crackling of a fire. Turning a corner, she saw it—a small, crackling fire burning for a group with perfect night vision and immunity to the cold. The fire was a tradition of the Shadowborn, though ironically, they despised light and fire. It consisted of enchanted wood with an enchanted sword impaled in the center, the source of the orange flames. There was a rule to this gathering: no bloodshed by the hearth. In Shadowborn tradition, all attendees were required to leave their weapons at the door. If anyone desired conflict, their best weapon was a scalding hot sword in the flame.

"If you crave blood, grasp the fire," Mahaila thought, considering the saying that those who seek vengeance should dig two graves. One for themselves and one for their foe. It was ironic how the Shadowborn, despite their symbol of a burning flame, had fallen victim to petty vengeance. Their destinies were foretold within the very flames they despised.

Around the fire stood a group of individuals Mahaila hadn't seen in a long time. The Crowfather Phizaros, in his original form, stood with his arms crossed. He was a towering figure with a large, black-feathered body and four glowing red eyes. Next to him was the Drowned Admiral Pufferia, her hair was just a mass of matted black wool dripping with cursed sea water. Her goat-like features stared unblinkingly at the fire as she stood motionless. When Mahaila approached, Pufferia turned her head, revealing the rotted skull that occupied the other half of her face, within it’s rotted and maggot-filled eye socket glowed an ominous green magic eye.

On the opposite side of the fire stood the black-cloaked Nemesis, her face hidden by a white bone mask. She stood as still as a statue, and when she noticed Pufferia, she too turned her head, revealing the twisted mask that bore an expression of madness.

The last member of the gathering was someone Mahaila had not expected to see, the archdemon Alastor, with his goat-like head and flaming wings. But Mahaila knew him by a different name.

"Wyllvur," Mahaila said coldly as she approached, and Alastor flashed her his usual winning smile.

"Why the long face, little one? I remember all the fun we had," Alastor replied, extending his arms as if to embrace her. However, Nemesis intervened, grabbing the front of Alastor's suit.

"Stop," Nemesis said coldly, her white mask turned toward Alastor, emanating intense hatred.

"Come now, Niki, no need to get nasty," Alastor teased, and Mahaila sensed the magic radiating from Nemesis.

"Enough, no bloodshed by the hearth," Phizaros growled, and the two immediately backed off. In this confined space, a fight would favour Phizaros and Mahaila, both of whom were skilled melee fighters. Phizaros had helped raise Mahaila, making it obvious whose side she would take.

"We're here to discuss the Great Beast," Phizaros announced, calming the room.

"Then discuss," Pufferia scoffed, clearly disinterested.

"It's evident that we all want different things from the Great Beast," Nemesis pointed out, turning to face Phizaros.

"Yes, but I believe our interests can align," Phizaros responded calmly.

"How so? I want to see Heaven burn, while you merely seek to decapitate their leadership. I won't stop at the Divine Council and the Virtues. I'll make Heaven burn hotter than Hell itself," Nemesis declared coldly.

"I don't care what you do; I just want Divonia gone. If I get to burn the elves in the process, all the better," Pufferia added as she absent-mindedly tapped her exposed skull, from which writhing maggots emerged.

"I'm sure an attack on Divonia won't be an issue, but complete destruction might pose a problem," Mahaila interjected. She knew the Great Beast well enough to understand that he wouldn't agree to total annihilation. It would simply be too wasteful in his view.

"Why? Why would the Great Beast care?" Pufferia inquired.

"Tribute does not flow from a dead race," Mahaila explained calmly, and Pufferia snorted in response.

"So after everything we've done, we end up right back where we started? With the Firstborn pressing us into the ground," Pufferia grumbled.

"This one is different," Mahaila said, glancing at Nemesis. "That's why you haven't approached him yet, is it? He's not bloodthirsty enough. He even spared an angel from you, though I suspect that whole incident was a show on your part."

"He's sharper than I anticipated. I never expected him to manipulate the angels so effectively," Nemesis admitted.

"Underestimating the Firstborn is not a good strategy for survival," Alastor chimed in with a mocking chuckle.

"Nor is hiding beneath a Daemon Prince's boot," Nemesis retorted with a scoff.

"Ah, but you see, I'm playing the long game," Alastor replied with a grin.

"Oh, for fucks sake, get to the point," Pufferia exclaimed, glaring at Alastor as she placed a hand on her sabre.

"I'd much prefer the Great Beast to rule Hell," Alastor said, and Pufferia withdrew her hand from her sabre's handle.

"How do you plan to achieve that?" Nemesis inquired.

"Simple, through war," Alastor replied, his grin widening. "After all, you're already doing splendidly in the north. I couldn't resist adding a little extra chaos to Divonia."

"Still doesn't answer my question," Pufferia remarked dryly.

"With so much happening, I think the Great Beast could use a vacation in a more infernal climate," Alastor suggested, and Nemesis shot him a piercing look.

"You want to bring the Great Beast into Hell? Are you mad?" Nemesis protested.

"Why would he even go?" Mahaila questioned, crossing her arms.

"The Searing Hells are on the brink of civil war," Alastor stated, though the expressions in the room indicated that everyone knew civil wars in the Searing Hells were commonplace.

"Not just any war; my liege, Asmodeus, intends to make a bid for the title of Prime Evil," Alastor revealed, capturing everyone's attention. A bid for the Prime Evil meant the onset of a Blood War, pitting all the Rings of Hell against each other. It would be absolute chaos, and Blood Wars typically spilled over into Terra.

"Demons spilling over into Terra..." Mahaila mused.

"You want to send the Great Beast to Hell under the pretext of preventing the Blood War," Mahaila observed, and Alastor flashed her a wide smile.

"Bingo," Alastor confirmed.

"But what about the seal? Hell's forces can't enter Terra en masse unless you lift the seal," Phizaros pointed out.

"I happen to have acquired the Morningstar Crown," Alastor announced, causing the room to fall silent. The Morningstar Crown was the artifact Prime Evil Magne Morningstar had used to seal the Hells, preventing most beings from entering or leaving without an invitation. The removal of this seal would lead to all-out war. Terra would become a battleground as the forces of Heaven and Hell clashed.

"And now, the most interesting part—the Morningstar Crown can offer the Great Beast the Black Heart," Phizaros stated after a moment's pause. The Black Heart was Hell's core, and if the Great Beast devoured it, he would effectively consume all of Hell itself—a feat no Firstborn had ever achieved.

"If the Blood War spills into Terra, it would keep the angels occupied. I could use that opportunity to wreak havoc among the Divonian coast," Pufferia said, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

"Or ports," Alastor added with a grin.

"Oh, don't tempt me," Pufferia replied as the clacking and cracking sounds from her exposed skull echoed with her widening grin.

"So, what's your decision?" Alastor turned to Mahaila and Phizaros.

"It sounds like you've thought it all through," Phizaros replied coolly.

"Oh, I have. So what will you do?" Alastor asked.

"For now, nothing," Phizaros answered.

"Ah, mysterious as always. I love it when you keep me guessing," Alastor said with a chuckle, glancing at Mahaila, who sighed.

"If the Great Beast is heading to the Searing Hells, I suppose I'm coming along. Demons won't betray us to the angels. They're too cowardly to risk their own lives," Mahaila commented, taking a jab at Alastor, who only bowed in acknowledgment.

"I'm honored by such high praise," Alastor replied, and Mahaila felt a familiar migraine building.

"I'd ask you, but I already know your answer," Alastor said, turning to Nemesis, who simply turned her head away, seething.

Mahaila couldn't help but give Alastor credit; his plan left Nemesis with no choice but to go along with it. If she continued her war in the north, it would only divert the angels' resources away from Alastor's plot. She couldn't abandon her war just to spite Alastor without jeopardizing everything.

So, what could she do? She could only proceed with her original plan and let this demon use it to further his own goals.

"You know, Alastor, you're not so bad. You're a cunt, but sometimes I almost like you," Pufferia remarked, smirking despite her half-rotted face.

"Come now, old friend, no need for crude insults. If the circles of Hell ever heard I was considered likable, I'd never live it down," Alastor replied sarcastically.

In response, Pufferia let out a loud barking laugh, and the room echoed with clacking and cracking sounds emanating from her rotted skull.

 

You really are a cunt…