The basement. The last time Cobalt stepped foot down there, he was faced with a scene that still haunted him. Everyone he cared about, forced to stand upon rickety chairs, iron chains wrapped tightly around their necks. When he shut his eyes and thought back, he could still feel the pistol sitting empty in his hand as a heavy, dour sensation settled in his chest. The screaming of his students, the dull, metallic click of the gun as he pressed it against the roof of his mouth...

Sometimes Cobalt wondered what would have changed if Diate had loaded it. If it weren't all just a psychological ploy. If Cobalt had died that night, would everyone have fallen to Devil's clutches? Or would they have escaped somehow, and wound up better off without him?

It didn't bear much thinking about. Thinking didn't get Cobalt anywhere these days, not when he could already feel himself drawing so close to the end of his story. Bite wounds riddled his arms - last ditch attempts to keep himself going - while his stomach still cried out for more. Starvation, satiation, sorrow, hope... Back and forth and back and forth, all the time, never once settling.

He sighed and began to descend the steps.

Brimstone Institute of Demonics' basement was just as he remembered it; a dark subterranean chamber of cold stone. Old desks, chair and tables were neatly stacked against the walls, while crates and taped cardboard boxes littered the periphery of his vision. Swallowing hard, he stepped deeper inside, running his hand along the back of one of the chairs. They were old and rickety; relics of past that were only replaced but a few years ago. The legs could have snapped at any moment, especially when a terrified demon was teetering atop of it...

"Over here, boy," called a voice from the fair end of the basement, drawing his gaze to the two demons standing by a wall half-hidden by a mountain of old furniture. Mistress Viola stood with a crowbar clutched in her hand, looking about as pleased to see him as ever. Brass Trayer sat in his wheelchair beside her, enthusiastically waving at his son.

"Mistress Viola. Dad," he remarked, approaching them.

Brass leaned forward in order to say something, but the Succubus beside him beat him to the punch.

"I'll keep this brief. I am doing this as a favour to pay back whatever debts I owe, nothing more. I won't be held liable for anything that happens down there," she explained, lifting up the crowbar.

Raising an eyebrow, Cobalt watched her approach a section of wall that differed from the others. Flat boards of plywood had been nailed to it.

"You have my word," Brass told her, placing his hand over his heart.

"Boy, you'll need to carry your father down. I'm not about to taxi him any further than I already have."

"Aw, c'mon Vio. Don't sell yourself short; you could lug my crippled ass around all day if you put your mind to it."

"Shut up."

"S- Sorry, what's happening?" Cobalt asked, resting a hand on the handle of Brass' chair.

Mistress Viola began to pry at one of the boards, but stumbled back when it popped right off. Furrowing her brow, she inspected the nails closely.

"Someone's already been at these..." she murmured to herself, tossing the board aside.

One by one the plywood was pried away, revealing what secret they had been hiding; a dark stone stairway, leading further down underground. With a sigh, she passed a flashlight to both of the Incubi and clapped the dust off her hands.

"I don't want to know what you need down there, just know that we're even now. Are we clear?" the Succubus said, glaring at Brass.

He beamed back, teeth glinting in the dim lighting.

"As crystal, ma'am."

"Mm."

With just a cursory nod to Cobalt, she marched off out of the basement, tail swishing behind her as she ascended the steps and left the two Incubi alone. Clearing his throat, Brass rotated his chair and gave Cobalt a smile.

"I'm guessin' you got questions, huh?"

"I... Yeah. For the most part," he mumbled, glancing at the dark stairway.

"Well, let's start with a lil' history. B.I.D.'s an old fuckin' buildin'. Weren't always a school neither. Extends down for miles, right into the hill. Didn't get to explore much of it back in the day, but I know enough of the layout. Was a great spot for hidin' from the Disciplinary Committee, lemme tell you."

"The what?"

"'Course, only issue with gettin' down there is the stairs. I, uh... ain't built for that no more, as you can see," Brass continued, patting his wheels.

Though confused, Cobalt slowly nodded and lifted his father into his arms. He was heavier than he thought; a good sign that he had been putting on weight after spending so long as an emaciated husk at the bottom of the Undercroft.

"Is that okay?" he asked, stepping over to the stairwell.

"Yeah. I got the light. Just take it slow, son; watch your step."

Step by step, the pair descended into the school's uncharted depts. The air seemed to instantly drop a few degrees as it grew heavy and stale. As Brass kept one of the flashlights shining on the stairs ahead, he continued explaining to his son just what he was planning.

"Me and the Rowdy Boys set up a lil' hangout down here, years ago. I'm hopin' it's still intact."

"Why? What do you plan on doing?" Cobalt asked, avoiding a crack in one of the steps.

Brass shrugged.

"You weren't lookin' too hot last I saw you, Cobalt. Thought I'd spend some time with you and help you get back on your feet to boot."

"Dad, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

He took a deep breath.

"... Yeah, I'm sure."

Brass nodded slowly.

"Well alright then. Still, be a good opportunity to show you somethin', give you a lil' edge when these fuckin' Devils finally show."

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Cobalt carefully sat his father down on the floor. Leaving him with one of the lights, he headed back up to grab the wheelchair. Halfway up, Lilith made her voice known.

"You're lying to your dad?" she asked.

"Lilith, please, not now."

"Cobalt. Surely out of everyone else, he should get it."

"He's had enough of his life taken by Incupsychosis. I'm not about to waste more of it with my problems."

"He's your father. He should..."

Her breath caught as he reached the top of the stairs. Cobalt's frown deepened.

"Lilith? Are you okay?" he asked, dragging the wheelchair through the hidden door.

"... He should care about your problems. And I'm sure he does."

Her tone of voice had shifted to become something more sombre. He thought back to memories he had been subjected to during the fight with Immoderata; mostly unintelligible flashes of intense emotion, but he pieced most of it together well enough. Lilith was hurting over the loss of her mother - the woman from whom she took her name - but he didn't recall a single mention of a father. It wouldn't be such a big detail, but her reaction just now was...

"Don't keep him waiting, Cobalt. Talk to him," Lilith urged, interrupting the Incubus' train of thought.

He nodded slowly but kept silent.

With the wheelchair secured, Cobalt returned to the bottom of the stairs and helped his father up, whereupon he set his flashlight in his lap and wheeled himself boldly into the unknown. The tunnels beneath the school were clearly several centuries old; the stonework was conducive with ruins that predated even the first interaction with humans.

"Far as I can remember, our lil' clubhouse was... this way, I think," Brass called wheeling himself down another corridor.

"How many of these tunnels are there?" Cobalt asked, covering his mouth from all the dust.

"Don't rightly know. Underschool network connects every buildin' on campus in one way or another, though."

"R- Right..." Cobalt murmured, a little perturbed to learn that all of this had been just beneath his feet all this time.

As they passed through another passage, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A pink sticky note had been stuck to the wall, marked with an arrow. Raising an eyebrow, he peered through the tunnel it pointed to, spotting another note stuck to the wall on the far end.

"What the...?"

Carefully, he crept down the passage and followed the pink notes, running his hand along the wall in order to ensure he didn't get lost. The notes were new; the only think in the cold, dark tunnels that weren't covered in a layer of dust. The trail didn't last for too long, thankfully. They stopped before a metal door marked with a plaque, declaring it to be a "Aimehcla Muirotarobal".

"An alchemy lab..." the Incubus murmured, translating the Tongues inscription as he pushed the door open.

The room beyond... Someone had been there, and recently. The chalkboard was covered in scribbled formulae and other scrawlings, piles of relatively modern chemistry equipment lay stacked upon the benches, and a diesel generator had been hooked up to a construction lamp, though it lay dormant in its master's absence. Fresh ingredients were stacked upon the shelves, and as Cobalt delved deeper into the lab, he looked up to find a large vent in the ceiling.

"Dangerous," Lilith murmured.

"What?"

"Vent hasn't been maintained. Look at all the fouling."

Cobalt shone his flashlight at the ceiling. Black and pink residue had built up within the ventilation shaft, forming around the metal grating and clogging it up in places.

"Someone's playing with fire down here. If their own chemicals don't kill them, then the carbon monoxide will."

"What are they making?" the Incubus breathed, shining his light on the ingredient shelf.

"Drugs?" the Devil ventured.

"No, couldn't be. Clodfingers, honey, Fesser's Passion... Aphrodisiacs, or..."

"Or...?"

"... or neurotoxins. The line between them can be tenuously thin."

He could practically hear Lilith frown.

"Should you tell someone?" she asked.

Cobalt sighed.

"Maybe, I don't know. Could very well be the work of a non-student as much as any member of the school. I'm pretty sure we're not supposed to be down here either, so..."

"Right. Leave them to choke on their own mistakes when the ventilation fails?"

"That's not what I-"

"Relax, I'm kidding."

With a frustrated sigh, he left the ancient alchemy workshop be and returned to his father, who was sitting outside another metal door with a confused look on his face.

"Thought I lost you for a second. Where'd you go?" he asked, cocking his head.

Cobalt shrugged.

"I got turned around."

"Ah. Yeah, that happens down here. Don't worry about it. Here; this is what I wanted to show you...!"

Pushing open the door, the pair entered to find themselves standing within a large, subterranean atrium. The walls and floors were just as ancient as the rest of the underschool, but that wasn't what drew Cobalt's eye. Furniture had been moved down here, and plenty of it; some old couches, coffee tables, gym equipment, the beginnings of a basic kitchen... At some point, someone had been living down here. Everything was covered in dust, informing Cobalt that it hadn't been touched for a while.

"Here, take this," Brass said, tossing a flip lighter to his son, "There's a bunch of lanterns about. Should still have oil if we're lucky."

Nodding shakily, Cobalt stepped over to one of the walls and grasped at a camping lantern that hung from an iron torch bracket. Lighting it, he watched as firelight illuminated the chamber, uncovering all the graffiti on the walls. As the Incubus got to work on the other lanterns, Lilith materialised beside Brass and marveled at her surroundings.

"Shit... Did you live here?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"For a lil' while. It was more of a place for me and the boys to hang out, away from Vio and her cronies. 'course, once the riotin' started, it became more of a home base, y'know?"

She stared up at a mural of two dog heads, one red and one blue. Just like the symbol on the back of Brass' jacket.

"I can think of worse positions to hunker down in."

"Why'd you bring us here, Dad?" Cobalt asked, lighting the last lamp.

The old Incubus laughed.

"You remember Calvin?" he called.

"Calvin Srenth?"

"Oh yeah. Police Chief, who would have thought? Nah, back in the day, when he ran with me, he fancied himself somethin' of a martial arts enthusiast. 'Course, with me bein' the enterprisin' man I was, I brought a bunch of techniques from the West Country over here, as well as a fair few I developed myself. He wrote 'em all down in detail in a lil' book. This book right here."

Turning around, Cobalt saw Brass clutching a faded red notebook, crammed full of notes and extra papers. Stepping closer, he took it from his hands and read the title aloud.

"Brass Buckler?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Workin' title. Or so he told me."

Flipping the book open, Cobalt was met with pages upon pages of carefully written notes and guides on the art of unarmed combat, complete with instructional diagrams and even small stories relating to the origins and reasoning for each technique details. Peering over his shoulder, Lilith squinted at the pages and pulled a face.

"You... came up with all of this?" she asked, glancing up at Brass.

"Pretty much. Didn't ask Calvin to write it down; that was all his idea. Still, if it gives you some ideas on how to throw a better punch, I'll let you have a read," Brass explained, wheeling himself over to where all of the gym equipment was.

He patted a punching bag, scattering dust everywhere.

"Down here's a good place to practice. Away from pryin' eyes, y'know?"

Cobalt nodded slowly as he flipped through each individual page. It went into excruciating - almost reverent - detail when it came to explaining Brass' combat style; how he refused to use his Leather Whip, instead favouring a pair of knuckledusters. There was a manouver for every concievable situation, from fighting someone underwater to taking on an entire group at once. If the paragraphs of background text were anything to go by, then Brass had done it all.

"Wait, what does that say? 'Jar of piss'?" Lilith asked, pointing at one particular passage.

"Oh yeah, I remember that one. Guy I was up against was fixin' to drown me in the pool. He was better swimmer than me, but pool water goes dark when you pee in it, right? So I pissed in a jar, smashed it over his head, and everythin' went so murky that he couldn't see a dang thing. Leveled the playin' field somewhat."

Cobalt stared at his father.

"Dad, that- You know that's a myth, right?"

Brass returned his stare.

"... No it ain't. Dye in the water went red. I saw it, son, I was there."

"Dad I think that was just blood. From the glass."

"... Well shit."

Shaking his head, he slapped the bag again.

"N- Never mind that. I wanna teach you a couple of things. Just to help you keep on your feet when things go to shit."

Cobalt sighed.

"Dad, I've been in fights before."

"I know you have. And I'm happy that you've done as well as you did. But you gotta learn to put folks down quick and easy; no dancin' around. Use your Incupsychosis to your advantage," his father explained.

That caught his attention.

"What do you mean...?" Cobalt asked, approaching the punching bag.

Rolling out of the way, Brass folded his arms.

"You're feelin' the hunger, right?"

He nodded shamefully.

"Feels like a burnin' in your gut. Well, that heat spreads, especially when shit hits the fan. Entire blood systems lights up like a fuckin' supernova."

Cobalt raised his arm and clenched his fist. Just beneath the skin, his veins alighted, alongside the countless teeth marks he had left in his own flesh. Alarmed, he quickly pulled his sleeve down before Brass could notice.

"You can either let it blaze wild, or you can control it. Take a second, let it seep into your bones," Brass continued, leaning back.

The Incubus sighed.

"Dad..."

"Trust me, son. Everythin' has an upside, even this."

Clenching his fist tighter, he shut his eyes. He could feel the familiar prickling beneath his skin; the potential fangs, desperate to burst free and turn his arm into a brutal weapon. But as per his father's instruction, Cobalt refrained from losing control, focuing as hard as he could as the burning, desperate hunger agitating him burrowed deeper into his body. The rising heat grew more intense as the prickling faded. Sure enough, he felt like his very bones were on fire.

"Now strike!"

Eyes wide, Cobalt lashed out with a light jab. It ripped clean through the duct-tape and leather, puncturing through the sand within and snapping the chains holding the whole thing up. Alarmed by the sheer force of impact, he pulled his fist pack, allowing the punching bag to flop listlessly to the floor.

With a laugh akin to a dog's bark, Brass slapped his son on the back.

"See that? You're a fuckin' natural!"

"I- I didn't hit it that hard..." Cobalt breathed, eyes wide.

"Just because you're an Incubus doesn't mean you gotta fight like an animal. There's a time and a place for rage, but in most fights, you're gonna wanna keep your head. Heh, even Incupsychosis can be broken to your will with enough discipline."

Lilith cleared her throat.

"Is feeding into the problem really gonna help, old-timer?" she asked, folding her arms.

He just shrugged.

"Can't rightly say. If I had it my way, Cobalt wouldn't even need to fight. But this ain't an ideal world, and if he's gonna be on the firin' line, then I want him to everythin' I know before the first punch is thrown. Ain't that right?"

He slapped Cobalt's back again. He nodded slowly, feeling the heat still persisting in his bones. Was this... a way of keeping the bloodlust under wraps? He had tried to keep it tempered before, but there was something about having his father at his back that made it much, much easier than before. Perhaps...

"Dad. Can you train me?" the incubus asked, looking over his shoulder.

Brass was already grinning.

"I hoped you'd ask me that. Heh, didn't bring you all the way down here for nothin' after all!"

He rolled over to another punching bag, just a few feet away.

"This one should hold up a lil' better. Ready to show me that again?" he asked.

Cobalt looked down at his fist. His veins weren't flashing erratically like they usually were; rather they were gently pulsing in time to his heartbeat. Not a violent, uncontrollable inferno, but rather a controlled warmth. He could still feel the drain it had on his energy, but he figured he could just power through it with enough perseverance.

To learn the techniques of a hero, just to fight off the fate of a beast for a few days longer... He would do whatever it took.

"Ready!"