The Blood-Stained Blade Ch. 138-140

Ch. 138 - An Island of Splendor

The Ebon Blade had been slightly concerned that it would have to walk across the bottom of some vast lake until it reached the island it sought. That proved not to be the case. Like everything else in this circle, the water was filthy and shallow. The worst part of it was the way it sucked the metal knight that carried it even deeper than the firmer mud of the shore had. 

At first, that was only to the knees, and then the ankles, but by the time it could see the outline more clearly, the water had reached its chest, though the mud only reached its mid-thighs. This was true even though the blade avoided the worst of the sinkholes, and it carved a trench in the silt as it went. 

A mortal creature would never have been able to come this far, it decided, noting how quickly it was bleeding Life Force. Neither the weapon nor its mechanical wielder might feel exhaustion, but its engine grew hot under the lengthy strain, and the blade noted how quickly it was losing energy with some concern.

-31 Life Force.

Still, the island was getting closer, so it was not concerned. At least, it should have been getting closer. After an hour of slogging through the shallow lake that had not reached its chest, it had expected to have reached it already, but it still remained elusive. 

Is it moving? The blade asked itself, studying the outline. Is this some sort of mirage, or a trap for the unwary?

The Ebon Blade studied the distant, fog-shrouded silhouette at length for the next hour before eventually deciding that it was real. It was also really moving, deepening the mystery. 

As it continued forward, it found several souls stuck in the mud. Those that were within reach it devoured, but the others, it left to their suffering; they simply weren’t worth the effort it would have taken to move from the shortest path. 

-19 Life Force.

+4 Damned Souls. 

Steam was coming off of the overheated knight before it realized the truth. While it was getting closer to its destination with every step, its destination was moving away with slow steps of its own, because it wasn’t an island; it was a tortoise. It was a gigantic tortoise the size of an island striding slowly away from it. 

That was interesting enough that it wasn’t even annoyed by the inconvenience. It had never imagined that such a creature might exist. That wonder faded long before the blade reached it. The turtle took a step every few minutes, but each time it did so, it moved a distance greater than a hundred of its metal knight’s strides. If not for the deepening mud, the blade would have caught up hours before.

The weapon considered using bolt to flash forward. It could move very quickly that way, but if it did so, it would reveal its location almost instantly, so for the moment, it decided against it. If the mud gets any higher, I will try it that way, it promised itself. 

It didn’t, though. It actually got shallower, falling back down to its knees, and letting the weapon and its wielder close the gap. When they got close, the blade noted that its next challenge would be leaping atop its shell. The thing’s cliff-like lip was a dozen feet above the mud. That at least didn’t prove to be a problem. 

Despite the sucking mud, it only needed to coil its strength and use Amplify Wielder, and it sprang high enough that it was able to climb on the monster’s giant armored back, where it saw the city for the first time. Above it, the sword could see balconies, towers, and other structures emerging from the shell.

-10 Life Force.

From the foul lake, the weapon couldn’t see the top of the shell through the murk, and the threads that made up the giant beast pulsed with enough Life Energy that it made them difficult to read. Once it started to scale the ancient craggy shell, though, and worked its way through the thickest layers of fog, it could see that the entire thing had been carved. Past a certain point, someone had spent a great deal of effort turning the beast into a vast moving temple. 

The weapon was unsure if it should enter it, but it still approached the first entrance to learn what it could. There, the Ebon Blade found paradise. Not a paradise it would enjoy, but certainly something that didn’t belong in hell. The bony temple was not a crude, shoddy thing, like the Iron City had been. It was filled with finery. 

While it could only see down that first hallway without entering it, it saw thickly woven carpets, silver candelabras, and several oil paintings. Looking at the essence of the objects via the magical threads that they were woven from, it could see that it wasn’t an illusion, either. Those things were really there. 

Curious, the weapon whispered to itself as it decided not to enter and scaled higher up the shell.

The weapon couldn’t say why it was unwilling to enter the structure, even after it scaled to other balconies and found other similar sights. The Ebon Blade rationalized its decision with the idea that inside it was much more prone to ambushes. Out here, it had all the room in the world to maneuver, and if it needed to, it could leap free of the giant shell and back into the foul swamp below; a soft landing was all but assured. 

While that logic was sound, the blade hadn’t actually seen any guards. It kept expecting to. If not men with weapons, then certainly flying vulture demons or flaming goat men should find it soon enough. On this near-vertical surface, it was slow and out of its element. 

So far, the blade had seen nothing but servants tending to tasks like cleaning and bedmaking. They had nothing more dangerous than a broom or a bedpan, but the fact that they seemed to be human souls more than demons gave it pause. 

They had obviously noticed its muddy, metal-wielding climbing onto a balcony, but not even that had made them run from it. It got the sense that they were more afraid of abandoning their posts than they were of being killed by a strange knight. 

Even when it stopped and asked it in a metallic voice, “What is this place?” they did not pause in their labors.

The first ghostly servant responded, “It is not for me to speak of such things, though his majesty would gladly treat with you. He is down the hall.”

The second spirit that the blade asked on another balcony gave it a similar answer, though, which didn’t make a lot of sense, because the hallway he pointed to went in an entirely different direction. When the blade asked it about the discrepancy, the human swallowed hard and said, “In the end, all roads lead to the throne room.”

While not impossible, the blade found the explanation lacking. It was just about to steal the servant’s soul and ask him more directly when he said, “No! I didn’t say anything! I—”

And then he was gone. There was nothing dramatic. He just wavered out of existence. The woman who had been sweeping the floor vanished a moment later. 

What is it they are trying to keep from me? The blade asked itself. And who is trying to keep this secret?

The Ebon Blade couldn’t say. It hoped that it wasn’t the turtle, because it had no idea how it would kill something so large. It was the size of ten dragons put together; still, if it had to, it would find a way. 

Eventually, it reached the top of the shell, and there it found the city it had first seen from far below. It was every bit as elaborate as the Ebon Blade had assumed it to be. 

Spiraling minarets dotted the back in a way that made it seem as if the giant turtle had spines, and narrow streets wove between them and all the other buildings that had been built, or perhaps grown up there. It was an impressive sight, and far more beautiful than any city it had visited before, including the capital of the inner kingdoms. 

Still, no matter where it went, the streets were empty. It could hear the sounds of life, but before it reached the spot where they should have been, whoever had been making the sounds vanished. It was very off-putting. Now that they know I’m here, they flee before me, it whispered to itself, but why?

That was what finally made it enter the largest, most ornate temple that it could find. The thing had been constructed in the shape of a golden elephant with an elaborate headdress, and it looked ridiculous, but the blade didn’t care about that. It wondered where everyone was hiding. At first, it knocked over a table of offerings, hoping to cause a swarm of scurrying servants to appear and clean up the mess, but when that did not materialize, the weapon went deeper into the shell, looking for answers. 

The hallways that traversed the shell were well-appointed, brightly lit, and spacious. They weren’t claustrophobic in the least, but even so, the blade worried, and at times, the only sense of direction it had was the muddy footprints that it left in its wake. 

Still, as it moved through the giant temple, it took it as a good sign that things were only getting grander as it went, and wall sconces were replaced with golden chandeliers. This has to be the way to the throne room, it said to itself. Perhaps there I will get my answers. 

Still, it found no one until it reached a huge door where two demon guards stood. One looked like an ugly warthog, and the other like a half-plucked bird. Neither would have presented it the slightest challenge, but rather than brandish their halberds at it, though, they nodded in unison, and each opened one of the large double doors, revealing a crowded entrance hall beyond. 

A quiet murmur went through the crowd as the blade cautiously stepped inside, where it found more ugly demons wearing mortal finery in a way that made them look absolutely ridiculous. What is going on here, it wondered. It supposed the hideous creatures could be a hidden army lying in wait, but something about that seemed unlikely.  

That wasn’t special, though. Everything about this situation felt unlikely. 

It wasn’t quite the throne room that the blade had been expecting, though it should have, it supposed in retrospect. It was pointlessly elaborate, with a triple gallery crowded with demonic spectators dressed in finery that made the room look more like a theatre, and a large pool in the center with fountains that made the place look almost like a court garden. 

At the far end of the room, there was a throne so high above everyone else that it was practically parody. No human court would have thought any of these arrangements made sense. Yet, as it walked in, toward the far end of the room, no one attacked it. 

Part of the Ebon Blade hoped that they would. At least that would have made sense. Before it could contemplate that further, though, a blare of trumpets silenced the crowd, then the woman on the throne began to speak. 

“Come in,” she declared in a voice that was a hair too deep for her appearance. “Come in, and know that you are in the presence of Prince Cerirvall, ruler of the sixth circle, owner of the infinite panorama, the wandering city, and Lord of Lords himself.”

Oh, not a woman, the blade corrected itself as it realized it was looking at a very pretty man, and not the woman it had assumed the flaxen-haired beauty to be. 

He certainly was effeminate, though, and even as the blade walked past the large reflecting pool and toward the throne, it still hadn’t entirely decided if it was a man or a woman it faced, but I supposed that didn’t matter. 

If they were reasonable, they would live; if they were not, they would die. It didn’t have to kill all of the lords of hell after all, it only had to kill the last one, and it had no wish to dirty itself fighting such an obviously inferior opponent; however, if given the opportunity, it would gladly feast on the hundreds of lesser souls in attendance. The people who dwelled in this city had fled before it up until now, but now that they were in one place, it could feast, should it desire to. 

Ch. 139 - An Accord

As the blade’s clockwork wielder approached the absurd dias, the monstrous guards flanking the stairs regarded it, but even when it reached the base of the stairs, they did nothing. For a moment, the blade regarded this strange prince, and he in turn regarded the blade. Despite the crowds, the vast room was so quiet that the only sound was the splashes of the burbling fountain in the pool behind it. 

That silence was broken when the chamberlain, or guard captain, or whatever he was, bellowed, “Kneel before Prince—”

He didn’t get to finish admonishing the Ebon Blade. No sooner did he speak than the dark edge of the blade flashed out too fast to see before returning to a more neutral position in the hands of its wielder. 

+44 Life Force.
+1 Demon Soul.

To anyone watching, it would have looked like the demon’s head simply fell from its shoulders mid-sentence. This was followed by a brief fountain of black blood that sprang momentarily from the well-dressed warrior's neck. Then his body collapsed on the white marble of the stairs.

A gasp of shock rippled through the crowd, but the blade wasn’t paying attention to that. It was focused not just on the tightening grip of the other dozen guards in front of it but also on the blow it had just struck. Something about the angle felt off, but it didn’t seem likely to have the chance to understand why before the violence started. 

It didn’t, though, much to its surprise. Rather than allow its minion to be cut down, the Demon Prince said a single word. “Wait.”

That was enough to make the world freeze solid again in a silence that was now tenser than ever. As everyone reconsidered their next actions, the prince said, “Surely that is no way to treat an honored guest, not one who has come so far. Our mystery knight hails from the ninth ring and has slain every Prince and Princess between here and there already, isn’t that right?”

“It is,” the blade answered in the knight’s grating metallic voice. “I seek the first circle, and the way back to creation.”

“That would be quite the journey,” the prince answered in a tone that the blade found difficult to understand. Was it sarcasm? Was it being mocked? “Still, if anyone can, I suppose a man like you would be the one to do it. Might we at least have your name before you depart?”

The blade hesitated before answering, “My name is not important, only my mission.”

“Still, it would be unspeakably rude not to provide it,” Prince Cerirvall mused. “I can offer no aid to a guest who hides his identity from his host.”

I am not your guest; you are my foe, the blade snarled mentally, but it didn’t say it. While it was in no great need for Life Force right now, information would be more than helpful, and while it could pull those answers from the souls of the dead, it didn’t necessarily know what questions to ask. 

So, instead of fighting this new demon, it did something it hadn’t done in a long time, and sheathed itself and said, “You may call me Ebon, the Warbringer.” 

It was not its proper name, but it was not a lie, either, and the weapon saw no need to be entirely honest with this man or his court. Still, even as it let that much slip, it felt a collective sigh of relief through the vast chamber. 

“Excellent,” the Demon Prince said, clapping his hands together joyfully. “We shall have a feast in your honor then. You and I have a great many things to talk about.”

“I need no feast,” the blade said metallically. “I require only information, and then I can be on my way. Where is the path forward? Where is the—”

“All in good time,” Prince Cerirvall answered dismissively, distracting the blade. 

It could feel that the way forward was close. It might even be in this room, but with so many people pressed closely together, it was hard to figure out exactly where it was. Its annoyance grew, and it considered cutting down a couple more guards to make its point, but as the prince instructed his servants on where it should be taken to freshen up, and it was crowded around by young pages and other serving women, it stayed its hand. 

That was not due to a feeling of mercy; it just didn’t feel threatened. Wasting an hour or two would be worth far more than the souls it could harvest now if it meant getting information about the foes it would face going forward. 

So, rather than strike them down, it let itself be led away toward a bathhouse of all places. It had expected to be brought to a suite, but instead it was brought to a steaming tiled room with pools of pristine water, where its filthy armor was scrubbed within an inch of its life by scantily clad human souls that did not seem to be enjoying their task. That was doubly true once the water began to blacken from all the blood, soot, and ichor embedded in the armor. 

During that time, the blade tried to ask the women questions about their circumstances. Mostly, it wanted to know about the turtle and why the demons seemed to be the masters, and the humans were relegated to the role of servants. In both cases, though, they demurred and insisted it was not their place to say such things. 

This was not an acceptable answer to the blade, and after several attempts to do so politely, it reached out and claimed the soul of one of the women who’d moved to carry a load of dirty towels out of the room in a bid to escape its questions. 

+1 Lesser Damned Soul. 

Tell me about you, and about this place! Tell me everything, it commanded her fragile soul. She put up no resistance and came apart immediately, with a feeling of gratitude more than fear. The weapon was confused by that until it realized she’d preferred oblivion to being trapped in hell. 

After that burst of gratitude, though, came the answers, and none of them were what the blade expected. The soul knew little of hell, but it knew a great deal about this place. The sixth circle of hell was for the proud and the vainglorious. It was where the nobles who mistreated their servants went when they died, and it seemed to be a fitting punishment. 

The woman it questioned was named Emalthia, and she was the daughter of a wealthy lord in an era centuries before the rise of the inner kingdoms. Those details passed by in a flash. What took longer was the drudgery of her life here. 

She’d spent her entire existence wanting for nothing, but ever since she’d died, she slaved away for filthy demons playing at being royalty. It made her absolutely miserable, but judging by the surge of complex emotions, she was glad to do it. Those who failed to live up to their tasks ended up in worse places than the laundry, including the dinner table for a crowd of bloodthirsty demons to feast upon. 

The scenes that the blade saw as her life flickered before its eyes were unconscionable, but it was hardly moved by them. The worst part in its mind was all of the cowardice. The servants were too fearful to rise up, and the punishments were too passive-aggressively inflicted. In this strange place, nothing was direct, but even though everything was supposed to be upside down, this felt too inverted. 

As it considered all that it had learned, the other servants around it didn’t seem to know what the weapon had done, but a few seconds later, a page came in through the door, pale and trembling. “MMmmmy L-lord, Ebon… If-if it pleases you, Prince Cerirvall has asked me to… That you not eat the servants, m-my lord. He says that you must not spoil your appetite since there will be a great many delicacies at the feast, and you must wait only a little longer.”

The blade looked silently at the boy, then nodded, and refrained from consuming any of the other staff. So the prince can see what I’m doing, even from here? It whispered to itself. Can it see what I do with the souls? Does it know I questioned this one?

Suddenly, the way the servants had disappeared before made sense. The Demon Prince had guessed what it might do and withdrew its people to prevent it. 

So then he’s smart, or at least wary, the blade thought. At least more than the last few. 

The Ebon Blade found it interesting that the rulers of the circles were almost as different as the circles themselves, but there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to it. That, more than anything, was what it wanted to learn tonight. 

What lies ahead? Who must I fight?

Those were the questions it considered as it stepped out of the large tub; its metal body shone in a way that the blade hadn’t even suspected it was capable of. By contrast, the water it left behind was almost as black as the swamp it had left so recently. 

As it dried off, the servants attempted to polish its armor. It allowed them to a point, but when one of them got too close to the sword, it pushed them away and said, “Enough of this. All of this preening is at an end. Take me to your lord.”

This seemed to go against their orders, and for a moment, the group of them hesitated. One insisted that it still had to be perfumed, and another insisted that they had a fine selection of cloaks for it to choose from, but eventually their fear for the blade and its knight won out, and they shrank away, letting it exit the room. 

That was only a small blessing, though, because it quickly got lost. The turtle was not a temple, or even a city. It was a mountain-sized castle, and it seemed as if every inch of its shell was filled with halls that led to doors that contained any number of people and places. 

While the blade looked for the way back to the grand hall, it examined the threads, trying to divine the purpose and connections of each place, but those efforts constantly led it astray. Still, it found servants' quarters, storage rooms, bedrooms, and even ballrooms. 

This time, though, the people did not vanish before it. This time, everywhere the weapon went, it found demons going about their strange mockery of life, and the souls of the damned were much abused as they treated them like royalty in the process. 

It might have wandered for hours had a messenger not come to find the Ebon Blade and lead it to the dining room. From there, things moved relatively quickly. Really, they were suspiciously quick. How can I spend an hour lost, but be only two minutes away from the room when they call for me? Something was clearly wrong here. It did not know what it was, but as it walked into the grand feasting hall, it knew that there was an issue, and it needed to figure it out. 

Ch. 140 - An Accord (part 2)

At first, the blade thought that it had returned to the throne room, because the room was so similar. Besides the huge tables and the fact that the lavishly dressed demons were sitting at them instead of crowding into the galleries at the back of the room, only the lack of the throne and the fountain differentiated the place it stood now from the place it had stood earlier. 

The blade was announced with much fanfare as it entered, though few noticed. While the demons might have dressed as lords and ladies, they ate like animals, and as long as there was food in front of them, they didn’t notice anything else.

The blade walked by the fearful servants and bloody feast as it made its way to the high table, and no one, not even the crimson-skinned guards who stood there, attempted to oppose it. It was fairly certain that shiny as it was, few people even noticed it; the place was a madhouse. In the throne room, the demons had stood silently behind a civilized veneer, but here that mask had come off so that they could shove more food into their hungry mouths. 

Prince Cerirvall noticed it, though. However much he might pretend to focus on the conversation he was currently engaged in with the hawk-beaked demon to his left, his lazy, lackadaisical eyes tracked the Ebon Blade throughout the room, and when it reached the table, the man gave a mocking bow and insisted that the weapon’s wielder sit at his right hand. 

“No, please,” he insisted, taking one of the knight’s hands in both of his as the blade’s metal wielder came around the table. “You must sit here, you are the guest of honor!”

The blade didn’t argue with that. That put its hilt as far from his reach as possible, which would minimize the chances of the most dangerous sorts of subterfuge they could get up to. Let them go after my body if they like, the blade repeated to itself as it sat down. They know nothing of my strengths and weaknesses. 

The Demon Prince tried to get the blade to eat and drink, but of course, it needed nothing that was on offer and declined. Even after it explained that it needed no sustenance and was powered by arcane devices, the man still seemed disappointed. Nonetheless, he soon changed the topic to the deaths of his peers. 

“I would not have believed it if I could not sense their souls in you,” he said, “To think that you have killed not one, but several demon princes. I must hear every detail of those glorious deaths!”

The blade demurred and tried to return to the topic of what lay ahead, but the prince insisted that he hear at least something of Princess Rizzeldah before he spoke of the later circles, so the blade told him the short version of the story. 

At least it meant to tell the short version, but as it started telling, it became ever more involved and detailed. The blade didn’t think it was some magic power that was being used against it, or anything. It was the thrill of battle that got to it. Not since its time with the orcs had it listened to the tales of battle being told around campfires for audiences, and somehow, a spark of that was captured by explaining to the prince exactly how he’d done in the Hag. 

It went back and forth about it, telling itself that the prince’s enthusiasm was feigned, but that would have been difficult. He obviously took real pleasure in the sixth princess's defeat, and in the end, the most the blade could do was hide the nature of some of its powers, like lightning and poison. 

Afterwards, the Ebon Blade was tempted to start telling him of the battle of Iron City, but it resisted and said, “Now tell me of the way ahead.”

“Of course,” Prince Cerirvall answered as the eleventh course was brought to the table. “Ahead of you, the way is not so complicated. The gateway to the ocean of Dispair is right there, in my throne room, but you might find that place difficult because of your weight. However, when you reach the island of Pathos, you’ll be fine. I expect you’ll be grateful for your metal form then.”

“Pathos?” the blade asked. It had heard the name before, but it knew nothing of it.

“Well, that island is bigger than it looks, you see. It's only the shores of the center of hell. You still loiter here, at the edges of the place, but beyond its jungles you’ll find three more rings as you go toward the heart of the volcano where the prime evil waits for you.”

“Why would a lack of flesh help you in a jungle?” the blade asked, doing its best to stay calm and polite despite the fact that its host was obviously teasing it with half answers. What it needed to know was what lay ahead, who it would face, and how it would defeat them, but instead, what it got was tantalizing generalities. 

Still, it forced the issue. It would not be talked down to, not when the deaths of everyone at that table and even in the room were in easy reach; the demon prince seemed to have charm as his only weapon, and that would not work on the weapon forever. 

It took some effort, forcing the blade to return to the topic time and time again as his host strayed, given the slightest chance, but eventually it got many of the answers that it sought. The jungles, it turned out, were alive with insects and disease, neither of which should affect it. 

“No man can swim across the endless sea of despair, but even if they could, all they would do is suffer endlessly in those jungles before becoming part of the Bug Queen’s banquet,” he said, gesturing to the food as if anything he’d said about maggots or open sores was appetizing in the least. 

Still, the blade did not eat and ignored its host's attempts at vile humor, pressing instead for details about his next foe. “She fights with poison and camouflage, but you will not be able to find her, so don’t even try. Her lands are too vast and shadowy. Let her find you instead, and hope you survive the experience."

The blade’s metal wielder nodded at that, but it said nothing. There was no need to reveal the limits of its perception to this man. Instead, it pressed on, asking questions of the other lands that lay ahead after that, though on some questions the prince pleaded ignorance. It would seem that not even his knowledge was infinite, though the blade thought that it was holding some things back. 

Past the jungle, though, lay a city, and in that city, the Last City, which was ruled over by the Penitent. He shepherded all the souls that made it that far until their time had come to climb the mountain. The mountain itself was so tall that it was three separate circles of hell. It was three separate circles of hell, which were ruled over by the Beast King, the Vulture Queen, and, of course, the Prime Evil, at the heart of her volcano of boiling blood. 

When the blade tried to inquire about any of them, the prince played coy and instead offered a trade. “I can feel the souls of my fellow princes on you, but you’ve done nothing with them,” he said during the third dessert course. “Give me one, preferably the wretched Hag’s, and I will answer any question you’d ever want to know.”

Or I could kill you and demand the answer from your soul, the blade thought before quickly suppressing the urge. Rather than lash out, it asked, “If I gave you her soul, what would you do with it?”

The demon prince shrugged. “Oh, I don’t want any of her foul powers, if that’s what you’re thinking. I want to fashion her into a murky gem and wear her on my crown forevermore so she can see what real luxury is like.”

The blade nodded. Powers? For now, it didn’t ask the question. Instead, it promised to think on it and tried to return to the topic at hand, but Prince Cerirvall rebuffed it. 

“Enough talking!” the prince insisted, standing suddenly as his final plate cleared and his most recent goblet emptied. “First, the ball, and then we can talk more if you like.”

“I do not dance any more than I eat,” the blade answered with a tone of annoyance. “You need not hold a ball in my honor.”

“We hold a ball every night, regardless of the reason!” the prince said with gusto as the room began to clear and people moved downstairs. The blade followed and found that they’d returned to the throne room, presenting it with the option of just leaving through the pool toward the next circle, and being done with this farce. 

It considered doing that, strongly, but instead it stood there, watching the demons clumsily emulate the complicated rounds and circle dancing of human courts. It was no expert in such things, and it ignored the whirls and the curtsies in favor of studying the monstrous features of the well-dressed demons, and deciding the best way to kill them should the need arise. 

Eventually, when its host stopped for a break, the blade pressed him again for more answers. “Well, not now, of course. Perhaps after… Oh, but that would cut into the orgy… Then—” the prince explained excitedly.

The blade’s wielder shook its head, but before it could answer, the prince interrupted himself to say, “I know, you do not require such things either, but we can’t possibly discuss our alliance until it has concluded. Perhaps tomorrow, after breakfast, but before mid-morning croquette, we might find the time to discuss the Leviathan, or was it the Behemoth? It’s hard to say who rules over the Oceans of Despair at any given point. It turns out there really is always a bigger fish.”

“I would rather get to killing again,” the blade confessed, tired of these games. “I think that I should take my leave.” 

“Then join me,” the prince said, more forcefully than before as he made a sweeping gesture toward the pool. “Join me. With my knowledge and your strength, we could conquer all of hell together.”

“We need have no quarrel,” the weapon said, “But we need have no alliance either. I have had enough of your hospitality, but must now be on my way.”

As it turned to leave, the prince pursed his lips and shook his head. The weapon’s wielder had already turned to the pool that was the portal to the next circle, but it could still see the man, and even before he spoke, the blade began to tense. “No, I’m afraid that’s not going to work for me,” he said.

“Without fealty, I cannot allow you to pass any further, you see,” the effeminate man continued. “The farther you advance, the stronger you become, and if you were to slay the prime evil, well… even I would have trouble beating you, wouldn’t I. So I need your loyalty before you’ll be allowed to proceed.”

The blade bristled at the statement as it turned back to face the demon. It knelt to no one. Even its relationship with its wielders was not one of submission. At most, it was cooperation. It was not made to serve, and as it considered that the anger rebounded through it, growing in power. 

It stood there still for several seconds, then lashed out with a lightning-quick strike intended to split the prince in two, from head to crotch, even before the wave of green hellfire it had summoned into existence appeared to char the pieces. 

-20 Life Force. 

The blow was fueled by rage, but even though it should have struck clean through, it felt the miss immediately, and when the flames cleared, it confirmed that the prince was still there, not even scorched. He hadn’t parried or dodged. He’d simply stood there, while the blade failed to strike its target, which was unthinkable. 

The prince smiled calmly then, like he hadn’t just faced down death and said, “You’ll find that here I am the master, not you. That leaves you only two choices: serve, or stay.”