-oOo-

  Chapter 28

  -oOo-

  B-dring.

  A little bell rang as Sylvia pushed her way into a small shop called Delver’s Tools and Magical Curios. This corner store was run by Ophelia, a member of Belkis’ coven. Her coven, not her circle. Belkis’ circle consisted entirely of magissa. Ophelia was a siren from the Xemyalistra genera.

  The shop displayed a variety of tools. A compass, that after entering a cave, would always point to the path back. Hovering, mobile ether lights that could be sent forward to illuminate the path. Next was equipment for skinning and extracting bones from phantasms. There were even tools to assist a hunter or adventurer should they come upon a useful vein during their exploration.

  Sylvia’s gaze paused briefly on the golem cores. A trio with a blue-yellow gleam held a phantasm suitable for moving carts and equipment. A single core colored red-black was designed for combat instead.

  Those might be useful.

  A hand swatted her on the back of the head. Belkis stood behind her, magma eyes glaring.

  “Don’t you dare waste any more of Master’s money,” the elemental witch hissed.

  “I was just looking,” Sylvia grumbled.

  They were only cores anyway. Not even soul stones. Which did make them cheaper, albeit disposable.

  The elemental witch glowered. Belkis was getting more and more suspicious with each soli Sylvia spent. It had gotten so bad that yesterday, Sylvia had actually been forced to hand the dark-skinned woman a copy of her Esmeralda approved shopping list. Censored, of course. Which really hadn’t done much to reduce Belkis’s skepticism.

  To be entirely fair, not all of Sylvia’s purchases had been endorsed by Lady Vallenfelt. The thousand droms of spare space stone and void rock, yes. Her brand-new manuals for spiral thrust and tail whip, not so much.

  They were cheap! Only five thousand for the pair.

  The manuals for ether breath and hawk eyes might’ve been a wee bit more expensive, though.

  Sylvia justified her actions on the argument that these were important skills for a battlemage to know. Belkis had said so herself. Though, the elemental witch probably would’ve kept her mouth shut if she’d realized why Sylvia had been asking.

  “Are the two of you here for a pickup?”

  A beautiful voice drew Sylvia from her thoughts. Ophelia wore a dress woven from raven feathers. A pair of brown wings spread from the witch’s back. The siren’s voluptuous figure was quite modest compared to most xemyalistra, but she still showed a tempting figure and ample cleavage. Sylvia’s glance revealed that Ophelia’s assets were a full cup larger than Sylvia’s own.

  …

  Sylvia did her best to banish the image of her own lumps of fat from her head. Her two, very nice looking, lumps of fat. Ones that were fun to play with.

  ...

  The witch wrenched her mind out of the gutter. Recently, she’d been taking advantage of her private room to, uh, get better acquainted with her body. The experience was taking her thoughts in strange directions.

  “That’s right,” Sylvia said. “Pick up for Sylvia Swallows.”

  “I couldn’t forget a cutie like you if I tried,” Ophelia teased. Her alluring words were like a decadent whisper. “One realm ring array and a slip ring.”

  The brown-winged siren placed both items on the counter.

  The two accessories were very different kinds of objects. The first looked like a bracelet made of three concentric bands. The metal was black, glinting with brilliant gold sparks. Sylvia picked it up. The inner bands spun, metal rings sweeping a full globe in three dimensions.

  The shimmering flecks were aetheric gold, an alchemical metal which could only be synthesized. Like soul-space silver, this material was naturally compatible with the soul. However, compared to soul-space silver, aetheric gold could bind far more magic per drom. If her space bag was constructed from this substance, it’d weigh a mere quarter drom instead of three.

  It was also very expensive. There was even a coin, called the glint, made from the substance. The glint had a value 550 to 600 times that of a soli for the same unit of mass. These coins were rarely used in ordinary transactions, however. Instead, glints were favored by banks when settling accounts.

  With her realm ring array in hand, Sylvia did the obvious.

  Observe Item.

  Ding!

  Reading the description carefully, Sylvia felt a bit of excitement. Not only would this increase her inventory space, it’d let her escape the limits of her space bag. The bag was only so big. Just as importantly, it was annoying to shuffle through when looking for things.

  Turning the rings in hand, Sylvia found a scrawl on the inside of the outermost layer.

  “Sparkling Starpack?”

  “A pretty name for a pretty witch,” Ophelia supplied.

  “It’s tradition to name custom works,” Belkis explained.

  “Only those a craftswoman is proud of.”

  Checking Sparkling Starpack’s description twice to ensure there were no traps, Sylvia slipped it into her soul. She felt the rings whirl. The ephemeral reality of her soul solidified. In a few minutes, the array would stabilize, increasing her inventory space from approximately 100 droms to around 121.

  Minus the realm ring array’s own weight, of course.

  Sylvia picked up the next object.

  This one was an actual ring, the kind that went on a finger. The slip ring was forged from intertwined platinum bands. Ophelia had tried to sell her on a stone, but Sylvia had insisted that she wanted to keep it simple.

  Mostly because Sylvia felt her style was already way too girly.

  Observe Item.

  Ding!

  Sylvia slid the ring onto her finger, shifting the primary essence body into her soul. Along with Sparkling Starpack and her Blood Bone Heels, Sylvia now had three magic items that were never coming off.

  At least, they weren’t coming off until she got better ones.

  “Let me know if you have any issues,” Ophelia said. “We do after sales service.”

  “I will,” Sylvia said politely.

  She wouldn’t. Because, come tomorrow, she wouldn’t be on this plane.

  B-dring.

  The two of them left the shop.

  The skies of Tartarus were cast in an orange haze as the sun settled on the horizon. Sylvia took a moment to admire the beauty of the city’s silhouette. The towering spires and castles were like shadows against the sun. A city that felt both modern and ancient.

  The Timeless Beryl Wilderness was so small.

  The place she would soon go would be smaller.

  “It’s finally over,” Belkis breathed.

  Sylvia closed her eyes, drinking the sounds of civilization. The hustle of the streets. The whip of wings overhead. The rumble of carriage wheels upon stone.

  “No,” she corrected. A heavy weight sat in her gut. “There’s one last place to visit.”

  “What!” Belkis screeched.

  Sylvia’s lips quirked. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to spend anymore of Teacher’s money.”

  “Master,” Belkis said coolly.

  The silver-haired witch looked at her in confusion.

  “It’s Master,” Belkis repeated. “Show her proper respect.”

  Ah. Sylvia had been too careless. The asteri had been cautious around strangers, but not around the elemental witch. With all of Belkis’ worries, Sylvia’s word choice must’ve set her on edge.

  “Where I come from, that’s a loaded word,” Sylvia explained.

  Belkis’s gaze was sharp. “I don’t care. It’s Master.”

  Sylvia winced. “Fine. I promise I won’t waste Master’s money.”

  She wondered what Belkis would think when she saw Esmeralda’s clone, Emily, clinging to her like a koala. Sylvia could imagine the little imp sticking out her tongue and declaring my adorable Sylvia can call me whatever she wants!

  Besides, there was only sixty thousand soli left in the account anyway.

  “You better not,” Belkis warned. “I wrote her a letter. If there’s anything out of place, we’re going to have words.”

  And they were already off to a good start. Holding her thoughts inside, Sylvia mounted her broom.

  “Come on.”

  Belkis took to the air after. As they rose above the city’s skyline, Sylvia spotted dark clouds boiling to the north, dense with a crimson hue. She wondered if it would rain again tonight, just as it had on the day she arrived.

  Had it really been a little more than a week?

  Sylvia felt exhausted.

  And the hardest work was yet to come.

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise,” Sylvia replied.

  The two witches crossed over multiple city blocks. Soon they came upon the cliff’s edge of Tartarus, the starry void visible far below. Sylvia drifted lower, landing on a craggy rock. Scraggy weeds rose up from the patches of dirt. A leafless bush grew off to the side, bearing two lonely flowers. Drops of color denying the gray world.

  Sylvia approached the edge, gazing out into the astral realm. Distant ships plied the darkness. As they sailed further from the shores they sank deeper and deeper into the sea of stars. Yet, she could see the glint of their ether laden fins against the vast dark.

  “Lonely isn’t it,” Sylvia said, perhaps as much to herself as to her companion.

  “Tomorrow you’ll be sailing away into the void,” Belkis agreed, slipping her broom into her soul. “Going wherever it is Master desires.”

  The elemental witch sounded wistful. And maybe it was Sylvia’s imagination, but she thought she heard a touch of strain. Did it hurt Belkis that she was kept out? Or, maybe, she wondered whether Lady Vallenfelt would care about her plight.

  It had been five decades since the two last met. For demons, that was nothing. But Belkis and Esmeralda were children in Hell’s eyes. For them, a few decades was still a long time.

  “Tonight,” Sylvia corrected. The silver-haired witch turned, her pastel pink eyes showing a fractal universe. Within her pupils was a faded galaxy a billion years past. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Belkis stood across from her, dark skin and curly, golden-brown hair. A yellow sundress hung off her shoulders paired with kitten heeled sandals. A tiny, decorative hat sat on her head, fashionably off center. Belkis’s advertisement to the world that she was a witch.

  If Sylvia had been on Earth, she might’ve mistaken the prisma for a woman in the park.

  But Sylvia knew well Belkis was far more powerful than she appeared.

  Then again, so was Sylvia.

  “What are you talking about?” The way Belkis’s lips pressed made clear her ignorance was feigned.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t be able to tell when you’re casting psychic magic on yourself?”

  Sylvia’s eyes were sharp. The stubborn prisma lowered her head in shame.

  “Little sis, that’s – ”

  “Rauno contacted me,” Sylvia cut in. She didn’t want to hear sad excuses.

  Belkis’s eyes turned molten. “That fucking fox!” she spat.

  Ethers of fire and earth boiled. A deep, abyssal heat rose around the dark-skinned witch. Sylvia quivered, her nerves singing. Her hand twitched, desperately wanting to seize her staff.

  But it wasn’t there. She had left it behind. Bearing weapons would only increase the sense of threat, and Sylvia didn’t know the exact threshold on which the Duat Dream Drop would trigger. The goal was to end this encounter with words instead of violence.

  Besides, if a fight broke out, it would end one way or the other in an instant. Staves existed more to extend endurance than to amplify power. Having one on hand would help little here.

  “Are you able to control yourself?” To Sylvia’s surprise, her voice came out silky smooth.

  “Sylvia, you can’t believe a single word that traitorous shit says,” Belkis said forcefully.

  “I did my own investigation,” Sylvia returned firmly. “Belkis…. Sister, why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because it’s none of your business!”

  Sylvia could see the witch’s teeth grinding. The air wavered, distorted by magical heat. It felt as though Belkis was a volcano ready to explode.

  “Your emotions are being distorted – ”

  “You think I don’t know that!?” Belkis shouted.

  “But are you aware that your perception and memories have also been altered?” Sylvia continued, as though she hadn’t been interrupted.

  “Sylvia, as long as you stop right now, I can forget everything you’ve said.”

  Sylvia shook her head. “You’re not the only one who can send a letter, Belkis. Master already knows.”

  Belkis jerked. She took a step back. “You told Master?”

  “Of course I did,” Sylvia replied, taking a step forward. “Did you really think I was going to leave you here, suffering like this?”

  The elemental witch wobbled. “Master knows…,” she whimpered.

  “If she was here, she would help,” Sylvia said, trying to be gentle. “But it’s just me.”

  Belkis hiccuped. The woman was on the verge of tears. “Why? If you know what happened, then you know it’s already too late. Why did you have to tell her?”

  So she had seen a soul healer. No wonder then, that Belkis wanted to keep everything to herself.

  “It isn’t too late,” Sylvia asserted.

  “You don’t know what it’s like. I hate him so much. I hate him, but I can’t stop thinking about him. I can’t stop dreaming about him. It’s like I’m a marionette dangling on strings. A puppet onto which he can impose any feeling he desires. Even the thought of going against him makes me so sick I want to vomit.”

  Belkis curled up in a ball. Sylvia had never seen her senior sister so vulnerable.

  “There’s nothing I can do. I can’t live without him. I have to keep using psychic spells every few hours just to stay myself,” she wept. “… if only Master was here.”

  “Master knows….”

  “Belkis,” Sylvia said softly. “I need to know if you can control yourself.”

  “Little sis. You should just leave. Forget about me,” the elemental witch tried to smile through the tears.

  “You know I’m not going to leave you.” Sylvia took a bold step forward, closing the distance.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “I said LEAVE!”

  Belkis’s shriek was punctuated with a burst of fire. Foomph. Sylvia jerked to the side. A blazing ball whipped by, sailing past her right shoulder. School robes melted, black cloth and delicate pink lace spinning into existence as they vanished.

  The asteri let out a tense breath.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Belkis begged. “I can’t help it. You have to leave, little sis. I’ll hurt you. I can’t…. I can’t go against him.”

  “You can,” Sylvia asserted. Evening her breath, she took another step forward.

  “I CAN’T!”

  Ether whipped, but no new magic formed. Belkis held her head, rocking in place. Sylvia’s eyes narrowed.

  “Belkis von Vallenfelt, are you defying Master’s orders?”

  The elemental witch froze. She was finally listening.

  “Esmeralda Vallenfelt ordered me to kill you and examine your soul,” Sylvia continued. “Are you going to resist?”

  “I –”

  Sylvia took another step forward. Belkis jerked back, but she was already on the ground, so there was nowhere to retreat. Ether swirled around her so thick it transformed into rolling fire. Sylvia gently, then firmly pushed back with her own will. The blazing streams split around her, the smoldering flames like a sauna as she drew closer.

  Sylvia squatted. If she reached out, she could touch her sister apprentice.

  This wasn’t blind faith. If Belkis had fully lost control, her meteor blast would’ve detonated in Sylvia’s face or maybe just behind her back.

  “There’s a spell I have to cast,” Sylvia explained slowly. “I need you to accept it without resisting.”

  The silver-haired witch extended a hand. Not so much because it was necessary, but so she could test Belkis’s reaction.

  “Wait!” The elemental witch’s shout brought a pause. “I – ” Belkis grit her teeth. “Give me a second.”

  Belkis chanted. Sylvia remained in place, waiting with a calm that belied the inner storm of her emotions. Pastel pink eyes caught the bands of psychic energy spun from Belkis’s mana. A spell took hold, the runic chain looping upon itself before sinking into the skull of the dark-skinned witch.

  “Little sis, please don’t betray me,” she whispered. “I don’t think I can take it.”

  “I won’t.”

  Sylvia set a hand on Belkis’s shoulder. She murmured her incantation at a slow, steady pace weaving the elements of soul and psychic. The bands remained independent, without being catalyzed into dream.

  “■■■ ■■■■■ ■■ ■■ – ”

  “That’s?” Belkis blurted, realizing the spell’s constituents. The woman bit her lip.

  Sylvia continued her chant unhurried and unbroken. “ – ■■■ ■■■■■ ■.”

  Eighty-seven runes were tied into a complex knot. Then they were pressed into Belkis’s flesh, using the body as a vector to reach the soul. Belkis blinked. The elemental witch gazed down at herself confused.

  “What did you do?”

  “Can you feel it?” Sylvia asked. “If you can feel it, I need you to push it out.”

  “I thought….”

  “Push it out, sister,” Sylvia reminded sternly. “Quickly.”

  The soul, by its nature, was neither here nor there. The body was as much a container of the soul as it was an antenna receiving it. When Sylvia opened her space bag, the mouth would appear somewhere near her like a portal to another dimension.

  In a sense, this was exactly what it was.

  When the droplet was driven from Belkis’s being, it appeared similarly. A condensing mist of water that swirled into a single, crystal clear jewel.

  Plop.

  It hit the ground between them, having a character between liquid and solid. The orange light of the setting sun passed through its body casting a small rainbow.

  Beautiful.

  It was beautiful.

  The drop was like gazing into a dream materialized in the real world. Sylvia could hear it whispering to her, a luring song of slumber. A sweet utopia. All she had to do was reach out and grasp it.

  Unbidden, her hand did exactly that, her fractal eyes reflecting a prismatic world.

  Then Belkis slapped her tiny, decorative witch hat on top of it.

  Sylvia froze.

  Deep primal horror spread from her soul. Her arm jerked back as though Sylvia had thrust it into fire.

  “What is that?”

  Belkis looked up at her, gripped a daze of confusion. The witch’s molten eyes still shimmered with the remnant of tears. But now, they were hard, hot, and stormy.

  “A Duat Dream Drop,” Sylvia answered. The silver-haired witch shuddered, then stood. “I wouldn’t have known about it if Lord Potami hadn’t provided the clue.”

  “A tool.” Belkis’s tone was a mix of disbelief, disgust, and fury. The witch’s shoulders shook. New tears started to spill, only to evaporate in a haze of heated ether. “All that and it was just a fucking tool.”

  Belkis lifted a hand then pounded it into the dirt.

  The relief of freedom was mixed with the shame of error. If Belkis had known the cause she could’ve saved herself. But, with the dream drop inside of her, was she even capable of recognizing the cause? And if she did, would she be able to remember it?

  “It’s not just a tool,” Sylvia said tightly.

  She didn’t ask what her sister apprentice had gone through. It wasn’t her place to do so. Sylvia had known Belkis for a mere week and a half. A wound this deep shouldn’t be shared with a stranger.

  Also, Sylvia damn well knew she was no psychologist.

  “Fucking damn it,” Belkis growled angrily. “When I find out who gave me that thing, I’m going to kill them. I don’t care if the Will rains lightning down on my head, I’m going kill them and tear their soul apart.”

  The elemental witch gathered herself and stood. The whirling ether stilled, but her golden-brown hair smoldered incandescent red with her internal rage.

  Molten eyes fell upon Sylvia.

  “You idiot! Do you know what would’ve happened if I killed you?”

  Sylvia let out her breath, then gestured to the far hill. “I took precautions.”

  Half a kilometer away, metal glinted with the light of the dying sun. A lightning cannon, nine-tenths of its figure still hidden within the body of a carriage. Beside it were a pair of faint silhouettes. A goblin and a werewolf, though Sylvia’s eyes weren’t nearly good enough to judge at this range.

  Belkis turned a little pale knowing a siege weapon was pointed in her direction. But then her visage turned sharp. “Even with that, what good would it do if we were both dead?”

  Sylvia sighed. “I figured I could stand up to a few blows. If not, I had already moved my anchor. Also, both of my gargoyles are still in your house.”

  This was the fallback plan. Sylvia wasn’t absolutely certain she could capture Belkis’s soul should her sister apprentice die. So, if Belkis were to resurrect, Sylvia’s gargoyles had orders to kill her sister’s husk then drag her soul back to Sylvia’s safe house.

  Afterward, Sylvia could deal with the resurrecting witch at her leisure.

  “Fortunately, things went down the best path,” Sylvia said. “My biggest fear was that third parties might get involved, should we rely on my back-up plan.”

  Belkis suddenly stepped forward and dragged the silver-haired girl into a brutal hug. Sylvia could feel her ribs creak, though not in an entirely unpleasant way.

  Demons were made of sterner stuff.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m the senior sister. I’m supposed to take care of you.”

  “You did,” Sylvia said, awkwardly patting the elemental witch on the back.

  Then the warm hug suddenly felt chilly.

  “Sylvia,” Belkis said, giving a touch of space. “That cannon is one of the two you sent to the Aripa, right?”

  …

  “Maybe?”

  “You spent three hundred and fifty thousand just for this!” Belkis screeched.

  “Sugar plums,” Sylvia grumbled. Her pastel pink eyes turned serious. “No. I spent closer to four hundred thousand. And the cannon will be heading back to our teacher and you along with it.”

  Belkis’s expression turned stubborn. “I’m not going anywhere until I figure out who put that thing inside of me.”

  Sylvia groaned. Stepping away from the prisma, she sent three flame shots into the air. Poof, p-poof. The weak blasts detonated singly then in a pair. A signal to Gavin and Elroy that everything was settled and they should leave.

  “Belkis, you’re either on the Aripa living or dead,” she said bluntly. “Viscount Nychta isn’t stupid. It won’t take him long to realize his Duat Dream Drop was removed. So we must leave. Preferably, in the next few hours.”

  Sylvia would’ve favored immediately, but the plan had required her to place pieces which only now could be moved to the Utrecht. These included her gargoyles and her phylactery.

  “Will she take me back?” Belkis murmured softly.

  There was a tremble in Belkis’s hand. It’d take a long time before the prisma bounced back.

  “Of course she will.” Sylvia mustered her mana and cast a pair of anti-divinations. “■■■ ■■■■, ■■■■■.”

  “But I… I’m a failure,” Belkis murmured. “I left her when she needed me. She can’t even trust me with her mission.”

  “Go to her and talk,” Sylvia said, exasperated. “You’re a devil, nobody thinks you’re a failure. And right now she could use you more than ever.”

  There was a war going on. Behind fortifications, a battlemage was worth five warriors of the same class. Lady Vallenfelt’s next best mage was Glenda Fischer, who was almost a century Belkis’s junior.

  Sylvia mounted her broom. Her eyes paused on Belkis’s decorative hat. A Duat Dream Drop was a priceless treasure. Nightmare butterflies were common creatures, but it was rare to find one which had evolved into a nether beast. What’s more, Duat was one of the thirty-three heavens. Since Heaven frowned on their creation, all the existing dream drops dated back to the Golden Age or the Ancient Era.

  If the drop was auctioned, it would sell for anything from a million to a billion soli.

  That was a lot of money.

  But Sylvia didn’t dare touch it. The book Sylvia read only detailed how to find and suppress a butterfly. It said nothing on how to safely handle the dream drop once drawn from the soul.

  Also, the dream drop was Viscount Nychta’s property.

  It might sound absurd, but Malik could easily declare Sylvia a thief. Hell’s bureaucracy wouldn’t give two shits about the circumstance. Nor would Baroness Vallenfelt’s meager authority spare her from judgment. Esmeralda was just a backwater noble. What was that compared to a lord who administered a ward holding thirty times Vallen’s population?

  “Let's go.”

  Sylvia took the sky. Belkis followed, but not before releasing a series of anti-divinations of her own. The asteri made a short loop over Elroy and Gavin so that she could drop a few protective spells their way as well. No need to make things easy if Lord Nychta tried to trace down who had interrupted his hunt.

  “Hey, little sis,” Belkis said softly as the pair climbed into the dying day.

  “What?” Sylvia asked, slowing so she could better hear.

  The dark-skinned witch studied her for a long moment. Then she drew a nervous breath. “Before you leave, there’s something I should warn you about.”

  Sylvia brought her broom a full stop. A gust blew over them. Her hair and dress fluttered in the wind.

  “Is it serious?”

  “It’s personal,” Belkis replied. The prisma paused, pressing her lips as she considered. “Before I say, I need you to promise that you won’t leap to any conclusions.”

  The silver-haired witch tilted her head. “Okay?”

  “Master likes girls.”

  …

  Eh?

  Eh!?

  Eeehhh!!!

  Belkis’s visage turned dark.

  “Don’t you dare hold it against her. Master had a lot of problems in her mortal life because of her preferences. I’m only telling you so you don’t send the wrong signals. You’re her type and the letter she sent about you...,” Belkis sighed. “I don’t want to see either of you hurt.”

  …

  Sylvia coughed. “Sorry.”

  “Good,” Belkis said snippy. Then she groaned. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m not bothered,” Sylvia continued. She paused, then added. “It just so happens I also like girls.”

  So did this mean Emily Clark liked girls? Also, what did Esmeralda write in her letter, and why did Belkis think Sylvia was her teacher’s type?

  …

  Sylvia wasn’t sure how she felt about all that.

  “I was worried over nothing,” Belkis said, kicking her broom back into motion. A moment later her gaze turned suspicious. “Wait, you aren’t lusting after our master, are you?”

  Sylvia decided this would be a bad time to mention she often slept in the same room with Lady Vallenfelt’s clone.

  “I suppose there’s something I should say then,” Sylvia replied instead. “I’m actually a guy.”

  Just like that, two witches flew off into the sunset.

  -oOo-

  Interlude

  -oOo-

  Clop. Clop. Clop.

  Footsteps rang in a steady beat within the empty hall. Large, marble pillars rose around Moswen. The floor was polished stone, dim light reflecting off the gold and silver trim. Along the walls were murals. Starting on the left were plaques of gold. On them were depicted the grand acts of creation. The unification of the planes. The creation of Heaven. Prometheus's entreaty with Zeus.

  Then, on the room’s back stood the greatest plaque of them all. The body was pure, unblemished silver. The frame a wreath of shining gold. Shown within were demons kneeling in worship as light filled the land. Gods stood in the background, bowing their heads.

  The birth of the Heavenly Will.

  Continuing to the right, the murals changed. Gold was absent. Instead, the plaques were made from silver, tarnished and dull. Storm clouds rained lighting. Prometheus whispered into an ear. The united tribes shattered into parts. Finally, demons bore arms, the broken land a river of blood.

  Moswen didn’t give them a single glance.

  Instead, the magia knelt before his master. Drugi Potami sat in a pew, facing an altar. From a stone basin rose a towering flame. The glow reflected off the great demon’s stern face, gray-pink skin flickering in the fire’s light.

  “My Lord,” Moswen said.

  Viscount Potami was a powerful warrior and a man of insight. What truly earned Moswen’s admiration, however, was Drugi’s unwavering virtue. Karnabo were lustful, greedy creatures. Lord Potami, by contrast, was disciplined and composed. Hell was filled with corruption and decadence. Moswen had once thought Heaven would be better.

  But, while their people’s hearts were clean, their souls were empty. Heaven had lost the golden dream. They were no longer fit to lead the netherworld.

  “You may speak,” Drugi permitted, his powerful voice like a trumpet.

  “It has been confirmed by all three great powers,” Moswen said, remaining at his master’s feet. “On that day, every fate compass in the netherworld shifted one notch toward discord.”

  Lord Potami’s gaze turned. “Has anyone realized the source?”

  “Heaven has traced the origin to Tartarus, but their heavy-handed use of divination has distorted the threads of causality. Gabriel entreats with the Emperor, asking permit so the Inquisitors can pursue the Thirteenth Piece.”

  Drugi let out an angry huff.

  “The betrayer seeks to extinguish the light,” he said, left hand slamming the pew’s back in disgust. “No matter. The emperor would never allow Heaven’s rot to work in our territory.”

  Perhaps not, but the angels would undoubtedly infiltrate through their embassies. But Moswen’s lord would know this, so there was no need to say it out loud.

  “And what of the scene? Has it been thoroughly cleansed?”

  “I have done so to the best of my ability, tracing her path back to the moment she stepped onto this plane,” Moswen answered. “However, I cannot be certain I caught every thread. The girl used many anti-divinations.”

  Lord Potami smiled and relaxed back into his seat. “She is quite the precocious creature. It is no wonder He anointed her as His apostle.”

  Moswen paused. His eyes reflected the fire’s fervor. “Is she truly an apostle?”

  “She is certainly His piece. To think, my dear Utrecht would be a turning point of destiny. What a glorious honor.” Lord Potami gazed out, eyes filled with blazing light. Then, his gaze snapped back to the devil at his side. “What of Malik? Has he discovered anything?”

  “His men went through the witch’s apartment, but they only seemed interested in her sister.”

  “A beast lusting for prey,” Drugi scoffed. “He does not understand what he has touched. She had companions, yes?”

  “A goblin and wolf,” Moswen confirmed.

  “See that they end up on the fourth layer in Archduke Asmodeus’s domain,” Drugi said.

  “Consider it done mi’lord.” Moswen said, lowering his head.

  Viscount Potami’s fingers drummed on the back of the pew. “That leaves the oracle.”

  “Already resolved.” Moswen stood, pulling a lamp from the folds of his robe.

  “Good work,” Drugi said. “I trust you were discrete.”

  On this, Moswen hesitated. “In fact, it was she who came to us.”

  “Us?”

  “The church, mi’lord.”

  Drugi frowned. “This is not a good time to accept acolytes. But no one should be denied the chance to serve the light. Allow her the opportunity to swear herself to Him. If she accepts, allow her to live within this pocket realm. Otherwise, leave her sealed until the Great Work is complete.”

  “Your will be done.”

  The magia bowed. Moswen felt a tremble of excitement. The silence that had fallen upon the netherworld was finally coming to an end.

  Lord Potami stood. “A change will soon be upon us. This is just the first portent. When the Great Work is revealed His presence will echo in every corner of the netherworld.”

  Drugi walked forward, approaching the altar. Beyond the blazing flame lay a statue. Cast from bronze was a man bearing seven wings. In his right hand was a held a book. In his left, a small hammer. A halo floated over his head, a symbol of the Will’s unwavering love.

  Drugi’s yellow-green eyes were alight with passion.

  “The morning star shines brighter than ever. Not even when the fifth piece brought about the rise of the Fey Federation did fate resound so loudly. Lord Lucifer, speak to us. We are but humble servants. Guide our hands so that we might be your instruments.”

  Lord Potami spread his arms, basking in the fire’s light.

  “The golden dream has been lost too long. Heaven is but a false utopia. Hell has fallen into greed and sloth. The Fey Federation spurns your noble gift. Even the tarnished silver turns to rot. The nether must be born anew. Let the flames of perdition burn through this wicked world, transforming lies and deceptions into ash.

  “Oh, Lord Prometheus, grant us true utopia!”

  “Grant us true utopia!” Moswen echoed.

  ““Grant us true utopia!””

  The two chanted as one. The Great Work had begun.

  -oOo-

  Phantasmal Beast

  Any beast or creature that lacks a soul and is birthed by a plane by virtue of world logic is considered a phantasmal beast. Technically, all objects in the netherworld are phantasmal whereas all objects in the physical universe are material. However, in common speech, the word phantasm is almost exclusively used to refer to phantasmal beasts.

  Though phantasmal beasts are called beasts, they are not necessarily animal in shape or form. Phantasms can be creatures of rock, water, or flora. Some might even have a humanoid shape. However, the lack of a soul makes phantasms distinct from demons. While human shaped beings might mimic intelligence, this facade is paper thin and is as easily exposed as an NPC in a cheap video game.

  Phantasmal beasts are born with fixed strength and ability. They can only advance if their world logic provides a predetermined pathway of evolution. This means phantasms cannot cultivate. However, this says little about their strength. While most phantasms are Class I to Class III, there is no theoretical upper limit to their power.

  Nether Beast

  A phantasmal beast that lives for long enough might condense a nether soul. A nether soul is a kind of false soul that establishes a phantasm’s individuality. This pseudo soul is as much a product of the being as it is a component of the world itself.

  Nether beasts are more often born if a phantasmal beast ingests a mortal soul. The longer the mortal soul is held in their gullet, the better their odds. However, the birth of a nether beast is never certain.

  Compared to phantasmal beasts, nether beasts have the ability to learn, grow, and resurrect. They are typically far stronger than their fellow phantasms. Talent from beast to beast varies greatly. Unlike true souls, however, a nether soul is tied to a specific plane or territory. Despite this, the soul may be extracted and refined by various methods.

  As nether beasts are still beasts by nature and instinct, their souls are not protected by the Heavenly Will. This makes trade in nether beasts souls a highly profitable endeavor, albeit a difficult one.

  Immortal Beast

  If a nether beast’s soul completes a second evolution, that beast will transform into an immortal beast. Sometimes these creatures are known as god beasts – particularly if they are Class X or higher.

  Compared to a nether beast, immortal beasts have a more complete soul. This allows them to sever their connection to their plane and travel as they please. They also have a greater capacity for growth, intellectually as well as spiritually. Because of this, immortal beasts often become persons in the eye of the Heavenly Will and therefore their souls are not to be lightly touched.