Beyond the chamber of the worm was another large room, the floor of which had collapsed, leaving a boiling pool of green water five feet below a rickety wooden bridge, its planks slippery with green mold and black mildew. The chamber was stifling, with clouds of sulfurous steam filling the room, preventing an accurate guess at its size or the eventual destination of the treacherous-looking bridge. Not trusting to Abyssal architecture, each of the Legionnaires took flight by various means, keeping sight of their comrade directly in front of them as they moved cautiously through the mist. Ultimately, the bridge ended at a metal door, which glowed red-hot from the heat in the room. Sepoto fished out a key they had found on Nulonga’s body, and tried it in the lock. It fit perfectly, but it did not turn as expected. So intricate was the lock that it took the goliath the better part of a minute to open it, during which time the key became dangerously hot itself, threatening to melt in his hand.
When Sepoto pushed the heavy door open, he at first thought that he had reemerged outside the temple. Murky water lapped at the sloping shore that served the room as a floor, and it gave off an acrid, rotten stench. In the shallows sat an enormous oyster, rising from the water like a massive shark’s fin, its valves serrated and spiked and studded with razor-sharp horns. The blackened and pitted shell smoked as if it had recently been exposed to great heat, and its interior was charred black as well rather than the expected opalescence of mother-of-pearl. Within, on a slithering bed of horror and alien flesh, rested a huge, black pearl, larger than a man’s head, which pulsed with black energy in which ghostly, disembodied faces seemed to shriek. A pair of four-foot high wooden stakes with strips of leather hanging from their sharpened points protruded from the oily sand on the narrow beach near the monstrous shellfish.
“That’s it!” Mandi hissed. “The master pearl!”
As if sensing the presence of intruders, the oyster’s valves suddenly snapped shut. An instant later, a large, glowing Gate opened on the far side of the room. Through it could be seen the city of Lemoriax in flames, armies of demons being driven deeper into its heart by the advance of Gwynharwyf’s and Quah-Nomag’s armies. Yet it was the sight of the Prince of Demons himself, closely followed by a burly balor, shouldering his way through the portal that struck horror into the hearts of the Legionnaires. Demogorgon had come. In one tentacle he clutched a bloody, curling ram’s horn, and his body was hideously scarred.
“Fools!” his twin heads shrieked in rage, their dual voices echoing telepathically in the minds of the companions. “At last you reveal yourselves to my wrath! The audacity of your ridiculous plan is almost enough to convince me to simply destroy you! But here I find you at this, the heart of my Savage Tide! Know that even as my minions crush the last of your pathetic invasion, your own deaths will be neither quick nor painless! They will be works of wonder, tortures to inspire the ages! You will, at my touch, become legends!”
The Gate began to close behind the demon lord, and as it did, the Legionnaires beheld one last, hope-breaking sight: Gwynharwyf herself was sprinting towards it, diving at the last second, but too late. It snapped shut before she could make it through. At a gesture from Demogorgon, the oyster opened once more, and the master pearl floated through the air towards him. He opened one of his mouths wide and calmly swallowed the gem whole. Then, he gestured again, and a second, massive Gate opened on the northern side of the chamber, where the wall appeared to have collapsed, revealing open ocean beyond. What stepped through the portal was a creature out of nightmare: a colossal, two-headed dragon, each head sprouting curved horns, with leathery, black tentacles writhing from its back. Each of its heads snorted, one breath of fire, the other of ice, and it pawed the water with cloven hooves. Demodragon, the spawn of Demogorgon himself, long –rumored to be mere myth or legend, had answered the summons of his sire in an all-too tangible way.
Sepoto stood, dumb-founded as events unfolded, his companions still in the steaming chamber behind him. He had half a mind to slam the door shut and forget their insane mission altogether, but he knew it was much too late for that. Before he could act however, one of the dragon’s tentacles snaked forward and wrapped tightly about the chain gripped in his hands. With dawning horror, the goliath realized the creature was attempting to steal his weapon from him. Clenching his jaw, he heaved with all his might, desperately trying to hold onto the chain. As he did so, the others began pushing past him, entering the chamber. At the same moment the balor Belcheresk, Admiral of Demogorgon’s navy, charged forward.
Daelric had just shouldered his way past the crusader when he looked up to see the oncoming fury of the balor. With a girlish shriek, he plastered himself against the wall just as the demon swung its lightning-edged sword. The blade seemed to move in slow motion as it whickered towards him. The tip sliced into his neck and ripped straight across, just missing the great vessels and his trachea, leaving him bloodied and hyperventilating, realizing he had come within an inch of losing his head.
Sepoto finally wrenched his chain free of Demodragon’s grip, but as he turned, his eyes met those of Aameul, and in that gaze, the crusader saw only madness. His arms dropped to his side, and his jaw went slack as he began to drool and gibber senselessly.
Tower Cleaver pushed into the chamber, shoving Sepoto roughly to one side. His goliath friend was incapacitated, and a sitting duck where he stood. Hefting his blade, pushing back the fear that threatened to consume him at the sight of the demon lord, the minotaur hurled himself forward. As he did, one of Demogorgon’s whip-like tentacles snapped out, slamming into the barbarian with the force of a battering ram. Tower Cleaver rolled with the impact, and let his momentum carry him towards the balor, his axe blade ripping deep into the demon’s thigh.
Suddenly, from out of the murky water behind Demogorgon, a figure began to rise. Despite its ragged clothing, clouded eyes, and decaying flesh, it was obvious to all that it bore more than a passing resemblance to Vanthus Vanderboren…except for the fact that it was missing its legs below the knees, the stumps crudely stitched and oozing. When the creature opened its mouth to speak, the curses it hurled were Maztican.
At that precise moment, Demogorgon began to bellow and roar, but this time, his cries did not seem to be so much of anger as they were of pain. He clutched at his chest where one of the more jagged scars had sprung open, oozing black ichor. For a brief moment, the demon lord sagged. Mandi wasted no time. While the demon prince was distracted, she began casting, building a massive force wall across the entire north side of the chamber, effectively walling Demodragon out. The great beast howled and snarled, hurling itself over and over again against the impregnable barrier, all to no avail. It could sense the magic it craved, just beyond its reach, but that only seemed to madden it further. Still, all its anger was impotent. It could not breach the wall. Satisfied that at least one threat had been neutralized, Mandi turned her attention back to Demogorgon. He seemed to be recovering from whatever had come over him, but before he could fully regain his composure, the sorceress struck again, hurling her most powerful magic at him, ripping the vasculature from his body. The demon prince spit and twisted, ripping himself free of his own entrails, shrieking in agony as me moved.
Daelric quickly darted towards the still babbling Sepoto. Cupping the goliath’s face in both hands, the priest began whispering a prayer in Sepoto’s ear. Slowly, the crusader’s eyes began to clear, and his pulse slowed. When Daelric pulled away, he could see that his friend was in his right mind again…for the moment.
Cleaver saw Demogorgon’s plight, and knew he would never have a better opportunity to strike. As he closed the distance, however, the Prince of Demons turned his full wrath upon the charging minotaur. One of his tentacles snapped across Cleaver’s chest and the sickening crackle of ribs breaking could be heard from across the room. Then another of the tendrils seized him around the middle, lifting him from the ground. Where the foul appendage touched, the barbarian’s flesh began to putrefy and rot. Cleaver was in agony. Savoring the moment, Demogorgon lifted his prey higher still, and then both of his heads snapped forward, sinking their fangs into Tower Cleaver, tearing great chunks of meat from his body. To the horror of his companions, the minotaur went horribly limp, and Demogorgon dropped him to the ground like so much refuse.
“As I promised,” the demon lord growled, “works of wonder.”
As Daelric backed away from Sepoto, he heard a sharp snap behind him. When he turned, he saw Belcheresk looming over him, his sword gripped in one hand, a whip of flames in the other. As the priest threw up his hands defensively, the balor slashed and rent the air with both weapons. Blow after blow reigned down upon Daelric, and only the powerful wards he had woven about him kept him from dying a horrible, gruesome death in that instant. Two close calls in as many minutes were more than enough. The priest ducked behind Sepoto, making for the exit, but as he went, the thing that had been Vanthus Vanderboren, and now spoke with the voice of the Maztican priest Nulonga, hurled a ray of cold blue power after him. When it struck, Daelric felt every bit of his strength leached from him, and he collapsed under the weight of his own armor, inches from the door. Octurus was emerging from the mist on the other side of the archway, but he suddenly came up against an invisible barrier, and stopped in his tracks. A second force wall, but this one was not Mandi’s doing. Instead, it was the undead sorcerer who had now successfully split the companions, with Octurus and Marius on the far side of the barrier, and Sepoto, Daelric and Mandi on the near. Sepoto never noticed. He was too busy focusing on the oncoming balor. Now that Daelric was down, it was the goliath who received the admiral’s full attention, but the hulking demon quickly found that this opponent would not prove as ready prey. Sepoto’s chain snapped out, meeting Belcheresk's whip lash for lash, but drawing far more blood.
Suddenly, the room was split once more by Demogorgon’s cry.
“Arendagrost!!!!” he screamed, grabbing both of his heads, and nearly crumpling to one knee, but even as he did so, it was obvious to Mandi that his wounds were rapidly healing and sealing themselves shut. Once more she leveled her staff at the bothersome Maztican sorcerer, and once more he crumbled into ash as the green ray struck him. Then, before Demogorgon could fully recover, she avasculated him once again.
Daelric struggled in vain to crawl closer to the broken form of Tower Cleaver, but it was no use. He could barely raise his head. Still, he could muster enough strength to speak, barely. Calling desperately to Shaundekal, he invoked the Traveler’s power in a mighty healing surge that swept over him and his companions. In an instant, his strength was restored, and he heaved himself to his feet. He saw Cleaver blink his big cow eyes open, and then watched them glaze over in abject rage. The mighty minotaur surged to his feet, drawing the attention of both Demogorgon and Belcheresk. They were upon him in a flash, tentacles, teeth, sword and whip flailing and slashing at him, opening horrible, weeping wounds in his newly restored flesh, but Cleaver did not falter. He stayed on his feet and held his ground. If this was to be his end, let it be such an end as to inspire tales for decades to come.
Mandi turned her staff in Daelric’s direction, and for a moment, the priest thought she too had been driven insane by the demon prince, but instead of annihilating him where he stood, she blasted apart the barrier Nulonga had created, allowing Octurus and Marius to finally join the fray. As they came, however, Belcheresk turned from Cleaver to meet the new threat. Sword blazing and whip flashing, he met the new arrivals head on. Octurus suffered a horrible gash across his right leg, causing it to go momentarily numb and limp. Before the demon could do further damage, however, Demogorgon ceased his attack upon Cleaver and howled once again, clutching both skulls as if they were about to split apart.
“How dare you??” he cried. “How could you let the Vermin Lord into my beautiful city??? I will crush you all!!!”
With that, he lumbered through the growing mass of his own innards, and in a whirlwind of fury, terrible to behold, he flailed about him with his tentacles, smashing into Octurus, Sepoto, Marius and Tower Cleaver. The Maztican and the gnome immediately cried out as the wounds inflicted began to fester with corruption. As Marius fell to the ground, Belcheresk was upon him. The balor’s fiery whip lashed out, wrapping itself around the warmage’s legs and pulling him right up against the flaming skin of the demon. As Belcheresk began to crush the life out of the little gnome, Sepoto leaped, his chain suddenly transforming into a net of barbed, blood tinged blades. When it struck, it nearly split the balor’s skull in two, and in a flash of brilliant light and flaming gore, Belcheresk exploded. When his sight cleared, Sepoto saw that there was nothing left of the balor…but there was nothing to be seen of Marius either.
Time seemed to slow. To Mandi, everything seemed to move with vivid clarity. As she watched, Sepoto, Octurus and Tower Cleaver swarmed towards Demogorgon. Then, to her amazement and fury, another figure slipped into the room from the steam-filled chamber. It appeared to be one of the undead troglodytes they had dispatched in the antechamber, but its legs were missing below the knees, and she knew that somehow the accursed Maztican shaman had managed to resurrect himself yet again. As he entered, he quickly struck Daelric again with the strength draining magic he seemed to enjoy so much. Then, incredibly, his scaly arms seemed to elongate as he reached out and raked his claws across the priest. Where they touched, the flesh turned black and putrid. Daelric cried out, pawing at his face as he sank to his knees. Meanwhile, the warriors three, incredibly, actually seemed to be holding their own against the demon prince, though that moment was fleeting. The dark lord whirled on Octurus, battering the demon hunter with a devastating combination of bites and slams, sending him hurling into the churning water where he floated face-down, unmoving. Mandi’s power was almost drained. She didn’t have many tricks left in her book, but what she had was devastating. One final time, she ripped the vessels from the ever-healing demon prince, and as he staggered from the assault, Cleaver moved in. Swinging his axe in a mighty arc, he disintegrated the reanimated Nulonga as his blade passed through the undead shaman, and when its momentum carried it around, it severed one of Demogorgon’s tentacles cleanly before cleaving into the Prince of Demons himself.
“Tower Cleaver kill gods!!!” the minotaur wailed, his fur bristling, blood streaming from multiple wounds, froth and foam flying from his lips.
For a brief moment, complete silence enveloped the chamber. Then, like a monolithic colossus, Demogorgon, Prince of Demons, Lord of the Savage Tide, simply collapsed. As he did so, a nimbus formed around his heads, resembling two crowns of dark energy. They quickly merged into one single circlet as Demogorgon’s dying roar echoed from Wat Dagon and into both Gaping Maw and Shadowsea. All those watching, and all who heard that cry, were instantly aware that the Dark Crown represented the right of mastery over the entire Abyssal layer of Gaping Maw, and the title of new Prince of Demons. For a moment, almost involuntarily, Mandi’s had stretched out for it, but in an instant, the Crown was snatched away. Somewhere nearby, a new Lord of Gaping Maw had been anointed.
Silence again, this time broken only by the sound of a single pair of hands clapping. Into the chamber strode Iggwilv.
“Well done, my children,” she said, smiling. “Well done, indeed.”
She approached the fallen demon lord’s corpse, and from her robe she pulled Tuerny’s Flask, unstoppering its neck. The lingering motes of blackness and writhing smoke that coiled around the body were rapidly drawn into the receptacle, and the corpse quickly moldered away to nothing, leaving only the master pearl in its wake.
“Now,” the witch queen said, turning to the survivors, “I believe you all have a date with destiny…”
TO BE CONCLUDED…