Or perhaps even tonight...
FACE-OFF
“Do you hear something?” Gregor asked as Daelric tended the wounds of Mandi and Tower Cleaver.
“If you mean, do I hear all the blood rushing to my head,” Mandi replied caustically, “then I do. If you mean, have I heard Sepoto’s and Octurus’s bodies hit the ground yet, then I haven’t.”
“No…” the druid said absently, scanning the mist and smoke, “I mean, I think we’re going to have more company…soon.”
As if on cue, unnatural darkness blanketed the bridge, and the sound of wings snapping in the wind echoed all about them. Large, shadowy forms moved within the gloom.
“There!” the druid shouted as he conjured a column of emerald fire. In the sudden glare, Mandi saw clearly the pair of nycaloths circling round them, and before the flames had faded, she had pierced the darkness again with rippling electricity, arcing bolts between the two fiends. Tower cleaver leaped while the lightning still sparked, splitting open the chest of the nearest, still-jittering demon. A moment later, Daelric raised his hand to the sky, and power coalesced around it like halo. Cocking back his arm, he hurled the energy at the remaining nycaloth, blowing it out of existence with a blast of righteous fury.
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S’Sharra crouched among the pilings of the bridge, waiting. She knew the goliath and the demon-hunter were not dead. She’d followed their descent and saw them arrest their falls, and now they were on their way back. Only this time, when they fell, she would make sure it would be their final trip.
It was the human that she saw first, rising up out of the mist to her left. His friends had seen him too, but it wouldn’t matter. With a gesture, she dispelled Octurus’s magic, and smiled at the stunned expression on his face as he once more plummeted towards the sea below. Her smile quickly changed to one of grim resignation, however, when Mandi loomed out of the smoke before her.
“I was wondering when you’d turn up,” the elf bitch smirked, and then magic flashed in her hand as she struck S’Sharra with a beam of light. Immediately, the demoness felt her arms and legs go weak and rubbery, her reflexes slowed.
“Touché’,” the assassin said through numbed lips, “but it’s my wits you’ll have to dull if you want to catch me.”
With that, she unfurled her wings and dropped straight down, disappearing into the fog in a flash, leaving Mandi vowing silently that their next meeting would be their last.
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Octurus managed to save himself a second time with another well-timed draught. He and Sepoto rejoined their comrades, bitter at having missed the battle’s finale. Still, once Daelric had tended everyone’s wounds, they pressed on. At the far side of the bridge they encountered another massive set of stone portals. When Tower Cleaver pulled them open, they found themselves in a wide corridor which disappeared into shadow before them. To their left was a plain door, but strangely, it was set into the wall ten feet above their heads. Curious, Mandi flew up to it, but as she drew near, her nostrils were assailed by the most rancid odor she’d ever encountered. Cautiously, she reached out and pulled the handle. As she did so, a nightmare torrent of viscous, rancid, oozy effluvia spilled out of the room beyond in an avalanche, flowing over Mandi and raining down on her companions below, burning exposed flesh wherever its toxic fluids struck.
“Gods, I hate this place!!” Sepoto bellowed as he stood, dripping disgusting filth, offal and rancid slime.
“Oh, I don’t know,” a basso voice rumbled, “it grows on you after awhile.”
Farther down the hall, three immensely flabby humanoid creatures, covered in reeking slime, had emerged from an archway. Just beyond them, two shifting masses of brown and green effluvia surged forward, and as they did so, their surfaces split open to reveal nightmare gullets that vented clouds of noxious green vapor. Finally, beyond those two horrors, stood the speaker. He was an immensely bloated creature, similar in form to the three nearby demons, but even more disgusting. A thick film of grease covered his shuddering, blubbery body. Branching out from the folds of his back fat were two leathery wings, and his gruesome head was toad-like, with pale slime spilling from his wide mouth.
“Who are you?” he asked, bubbling. “And why are you intruding upon my domain?”
Mandi stepped forward, trying to look dignified as she brushed excrement from her gown.
“I am Ozymandia Enoreth,” she said, drawing herself up, “and these are my colleagues. We are called the Legion, and we have come here seeking a despicable cur named Vanthus Vanderboren.”
“A cur he is,” the fat demon laughed, “and as despicable as he is craven. What of him?”
“Whom do I have the…pleasure of addressing?” Mandi asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“I am Belshamoth!” the demon roared, “Lord of Divided’s Ire!”
“Divided’s Ire has many lords, it would seem,” Mandi muttered. Aloud, she replied, “Vanthus is actually a secondary objective. He is holding someone valuable to us…his sister, Lavinia. Can you tell us where to find them?”
Belshamoth laughed again, “And why should I do that? Where is the profit in it for me?”
“I assume Vanthus is not a welcome guest in your domain,” Mandi said. “We would gladly rid you of his overstayed presence.”
Belshamoth mulled this for a moment. “That, of course, is something I could do for myself were I so inclined.”
“Of course,” Mandi nodded, “but why trouble yourself?”
“Why indeed?” Belshamoth snorted. “But perhaps there is some other…small task you could do for me. There is a certain…lady that I have set my eye upon, yet she has yet to know the fullness of my intentions or the rapture I could bring her.”
“She must be blind indeed, my lord,” Mandi smirked.
“Obviously!” Belshamoth snapped. “Yet I am certain she would come to appreciate me in time if I had her…undivided attention.”
“So you would like us to bring her to you?” Mandi asked. “What does she look like? Where might we find her?”
“She is the most beautiful creature you have ever seen,” Belshamoth crooned, “with flowing, black tresses, and smooth skin of the most hellish shade of crimson.”
Mandi’s eyes narrowed. “Say no more, lord,” she said coldly. “Your lady –love will be putty in your hands.”
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When Belshamoth told them where S’Sharra’s lair was, the Legionnaires realized it was the building where they’d first encountered her when they’d entered the prison. When they retraced their steps, however, they found no sign of the assassin, save for several dozen disgusting larvae, damned souls used as a form of currency in the Abyss, and a small shrine to Demogorgon. It was obvious they would not find her simply by looking. She had always come to them, and always when they were otherwise occupied. They had to assume she would appear again at the height of their next entanglement, and so they elected to press on further into the prison.
This time, they took the second bridge across the caldera, since it lead from the entrance area where they already where. As they neared the portals on the far side, however, they could hear a rising cacophony of shrieks and moans. Tower Cleaver pulled open the doors, revealing an oddly shaped chamber featuring numerous open doors leading into dusty rooms. A single pillar of iron rose up from the floor to the ceiling overhead, its surface studded with countless hooks and barbs. Stretched over these hooks were dozens of faces, seemingly skinned from the heads of men and women and affixed inside out in an overlapping pattern of flesh over much of the pillar. A grating, endless shriek wailed horridly from the faces, and their eyelids and lips twitched and writhed as if in horrific pain. So intense was the noise that each of the Legionnaires grimaced in pain, instinctively clasping their hands to their ears…all save one.
Octurus found himself overcome with a mixture of sorrow and rage at the sight and sound of the pillar. Unaware of what he was doing, he began moving towards the abomination. Too late, Daelric, Gregor and Sepoto saw what he was doing, but he was already beyond their reach. They could do nothing but look on in raw horror as the Maztican leaned slowly forward and pushed his own face against the pillar. Instantly, several of the spikes animated into motion with blinding speed, flensing away Octurus’s features with the skill of some deranged surgeon. Adding his own screams to those of the pillar, the demon-hunter drew back, his face a raw, bleeding nightmare, the musculature, sinew and blood vessels laid bare as his eyes bulged wildly, rolling in their sockets. Again, and again he shrieked, his voice rising higher, becoming more shrill. Instinctively, Daelric stepped towards him, seeking to ease his suffering. In a flash Octurus’s blades were in his hands, and before the young priest could react, the Maztican’s hands were a blur of deadly steel. Daelric staggered back from the assault, blood pouring down his tunic, his lips going pale. He stumbled into Sepoto’s arms, and the goliath quickly thrust the priest behind him while he called upon his own minor magics that Savras granted him. A blanket of silence descended upon the room, shutting out the horrific wails from the pillar along with those of Octurus, though the Maztican’s mouth remained wide open, and the cords of his neck stood out with the efforts of his silent pain and rage.
Daelric shambled back out onto the bridge, clutching feebly at his wounds.
“Where are you going?” Mandi demanded.
“Wha…? I…” Daelric raised his bloody hands as if they should be self-explanatory.
“So? You’ve been wounded!” Mandi snapped. “Heal your wounds and then get your craven ass back in there before Octurus does some serious harm!”
Daelric could only gape at her, uncomprehending as he slumped to the ground, lips trembling as they tried to form the words to a prayer.
As Sepoto moved to intercept Octurus, a sudden movement from the corner of his eye caused him to turn. Where Gregor had stood a moment before, there was now a monolithic creature formed entirely of earth and stone. It lunged towards the Maztican, trying to wrap him up in its mighty grasp, but the warrior was too quick, even more so in his maddened state. He deftly shimmied away from the elemental, but as he did so, Sepoto’s chain wrapped around his ankles, sending him sprawling to the ground. At that moment, Sepoto felt a wave of power wash over him as several of his wards sputtered and died. He knew instinctively what that meant. S’Sharra had returned.
Mandi saw the crimson witch as well, and she was in motion in the blink of an eye.
“Cleaver!” she called over her shoulder. “Kill the Maztican! Daelric can deal with him after he’s dead…that is if the priest can save himself first!”
S’Sharra was already retreating down the hall, trying to duck into the shadows once more, as had been her modus operandi, but Mandi would be damned if the demoness was going to escape her this time. S’Sharra rounded a corner at the end of the hall, but her pursuer was only a fraction of a second behind. As the sorceress entered a new chamber, however, she drew up short. The exquisite hall she found herself in extended some sixty-feet from end-to-end, and terminated at a wide staircase leading up to an even larger chamber. Stone columns carved to resemble moaning, terrified faces lined the walls until they came to staircases leading to side corridors. S’Sharra stood at a door at one end of the hall, crouched invisibly in the gloom, though Mandi’s magically enhanced vision picked her out easily. At the other side of chamber, however, stood two distinctly incongruous figures. They were angels. Mandi’s vision told her this was fact, and they were not merely disguised demons. They wore stained robes, that might have once been white, and they each carried a large, tarnished trumpet. Ash-stained, feathered wings rose from their shoulders, and their amber eyes shown pupiless from their emerald skinned faces.
“Halt and identify yourself,” one of them commanded.
“We can exchange formalities later,” Mandi replied, “but just this moment I’m pursuing a demon which has entered your domain.”
“We have seen no other but you,” the second archon said. “We ask you this last time to stop and identify yourself.”
“To the Hells with this,” Mandi growled as she saw S’Sharra smile wickedly at her, twisting the doorknob. Hastily, she spoke the words to a spell, and a flash of light exploded around the demoness. When it faded, all that was left in her place was a very life-like marionette, collapsed among its strings on the floor.
“Master!” the archons cried, winding their trumpets. “We are invaded!”
“Oh my…” Mandi exclaimed as she saw a figure appear at the head of the stairs.
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Strategy and planning were not Tower Cleaver’s forte. He was good at two things, following orders and killing things. Mandi’s instructions had encompassed both areas, and though he was somewhat confused at the need to kill one of his own herd, he didn’t have the wherewithal to second guess his commander. He strode calmly into the room as the elemental-that-had-been-Gregor bent to grasp the fallen Octurus in both hands. The Maztican struggled like a rabid dog, biting and snapping with his teeth as he strained to free his arms. Sepoto turned as Cleaver approached, relieved that the big minotaur would be able to lend his strength to helping restrain their companion. The goliath had not heard Mandi’s shouted order to Cleaver, however, as he had been within the magical perimeter of silence. Thus when the barbarian raised his axe and ended Octurus’s struggles with an economy of effort, Sepoto stared horror-struck, certain another of his team had gone mad…
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The being on the stairs was another angel, though much more powerful than the archons. Mandi knew that he was a deva, terrible in his beauty, all the more so because of the bloody, ragged stumps on his back where his wings had once been. A huge sword dangled casually from his hand, its tip dragging along the stones.
“I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here,” the deva said, his voice devoid of emotion, “and I truly do not care, but if you value your life at all you will leave…now.”
“Your pardon, my lord,” Mandi said, sketching a small curtsey, “but as I tried to explain to your minions, I was pursuing a demon that was trying to elude capture.”
“This is my domain,” the angel answered. “ I alone deal with intruders. You will leave, one way or another.” He lifted the tip of his blade so that it pointed indirectly towards Mandi’s heart. Mandi stared at him for a long moment, then deliberately bent to retrieve the puppet from the floor. When she straightened, she nodded once, then said, “We will speak again.” An instant later, she vanished in a flash of light.
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“What sort of game is this?” Belshamoth roared. “I asked for S’Sharra, not some child’s toy!”
“If you will indulge me a moment longer, dread lord,” Mandi replied, “I shall show you that I have done exactly as you asked. Am I correct in assuming the cage you have there is identical to the others I have seen in the prison?”
The corpulent demodand looked suspiciously at her and nodded slowly. “Yes. What of it?”
“Watch,” the sorceress instructed. She walked to the cage, tossed the doll inside and quickly slammed the door shut. A moment later, the anti-magic that imbued the cell negated every dweomer within it and S’Sharra returned to her natural form.
“You will release me now, you miserable pig!” she screamed, gripping the bars and staring burning hatred at Belshamoth. The demodand smiled thickly and rubbed his hands together greedily.
“All in good time, my love,” he gurgled. “All in good time.”
“You will feel the Prince’s wrath for this!” she shrieked.
“Possibly,” he shrugged, “but you are as aware as I how our Lord feels about failure.”
She fumed silently as he turned back to Mandi. “Now, there is the matter of your fee. You asked about the Vanderboren siblings. First, as you may already to know, Vanthus no longer has possession of his sister. Lillianth has her now. She took her to ensure Vanthus’s allegiance. You see, Lillianth was once the greatest of generals in Demogorgon’s armies, but she fell into disfavor. Now she seeks to regain some measure of her former greatness by playing the pretender to my throne. Her domain lies just beyond my own. As for the death knight, he bides his time on the island at the center of the caldera. I would consider it a personal…favor if you eliminated both of these thorns in my ass.”
“Consider it done,” Mandi smiled. “No charge this time.”
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")