Chapter 462
INTERLUDE
In his private chamber, the cambion Athux looked up, a slight hint of a frown marring the sculpted beauty of his features. He started to return his focus to the huge and ancient tome that dominated his desk, the pages open before him covered in a scrawling script almost as old as the book. But even as the slender quill hovered over the line he’d been scribing, he hesitated, turning back toward the chamber’s only door. It was not the only way out of the room—he’d existed too long to be so foolish—but the iron-banded portal was the only obvious exit, sunk deep into a threshold that revealed the thickness of the massive stone walls of the citadel.
With the charismatic prince as a contrast, the spartan accordings of the chamber seemed downright plain by comparison. Other than the desk, which was a functional slab of black wood, there were only a few tapestries that looked temporary, a single shelf of tomes and scrolls, and a mismatched set of furniture that had the styles of at least a dozen different cultures stamped upon them. For all his smooth self-control Athux never regarded the shelf without his face twisting into a scowl; for all the power represented in those books (and they were, in truth, only a fraction of what he carried with him, or had stashed in other convenient locations), they were a reminder of what had been left behind or destroyed in Zelatar.
It was true, that his sire had forfeited more, much more, if one considered other forms of power in addition to arcane lore. But unlike Graz’zt, Athux’s power was derived from wizardry, and he was particularly sensitive to the foci that all the practitioners of that craft, great and small, depended upon for the application of their craft.
A small noise penetrated the thick door that exited onto the corridor outside. Athux closed the book decisively and rose, extending a hand that was immediately filled with the reassuring solidity of his rod. The artifact tingled with an odd anticipation that the cambion found unusual, but he put that aside and crossed decisively to the door. He paused a moment there, calling upon a few defensive wards. The door itself was silent, the sound that he’d detected not repeating. Within a few moments he was prepared, and he pulled the heavy portal aside and stepped into the corridor beyond.
The connecting passageway was rather cramped in contrast with the wide halls of the Argent Palace, the stone walls starkly bare with visible cracks where the massive slabs that constituted the fortress were joined. The passage split and turned in several directions, offering access to various other parts of the citadel, and Athux knew that there was a staircase not fifteen feet from where he stood. The silence here was familiar yet somehow oppressive; there wasn’t a lot of activity in the place, certainly not as much as one would expect given its current owner. But that was in part because the Argent Lord’s remaining forces preferred to keep a low profile; the Master was a bit… unpredictable.
Athux closed the door behind him and took one step forward down the left branch of the corridor when a nycaloth stepped around the nearest bend, five paces ahead of him.
The four-armed fiend squinted and registered the presence of the cloaked figure before it, lifting a massive double-bladed axe as an inchoate growl formed deep within its throat.
Athux simply stood there, and as the fiend’s weapon reached its apex and started down, its eyes met his for the briefest instant. The descent of the axe immediately stopped, and the nycaloth stood there, rapt in the gaze of the cambion lord.
Athux noted that the dusky steel blades of the ‘loth’s weapon were wreathed in a familiar nimbus of pulsing blue light. Axiomatic weapon, he thought. Specifically suited to slaying demons. A holy weapon would have been equally deadly, but of course would have been equally potent against yugoloths. The implications whispered clear connections in his mind, and he frowned as he considered them for a heartbeat or two.
The nycaloth stood there in silence, waiting. Athux opened his mouth to query it, but his eyes shifted down the passage as a pair of insectoid mezzoloths stepped into view around the far bend twenty feet further down the corridor. The two new arrivals spotted him, lifted their three-pronged spears, and rushed down the hall toward him.
“Slay those bugs,” he commanded the nycaloth, who instantly leapt to the cambion’s bidding. Even as the sounds of battle and the chittering shrieks of the mezzoloths filled the passage, Athux was already walking down the side passage from which the nycaloth had emerged. He’d set upon a destination, and walked toward it with deliberation, if not haste. If what he’d deduced was correct, rushing heedlessly forward would accomplish nothing, and might even place him into danger.
There were sounds now in the citadel, additions beyond the conflict he’d spawned behind him. He stepped over several bodies; a canoloth with its armored torso staved in, a succubus sundered in two, a lamia pinned to the wall by a bloody spear that had sank a full foot into the stone. The last still clung with grim determination to life, and her eyes fixed imploringly upon the cambion as he strode past, but he barely paid heed to her presence.
The corridor culminated in an arched foyer where several other passages from different parts of the citadel met. As he had expected, the great doors on the far end were partially open, and he could hear the sounds of battle from just beyond. His fingers tightened on the haft of his wand—drawing a thrill of eagerness from the item into him—and warily continued through the gap into the huge chamber beyond.
Unlike most of the rest of the fortress, the great hall was generous with space, with an unobstructed open center nearly fifty feet across and thirty feet deep, and a broad, concave alcove dominated by a huge stone throne on the far side.
The chamber was full of yugoloths of varying size and function; a pair of nycaloths and at least a dozen mezzoloths shared space with a small host of armored canoloths, and even a disgusting fish-like piscoloth skittering around the back of the room. Athux caught sight of an ultraloth hovering in the shadows at the edge of the chamber, directing the assault upon his father in the center of the room.
Prince Graz’zt was magnificent, dominating the chamber even surrounded by creatures that loomed several feet over him. His bare torso shone with a slick of sweat and blood—none of it his own, it seemed, for he bore no obvious wounds. His face was obscured by a faint black haze that hung around his head like a drawn-up cowl, but within that artificial gloom the cambion could clearly mark his father’s eyes, bright points that drew him in even through the chaos of the battle. There was a frightening fire in those eyes, a burning rage even deeper than that which was being unleashed upon these intruders who had come into this sanctum.
Athux stood there, watching, as the great wavy-bladed sword spun a circle of death around the mighty demon lord. Already a dozen dismembered yugoloths lay in a mangled ring around him, but the survivors pressed heedlessly in, seeking an advantage. The nycaloths beat their wings to gain a few paces of clearance and then leapt at the prince from both sides, their claws outstretched in an effort to grasp and hold their foe. One was hit and went flying across the room, one wing and two arms shorn clear of its body, but the second descended upon the demon lord and seized hold of him, its weight bearing down upon the Prince with inexorable force while its smaller cousins swarmed upon him from all sides with eager diligence. One thrust a blue-haloed blade into Graz’zt’s torso that did achieve a noticeable effect, the axiomatic blade cutting a shallow gash in his iron-muscled side. The Prince’s roar shook the huge stones of the chamber walls, but only seemed to further entice the ‘loths, which pressed their attack with even more fury.
For a moment it looked as though the demon lord’s situation was hopeless, but Athux, who had as of yet not moved further into the room, knew better. So, too, did the ultraloth, which hissed commands in its sinister language, directing its forces to continue pressing upon the Prince, until only flashes of black skin could be seen beneath the swarming horde. It hurled magic, as well, invisible tendrils of power stretching out from it that Athux could sense like strands of music floating on a faint breeze.
And then the nycaloth screamed, and seemed to… shiver was the only word Athux could think of, as he watched. Tendrils of diaphanous energy the color of faded bloodstains twisted around the ‘loth’s body, and where they touched, its flesh seemed to melt away. The other yugoloths knotted around the grappled Prince likewise began to scream and fall back, with parts of their bodies disintegrating as the scarlet fibers sliced into them.
Athux stared in wonder as the yugoloth attackers were literally torn to pieces. He had not witnessed the casting of many epic spells, and even before he saw the pinpoint of white light within the black halo of energy around Graz’zt’s head he knew that his sire had drawn upon the power of the Heart of Axion. Thoughts rushed into his head to accompany the sudden flush of heat that made him feel almost dizzy. Something important had changed here, just now; whether he would be able to discern the nature of the shift was something that would have to be worked out later, when he had time to reflect.
The last few ‘loths had completely abandoned their attack, their efforts now focused merely on escape. But their fate was sealed; the spray of red tendrils expanded to engulf each of them, and where it came, death accompanied its arrival.
Only the ultraloth, by virtue of its simple distance from the melee, had a chance to escape. But even as it called upon its magic to flee, Athux finally intervened. It was a trivial matter to ensnare its mind; its potent resistances protected it for all of two seconds before the cambion shattered them and seized what he wanted. But even as it succumbed to his will, a black shaft shot out from the already fading aura of gory death around Graz’zt, materializing into the wavy blade of the Prince’s sword. The weapon pierced the ultraloth’s breast, driving through it and into the wall with enough force to sink half of the blade’s length into the stone. The yugoloth quivered on the sword for a moment, finally falling still.
So much for an easy interrogation, Athux thought. There were other ways of finding out what one needed to know from an enemy, of course, but they were invariably more… messy.
A dozen demons burst into the chamber a moment later, too late to do anything but watch their lord stride forward across the ruined corpses of the yugoloth invaders. The chamber floor resembled an abattoir, with hardly a square foot not covered in the mess of dead monsters. His body covered in blood and gore, his face hidden in the black shroud he wore like a cowl, Graz’zt looked truly what he was, a corrupt entity of pure unadulterated Evil. Athux knew this to be true, and yet he shivered involuntarily as he took in the sight. The Prince walked over to his still-quivering sword, drawing it free from the stone with a quick jerk, letting the ultraloth collapse into a bloody heap at his feet.
Athux could feel the overwhelming power that radiated from the aroused Prince, and he bowed as Graz’zt’s stare bore into him. His father’s eyes were now hidden within his dark mask, but Athux could feel them nevertheless.
“My Lord,” he said.
Graz’zt’s gaze fixed him for another minute, and then it shifted to the wreckage that surrounded him. “Clean up this mess,” he said, and with a desultory wave he turned and walked out of the room.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
No Friday Cliffhanger? Blasphemy! 
