Interlude 3

  A thousand years ago …

  The hero pulled his sword out of the body of the pitch-dark demon, panting and swearing under his breath.

  ‘Was that the last one? Please tell me that was the last one!’ the mage yelled from a few steps behind him.

  The hero turned to look; the mage was shaking, holding onto his staff for dear life.

  ‘I bloody hope so,’ the hero said, then turned to the cleric ‘Can you sense anything?’

  The cleric, standing behind the mage, was still holding his arms up in the air, funneling mana into the detection field. The old man looked rugged, covered in black demon blood, looking like he would collapse any second. But he held on, doing his job as a member of his party.

  ‘No,’ The cleric said.

  ‘Then this was the last one.’ The hero exhaled the words, looking around to make sure the rest of his party was still alive.

  ‘Still here, sir!’ the elven archer waved at him from the left.

  ‘This is the worst,’ the ork knight with his towering shield complained on the right.

  ‘And for gods’ sake, how are these dark demons coordinating this well?’ the human mage cried, sinking to his knees.

  ‘I don’t know. My sword says they’re all psychically connected. Or something.’ The hero offered the explanation.

  ‘That damned demonic sword.’ The cleric spat.

  ‘It’s doing a damned good job killing these fuckers,’ the ork commented.

  ‘If the League hears about one of the heroes using such a weapon, there’ll be no end of trouble for us,’ the cleric groaned.

  ‘It’s actually a pretty good sword.’ The hero held up the blade, inspecting it for the hundredth time since he had picked it up in the Fourth Ring. ‘And it comes with its own skill.’

  ‘A demonic skill,’ the old man said, sneering.

  ‘A skill is a skill.’ The hero shrugged.

  ‘I’m with you on that one, sir,’ the elven archer said. ‘If it keeps us alive, I’m all for it.’

  The hero nodded, appreciating the support, then put the weapon back into its sheath. He took his bag off his shoulder and fished out a piece of salted jerky. Fighting demons was hungry work. The high-level crafters who had descended to Hell along with the various hero parties had done a good job patching the bag up; he could feel the enchantments drawing on his mana to keep it intact. No more losing his belongings in battle, that was for sure. Except his life, perhaps; a possibility that hadn’t even crossed his mind in the first four rings of Hell. But here in the Fifth? It was anyone’s guess whether any of them would make it out alive. The other rings were quite reasonable, hospitable even, compared to this nightmare. This was the real Hell. These were the real demons. How deep were they now? The 9th level of this enormous, vicious, dark labyrinth descending into who knows what or where, worsening level by level, filled to the brim with horrors no-one could have guessed existed, unholy abominations that had never even showed up during the demonic invasion of the world above. The hero suspected they shouldn’t have been down this deep in the Fifth Ring, but orders were orders, and heroes or not, defying the Holy League of Nations without good reason would have been a bad idea.

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  ‘How long do we have to hold this fucking place?’ the ork knight asked.

  ‘Until Diara’s party gets back from the 10th. We can’t abandon post.’ The hero sighed.

  ‘They’ve been gone for days. They could all be dead,’ the elven archer said.

  ‘They could be.’ The hero agreed. ‘But that doesn’t mean we can just pack up and leave, and believe me, I want to. I miss my daughter.’

  ‘Damn.’ The ork growled, and the other party members looked just as unhappy.

  The hero was about to share some words of encouragement, when the cleric snapped to attention, his eyes beginning to glow with a faint blue light.

  ‘What is it? What’s coming?’ the hero jumped up, drawing his demonic sword.

  ‘Something’s coming up from the 10th level,’ the cleric said, his voice shaky.

  Everyone turned to face the wide stairway leading down into the darkness and insanity of the level below, weapons ready and prayers on their lips to their respective gods.

  ‘Hold up, hold up! It’s not demons,’ the cleric announced. ‘It’s them. It’s Diara’s party.’

  The party let out a collective sigh of relief, and the hero sheathed his sword as he rushed forward to greet the returning scouting expedition. Or what was left of it. Instead of the seven that had descended, only three were clambering up the stairway. The hero had never seen any of his compatriots in such a bad shape; the highest-level scout and the highest-level spearman he had ever met were bleeding and limping, and between them they were dragging the hero Diara, and she was missing an arm and seemed to be unconscious.

  The hero helped Diara’s party members to lay her onto the ground, and the cleric immediately stepped to her, calling on a healing skill. Bright green mana-mist fell onto the woman, seeping into her body, everyone watching and waiting to see the result. Diara’s eyes snapped open, and she screamed in pain as the healing magic concentrated on the stump of her missing arm.

  ‘We … I need to go back. I need to go back!’ she yelled, sweat and tears rolling down her face. Her two companions were shaking their heads with terror painted on their faces. Diara reached up and grabbed the hero with one hand, her bloodshot eyes staring into his. ‘Ritz! Please … we’ve got to … go … back …

  Diara, hero of her nation, was delirious. This much was clear to Ritz, the hero of his own nation.

  ‘We can’t go back,’ the scout whimpered to him. ‘You have no idea what’s down there.’

  ‘It’s … hell,’ the spearman said, almost stuttering. ‘The place … that place is … it’s the space. They’re folding it, bending it. You get caught you get ripped apart. Or just vanish.’

  For a minute the hero didn’t say a word, neither did his party members; they all watched in silence as Diara fell back into unconsciousness.

  ‘She’ll live,’ the cleric finally announced. ‘Will take some time to restore her arm, but she’ll live.’

  ‘Why does she want to go back?’ the hero asked Diara’s scout.

  ‘Her bonded familiar. It was swallowed up by … who the fuck knows what that was.’

  ‘What? Her cat?’ the hero asked.

  ‘Yes. Her cat. Highest level familiar I’ve ever seen, and it just vanished,’ the scout explained. ‘I think their bond is broken. It’s dead. I’m sure of it. We can’t go back there.’

  The hero considered this. He’d had no desire to venture any further down into the Fifth Ring even before, but now he was sure that whatever reason the League had for insisting on it had to be contested. He turned to the cleric.

  ‘Listen, you and the other clerics held a communion before we entered the Fifth. What did the gods have to say?’

  ‘They … gave us advice,’ the cleric said, clearly reluctant to share.

  ‘What was the advice?’ the hero demanded.

  ‘The League representatives ordered us not to say,’ the cleric said, looking away.

  The hero sighed. He looked at the unconscious woman, her battered companions who had managed to survive, then he turned back to the cleric.

  ‘You must make up your mind, my friend. Who do you answer to? The kings of men? Of elves? Of orks? Or the gods. Are we to follow the orders of men or divine guidance?’

  ‘I answer to Kridea,’ the cleric stated.

  ‘What was the advice from the gods?’ the hero repeated the question.

  ‘To not venture further than the 5th level of the Fifth Ring,’ the cleric answered with a sigh.

  ‘Yeah? This is the 9th fucking level, I’ve been counting!’ the ork knight bellowed at the cleric.

  ‘I vote that gods trump kings,’ the archer chimed in.

  ‘Fucking right!’ The ork agreed, and even the mage was nodding.

  ‘If we act against the orders from the League, there will be serious consequences. Kridea’s clergy will not be able to stand up to them, nor the others,’ the cleric said.

  The hero’s mind raced, his mood darkening more than it already had since they’d set foot in the Fifth. He arrived at his conclusion in seconds.

  ‘Maybe the clergy can’t, but I can. The heroes can. If they … if we all agree.’

  ‘Maybe. But for how long?’ the cleric argued.

  ‘Long enough,’ the hero growled as the first ideas for a plan began to form in his mind.

  3rd of January 2026.