8 Netherworld

THE SON OF GRIM stood within the dark fiery depths of the netherworld. Three red suns roasted the skies to a burnt ruby, none rising or setting. Two gigantic bodies also hung in the sky like monstrous moons, their valleys and craters close enough to reach out and touch.

Ralan tugged at his cloth mask to avoid the sulphurous vapours. A Torment, he did not suffer as a normal man might have, but the fumes were no less unpleasant to his senses.

Well, he reasoned, Cadaver always said I was more human than Torment. But then, that was how he preferred to be. He resented his Torment half.

If he squinted, the creatures flying overhead looked like birds, though he knew they weren’t. They were far larger for one thing. Very high, they rode on thermals hotter than any furnace, winds fed by the constant spewing volcanoes dotting the landscape.

Though he saw the creatures as similar to dragons, they were in fact worse. Something he knew from bitter experience. Wyverns; vicious, far more intelligent, and sporting a venomous bite, they were not something he wanted anything to do with. And unlike dragons, they had no connection to the Darkness, or angels. He supposed he should’ve liked them better for that, if they hadn’t tried to kill him. Twice. Cadaver was training them, something Ralan did not approve of.

Scrambling over the hot rocks, he leapt across a stream of lava until he arrived at a narrow precipice. There were no people in this world. At least, no normal people. Maybe there had been once. This place had been a back door into the Grimstyx for as long as he could remember.

For days, as ordinary mortals counted them, Ralan had searched the netherworld, and had begun to despair. Either they weren’t there, or they didn’t wish to be found. Neither was good and both believable. Cadaver still bore a grievance against Ralan for his opposition to their father.

What got to Ralan most was that Cadaver wasn’t even a natural son of the Grim. He had once been a powerful spectral mage, murdered and reborn because of Nalrost’s damaged spell, to become a Torment. Ralan was the only true son of Rasnal Nalrost, hence his title. Not that logic mattered where Torments were concerned.

It was when he was about to give up his search, he felt someone approach from behind. The Son of Grim froze, knowing this was the most dangerous moment. It wasn’t like they’d ever gotten along, and Cadaver had threatened to murder him more than once. Worse, he’d attempted it.

‘I’ve been watching you,’ said a rough voice behind him, ‘clambering all over this world, as though you lost a trinket. Have you lost something ... brother?’

‘You’re not my brother. I’ve told you that a hundred times.’

‘No, you’re not.’

Slowly, Ralan turned and took in Cadaver’s familiar visage. A head all angles, twisted and bent, his body covered in old wounds. He wore thick leather armour beneath a woollen cloak. Torments didn’t feel the heat like other beings. The Netherworld was likely a little on the chilly side for Cadaver’s taste.

‘And no,’ said Ralan, wondering how this was going to go, now that he had managed to find one of them, ‘I haven’t found what I’m looking for. I have found something, though.’

Cadaver sneered. ‘You are not welcome here. I warned you never to come looking for us.’

There was a scrape of stones behind him, and it took every effort not to turn around. ‘What does this bastard want?’ demanded a female voice. He recognised it as Ruza’s.

He turned his head a fraction to glance at her. An extra set of rib bones, reddish in colour like her hair, protruded from her naked breast, curving inward to form a natural armour. There was another set of horns on her shoulders which curved down to protect her neck and shoulders. She also wore long hide breeches and carried a pale bone sword. Ruza had always been a little overdramatic.

‘He’s come for his punishment,’ said Mara another female. ‘How obliging of him.’ Slighter than Striga, she also had long silver hair and silver eyes, though her horns were overpronounced as they jutted from her shoulders and arms, and two on her forehead.

He turned to take them all in, pausing on each of their faces. Vipir and Vetal, and Strix. Only two were missing, Lugat and Karal, killed when they’d attempted to take Astra Dar by force at the Grim’s order.

Well, too late to turn back now. Might as well get on with this. ‘I know each of you despise me, but then it’s in a Torment’s nature to hate everything. All I ask is you hear me out.’

‘Why should we give you even that?’ demanded Cadaver. ‘Why not rip you apart limb from limb, right now?’

Ralan risked a cheeky smile. Any sign of fear among this lot was a death sentence. ‘If you had wanted to do that, you would have when I first set foot in the Netherworld. Instead, you’ve been watching me.’

Cadaver snorted. ‘You didn’t even sense us. You have spent too long among humans. You’ve become one of them. Don’t think we don’t know about you and that human female, that imperatrix of yours.’

‘Disgusting.’ Ruza spat, and hot sticky phlegm struck Ralan in the face.

Seeing an opening, he decided to seize his moment, wiping his face with one hand. ‘Weren’t each of us human once? You Ruza,’ and he dared look her in the eyes, ‘you were once named Ru Zala, an infamous mage of incredible power from Zalanthya in the north. Mara, you were once named, Maralana Mal. Strix, you were Strixil Dyre.

‘Viper, Vetal, you were the infamous Atlantian brothers named, Vip and Veta Pind. And you, Cadaver,’ he said, turning back toward the largest of them, ‘you were—’

‘Cade Davar,’ whispered the Torment leader with a look of surprise on his face. ‘Yes, that was my name.’

‘A formidable mage who rivalled Nalrost himself. You do remember, don’t you? All of you.’ Ralan hadn’t expected they all would, and had come with a whole speech prepared to convince them. It seemed the Grim’s demise had released them in more ways than one. Their memories were there, buried deep. They just needed to be reminded.

‘We all remember,’ said Mara, ‘or sort of, I guess. I believed they were just some weird dreams. I decided to ignore them.’

Vipir nodded. ‘Yeah, so did we, but then Vetal and I realised we were dreaming the same stuff. We didn’t say nothing because we didn’t know the others were having them too.’

‘Thought it might be Astra Dar up to some of her tricks,’ added Vetal, ‘but I guess not.’

‘So, we had lives before all this,’ Ruza snapped. ‘Lives we lost; thanks for the bloody reminder. Now, what do you want, Ralan?’

‘I am not called the Son of Grim for no reason. I am the flesh and blood son of Rasnal Nalrost, the Grim’s former human identity. I am his true son, twice born.’

Cadaver developed a dangerous look, muscles all over his enormous frame tensing. ‘And what? You’ve come to take over from your father, eh? To rule us like he did?’

‘What ... no! Why would I do that? Not that I could if I wanted to.’

‘You bet you couldn’t,’ growled Vetal. ‘Just try it.’

‘The Grim was an evil creature,’ Ralan went on, ignoring Vetal. He was feeling his way forward, knowing the wrong thing said could undo everything. ‘A creation of Tartaros, though he would never have admitted it. He fought Tartaros for a long time, partly on instinct I guess, but also because he wanted to rule the Spectrum.’

‘We remember what he was like,’ Ruza muttered.

‘Do you remember that Tartaros stole your lives? It murdered you and reformed you into,’ and he gestured to encompass all of them, ‘this. Astra Dar is another servant of Tartaros, and she took Karal and Lugat from you.’

‘What are you getting at?’ Cadaver demanded. ‘Your words are beginning to test my patience.’ He had never been the most avid of listeners even when a mortal mage. Ralan could vaguely remember him visiting their city before the ... final events.

‘I want you to rise against the Darkness. I want you to join me in the greatest fight of your lives. Not to serve me like you did the Grim, but to join with me. If not as friends, then allies. This time, no one will command you. If you do this, you do it by choice.’

Cadaver had a look of abject scepticism on his face, but considering how violent things might have gotten, Ralan thought it was going better than he’d dared hope. The others set to mumbling, with Mara barking a laugh, a sound rarely heard from a Torment.

Yet, none of them said no. I have them. I just need to hold my ground, no matter what comes. I can’t leave this place without their agreement.

Cadaver screwed up his warped face in a knot of disbelief and anger. He looked about to say something, likely unpleasant, when a thunderous detonation erupted the ground beneath them. All were flung aside, Ralan landing in a heap beside a spitting Mara.

Another detonation, followed by two more, and they each went scrambling for cover. He might have laughed at the idea of it, had he not been worried about getting blown to bits. Torments running for cover. It was unthinkable, but spotting Cadaver crawling on all fours to avoid the blasts did threaten a few giggles. Hiding behind a large rock, a stream of lava below him, he thought better of it.

Someone had discovered the Netherworld, and he had no doubt whoever it was, they’d followed him there. If Cadaver figured that out, he might not make it out alive. Their leader was not the forgiving type.

The blasts came in waves, pinning them down, their backs to the lava. Ralan glanced at the others, who were all growling and vicious, all looking at him. Cadaver glared at him, and setting his scarred face, rose, the others doing likewise. Ralan took a moment longer.

Five forms stood in a row hurling lengths of molten rock as though they were throwing spears. They appeared to be made of rock and lava themselves, with no visible facial features. They had four arms and two legs, and one had three heads.

Cadaver and the Torments advanced, Ralan in step with them. Two blasts caught Mara, sending her hurtling with a screech. The others didn’t halt. The Torments flung their own magic back at their assailants.

‘What in the Grim’s unholy name, are they?’ Vipir demanded, hurtling a bolt of magic which hit its target, leaving a gaping hole in the three-headed one, which Ralan took for the leader. ‘We can’t fucking kill them!’

‘They can’t kill us either,’ growled Ruze. ‘At least, not like that. Let’s just grind them into dust. See if that works.’ As if to emphasize the point, Mara had rejoined their number, though she appeared bloodied and somewhat unsteady. She also looked upset.

Ralan knew they had to close with the enemy, whatever they were. It seemed Cadaver had the same idea, because they both charged at the same moment, the others following a heartbeat behind.

Thundering into the assailants was like hitting a scorching hot wall. Ralan’s opponent picked him up by the waist as he grappled with it, feeling his skin and flesh searing to the bone, his clothing catching fire. It lifted him off his feet and flung him away. He landed hard and rolled, but got to his feet fast, coughing from the fumes. These things must have crawled right out of a volcano.

Cadaver was on top of his one, hurling punches, but his fists were bloodied and it was clear he couldn’t win. After a moment, it hurled the Torment aside and regained its feet looking undamaged.

We can’t beat them this way, thought Ralan in despair. We need ghouls, so we can get out of here. There would be a ghoul pen close by, he knew. The Torments had no natural ability to hop worlds after all. His own, which he’d used to get to the Netherworld, wasn’t far off and he could call it, but what of the others? They had to leave together, especially if he was to get them to join him. If he abandoned them now, he would have lost them in more ways than one.

He was about to shout that they should make for the pens when a figure appeared as though formed of sulphurous mist.

The angel’s wings fanned as it grappled with one of the creatures, pounding it with his fists, chunks of rock flying. The mist around the angel began to coalesce, becoming thicker. The other Torments had by now recovered, and seemed frozen in place, watching. The rock creatures had decided the angel was the greatest threat now, and they hurled their might against it to little avail.

The mist thickened, and with a wash of air from the angel’s wings, it enveloped the creatures. They ceased moving as they turned into statues.

Adal let his wings fold neatly behind him as he approached them with a smile.

‘The Eleventh Torment,’ Cadaver sneered holding his ground at the angel’s advance. ‘You still dare call yourself that, Adal? You still dare insult us by claiming that title?’

The angel didn’t seem bothered by Cadaver’s tone. ‘Your master and I had a complicated history, and my title was honorary as far as I was concerned. An honour I never wanted.’

‘A history which you helped end, angel,’ the Torment leader snapped. ‘Do you think you helping us here changes anything?’

Adal glanced at Ralan, who shrugged. It was a known fact there was no reasoning with Torments, but then Adal was never one to give up. ‘I followed the Son of Grim. I knew he would lead me to you because I knew he wanted to enlist your help. As do I. Besides, I also knew something had found you.’

The Torments looked unconvinced, Mara going so far as to spit blood in Adal’s direction. They looked bloodied, burned and in a foul mood, but then, that was how they usually looked.

‘I didn’t come alone,’ continued the angel. ‘I knew my words might not prove enough.’ He gestured to his side, and from out of the toxic mist, another figure approached.

Striga, her silver hair splayed across her shoulders, sauntered up to stand at Adal’s side, and cheekily rested an arm on the angel’s shoulder. She raised an eyebrow at Ralan. ‘I should have known you wouldn’t be able to convince them.’

Ralan frowned. ‘I was doing just fine, thank you very much. I had them in the palm of my hand.’

‘I can see that.’

‘Hardly my fault the rocks themselves decided to attack us, was it?’

There was a hint of a smile in Adal’s eyes. ‘Tartaros seeks to take control of the artefacts. All of them. There is no safe place for them anymore, and if the Darkness succeeds, there will be no safe place for any of us. You skulk here in the ruins of this world but for what? Do you think you can escape it all?’

Cadaver, stubborn as ever, gestured at the statues. ‘How do we know this wasn’t you, some foolish attempt to trick us?’

Striga stepped past the angel and right up to her former leader, for like Ralan, she no longer claimed to follow him. She got right into his face, as though daring him to challenge her. Those two always had a fractious relationship, but Ralan also knew Cadaver respected her. ‘Because I say so. Are you calling me a liar?’

The Torment leader snorted, and then shoved her back a step. ‘We’ve missed you. Strix and Mara especially, but don’t push your luck.’

Striga just smiled at him before turning to Ralan. ‘You want to ask them now?’

Ralan gave her a scowl of his own. Really, I was doing just fine until we got interrupted, he thought, but he couldn’t help feeling glad she was there. They had been closest, and he saw her like a sister, no matter if Strix had been her real brother in their former lives.

‘Cadaver,’ he said, ‘all of you, we need your help to fight Tartaros. What happened here is just a taste of what’s coming. There will be no Grimstyx, no Netherworld, no place at all where the Darkness cannot reach if Lucifer wins. Help us fight him.’

‘All of us,’ said Adal, ‘together, one last time. If we lose, nothing will matter, but if we win, you can go your own way, and live however you see fit. You’ll never have to see me again.’

Each of them was silent, as they glanced at one another, until at last Cadaver spoke, turning to the others. ‘I will not order any of you into this fight. This is something you each must choose.’ Then he turned back to Adal, with a glance for Ralan. ‘For my part, I’m tired of skulking. I want to kill someone.’

Ralan let out a long sigh, but then Striga punched him in the arm almost knocking him over. She always had been the stronger one. ‘You and I have a job to do. You were looking for soul shards, yes? A huge hoard of them? I got your message.’

‘So, you found them?’ He had known that the Grim had been collecting shards for centuries, planning to arm his followers to fight shraeds. Until now, Ralan had no exact location for the hoard, despite what he’d told Sarscha.

‘Yes, I believe I’ve found them, but first we have something else we must do.’

‘I’m not going to like this, am I?’ he asked seeing the smirk on her face.

‘Well now that depends,’ laughed Striga, ‘on how you feel about visiting your mother.’