37 Friends and Allies

STRIGA CLAWED HER way free of rust-coloured dirt and black ash. She knew her old master’s magic when she smelled it; distinctive and abrupt. She’d been fuming, her plans wrecked by that virtuous winged bitch. Angels angered her, their purity, their brilliance, and their morality. All a mask to hide their egocentric lust for power and dominion, while Torments like her were confined to an existence of suffering and defilement.

It had been a stroke of luck her master needed his Torments, and had summoned them; a stroke of luck she had anticipated. She could’ve resisted his call as she’d done many times, but she hadn’t wanted to. And this time, she’d brought allies.

All around her within the crater, small forms clambered free dragging bulging sacks with them. She smiled, pleased she’d made a pact with the mongrels. They deserved a chance to avenge their kind, and Striga was a believer in justice, whatever else she was. Volcanus had been cruel and at times vicious in his younger days. One thing Striga knew was justice had no time limit.

As she climbed out of the hole, the spinning vortex within dissipating with a pop, she found herself amidst a battle. She grabbed a vampire by the neck and groin, and snapped it in half. Another barrelled into her and she snarled while ripping its head off. She tossed it, watching it bounce. The mongrels had vanished, capable of moving unseen when they had to. She knew their history and most of their secrets too, but she would never reveal them. Some creatures deserved to be left alone.

Through the mayhem, she spotted him in the distance, apparently in retreat. It didn’t matter what body he possessed; she knew his magical stink. Leaving the battle behind, her siblings having fun, she followed the Grim Master.

‡

THREADFIN AND HIS DARKEN had walked for what felt like hours. The inside of the temple was much greater in width and depth than its exterior hinted. The height of the ceiling was beyond description. He craned his neck trying to make out the top.

The viral mage suspected it was the result of spectralic magic, although he couldn’t fathom how. He would’ve loved a similar modification to the Tower of Wept. It would’ve given him a lot of room, not to mention a place to get lost when he didn’t want visitors.

There was no one else inside the temple. At least, they didn’t encounter anyone. Still, his skin crawled, and it wasn’t the usual culprits either. The way was bordered with gargantuan statues and massive hanging tapestries, which looked ancient and imposing.

‘Not certain I like this place,’ said Pole, voicing Threadfin’s thoughts. ‘Walls got eyes. Doesn’t feel all that angelic to me neither. You think they built this place, or just took it over?’

‘Most of them fell to Darkness, Pod, remember? I guess Elysium suffered too. We just grab the Sword, and that’s all we need to do.’

‘Then head home.’

‘You bet.’

‘After you stab the most ancient of angels, likely killing him in the process. You forgot that bit.’

‘I did not forget, Pod. One thing at a time.’ A pause, and then he added, ‘You up to this?’

Podral halted and turned, ‘You mean am I ready to protect your scrawny butt, since you got no magic worth spit?’

‘Yeah. Something like that.’

The Darken shrugged, and then grinned. ‘What are friends for, eh?’

‘You know Pod, sometimes I just don’t know with you.’

Pole nudged him. ‘You’re glad I’m here though.’

Threadfin cast him a sidelong look. ‘Fishing for compliments, are we?’

‘No, that was an observation.’

As they walked deeper into the temple, seeking out the innermost chamber and its artefact, Threadfin couldn’t help but feel a warmth inside.

There were some things neither money nor magic could buy.