Chapter 711: Not so bad, in the end

Ixit of the First Circle, hunted for fresh meat in the Burning Plains. He skittered in short bursts, all six taloned legs moving him from camouflage to camouflage in near silence.

One had to be cautious in the flatlands. One never knew when another, more powerful creature was hunting you, as you were hunting others. And nearly everything was hunting a demon as weak as Ixit.

In hell, there was always a smaller fish to fry.

Ixit’s specialty was fresh, wandering souls—those who didn’t yet know to avoid the open areas. Those who had not yet accepted they were in the infernum. And that there was no escape.

Even death didn’t free them. Ixit would devour them alive to enjoy their suffering, always careful to leave the bones, according to the lord’s rules. Then the hell-mists would take these and spawn their flesh again in some other part of the infernum, the soul just a little less than it was before, forced to go on and wander again.

Ixit stopped when he saw one such wanderer.

He forced himself not to close his pincers in anticipation. It looked like a man on his own. A fresh being almost brand new to hell. In fact, it was so new, Ixit couldn’t even smell its soul leaking. It was perfect.

But he had to be cautious. There could be other demons lying in wait, using the soul as bait, ready to pounce and kill a hunter like him. He watched, and waited, as the man stumbled along. He looked weak, pathetic, clearly with no idea where to go.

When he could wait no more, Ixit scurried forward from patch to patch of rougher ground to hide, getting within pouncing distance. He stilled and waited. Waited and stilled. Until his attack was perfect. And it was.

The human spun. Too fast. Impossibly fast.

A horrible hand made of iron caught Ixit by the throat. Green eyes shone from beneath his hood. Ixit thrashed and tried to cut him, slashing at his arm with all his legs. They didn’t so much as scratch it. The man just held him and…waited. Ixit eventually gave up, and went limp, waiting for death.

“I’m looking for someone. An old man named Phuong. Do you know where he is?”

The man’s voice was strong and unafraid. How was that possible? And what did he say? Looking for a soul? Here? Madness.

Now that he was so close, Ixit realized this ‘soul’ had tricked him utterly. At this distance he reeked of life no matter how he tried to cover it. He didn’t belong here. How could Ixit have found the one being that didn’t belong? Of all the rotten luck!

“No names,” he hissed through the horrible grip. “Only demons have names. Can’t find. I would tell, but can’t! Souls have no names.”

The green eyes narrowed as if searching Ixit for lies. Why would he lie? He was caught! He would give up anything to be spared another plunge into the Circle.

“This soul does. It’s Phuong, and he’s my friend. Where would I find new arrivals?”

“Anywhere! Everywhere!” Ixit knew it was useless but tried to escape again, thrashing for a few seconds before slumping again in defeat. “Maybe try…river. Yes. Fire river are where most souls go. I can’t hunt there. Too weak. Too many demons.”

The madman who had come to the infernum alive stared and stared. Then loosed his awful grip. Ixit was free!

He didn’t wait to find out why. He just turned and ran, all six legs scuttling as fast as possible. He was afraid it was a trick. That the man would hurt him anyway, taking pleasure in his fleeting hope. But he didn’t follow. He didn’t do anything. Ixit had escaped!

He ran straight towards the demon princes.

They would want to know about this man, he was sure of it. They would reward him for such knowledge, if he could reach them. Perhaps they’d re-form him into something greater. The Second Circle. Maybe even the Third!

They’d make him a proper hunter with less fear. They would, he was sure of it. And he decided perhaps his luck wasn’t so bad after all.

**

Mason marked the pitiful creature, camouflaged himself, and followed it through the burning plain. He’d killed about a thousand of the demons so far, but it hadn’t gotten him any closer to finding Phuong.

He’d decided on a new tactic—let one fool lead him to greener pastures. Though he had no idea if that’s what this creature was doing.

He killed a few demons that tried to hunt his guide, taking them down in total silence. He ran along the red surface that looked inspired by Mars, barefoot and unconcerned. His new divine power didn’t work— it was restricted to the prime. And it wasn’t considered ‘natural’ ground. But Apex Predator made short work of the planar debuff. And all his other powers worked normally.

All things considered, hell wasn’t so bad. Once you got over the dust. He’d even summoned Stag to make sure it worked—which it did—then questioned him about the rules.

“You’re some kind of ancient plane walker. Can you tell me about the infernum?”

The creature stared with his signature ‘yes and you’re an idiot’ eyes, but didn’t answer. Mason was still kind of curious if it was like…a different aspect of Cerebus. Or a separate thing. But a burning field didn’t seem like the right place for a heart to heart about a god growing out of your body.

“OK. Once I find someone down here, can I get them out?”

A delay, and then:

With great difficulty.

When Stag didn’t elaborate, Mason rolled his eyes thinking so it’s gonna be like that. But he kept at it, no intention of letting the creature leave or doing anything until he had some answers.

Stag eventually made it clear he would have to take Phuong to one of several specific exits. The exciting part was that apparently if a soul escaped hell, it was sometimes given a second chance—their ‘corporeal form’ renewed, even if it was buried somewhere. So that was good news.

Also on the good news front: time worked differently here, sort of like the fey. What might be months in hell would only be weeks back home. This gave him a lot longer to search without pissing off his women. And full license to enjoy slaughtering his way through it at a leisurely rate.

His ‘soul’ seemed immune to whatever hell was trying to do to it. Possibly immortals didn’t have to worry about such things. Or they resisted so long it resulted in the same thing, unless you were dumb enough to stay forever. This meant he had a backpack full of useless baubles. But he figured it might help Phuong, when he found him. Or maybe he could use them to bribe demons. One never knew.

The bad news, according to Stag: a recovered soul never really reclaimed all their memories. So it was entirely possible they’d get Phuong back, but only as a shadow of his former self. Still, that was a lot better than nothing. And they’d help him remember who he was.

So Mason had kept Stag well away, so as not to alert his demon prey. And then he’d gone on a murder spree. When that didn’t work, he’d changed tactics. Now he skimmed across the plain, camouflaged with bow in hand, keeping close but not too close to his little demon friend.

As ‘last hurrahs’ went, it was pretty good. Saving a friend and mentor. Battling the forces of hell. Alone. Surrounded by demons and soul-sucking magic. He was practically nostalgic already.

He tried not to think about Blake. Or what roboGod was doing now. About some new planet with another version of him, popped into existence like their synthetic overlord had just pulled him out of a plastic box. He supposed that technically made three of him in the universe. On the plus side, maybe ‘other him’ would keep Blake in line. At least as much as possible.

And he had better things to think about. Like meeting some greater demons and hell princes, and having a nice chat before he ripped off their heads. The anticipation made his hands twitch.

The creatures of this plane had earned more than a little of his attention. The idea of their expressions when ‘the horned prince’ came waltzing into their lair…it was about as good as imagining the scene of debauchery when he arrived back home with his girls.

So he kept low and followed his little friend, smiling when he finally saw some kind of fortress in the distance.

A hidden dungeon in hell, maybe? Some kind of solo mortal peril, designed to kill him by some awful, angry sub-system?

A man could hope. But he had a feeling those days were over. It was probably just some boring demon lord who’d talk shit before getting smeared all over the walls. It would have to do.

Mason raced low through the burning field, ready to end his little guide. He didn’t need him anymore. Didn’t need anyone.

He was the ‘progenitor’ of the prime. The true Apex Predator of the alien’s little game world. And he’d been left here to make a ruin of the creatures who deserved his attention. And maybe to see just how many children he could make with his long, waiting line of beautiful women.

Was it what Blake would do? Probably not. But then Mason had never been the ambitious one. He wished his brother well, wherever he was, glad for all the time they’d shared as children. For himself—he’d figure out how to put down the sword. One day. Maybe.

In the meantime, he’d do what he had to. To keep mankind safe, and honest. To cull the worst of them. To protect and push the weakest. And with his spare time, he’d butcher the planars who tried and failed to destroy them.

His demon ‘guide’ exploded from a Power Shot to the back, legs spraying in all directions with a tiny death squeak. Mason grinned as he sprinted past.

Cerebus was right about one thing—when you were immortal, you had to enjoy the little things. He promised to do his best.