Valiant: The Covenant Chronicles

[Covenant #9: The Girls]

Log Date: 12/1/12763

Data Sources: Jayta Jaskolka, Raikaron Syntaritov

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Moros-9: Mordokowicz’s Crib

10:52pm SGT

“I like my job.” I mutter to myself, running down a hallway and throwing my back against the wall beside the archway at the end. I can hear several sets of boots stomping into the room on the other side — just another sign my day isn’t going to get any better anytime soon. “I like my job, I like my job—”

The crackling of coilgun pistols starts up, drowning out my voice as spikes go ripping through the wall, sending chunks of plaster flying along with puffs of dust. I crouch down, covering my head on instinct as Mord’s bodyguards turn the wall I’m behind into a piece of Swiss cheese. I’m shaking all over, practically shivering from the adrenaline running through me as I crawl down the hall, pulling myself into the nearest room and waiting for the shooting to stop. Once it finally slows down, I peek my head back out the door.

There’s a guy with a coming through the archway with a plasma shotgun in hand, pumping and firing it the moment he sees me. Even though I jerk my head back, the blast still obliterates the doorframe I’d been peeking around, sending smoldering shrapnel grazing across the side of my face as I howl. “I LIKE MY JOB!”

I’ve definitely had better days.

I know that things aren’t going to get any better if I keep retreating, so even though my heart’s pounding and my hands are shaking, I curl them into fists. The marks on my wrists glow as my orange manacles flare to life around my forearms, and one of my new chainlinks brightens in response to a single thought. I turn black from head to toe, clothes included; the only bit of color I have are my translucent manacles, and my eyes, glowing like orange stars in an outline of darkness.

Leaning backwards, I phase through the wall and back out into the hall.

The bodyguard fires the moment he sees me, but the burst of green plasma just goes right through my chest. The depthless shadow that I’m made of simply swirls back into place as I close on him; he starts backing up, pumping and firing again. This time the splatter of superheated plasma goes through my head, to no effect; then I’m on top of him, my body solidifying into flesh and bone as I grab the shotgun. Before he can pump and fire it again, I shove it up, bashing the spine of it against his face, then yank it out of his hands as he staggers back. Flipping it around, I pump it once and pull the trigger.

It kicks like a bitch, but the burst of superheated plasma blasts a crater clear through his chest. Blood goes splattering across the archway as the guard’s thrown flat on his back. I stare at the body for a moment, look down at the shotgun, then back up at the other guards peering around the archway. I grin as they start rushing to reload their pistols.

I think I’ve found my new favorite toy.

Flaming chunks of plaster go flying into the room beyond the archway as I start walking and firing as I go, nailing at least two of the bodyguards through the wall. The third one is trying to beat a retreat as I stride through the archway; I pump and fire again, catching him with a partial hit that knocks him to the floor. He tries to crawl away as I walk up on him, pumping the shotgun again. Pinning a foot against his back, I take aim as he whimpers and puts his hands up, begging for mercy.

When I pull the trigger, though, there’s only a click and a mellow bell tone. Lowering the shotgun, I see there’s a little symbol flashing along the back that indicates that the plasma cell is dry.

“Mm. Looks like today’s your lucky day.” I say, kicking his pistol away and stepping over him. “You get to walk away. Try to follow me and I’ll kill you.” Switching the shotgun to my left hand, I yank my bat charm off my bangle, getting a good grip on it as it grows to full size in my right hand. Tacking nails, barbed wire, the whole nine yards.

Raising my bat, I use it to nudge aside the silk curtain separating this room from the next. What I find is a lounge room, big glass windows, lots of designer-leather couches, a kitchenette off to the side, and a holoarray in the middle of the room that houses Cyber stripper in her holographic form. She’s summoned up a holographic stool to sit on, looking bemused by the bodies strewn across the room.

“Took you long enough.” Harro says from where he’s rifling through the fridge. He’s left his giant sword leaning against the counter, and there’s a fresh coat of blood staining his boots.  “It was taking you so long I thought we were going to have to spend the night.”

“Yeah, yeah, cut me a break.” I mutter, stepping over bodies. “This is the first time I’ve done this. We can’t all be prodigies.” I stop next to the holoarray, looking around the blood-spattered room. “Where’s Mordokowicz?”

“I sat him down in that armchair there.” Harro says, turning around with a beer in hand, then pausing when he sees the armchair is empty. “Oh c’mon, you turn your back for one second to get a drink…”

“Harro!” I hiss, whirling on him. “You let him get away?! He can’t escape! I can’t fail this task; Rai will eat me alive if I don’t complete what I was sent here to do!”

“Well, I wouldn’t blame him; you look like you’d be a delicious mouthful…”

“HARRO!”

“Relax, I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. I can still scent him.” Harro says, sauntering towards the holoarray with his nose tilted up, sniffing as he goes. “He hasn’t left this room; I would’ve heard it. It’s just a matter of—”

Before he can finish, one of the bodies on the floor rolls over, slamming a knife into Harro’s thigh. Harro shouts, but rather than stagger away, he bends down, grabbing the man by the shirt with one hand, and bodily throws him into the kitchenette, where the cupboards crunch when he slams into them. As the man falls, I rush up on him, dropping the shotgun so I can grip my bat two-handed, and bring it down on his back. The blow is strong enough to slam him back against the ground, the barbed wire leaving a nasty rictus of bloody lines across his back.

“You either stop moving, or I keep hitting you until you stop moving.” I pant as he gasps and tries to crawl away. At my words, he looks over his shoulder to see that I’ve got my bat cocked back for another swing.

“Jaysus, you’re a crazy bitch!” he wheezes. “Which gang sent you? I’m all paid up!”

Yeah, this must be Mordokowicz. “Your time’s up, Mord. You asked the Lord of Regret for five more years, and he gave them to you. I hope you enjoyed them.” I say, reaching down to grab the back of his shirt and haul him up.

“Wait, no no no no no!” Mordokowicz says, starting to thrash and trying to fight free as he’s pulled upright. “I can cut another deal, I can give him something, I can, uh, what does he want? I can give it to him! And if I don’t have it, I can go out and get it for him!”

I let go of his shirt so I can grab the back of his neck, slamming him flat against the counter as my hand starts to heat up. “The more you struggle, the hotter this gets.” I hiss as the skin on the back of his neck starts to sizzle.

“Ah! Ah! No! Okay! I’m lying still! I’m not struggling!” he shouts, the thrashing stopping even as he grips the kitchen counter, fighting the urge to try and worm free of my hand.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” I say, turning towards Harro. “Harro, what do I do next? I’ve never collected a soul before.”

“Seriously, woman?” Harro grunts as he grips the knife in his thigh. “I just got shanked and you’re asking me for a tutorial on how to collect a guy’s soul?”

“Don’t you ‘woman’ me!” I snap at him. “I didn’t ask you to come on this shitshow, and you sure as hell weren’t supposed to follow me!”

“If I hadn’t come, you probably would’ve gotten your ass handed to you by all the private security in this crib.” Gritting his teeth as he yanks the knife out, he clamps his hand to the wound, stemming the blood as he digs around in his battered duster. “You should be thanking me for doing half the job for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to do half the job for me! I could’ve done it on my own!”

“Keep telling yourself that. You want me to collect Mord’s soul for you too?”

“No, just tell me how to do it, you asshat!”

“Just flip into your demon form and stick your hand in his chest, it’s not that hard.” he says, making a shooing motion at me as he pulls a handkerchief out and starts tying it off around his leg. “You’ve got his contract and the conditions have been fulfilled, so you just need to get a good grip on it and yank. Like unplugging a power cord from a wall socket.”

“Uhhh, here’s an idea, let’s not unplug my soul—” Mordokowicz starts.

“I thought I told you to be quiet.” I growl at him, my hand heating up again.

“You never told me to be quiet, you just told me not to strugGLE OH AH THAT’S HOT okay okay okay I’m being quiet now!”

“Nnf. Man, that was a cheap shot, dude.” Harro grunts as he collects the beer that he set down on the floor, and gingerly pushes back to his feet. “Only cowards pretend to be dead, then roll over and stab a guy in the leg. You’re lucky we’re here to collect your soul, or I would’ve taught you a lesson about how I handle cowards.”

“Seriously, what does the Lord of Regret want?” Mordokowicz says, his words rushed and desperate. “I can get it for him, just tell me what he wants—”

“He wants your soul.” I take my hand off the back of my neck as I let the rage inside me come loose, transforming into heat that spreads from my chest across my body. Bones crack and grind as my legs lengthen into a digitigrade configuration, giving me a few inches of height as my weight shifts onto a broad, three-toed configuration. I can feel the horns curling back through my hair as my wings morph out of my back and unfurl, and my skin pales into a plaster-white hue.

And Mordokowicz, who’s twisted around with his back to the counter, stares with some mixture of awe and horror as I raise a hand, tensing my fingers so that my wicked black claws slide out of the tips of them.

“Hot dayum.” Harro says, letting out a whistle as he limps around one side to get a better look at me. “Someone call the fire department, there’s a hot new demon in the House and she’s gonna set the place on fire.”

I just give him a dirty glare. Mordokowicz tries to use that moment of distraction to escape, but I’d expected that, and I flex one of my wings. It flares out and curls around him; I tense the muscle, the wing pulling back in and throwing him against the counter. “I didn’t say you could leave.”

“So there’s a chance I could leave?” he asks hopefully.

“No.” I say, shoving my hand at his torso.

It phases through his chest, not dissimilar to the way that the Cane Man’s sword phased through my chest when he stabbed me. Mordokowicz gasps; I imagine the sensation is unpleasant for him, as much as it was for me, and for a moment I hesitate. I remember how it felt when my soul was about to be ripped out of me on Charisto; it was agonizing, and Mordokowicz must be feeling the same way now.

But then I remember that this guy’s a criminal and an arms dealer that sold his soul so he could have a few more years when he should’ve died, and he hadn’t done much of anything to turn around his life in that time. He just went right back to what he’d been doing before. It was a waste of a second chance.

He didn’t deserve a third.

I curl my fingers closed, twisting my hand as I do so. I can feel his soul coalescing into a ball within my claws, and give a firm yank; as my hand comes out of his chest, I can see the paroxysm of agony that crosses his face, then just as quickly erased by a blank expression as his soul leaves his body. I don’t think his body’s quite dead yet, but there’s nothing left to animate it, and so it slumps against the counter, sliding to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.

“See?” Harro says, taking a swig from his beer. “Simple as unplugging a power cord. No mess, no fuss.”

I look at the little ball of squirming light caged within my pale fingers. It looks like a nebulous cloud of plasma; something that, by rights, one shouldn’t be able to contain in their hand. After a moment of staring at it, I reach inside my duster and unzip the envelope pocket, pulling out the case file and flipping it open. Within is the contract that Mordokowicz signed with Raikaron, along with summation of the task that had been typed up Danya. Holding the soul over the contract, I let go of it; it drifts down, being sucked into the parchment of the contract. The ancient letters glow and burn on the page as Mordokowicz’s soul is fully consumed by the parchment, contained within the red text, which flickers and swirls like a bed of embers.

“Well, there you have it.” Harro says as I flip the folder shut. “You’re done with your first collection task.” He looks around the bloody room of bodies. “You owe me a drink, by the way.”

“You’ve already got a drink.” I point out, bending down to pick up the empty shotgun.

“You owe me another drink for getting stabbed on your behalf.” he says, following as I start back the way we came. This compound had a lot of rooms, and the portal had dropped me in the hangar when I’d arrived, so we’d have to follow the trail of carnage we’d left in our wake.

“I’m not buying you a drink.”

“Maybe I could buy you a drink, then?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Offering to tag along next time the skinny strawberry sends you out to kick ass and take names.”

“The answer is no, but I’m sure you’ll tag along anyway.”

“I’ll take it.”

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

The House of Regret: Raikaron’s Study

11:38pm SGT

“We should be due for another shipment of imps by next week.” Danya says, perusing an orientation and training schedule as she paces back and forth in the study. “This should allow for at least two weeks of training, to acquaint them with the rules and customs of the House before Krysmis arrives.” She pauses, giving me a stern look over the rims of her half-moon reading glasses. “In the event of mass insubordination, please refrain from throwing this batch into the magma pits.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” I say, thumbing through a stack of envelopes as I sit in my armchair beside the fire. “High turnover is a problem; I do understand we need to mitigate that as much as possible.”

“Good.” Danya says, shuffling that paper to the bottom of the stack and moving onto the next one. “The House’s various ventures and regional branches have been returning steady profits for us across Sjelefengsel. There have been some instances of turf wars springing up between our people in the contract resale industry and the gangs backed by the House of Loathing, but nothing major. I believe the initiative is coming from the local level, rather than originating from the Seventh Circle.”

“Pity. I could’ve used an excuse to visit Loathing. It’s been too long since I saw her.” I opine, flicking another letter into the fire. “Let them get it out of their system for now. If the fighting becomes more serious, we can step in.”

“Understood.” That report is also shuffled to the bottom of the stack. “We are facing competition from the House of Guilt in the secrets market. Early signs seem to indicate that the Lord of Guilt is trying to expand her leverage-peddling operation by acquiring a clearinghouse for secrets. I wouldn’t call it a monopoly quite yet, but with this acquisition, Guilt will control a not-inconsequential portion of the market.”

“Is it a threat to our hybrid approach to influence politics?” I ask, slitting one of the envelopes open to check the contents, before consigning them to the fire.

“Not as of yet. It may alter our acquisition patterns for secrets, however.” Danya says. “We will continue to monitor Guilt’s moves on the secrets market. If it starts to affect our own agenda, we can see about entering into talks with other Houses that are heavily affected by any changes in that market.”

A knock at the door interrupts both of us, and Danya reaches up to take her reading glasses off. “This time of night, I can only imagine that’s Jayta. Shall I?”

“Mm. Go on.” I say, accentuating the allowance with a permissive flick of my fingers. Looking back down at the stack of letters in my lap, I pick up another one, look it over, then feed it to the fire.

There’s click as the door opens, and the soft sound of footsteps over the carpet before Danya comes back into view, with Jayta trailing her, and a plasma shotgun in hand. She stops a respectful distance from my armchair, bowing her head. “My Lord.”

“Jayta.” I reply by way of greeting. Over the weeks, her conduct has slowly grown more professional, less sulky, probably on account of Danya’s firm and guiding hand. “I see you’ve collected a trophy from this latest task you were given.”

Her eyes follow my gaze to the shotgun she’s got in hand. “It was… useful. I found that I liked using it, and I wanted to keep it.” She pauses, her grey eyes searching me, possibly for any sign of approval or disapproval. “If that was okay with you.”

“Well, you’ll be hard-pressed to find a vendor that sells plasma cells here in Sjelefengsel.” I say, holding a hand out for the gun. She places it in my hand, and I take it, looking it over, feeling the weight of the thing. “It certainly lacks the elegance of a more precise firearm, but precision is not your style. In that respect, a shotgun would pair very nicely with that barbed-wire bat that you’ve got. Force and brutality, employed without mercy or restraint.”

“I hadn’t thought about that.” she says, her fingers tangling together nervously. “About people not selling ammunition down here, that is.”

“Well, we have little need for such things down here. Most demons utilize their chainlinks, and the powers that come with them, to resolve conflicts.” I say, running my fingers over the metal casing of the shotgun. It’s really not a bad weapon; it has a nice, clean design that’s left ample room for modification and modular upgrades. It’s the sort of thing you would expect a professional military or mercenary outfit to use, instead of the bog-standard shotgun you’d find behind some redneck’s front door. “We can, however, make adjustments to this one so that it’s more befitting a demon’s use.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” I say, examining the drained plasma cell. “I will adjust it so that it uses the units of power that forms the basis of Sjelefengsel’s economy. Would you like it on a bracelet for portability, in the same manner that your bat is enchanted?”

The offer seems to catch her quite off guard. “Oh, yes please… I would like that.”

“I will see about making it a reality, then.” I say, setting the shotgun to the table beside the fireplace. “Now, I assume you were here to deliver the fruits of my labors?”

The phrasing seems to go over her head for a few seconds, if the blank look on her face is anything to go by. Eventually it clicks with a small “Oh!” and she rushes to reach in her duster, digging around until she comes up with collections case file I had tasked her with. She holds it out to me, but Danya clears her throat.

“You are to kneel and bow your head when you make such offerings to your Lord.” she instructs sternly. “It is tradition to show deference to our betters when we deliver to them the end product of their labors.”

Jayta glares at Danya, but she goes down on one knee before my armchair, averting her eyes from me as she holds out the file again. I reach out and take it, flipping it open and studying the contract within. It’s hard not to give a little smile when I see the name writ in the shimmering, emberesque text.

“Mordokowicz.” I murmur softly. “Yes, I remember him. A sniveling weasel of a man. Given the chance he likely would’ve sold his own mother for money and power; I suppose I was naïve in thinking that a brush with mortality would change him.” Taking the contract out of the file, I hold it up, studying it by the light of the fire. “He’ll make a fine addition to my collection.”

Lowering it back into the case file, I flip it closed, looking back to Jayta. “You must be tired.” I remark. “I won’t keep you longer than necessary; I’m sure you’d like to get a shower and fall in bed. You may go; I’ll ask one of the servants to prepare a mug of hot cocoa for you and have it up to your room so you can enjoy it after your shower.”

Jayta stands quickly, nodding to me. “Thank you, my Lord.” she says, giving a stiff little bow before turning and heading for the door. It’s only once it’s clicked shut behind her that Danya looks at me.

“You are entirely too kind to her.” she declares, putting her reading glasses back on.

“You really think so?” I ask, returning my attention to the pile of envelopes in my lap.

“I do. At this rate you’re going to spoil her rotten.” Danya says, shuffling through her reports once more. “If you keep this up, she’s going to come to expect this kind of treatment.”

“If her behavior and performance continue to improve, I see no reason why that should be an issue.” I say, tossing another couple of envelopes into the fire. “Besides, I like seeing her smile.”

The shuffling of paper comes to a halt as Danya’s eyes flick up to stare at me over the rims of her half-moon glasses.

“Is something the matter?” I ask.

“Not at all.” Papers rasp against each other as Danya starts to shuffle through them once more, returning her gaze to the reports. “Shall we address the matter of our favors stockpile? Its growth has slowed in the last three months.”

“We’re here, so we might as well. Have we been calling in more favors than we’ve been collecting?…”

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: The Library Labyrinth

12/2/12763 9:10am SGT

“Oh, excellent.” Mek says, reaching up to take off his spectacles. “And what delights has the kitchen conjured up today?”

“Waffles with blackberries in a maple syrup sauce, and sausage on the side.” I say, setting the tray down on the table that Mek is sitting at. He’s currently got a book open in his lap, one arm resting on table as he gazes askance at the breakfast tray. “The kitchen seems to make waffles a lot.”

“Lord Syntaritov likes waffles and berries.” Mek says, taking a bookmark from the table and tucking it into the tome he’s currently perusing. “Pursuant to that, the kitchen often makes waffles at his request. I am not one to complain, so long as there’s a little meat to go along with it.”

“And if there isn’t any meat to go with it?” I ask, sitting down across from him.

His whiskers twitch in amusement as he snaps the book shut and sets it aside. “If there’s no meat, I’m still not one to complain. Lord Syntaritov has something of a sweet tooth, so many of the kitchen’s offerings are pastries or sweet things. In moderation, of course. Personally, I prefer meat, but I am a serval, as you can see…”

“Feline Halfie, so you’re predisposed to a diet that leans carnivorous.” I finish for him.

“Precisely.” Mek says, unrolling the napkin that contains his silverware as he pivots his chair to sit properly to the table. “That being said, not all Lords are so generous with the meals they afford to their House staff. So I am thankful — there are worse things to suffer from than an overabundance of waffles.” As he starts to cut his waffles into squares, he goes on. “How about yourself? How did your most recent task for Lord Syntaritov go?”

“It was harder than I expected, even with my new chainlinks.” I admit. “Harro came and helped me through some of it. I’m pretty sure I could’ve done it on my own, but… it was kinda nice not to have to do all of it on my own.”

“Harro came and helped you?” Mek says, raising an eyebrow. “Surprising. I was under the impression that Lord Syntaritov had forbidden him from interacting with you.”

“He did.” I say, reaching up and scratching under my jaw. “Harro tagged along without anybody knowing. I didn’t even know he’d followed me until he showed up and kept one of the bodyguards from shanking me.”

“Mm.” Mek says, his expression unreadable. “I will say nothing, except to be careful with such things.”

“You think he’s going to get me in trouble?” I ask. “Danya’s already warned me about that. I can handle him; he’s not a complicated creature. Just another horny jock. Though I will admit, he is a bit of a hunk.”

Mek’s whiskers twitch again. “Here in the House of Regret, trouble never quite takes the form you expect it to.” he says, spearing one of his waffle squares with his fork. “Harro may seem simple on the surface, but he has hidden depths. They are not as deep as certain other bodies of water, like Lord Syntaritov, but…” He sticks his fork in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully and swallowing before he goes on. “…you don’t need an ocean to drown. A shallow pool will kill you just as surely if you lose your bearings, or get held down.”

“I know how to swim.” I say, squaring my shoulders. “Besides, now that I’m a little more comfortable with my chainlinks, I’m pretty sure I can handle my next collection task on my own.”

“Ah yes. How are you enjoying your new links?” he asks as he starts slicing up the sausages on his plate.

I lift my arm, a translucent orange manacle flaring to life around it. Two new links dangle from the anchor point on the underside of it, and I reach up, flicking them and watching how they sway. “They’re neat. I’m loving the strength chainlink.” Reaching down, I plant my hands underneath the wooden table, and brace myself with a grunt, lifting the entire table with all the books on it. It’s not easy, but it’s definitely more than I could do before I got my strength chainlink.

“The strength chainlink is a coveted one, yes.” Mek says, his arms raised now that his breakfast tray is much higher than it was before. He lowers them as I put the table back on the floor. “It is simple, straightforward, and stacks linearly with each additional strength link added onto a demon’s chains. As you just demonstrated, it has utility beyond simply strongarming your enemies into submission.”

“You can get more than one of a single type of chainlink?” I ask, straightening out the piles of books that had been tilted askew by my little weightlifting stunt.

“It depends on the type of chainlink, but yes.” Mek explains past a mouthful of sausage. “Some chainlinks stack linearly; others provide diminishing returns for additional links of the same type. Brutes and enforcer demons, for example, usually stack multiple strength chainlinks.” He pauses to take a sip from his milk, then motions with his knife. “What do you think of the ghost chainlink that Lord Syntaritov allowed you to have?”

“That was useful. It helped me with not getting shot.” I say, fingering the other chainlink on my manacle. “How often do we get given chainlinks?”

“They are usually earned while in service to your Lord.” Mek explains. “Yours seem to be given to you in the service of the tasks you’re expected to carry out, but the longer a demon serves a Lord, and serves them well, the more likely they are to be rewarded with additional chainlinks beyond what is strictly needed for their duties.”

I let my manacle fade away. “So powerful demons have longer chains.”

“In as many words, yes. It is one of the many ironies of Sjelefengsel.” he says, dipping one of his sausage slices in the maple syrup. “The more power you gain here, the tighter you are bound to your Lord. The very thing which is so often associated with autonomy — power, in its many forms and iterations — instead forges the very chains that limit our freedom. There is symbolism in this; it shows that we are slaves to our own ambition and greed.”

“If I had a choice between power and my freedom, I’d take my freedom every time.” I say, propping my elbows on the table and setting my chin in my hands. “What about you? Do you have a lot of chainlinks?”

“I have a decent number. Not as many as, say, Danya.” Mek demurs, chasing a waffle square around his plate. “Confined as I am to this room, I have little need for combat-oriented chainlinks. My chains are utilitarian in nature, and largely reflect my role within the House; they’re a bit shorter than you would expect of a standard Fifth Circle demon.”

“That’s another thing. I keep hearing about these Circles.” I point out. “From the way I’ve heard them referenced, it sounds like they’re a class or a caste thing. What’s up with that?”

“I’m surprised nobody’s explained the Circles to you yet.” Mek says, taking a sip of his milk. “I suppose over breakfast is as good a time as any. The Circles are the social hierarchy of Sjelefengsel. In common mortal parlance, the circles of hell are thought of as different realms of hell with increasing severity of punishment, but in reality they are the way that class and rank within demon society is organized. At the bottom is the First Circle, occupied by what is effectively the cannon fodder of Sjelefengsel — mostly demons by damnation that have no rights and exist only to suffer and serve the whims of higher Circles until they have served their sentence. Then, of course is the Second Circle; still poor, but these demons might have housing and some limited rights; and on and on up the chain; you get the idea.”

“Yeah, I suppose that makes sense.” I say, watching his waffles. “So it’s basically just lower class, middle class, upper class type of thing?”

“Broadly speaking, yes.” Mek says, spearing another chunk of waffle. “Were you to take such an approach to it, the lower class would be the First, Second, and Third Circles; the middle class would be the Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Circles; and the upper class would be the Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth Circles. The population distribution across the Circles resembles a pyramid, with the First Circle comprising the largest chunk of Sjelefengsel’s population, and each following Circle comprising a successively smaller chunk of Sjelefengsel’s population.”

“So what kind of demons are in the Ninth Circle?” I ask.

“Those would be the Sovereigns of Sjelefengsel, effectively dark deities, for all intents and purposes.” Mek explains. “There are only three members of the Ninth Circle: Lucifer, Lilith, and Sheol. They govern Sjelefengsel, and their power within it is absolute. Beneath them in the Eighth Circle are the Greater Lords of Sjelefengsel, of which there are seven. In the Seventh Circle are the Lesser Lords of Sjelefengsel, of which there are a few dozen. Lord Syntaritov is a member of the Seventh Circle.”

“So he’s pretty far up the ladder.” I surmise, still eyeing up his plate.

“Quite so, and he enjoys power and privileges commensurate with his rank.” Mek says, taking his napkin and dabbing at his mouth. “And before you ask: Danya is a member of the Sixth Circle, immediately below Lord Syntaritov. As are you. Harro and myself are members of the Fifth Circle, and most of the House staff are members of the Third and Fourth Circles…” He pauses when he notices my attention on his plate. “…have you had breakfast yet?”

I shake my head. “I wasn’t hungry before. I am now.”

His mouth curls in a brief flash of amusement as he takes up the fork once more. “You should make sure to take care of yourself. A young demon like you needs three square meals a day and a good night’s rest if you’re going to be running errands for our Lord.”

Stabbing one of the waffle squares that has a berry atop it, he holds it across the table to me. I hesitate for a moment, before leaning over the table and biting it off the fork. Bouncing back in my chair, I grin at him as I chew. “Thanks.”

“Say nothing of it.” he says, resting his fork back on his plate before he pushes the tray towards me. “You can finish the rest of it, if you like. I have little need for this many calories with how confined I am down here.” Lacing his furred fingers together, he gives me a melancholy smile. “It’s good to see you in lighter spirits. You seemed so morose on so many of your prior visits.”

I feel myself wilt a bit as I take the tray and pick up the fork. “…I’m… I…” After a moment of chasing around the waffle squares on the plate, I take a deep breath. “I’m not happy about where I am, or what’s happened to me. But I got tired of being sad. I know I can’t escape, so instead of crying over it, I’m trying to… I don’t know.” I let my wrist rest against the edge of the tray, staring at one of the syrup-soaked blackberries. “I guess I’m trying to live. I don’t know where I’m going, or what I’m doing, but I’m tired of being sad. I know I can’t go back to what I had before. I have to get used to what I have now.”

The fork clicks against the plate as I spear that berry, holding it up so I can look at it. Perhaps these were berries that came from Raikaron’s garden, just like the ones the Lord of Lust ordered me to pick for her. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like… some parts of it. I like living in a nice house, having a room that’s bigger than my entire apartment was back on Coreolis. I like having power, and being able to use it. I suppose those are the only two things I really like about being a demon. I don’t like Sjelefengsel, I don’t like Rai- I mean, Lord Syntaritov; I don’t like the tasks I’m given. I don’t like that… that I’m starting to enjoy punishing and hurting people, even if they deserve it. But that’s life, I guess. Sorta like a blackberry.” I bite it off the fork, chewing before I go on. “The seeds are bitter, but the fruit is sweet.”

Those last words only seem to deepen the melancholy of Mek’s smile. “Very much so. I couldn’t have said it better myself.” He looks around the core of the labyrinth, at the towering shelves full of knowledge. “It’s one of life’s great lessons, one that Lord Syntaritov has taught to you, and to me, and to Danya, and to many other beside ourselves. To surround us with the things we desired, and letting us contemplate what they cost us.”

I follow his gaze to the bookshelves. “If you don’t mind me asking… how’d you end up here, Mek? I know that’s a sensitive topic for a lot of demons, so if you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to.”

“It’s fine. It’s been almost two hundred years, so the sting of my hubris has lessened somewhat.” he says, lacing his fingers together over one knee. “I was a scientist that pursued knowledge to the exclusion of all else. To the expense of the society I lived in, to the manipulation of those that tried to turn me from my path, and finally to the abuse of those few that still cared for me. I died alone, at the hands of someone whose family member I experimented on… but without remorse for all I had done in my long career, because I thought my work justified the sacrifice of others. When I arrived in Sjelefengsel and was sentenced, I was sent to Lord Syntaritov’s jurisdiction. And he gave me all this.” He motions labyrinthine shelves around us. “All the knowledge I could ever want, in a maze I could never escape, and only occasionally visited by others.”

“You’ve been in here for two centuries?” I ask, dumbstruck by that.

“Well, I think it’s two centuries. As I’ve said before, it’s easy to lose track of time in here.” Mek says, his eyes still roving the shelves. “I didn’t think it was punishment at first. Aside from the obvious fact that I couldn’t escape, and that I got tired of seeing the same thing over and over again. It took me a few decades, and reading every book twice over, to realize the harm that my pursuit had done.” He looks back to me. “All the knowledge in the universe means little if you have no one to share it with. And if you sacrifice others to get it, then you will have no one to share it with.”

“That’s…” I say, struck by how mournful that is.

“Profound?” he guesses.

“I was going to say ‘deep’, but that word sounds better.” I admit, stabbing a waffle square, and then stabbing the last one on the plate. “It seems like you’ve changed, though. You realize what you did wrong.”

“I did, but my sentence still has to be served.” he says, brushing a bit of dust off one of the books. “I’ve spent much of the last century reflecting on what I’ve done, and trying to change the way I think. The way I am. So that when my sentence is over, I can give it another shot, in a new life. I won’t remember anything if I am reincarnated, but it’s the principle of the thing that matters.”

I bite the last bits of waffle off the fork, setting it down on the plate. “I think you’ll do good in your next life, Mek. Whenever it happens.”

“I appreciate that, Jayta.” Mek says with a smile. “You ought to get on your way. Go get yourself a proper breakfast, instead of eating my leftovers.”

“Will do.” I say, standing up and collecting the tray. “I’ll try to visit you again sometime soon.”

I start towards back towards one of the entrances to the labyrinth with that, but I slow down, and eventually stop. After a moment, I turn about, hurrying back to the table, and before Mek can ask what the matter is, I lean down and give him a quick kiss on his fuzzy cheek.

“Thank you for always being kind to me.” I say quietly, before backing up and hurrying back towards the archway. I don’t wait to see his reaction, or what he might say, instead losing myself in the shelves of the labyrinth as I follow the orange strip on the floor back to the exit.

We might be in hell, and kindness might not be warranted in here, but…

As Mek said, it was the principle of the thing that matters.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: Grand Foyer

4:09pm SGT

“C’mere, Cinder, you little gremlin.” I mutter as I jump down the last few stairs leading into the foyer, and reach down to scoop up the dark grey cat that’s become my best friend and my cuddlebuddy at night. She meows, knowing she’s in trouble; her whiskers still have traces of cream from where she got into some of the desserts in the kitchen. “I fed you this morning. If you keep getting into the kitchen, the cook’s going to throw you in the oven one day.”

She plants her paws on my collarbone, pushing away from me as I hug her to my chest and turn around to head down the main hall — and instead nearly walk straight into Raikaron.

“Oh!” I say, taking a couple steps back, my heart racing. “My Lord— I’m sorry, I didn’t see you standing there…”

“It’s fine.” he says, raising a hand for Cinder to sniff as she twists around in my arms. “Is this the cat you brought back from your first task on Shanaurse?”

“Uhm. Yes.” I say, shifting her in my arms so I can hold her more easily. “I’m sorry. She got into the kitchen, and I—”

“It’s fine.” he says once more, scratching under Cinder’s chin and crooking his knuckles as she runs her cheek along them. “I am something of an ailurophile. If we are to have pets in the house, a cat would be my preference.” As she lets out a little mrrrp, he leans down and gives her an almost perfect, rolling brrreow in response, smiling when she pushes up to rub the top of her head against his face. I just stare.

Raikaron Syntaritov, one of the demon Lords of Sjelefengsel, is standing in front of me and talking to a cat in its native language.

“My Lord.” Danya’s ever-stiff voice has me turning my head to see that she’s coming into the foyer from one of the adjoining halls. “Forgive me for so saying, but letting that thing rub all over you is beneath your dignity. It will shed all over your clothes.”

“There are worse fates.” Raikaron says, straightening up and using his thumb to rub under Cinder’s chin while his forefinger rubs over the top of her head. “You asked me to come to the foyer because you said there was something I ought to see. Was this it?”

“I would not waste your time on something so pedestrian as one of your pet projects holding a furry sootball.” Danya says, moving to one of the large windows in the foyer. “Come, look. It is something I believe you will want to see with your own eyes.”

“This is uncharacteristically obtuse of you, Danya.” Raikaron says, stepping around me and following Danya to the window. I tag along to gaze with them, letting Cinder slip to the floor now that she’s getting squirmy. “What am I looking for?”

“I know it’s getting darker, but that patch of sky over there.” Danya says, pointing to a spot that looks like it’s filled with dozens of moving shapes, very rapidly getting closer. “Do you see it?”

“I do.” Raikaron says, reaching up to adjust his glasses as he squints through the window. “It looks like… oh no.” He jerks backwards, taking a step back from the window and giving Danya a stricken look. “They’re back already? They weren’t supposed to get home until a week before Krysmis!”

For the first time since I’ve met her, Danya allows herself a smile that is as sincere as it is smug. “They completed their tasks early.” is all she says.

“No no no, I’m not ready!” Raikaron says, staggering away from the window and running towards the main hall. “Don’t let them in the House!”

“Too late.” Danya smirks as a raven slams through the window with a crash, and glass starts flying as dozen more crows, shrikes, ravens, and other corvids come pouring through after it.

I shriek, staggering away from the flood of birds and throwing up my arms, worried one of them’s going to hit me. “What’s going on?!” I shout as the flock of birds pour through the window. “What the hell kind of birds are these?!”

“They’re harpies.” Danya answers once the flood of birds has slowed to a trickle, the sound of flapping filling the House as the flock disperses into the halls. She starts striding across the foyer, the broken glass crunching beneath her heels as she goes, and I hurry to follow around her, looking around to make sure I’m not going to be suddenly attacked by a swarm of birds. “Or rather, they’re fragments of harpies. A harpy can turn into a flock of birds for travel, or for spreading across a wide area and monitoring inconspicuously.”

“So all these birds are a person?” I ask as Danya marches down the main hall, following the track that Raikaron took.

“Several people, actually; the harpies of the House of Regret. They’ve been out on a long task for Lord Syntaritov for the past six months; this will be your first time meeting the girls.” Danya says. From the way she’s walking, it seems like we’re headed for the living room at the back of the House. “Bear in mind that they are not as cultured or civilized as the other residents of the House. They are… how do I put this. They are not domesticated.”

“What are they, wild animals?” I ask, ducking as a dozen or so birds go hurtling overhead once more. I’m having to scurry to keep up with Danya’s long-legged stride.

“In a manner of speaking. Harpies are native to Sjelefengsel; they are not brought here by contract or damnation.” Danya explains as we start to near the back end of the House. “While they are sentient, their brains are structured differently than most creatures of the mortal plane, and though those differences are subtle and small, they are significant. They are slow to develop a capacity for abstract thought, which lends itself to a diminished sense of self-preservation, a diminished fear response, and a diminished capacity for foresight. On the other hand, they’re great at taking orders, and they can be highly aggressive, which makes them excellent footsoldiers. They also breed like rabbits, if allowed.”

As we near the living room, I’m starting to hear high-pitched chattering and excited voices. “From the way you’re talking, it sounds like you consider them expendable…”

“Most harpies are.” Danya says as we come through into the living room. “The harpies of the House of Regret, however…”

I stare as we come to a stop. Raikaron’s been penned into one of the armchairs by the fireplace on the left wall, and seems to have admitted defeat. He’s currently sitting in it with his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose. Around him is a ring of scrawny, short-ish women in their early twenties; they look mostly human until you get to the knees, where their legs instead become leathery birdskin with three and four-toed bird feet at the bottom. Most of them are dressed like street punks, with ripped shirts baring their midriffs, short shorts, and feathers in their hair, which is dyed in some honestly horrendous shades of neon. By the victorian standards of the House, it’s practically scandalous.

But it’s the cacophonous behavior that’s more shocking; a steady clicking of talons as they jump up and down out of sync, shouting Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! at Raikaron.

“The hell is going on…” I mutter.

“The story goes that Lord Syntaritov was out and about some several decades ago, tending to some task or another, when he came across an abandoned nest of recently-hatched harpies.” Danya says, folding her arms. “Harpies, like some species of birds, imprint on the first living thing they see after hatching. Raikaron was simply passing by, but his curiosity got the best of him, and he went to examine the abandoned nest on account of the racket that the chicks were raising from not being fed. He didn’t realize they hadn’t imprinted yet; the moment he came into view, he became their daddy, whether he liked it or not.”

“So he brought them home?” I ask quietly, not like I’ll be heard over the racket that the girls are making.

“Not of his own accord.” Danya replies as one of the girls clambers up on the back of the armchair and perches there, chanting along with the others. “When he tried to leave, they left the nest and followed him; no matter how many times he put them back into the nest, they would hop back out and follow him the moment he started walking away. Eventually he gave up and let them follow him home, and they’ve been the harpies of the House of Regret ever since.”

“Are they always like this?” Watching them, seeing the way they jump back and forth, cawing and shrieking and giggling at Raikaron, it very much seems like someone stuffed a bunch of birds into human suits.

“This particular ritual only happens when they get home after being gone for a week or more.” Danya says, examining her nails. “They’ll calm down eventually. They’re still a little airheaded even when they’re calm, but they usually don’t make this much of a racket unless they get worked up.”

I jump and scramble to one side as I feel a flurry of feathers tear past me, and look to see a flock of hawks flapping into the room. They start to coalesce around a single point in the room, landing on the floor, then on top of each other, starting to form a stack that vaguely resembles a person. The feathers begin to morph together as the last of the hawks join the stack, and resolves into a taller woman with short brown hair, wearing a leather jacket and streamlined body armor underneath, with a shortsword belted horizontally across her lower back. Unlike the other harpies, she’s a good deal more composed, though you can still see the excitement bleeding through the spring in her step as she approaches Danya.

“The triplets should be along shortly.” she says, giving a short bow. “Some of the ravens are straggling, and Rujnu is taking her time getting here. As you can see, all of the crows, shrikes, and magpies are already present.”

“Thank you, Aritska.” Danya says as Aritska straightens up and stands at her side, in the way one might expect of a lieutenant or a captain. “Was the long patrol a productive one?”

“We went far afield, and found many secrets for Father, and stole many favors in his name.” Aritska says, folding her arms behind her back. “He will be proud of us, I think. After the crows and shrikes and magpies are done greeting him.”

“Alright, that’s enough! Girls! Enough!” Raikaron shouts, taking his head out of his hands. The harpies immediately stop jumping and shrieking, and instead they all drop to one knee, Aritska included, with a unity that’s unsettling. Folding one leg over the other, Raikaron snaps his fingers, the fireplace flaring to life beside him as he gazes over the dozen or so harpies kneeling before him. “Where are Rujnu and the ravens?”

“They are escorting the triplets, Father.” Aritska answers. “You know how they tend to wander.”

“Yes, unfortunately I do.” Raikaron says, unfolding his glasses and putting them back on. “Tell me what you discovered, girls. One at a time.”

“The galaxy turns, Daddy.” one of the girls with shrike feathers says. “There is unrest in the hearts of mortals. They say the Challengers are returned.”

“All the worlds are set at unease.” adds another girl with crow feathers. “Sjelefengsel is not the only hell to survey the mortal plane. We have seen members of the Order abroad; the Old City does not sleep.”

“Neither does the Maelstrom.” adds one of the raven harpies, noticeably larger than some of the other harpies. “The disciples of Azra walk among mortals and search for a vessel for their empress.”

“It is a time of change!” hisses one of the magpie harpies. “There is a tension among the stars. There is chaos coming, and all the galaxy feels it. The hearts of the greedy and ambitious crave it, for there will be opportunities abounding.”

“And all because the Challengers returned.” adds one of the crow harpies.

At that, the other harpies start nodding, whispering the word back and forth between each other. A spooky chorus of Challengers, Challengers, Challengers echoes back and forth between them until Raikaron holds up a hand, bringing silence to the room once more. Only when the whispering fades does he speak. “Is that all the news you have for me?”

The harpies look back and forth at each other, as if questioning whether there was anything else to report. Eventually one of the shrikes hesitantly raises her hand. “I heard that Taylor McTailor, the Demon Tailor of Talingrad, escaped from his behavioral facility.”

Raikaron raises an eyebrow. “Did he now? Perhaps we should track him down and ask if he’s open for commissioned work. Very good, Taiga.”

“What have we here?”

“What’s this?”

“O child of Aurescura…”

I feel the hands on my back, combing through my hair, seconds before I stagger forward, whirling around. “What are you—” I start, my words petering out when I see three more harpies — each of them with white hair, red irises, and white, loose-sleeved shirts on. They more or less look identical, which probably means…

“Jayta, these are the triplets.” Danya explains. “They are respected members of this House. They will not harm you; they are merely curious.”

I give Danya an uncertain look ask they creep up on me again, tilting their heads to the side in the way that birds might. “I dunno, they’re kinda… weird…”

“She is of Aurescura, undoubtedly.” one says as all three of them start to circle around me.

“A forbidden fruit.” agrees another.

“You have stolen from Maugrimm, Father.” says the third. “In this, be warned. You may rue such boldness. Pray that she never prays.”

“I know the risk I took, Trinity.” Raikaron replies, lacing his fingers together. “You are late. You know how I feel about punctuality.”

“Our apologies, Father.” one says as she takes my hand, lifting it to examine my manacle mark. “We would have come sooner had we known you had picked fruit from a forbidden garden.”

“You think he has partaken?” another one whispers to the other.

“No.” the other replies with a sly little smile. “Not yet.”

“Trinity.” Raikaron interrupts sharply. “Leave Jayta alone. What news do you have for me?”

The triplets leave me one by one, turning to weave through the kneeling harpies on their way to Raikaron’s chair. Two settle on either side, while one clambers up to perch on the back of the chair, displacing the other harpy that was perched there. “We traveled the galaxy, my Lord. Oh, what things we saw.”

“There is much to come, my Lord.” The one on the left leans her head against the arm of the chair. “The blood of the past stains the cloth that the future will be cut from.”

“For some there will be reckonings. For others, there will be redemption.” The one on the right folds her arms on the armrest, looking up at Raikaron. “Stories are being written that will be told for centuries, my Lord.”

“Of heroes accidental and villains unwilling…”

“Of love and loss, loyalty and revenge…”

“Of war and extinction, of destruction and desperation…”

“A battle for the soul of this galaxy.”

“All in general terms, I see.” Raikaron remarks. “Nothing in the specific?”

“What use are specifics, when it shall consume the entire galaxy?” asks the triplet perched on the back of the armchair. “We return to you not with news, but with a warning…”

“That even you are not exempt.” continues the triplet on the right, taking his hand and clasping it. “You have a part to play in the coming chaos, whether you will it or not. It shall begin soon…”

“And all that you hath, you must lose to tread the path you always aspired to.” says the one on the left, using a finger to trace the stitching in the pattern of the armchair’s fabric. “For this is the price of pursuing a dream. But you know that, child of the Dreaming.”

“This is what we saw, Father.” the triplets conclude in unison.

“I see.” Raikaron says, gently patting the hand of triplet holding his. “I will take your clairvoyance into consideration as we plan for the future. However, you all are now home without harm, and so we must celebrate.” His attention returns to the room at large, speaking now to all of the harpies. “See to it that the secrets and favors you collected are delivered to Danya’s office, so they can be divided and stored as necessary. After that, get cleaned up and dressed for dinner. And after dinner, I have a new toy for you all to torment; she will be waiting in the playroom.”

This gets a rise of chirping and chattering out of the kneeling harpies, the feathers in their hair rising slightly in excitement. Talons drum and click on the floor, a frenetic clattering that almost drowns out their voices as they whisper to each other in delight.

“You are dismissed now.” Raikaron says, giving a releasing wave with his free hand. The harpies spring up with that, milling about as they chatter to each other and start to filter from the room. The triplets remain at Raikaron’s chair, murmuring quiet things to him, and Aritska turns to Danya, giving a small bow of her head before leaving to go get cleaned up as well.

“Now you have met the girls.” Danya says, turning to depart and clearly expecting me to follow as well, and I do exactly that as I give a last look to Raikaron and the triplets, who appear to be conversing in low murmurs. “The House is bound to be more lively now that they are home once more, so you may hear the occasional racket far more frequently than you have in the past. As you are a newcomer, the girls may take an interest in you; if they start to get on your nerves, you are allowed to tell them off. They may sulk when reprimanded, but their memories are not especially long, and they will likely forget it within two or three days.”

“They seem very… juvenile.” I remark as return back down the hall we took to get here.

“As I said before, they can be a little airheaded.” is Danya’s answer as the click of her heels echoes off the walls. “But they are not innocent by any stretch of the imagination. Their fawning adoration for Lord Syntaritov may make them seem childlike, but remove him from their immediate vicinity and you will find that their enthusiasm must find a new target. All too often it is rendered in the service of carnal pursuits, violent and sensual alike.”

“Really?” I ask doubtfully. “They didn’t really come across that way to me.”

“Again, because they were in the presence of their Lord.” Danya replies. There’s a cold gleam to her smile as she turns her head enough to look over her shoulder at me. “If you doubt their capacity for carnal glee, perhaps you ought to visit the playroom after dinner. We have it soundproofed for a reason.”

Those words send a chill down my back. “…I’ll pass, thanks.” I know I’ve changed since I’ve arrived here, become harder and crueler, and I’m starting to savor the suffering of those that deserve it, but I’m not so far gone that I’d stoop to Danya’s suggestion. “Earlier I heard you say something about Krysmis… you guys celebrate that here?”

“Some parts of Sjelefengsel do. The House of Regret is one of them.” Danya says as we arrive back to the main foyer. “You are not expected to get anybody a gift, though Lord Syntaritov may very well get you something. He usually gives gifts to his staff on Krysmis, assuming they are contract demons and have served him well.” Stopping at the shattered glass on the floor, she pins a shard with the toe of her shoe, then flicks it aside with a twist of her foot. “I will need to see about getting that window fixed. The girls always break a window when they come back home after a long patrol; they get too excited to use a door.” She turns and looks at me. “I must get back to work. Is there anything you wished to bring to my attention, Jayta?”

I shake my head. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“Very well. I will see you come dinnertime, then.” she says, marching off down the adjoining hall that leads to her office. As the sound of her heels fade with distance, I feel something brush against my leg, and glance down to see Cinder. Reaching down, I pick her up and cradle her close as I reflect on the words of the triplets.

O child of Aurescura…

A forbidden fruit…

You have stolen from Maugrimm, Father.

I’d never thought much about my roots, about the culture and history of my people. It was something you took for granted — stories, myths, legends that explained who we were and where we came from. Such things were meant to give us a sense of group identity, of commonality, but in reality, they mattered little. They were just stories, fabrications — a communal identity based on something that was not real. As I’d matured and gone into college, I’d seen the absurdity of a nationality based on cultural myths; it was every bit absurd as forming a nationality around a popular holo franchise or book series. My cultural identity had come to mean little to me because I had believed that the stories of my ancestors were merely that — fictions told to entertain and to bond.

But now that I was here in hell, where being Aurescuran apparently mattered…

Perhaps a reconsideration of my roots would not be remiss.