Mike strode across the fractured obsidian ridge with Dina leaning against his shoulder. The battle with Raum had left him bruised, bleeding, and burned. But he was still moving. Still alive.
The sky above the Throat of Ash churned with sulfur and shadow.
His shouted in his mind, not to Bahamut, but to the other presence that had helped guide him before: Thanatos.
"You said you'd help. How do I get her out of the Pit?"
For a moment, silence.
Then:
"The Pit has no door… only sacrifices."
"But there is a path. South of the Ash, past the Wound, there lies a fault line where death's breath flows freely. Bring her there."
"Why do you speak in riddles reaper?" Bahamut growled.
Mike's jaw clenched. "Cryptic bastard," he muttered.
"Talking to someone?" Dina rasped beside him.
"Trying to get you out of this hellhole."
She smiled faintly. "You're terrible at optimism."
Before Mike could respond, the air changed.
Heat pulsed from behind them. Pressure. A sudden quake underfoot as four enormous figures emerged from the charred sky, crashing into the ridge and scattering rubble into the abyss.
Four Dukes of Hell, in full infernal regalia.
Each of them towered at least twenty feet. Obsidian armor. Weaponry imbued with soul-bound glyphs. One with a warhammer as big as a siege tower. Another wielding chains tipped with screaming faces. A third, winged like a moth, eyes stitched shut. The fourth was sleek and serpentine, with venom dripping from spines.
The hammer-wielder stepped forward. "Dragon of Bahamut," he bellowed. "You violated sacred grounds. Devoured Raum. You will be torn apart for your insolence."
Mike stepped forward, placing Dina gently behind a jagged ridge. "Stay here."
"Wait Mike, there's too many—"
He didn't listen.
The dragon within him surged, essence crackling from his shoulders. His body exploded into draconic form, red-black flames pulsing from his wings. His eyes burned with primal rage. Four on one. Fine.
Let them come.
The hammer-wielder lunged first. Mike sidestepped the swing and delivered a brutal claw strike to the Duke's side, cracking part of his ribcage. But before Mike could capitalize, the chain-wielder snapped his cursed links around Mike's left arm and yanked, pulling him into the path of a winged Duke's razor gust.
A dozen blades of wind slashed across his chest and neck. Black blood spilled.
Mike roared and shot a stream of fire at the chain-wielder, incinerating one of the chains and forcing the Duke back.
The fourth, the serpentine one, moved like a whip, slithering through the air and striking Mike across the face with a venom-coated tail. The poison sizzled on his scales.
Still, Mike fought back.
He launched into the air, grabbed the moth-winged Duke by the throat, and hurled him into the crater wall. Explosions followed. The entire ridge began to collapse.
The hammer-wielder rushed him again. This time, Mike didn't dodge.
He caught the hammer mid-swing and shattered it with a surge of aura, punching through the stone and glyphs. Then he drove his claws into the Duke's chest and tore out his heart with one hand.
The Duke howled, but before he could even fall, Mike tore him apart with fang and claw, consuming chunks in mouthfuls to heal his burning wounds.
"One down!" he roared, spraying blood and flame.
The others hesitated.
But not for long.
The moth-winged Duke rose again, one wing shredded. His scream summoned razor-winds again, slicing into the rocks around Dina. The serpentine Duke slashed at Mike's legs while the chain-wielder pulled his remaining links taut, trying to restrain him mid-flight.
Mike tore free with sheer force, but blood now leaked from his joints. His body was growing sluggish. Essence burned in him, but he was reaching his limit.
And then
A shadow spread across the sky.
Everything slowed.
From a tear in space above them, a figure descended. Not a demon. Not a Duke. A woman, wrapped in black robes, skin like polished marble, hair of silver smoke that never stopped moving.
A witch.
A coven-sister of Hecate.
Her eyes were blindfolded with a ribbon of glyphs that moved like worms beneath the silk.
"I am Vaelora, disciple of the Crone," she spoke, her voice layered in echoes. "And you… are not permitted to kill my Dukes."
Mike turned, fury in his gaze.
She raised her hand. The world went quiet.
Mike's flames died.
His vision blurred.
He stumbled as essence drained from his bones.
The air was poison, her poison. A suppression field. Ancient magic.
"Shit," Mike growled, falling to one knee.
The remaining three Dukes surged toward him, ready to finish the job.
And then, clapping.
Slow. Measured. Arrogant.
A new figure emerged from a plume of smoke atop the nearby ridge. A tall demon in a crimson suit with a pitch black top hat. Adorned with a obsidian stone glowing branded by a red glyph. Attached with a red soulspun ribbon.
"Such excellent chaos," the figure said with a smooth, amused voice. "Dragons devouring dukes. Witches twisting fate. I had to come see it for myself."
Mike looked up, blinking through blood and haze.
He recognized him, it was the tall, sharply dressed demon he'd seen in Washington, DC. The one who'd sat on the demon corpses while he interrogated the female angel's chosen.
The stranger gave a mocking bow.
"Permit me to introduce myself properly this time, now that the bloodshed has your full attention."
"I am Mephistopheles. King of Deals. Lord of the 12th Circle. Purveyor of temptation... and opportunity."
Vaelora didn't look pleased.
"You interfere with the Crone's work, Mephistopheles," she hissed.
He raised a hand, bored. "I interfere with everyone's work. I find it more efficient."
His eyes turned to Mike, twinkling with something cold. "You've become rather difficult to kill. I admire that."
Mike, barely standing, narrowed his gaze.
"What do you want?"
Mephistopheles's smile grew. "For now? Nothing. I simply enjoy a well-executed defiance. And watching Hecate squirm? That's worth the trip."
The chain Duke snarled. "He killed Raum. He'll burn the whole Pit—"
"And what a delightful performance," Mephistopheles said, raising a finger. "But he's exhausted. If you kill him now, you rob us all of the grand finale."
Vaelora floated lower, seething. "He's a threat. He must be unmade."
Mephistopheles turned his violet gaze on her, suddenly cold. "And yet here you are, still talking. If Hecate truly feared him, she would come herself."
The witch flinched ever so slightly.
That was all Mike needed.
He exploded forward in a blur of wings and flame. His claw ripped into the serpentine Duke's throat, tearing it out before the demon could react. A spray of black blood arced into the air.
He tackled the Duke, bit through his skull, and devoured the body in one frenzied motion.
Strength returned in a rush.
Mike roared.
Vaelora screamed a curse and vanished in a plume of shadow, disappearing before his flame could reach her.
The remaining Dukes fled.
Mike stood, panting, wings wide, blood steaming on his chest.
Mephistopheles tilted his head. "Well played, dragon. I knew she wouldn't stay."
He started to turn, fading into smoke.
"Next time," he added over his shoulder, "try asking nicely when you want answers."
And then he was gone with a tip of his hat.
Only ash and flame remained.
Dina staggered over from behind the ridge. "That was…"
Mike nodded. "Yeah."
She looked up at him, eyes wide. "What was he?"
Mike stared at the burned horizon. "Trouble."