âHe has been operating for seven years, and you have no trace of who he is? All the tieflings are in the same place! How fucking difficult is it to find someone matching his description?!â
I pinched the bridge of my nose in the middle of the office. All the rumors of rebellion, and all the new work provided by the Lord Mayor when it came to his proclamations were enough to keep us busy, but this? My personal project? This was the one thing that always grated on me, without fail. Especially when my subordinates continued to find nothing on this âBlack Rose.â
âWell, you know the Nursery is Dangerous, Solanus and--â
âYes! And having this subhuman mongrel out in the streets terrorizing us and our good, fine citizenry is even more dangerous, especially after that riot! Leave my sight and donât you DARE return until you have something I can use. Hell, you will get a promotion if you find that beastâs head and set it on my desk. But go. Now.â
The other officers filed out hurriedly, closing the door behind them, leaving me to sigh and rub my face. The simple fact was that the demon who was now beating on any law abiding citizen trying to make a bit of extra coin, or get their house a servant or bodyguard meant that he had more rich folks whining to his boss. And thus the boss would come down harder on him for not finding more results. Which meant it was only fair that my idiotic band of a team got the punishment for not meeting standards.
He was a big, hulking, monster. It should have been near impossible for him to hide, even in the Nursery alongside all of his other dangerous brethren. He was sure he could find the right one to pay off and out him. Hell, offer them work, theyâre probably chomping at the bit for it.
Just had to convince his superior to take a demon-blooded into the Dottari. Tall order, but he could do it.
I turned towards the notes I had on my desk. Confirmed details, Tiefling, large, curved horns... Or were they tall? No one gave consistent accounts. A morningstar, a shield, dark armor, a dark mask. Gold. Operating in the Nursery and the Red Roofs. Only seemed to target landlords, the occasional criminal, and hellknights that got a bit too drunk for their own good and were simply having some honest fun.
I rubbed my face. Again. This was a headache on top of a headache. Few ways it could get worse.
At least he was only one creature, and could be arrested.
âI know heâs a child, but heâs a damn pitborn! Keep him on a tighter leash or heâs going to kill someone someday! We all can only hope heâs gone before heâs a danger.â
âI know, I know, but heâs... Heâs naturally a sweet boy. Iâll talk to him.â
Asmodia had opened the door to a scene she had been dreading. âUncle Gruk,â a Devilborn, tall, somewhat lithe, with a thin black goatee, holding a ten year old Alexite by the collar of his shirt. The little one? He was terrified, but not meeting anyoneâs eyes, shaking a little bit, as he stared at his hands, even as they fell to his sides and he had to face who had become his mother. There was a certain reservation to the happy boy. It made the old crusader wince.
âYou better. He was attacking my nephew. And I was lucky to have a few others with me to drag him off.â
The older tiefling shoved the little boy into the small, dark home, and slammed the door behind him. Asmodia looked at the door for a long time, and the child winced a little bit. Whatever fear he had wasnât the usual vocal, childlike kind. Though, when the silence lingered on, the boy sniffled, and hiccuped.
âWhen... When, when, when...â A heave of breath as all these words were trying to spill out of his little lungs. âD-d-donius was... Was, was making fun of my horns. Making... Goat noises at me.â Hiccup, a moment of a little sob. The tears were falling freely now as the memory was still so fresh, so scary. âI asked him to stop! I did! He, he, he didnât. And... And and... And...â And then he erupted into sobbing, going to grip the Tiefling womanâs leg, rubbing tears into her trousers above her boot.
She didnât quite know how to start with this. She knew demons, she knew the spawn they could produce. Every bit of training and fighting in her life told her of all the dangers, and now the little boy had to face what he was. He was far too young, at least to deal with this. She came down to a knee, wrapping her arms around the boy, rubbing his back.
âShhhh, shh, shh. Itâs okay, little one. We all... Get angry sometimes. Thereâs nothing wrong with that...â
âBut, but, but I hurt him. I only wanted him to stop! I didnât... Bad people hurt people! You told me that!â
It was a plea, less than an accusation, but Asmodia still winced as if it were a slap. She bit her tongue then, trying to figure out how to placate him. To not send him into further hysterics. When the choked little question came out.
âWhatâs... Whatâs a Pitborn, mommy?â
There was the feared question. It was too quiet, met with another little sniffle. Hands gripped at her pants into little knots. She let out a long breath, going to pick the little boy up, and take him to the one rocking chair she had, putting him on her lap.
âWe... Donât have all the same parents, right?â She began. The little boy looked up at her and nodded. The story was providing a bit of a distraction so he could wipe away tears with two little fists. âAnd we... Have special parents that most people donât like, because... These parents do bad things. And because of that, people think we will do bad things, like our parents.â âBut, but you donât do bad things!â âNot like that little one. I...â
She trailed off a moment. She was bad at this, and she glanced away, biting her lip. âWe are like our parents in little ways. We look like them, and... Sometimes we get other things from them. Mine... Mine wants to cause pain to people. Everyone. And then people think I want to.â âBut... You help people! A lot! And... You make my booboos better.â âThatâs right little one. I do not have to be like my parent. Just like no one else does. Just like you donât, Alexite.â âWhat... What does my parent do?â
Sheâd been dancing around the question, but now there was nothing to hide it.
âYour... Your parent is angry. They... Break things. Break people. They are always angry. And want to use that to destroy everything. And... People think you want to, too. Youâll get big. Youâll be strong. And people... People will be afraid of you, little one. I am sorry.â
Another long, quiet moment, with a sniffle. âBut... But I donât want to do that. I, I, I want to help people, like you.â
âYou do not have to. Remember? I donât want to cause pain, so I try not to.â The older Tiefling finally offered a gentle smile, bringing a finger up to point at his heart. âYou donât have to be angry or hurt people. But... People think you will. You cannot choose your birth, and you cannot feel bad for it. IT... Just means you can surprise people with good things! When you help them lift things, or when youâre kind, and soft. But donât ever let people make you feel bad for what you are. Just as I donât let people tell me Iâm bad because of what I am. If you know now, you can-â
âI can help people! I can be like you!â And on came the hug that was a bit stronger than most children, causing a little âoof,â from the older woman before he pat his back.
âJust know that anger will always be inside of you. If you let it have control, you will be just as mad. You have to be stronger than that, to not lose control.â
âOkay! I donât wanna be angry. So I wonât!â
It was a bit more complicated than that, but... It cheered the little boy. It would work right now.
âOkay... You still are going to apologize to Donius. And Iâm going to help him, okay?â
Alexite blanched, looking up at her-- But nodded a few times.
âI-I-I donât want him to hate me.â
âOkay, little one, come on. Letâs make sure he knows you feel bad about what happened, and it wonât happen again.â
Was it a sense of duty, or true compassion that made Asmodia step forward to take the baby in? Two years on, she was finding her motivations distant.
The once-crusader, fighter of demons in the Worldwound, had found her match, and it was in the little tot who had just started walking-- And wouldnât stop. They had a small home, but he still had a grand amount of energy and curiosity, and there were only so many places she could keep her belongings safe from the little one.
It was tiring work, but she was somehow pulling it off. Even if it sometimes meant he was hanging off of her horn and looking around up at her height. Sometimes she had to leave him with a sitter to make sure she could take a hob. Other times, she had to try in vain to get him eating more varied foods. (âYucky carrots,â was a phrase uttered a lot in their home. Replaced with the infernal pronunciation of the vegetable once heâd learned it. He said the word tasted just as yucky.).
One thing, she was proud of, however, was after she got paid extra for a job well done. Something about bandits outside of the city. On the way back through Kintargo, sheâd found a teddy bear, with a little winged crusaderâs helmet on. It took a few silver pieces, but, she knew just who it would be perfect for.
And she couldnât be more right.
âSir Bearington the Lionhearted,â was what she called it, he called it âSir bear,â for the longest time, was a constant âadventuring,â companion for the little boy, being dragged around on whatever little adventures that took the totâs interest. Always went to sleep with him to fight off bad dreams. It seemed to calm the boy a bit, and she could come up with stories (perhaps translated from her own experiences, watered down of course) to inspire him. Something he always loved.
Who needed storybooks when you had once been a knight anyway?
While the worst happened at night, the Nursery never seemed to be completely safe...
âCome on, give us some coin. We know you got it, you live in, like, the nicest place here.â
âYou donât want all of us goinâ hungry now do you?â
âYeah! Come on!â
The Devilâs Nursery always seemed to attract the rumors of imps and demonologists in the alleyways, painting the picture of an unsafe little slice of hell within the city. And while most were hard pressed to find such things during the day, the current scene certainly didnât help much.
Three tiefling boys, probably no older than thirteen all seemed to surround an older woman. Her skin was a faded green, and she seemed so very slim and frail, especially when being accosted by the younger ones. Right then, she seemed a touch helpless, trembling hands already searching through the small bag she carried, with a little âO-oh, alright, alright... I-I donât know how much I have...And... Oh?â
A shadow moved into the alley somewhat quietly, and was now slowly looming over the boys and the old woman. Two unamused red eyes staring down in sheer disapproval. A minute step behind the boys, and a rough cough, and Alexite seemed to finally reveal himself.
His horns were still a touch too big on him, and his sixteen years did much to certainly make him tall. but... Mild malnutrition faced by most in the slum left him a bit more lanky than broad. Some of his strength maintained, and thus, when the boys turned around to look at the creature that towered over them, they immediately began to cower.
âI-Itâs a demon!â
âI knew P-pavo wasnât lying!â
The large Tiefling... Sighed, rubbing his face.
âMarcel, Pell, Grachius. We talked about this before. Iâm not going to eat you, and you donât need to be doing this.â His voice was... Disappointed, and tired. And while the boys all seemed to recognize the voice, their fear turned into... Various measures of guilt, and not daring look up at him
âAnd thatâs why Iâm taking you three home, your parents need to know what was happening here.â
That brought up the cacophony of objections that was halted with sweeping arms picking them all up in a bear hug, with an apologetic smile to the old woman. âParents,â was just the simple term anyway. Heâd just bring them to their various caregivers, and report what happened. That was the best he could do for them anyway.
He just wished something could be done so that they didnât feel like they needed to do this.
Being a mercenary with a child had its ups and downs, and sometimes, that down was simply not having enough for food at the end of the day...
It was a familiar enough line outside of the Cloven Hoof Society. Something weekly where the well known âGrandma Bigteeth,â would roll a cauldron into the building, and get a massive stew going for everyone who needed it in the Nursery. Of course it could only do so much, and always she had some help from everyone, and right then?
Asmodia held the hand of a little boy that barely came up to her knee. Jet black skin, and ram horns that almost completely hid his head from most onlookers. He walked slightly clumsily as they set him off balance-- But he was still a smiley boy, swinging the hand he now held, he couldnât have been any older than ten years.
Alexite didnât mind this, it just happened sometimes, and everyone was always so nice there anyway. He also saw some of his friends here and there, which he was always happy about. But the highlight always came when they reached the front of the line.
Asmodia got her food with a grateful little smile, but when the old Tiefling woman, hunched over and wrinkled with age, her skin a deep blue, bags and wrinkles around her eyes not keeping away the twinkle. While she didnât have horns, a little pointed tail swayed slightly behind her, and what had become her namesake-- Her mouth looked like it was barely keeping in her teeth. At least until she opened into a big, toothy thing. They were sharp fangs, age doing nothing to take away their shine, and their sharpness. It almost looked as if she had rows of them.
All this served to do was bring a grin to Alexiteâs face. His own pointed teeth holding strong, and comparable. Talking and seeing her made him feel a little bit more ânormal,â even if it was the usual âYou god so much bigger! Youâre growing like a little weed,â sort of talk that you really only got from a grandparent. A hug, a bowlful of soup ladled out, and the little Tiefling boy was off. It may not have been an opulent meal, and as he joined Asmodia, she couldnât help the little pang of guilt seeing him spoon up the bowl ravenously.
When Barzillai Thrune arrived, he brought with him the Order of the Rack, loyalists, and an iron fist.
The nights after their arrival, the Black Rose did not dare fear. In fact, he saw it as his duty to openly act out even more. If there was to be a new Lord Mayor, then he would know of the Black Rose, in fact, he struck out further than his usual stomping ground to do so.
At some point, he heard the faint sounds of cries for help, shattering glass, and then the roar of a blaze. His feet kicked into action as he found a burning tenement, deep in the Red Roofs, people of various races surrounding it on the street outside-- And far too many people inside still. No one really noticed him, until he picked his shield up, placing it in front of him as he hunched down, and charged at the Barred door? Why would this door be barred? It wasnât condemned, there are people inside. The heat was intense, but his blood and form weathered it. At some point, he channeled a blessing from his Goddess into his shield, making it bathe a bright light against the smoke and fire around.
It was taking too long, but door by door, he kicked them open, moved rubble that wasnât supporting other parts of the building. No one really had a chance to balk at him, before he was either guiding them out, or dragging them to safety. He got the people outside to start coordinating efforts to pull out sheets to catch those who needed to jump. He performed some healing, what he could anyway, but over time it was getting too dangerous to act. The upper few floors were beginning to fill with more and more flames, but... Of all who remained in the building... Everyone got out. Including the Rose. His breastplate, mask, and clothes soot-stained and singed. The building behind him slowly began to collapse, to cries of horror from the small crowd. At least the ones that werenât huddled around each other.
But... Something was wrong, the stars above were too dim, the clouds too close. The Black Rose looked out among the other buildings, and found a tall one, and charged again. This time, climbing staircases and through doors to try to get a rooftop vantage of the rest of the city. What was going on? There wasnât a riot already was there?
If he were only so lucky.
The sight he got when he swept his gaze over the city, its skyline, were orange embers among different, densely populated parts of the city. Distant cries for help, people running... And so many fires. And so many were too far to reach on foot. Some efforts were beginning to be shown-- But it wasnât enough. The city was ablaze.
And for the first time, The Black Rose felt a crushing impotency in the face of danger. Falling to his knees as he realized the gravity of what he faced now.
No longer could he do this alone. The city needed to fight.
When Alexite Fullona laid his head down to sleep most nights, he was far too exhausted to dream. This time, he was not so fortunate.
Perhaps it was the comfy enough bed, or maybe it was the bit of wine he got in him, but, for once, the Black Rose slept like a log. And thus, as his mind drifted into the sleeping lands, he was carried into a new perspective.
One of the midst of combat in a burning city. His vision restricted by-- A helmet. A hefted shield to deflect an incoming blade, riposted with a mighty swing of his hammer. At this point the faces had all melded into each other. Guard, man, demon, devil, whatever it had been, he could no longer tell. He needed to push forward. The tyrant needed to fall.
At some point he met peasants tucked away in a side street. The infirm and the old got shuffled away to safety, those who still could stand and fight, he rallied, making his way through the streets. To the castle. Knights, guards, everything that would dare stand in the way of the people began to fall. They even began singing at some point, to keep spirits high. Mustering more and more forces as they marched.
He reunited with some of his more trained allies along the way, a welcome change to it all, and it bolstered his spirits even higher. Heâd become the senior officer in their forces. That was fine. Victory would be theirs soon. The massive gates soon loomed before them. The rams, where were the battering rams?
Heave, ho!
The massive log slammed hard against the gates. But they held. The tide was turning across the city. More and more ground was gained. Districts held. They were actually doing it.
The gates rattled. This time, out of sync with the ram. It was a sound that was barely heard above the chaos, and yet so deafening.
What was that? Hold! Hold ranks!
He could not control the waver in his voice, even as he made a command. The city grew quiet, save for the crackling flames. Everything painted in an orange glow, a rebellion against the night itself, it seemed. And yet it only grew brighter behind the Castle gates.
CRACK! Hissssss
A massive bolt of flame seemed to shoot from the gates themselves. The sight caused the forces gathered to tremble, staring at the massive thing-- The blade with a paralyzing terror. Soon the wooden gates were alight with an impossibly fast inferno, devouring the things as if they were naught but paper. What stood behind was hatred and wrath made flesh. At least two stories tall at the tip of its horns, with massive, batlike wings unfurling from its armored back In one hand, it carried its massive, flaming blade. The other, what could only seem to be a whip made of flame.
With a crackling thunderbolt, flames whipped out, sweeping across the rebellious forces Half turned to ash. The other half burning alive. Screams filled the air, and were further quieted by the winds. Cruelty among cruelties was the fact that He remained. To watch it all, succumbing to the only thing he could do.
He raised his shield, and charged into the sweeping hand of the Balor.
In a voice that cursed those that heard it, that singed the very soul of the rebellious commander. Eyes of hot coal searing into the gaze of the man he now held The Balor Spoke.
You are never free. So long as I exist, you will be crushed. You will burn. You will perish. You will never be free.
What else could the dazed, armored rebel do, when faced with such a creature?
He spat, the moisture instantly turning to steam before his burned-out eyes.
And he burned.
-----
The last moments of the dream did not wake the Tiefling with a start, but with a gentle dread that carried him out of his bed in a haze. The emotions not yet processed, but not unfamiliar. It was just before dawn, the golden line of the rising sun starting to color the sky of the east. Were there others awake? Maybe. He put on his simple old workerâs clothes, and gathered some of the tools he grabbed from his home.
And from there, the Tiefling went to the front of the coffee shop, stepping out to water the lone rose in a large flowerpot. Routine carrying his morning.
