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Oct 20, 2015

Devils in the Details

Hey guess what more writing. A birthday gift for Cruxia featuring her Demon Overlord...Cruxia, a dog butler Rostrul and a scheme that could CHANGE everything. Story below the cut;

It was a blight that crossed the Demon Overlord Cruxia’s desk in the early morning of her power. A strange and twisted thing, the likes of which she had not seen in aeons, perhaps it was even a wholly new thing as it looked quite alien to her. She had recently rectified her new power centre in Gauntlet Hold and had gone through the laborious time that was beating her staff into submission. Though after all the time she’d spent sedentary in her previous confines she had relished the exercise. A physical burst of power, the mildest twitch of muscles that on any other overlord would have surely atrophied.

But not Overlord Cruxia, where some demon’s feared to tread she tread without worry. A few centuries in heavenly confinement, the assembled Angelic host baring down on her all the while? Hardly a challenge worth remembering.

But this slip of paper it held crude and strange writing, language had surely changed since her incarceration and she was going to lengths to learn the new common tongues of the many realms. But this was in some sort of creative gibberish, purposefully vague and twisting the few complete phrases she had grasped during her time awakened. She required assistance.

“Rostrul!” She cried and waited. She should not have to wait long, she demanded his presence quite loudly. She heard him coming, the clop clop of feet in too big shoes and then the slap of something else. Soft slapping sounds coming in quick staccato bursts with the clopping. She ground her teeth as the doors were thrown open and Rostrul bounded in.

Rostrul was a low level demon, a dog thingbeast in a fancy suit, but he was still quite large. One of the larger additions to her fresh menagerie, easily twice the height of most humans when he could be bothered to stand on his hind legs. Like a proper butler. Right now he was squat on his haunches, his big pawed hands resting just ahead of the shiny shoes that completed his fanciful outfit.

“Master!” He bade, his tongue lolling out his giant fanged mouth, big eyes fixed on her behind the desk he dwarfed. “You summon-”

“STAND UP!” Cruxia snapped and he did so,springing up onto his back feet, head striking the ceiling with such force that it rattled and someone on the next floor up screamed. The floors around here could barely stand up to Rostrul, the place would have no chance against her once her true glory was reinstated. She looked at Rostrul pointedly and slid the piece of paper over to him.

He lifted it up, the finger occupying a single pad of his massive paw. He scanned his eyes over it in a quick instant. “Is something the matter?”

“The language,” she said simply, “it has changed since I was in the void. Explain to me what this says as I must be reading it wrong.” She wasn’t proud to admit it but really she needed help here. She’d been reabsorbing culture slowly through her vassals and servants, discovering the new corridors of power in the The Under was a tedious affair but if one was to have any right to power you should know where to get it from.

“Oh certainly,” Rostrul looked it over again, “would you want me to just read it as is or was there a particular passage, master?”

“Just all of it,” she’d have to get some lackey to read her mail for her eventually. She lamented the loss of her previous seat of power, you never really knew how many duties you had delegated to slaves until you lost them all.

Rostrul growled once or twice into his palm, coughing to warm up his vocal chords. He bounced lightly on his heels and read from the letter clearly and with much pomp.

“Dearest Master of Gauntlet Hold,” he began loudly, Cruxia winced some and he lowered his voice as he continued. “It is with much delight that we at Fimbul and Basleigh welcome you into our humble little family.” He began and so far it matched up, mostly, what Cruxia assumed it had said. Sounded a bit too familiar, she felt.

Language like the rest of the world had gone soft in her absence. He looked down at her, his big eyes on her and his ear twitching a little as he waited to make sure she understood. She waved at him with an errant motion and he went on.

“It is always a wonderful affair to complete a sale with demon’s of such renown and we strive to ensure that you have as much comfort as we can give, as such we’ve set you up with a number of insurances.” Rostrul went on and Cruxia held up a hand.

“Insurance, I’m correct in assuming is something that we pay for to protect us against some other thing?” She asked Rostrul, the concept was simple. Rostrul nodded. “We didn’t ask for this though, correct?” She indicated and Rostrul again nodded, more vigorously his massive tongue lolling out of his mouth to rest against his suit jacket.

“Correct master,” he replied, “it’s a new fangled thing that caught on about a hundred years back. People could insure particularly artifacts of long lost demon families and groups. So that should they lose the vast power these provided they could fall back onto monetary safety to keep lesser families cowed with bribes.” He said and Cruxia nodded, sounded a simple scheme.

“But it spread.” She went on leaning back in her throne. “I take it someone figured they could insure something beyond artifacts. So now it’s blossomed into a full on thing to insure homes against certain types of things,” her tailed swept at the ground behind her as she remembered just what she was insured against. “We are apparently insured against; attacks from the ground, attacks from the air, holy attacks, unholy attacks, magic accidents, planar collisions, magical collisions, planar accidents. The list is really quite comprehensive.”

“I was just about to say,” Rostrul went on as he scanned four or five more lines of insurance. “All of these come as standard according to the letter, for someone of the Overlord class at any rate.” Rostrul scratched behind one ear, and had to try very hard not to keep scratching as he noticed his master’s eyes on him. She was trying to civilize him and it was all quite hard. Clothes were super itchy….

“Go on Rostrul it’s the next part I must keep reading wrong,” she waved for him to continue and the butler went on.

“Very well,” he went back to his loud letter reading voice. “As you know insurance does not come cheap and we will require a monthly tithe of four thousand gold bits to prevent unpleasantness.”

“Yes stop there.” Cruxia said nodding. “See I thought it said that and I couldn’t help but feel that was something like the prelude to a threat.” The whole… prevent unpleasantness part. It’s worded ambiguously.”

“It’s possible,” Rostrul said as his master stood from her throne, “that it is supposed to mean the unpleasantness of being without your object or being the victim of such calamities.”

Cruxia snorted as she walked past Rostrul who fell into step at her heels. Watching his large shoes clomp just behind his master’s deceptively delicate looking tail which only moved so energetically when she was planning to do awful things.

Rostrul whined lowly, ears plastering to his skull.

“I see it as something of a threat. A threat of pay me or else.” She said, that’s how she would have set up this insurance scheme. As something a fraud from the very start. “Why would I ever pay them?”

“That’s how insurance works. You pay them and they store the money in a mutual fund. Should you suffer from what you are insured against you are repaid using that fun.” Rostrul noticed his master had stopped when the tip of her tail paused an inch from his nose, he whined again slowly and took a step back. His heart thudded in his chest as his master turned her hellish red eyes on him, teeth suddenly more like blades than ever.

“What? Why should i pay them to keep my property! Should I lose something and they are my vassals it is only proper they heap me with finance!” The sheer notion of paying those that worked under her seemed pointless. To pay total strangers to keep you safe! Insurance was just a fancy mercenary title it seemed! A paper tiger with fangs of ink.

“Well,” Rostrul stammered, “that’s how it works. You pay to be protected against the eventuality of something every now and again and should it occur your investment is rewarded with interest.” As he went on the fight went out of Cruxia, a grimace forming on her face.

“Tch.” Was all she had to say. “We’re going to see these people. I won’t pay for these things, we will cancel our mercenary insurance. Prepare the carriage and drivers. I will speak to them...personally.”

---

The Offices of Fimbul & Basleigh were rather large and impressive buildings, so large in fact they had their own set of vestigial floating islands. The geography of the Underworld was tricky at the best of times, the roads could float away some days unless they were secured in place by immense power of cunning tricks. The offices of Fimbul floated around a central, much larger island which told Cruxia it was the former.

Which added to the shame of all this. Some powerful demon was resorting to contract trickery to snatch power from ti’s own kind! That was the tricks reserved for the human cattle, if you wanted something from another demon you simply hit them as hard as you could until they gave it up. At least, that’s how it used to be.

The buildings were of human design mostly which either spoke of kidnapped masons or a fascination with the flesh apes that could be considered a sign of weakness. Human design was, despite it’s lack of opulence, quick and simple to erect. Demon palace’s required marble to be cooled in lakes of tears, rocks to be chipped from the fangs of dread fish and such like. Human’s just needed dirt and immense heat. The The Under provided both in abundance.

It might carry the stigma of human association for something more than food but you could erect a human city in the The Under with about the third the effort it took to sculpt a halfway decent Overlord’s castle. The main island was affixed to the ground by a number of large iron chains that supported some horrid bridge. The carriage rode up the makeshift road, jostling as it went.

Rostrul clung to the back of the carriage, laying his broad chest over to and letting his muzzle poke against the back of the skeletal driver. He really wished they’d get a bigger carriage one of these days, he didn’t like having to stand on the luggage rack and hold up his tail to keep it from dragging. His bit wet nose prodded the driver again and the skeleton shifted over in the seat to try and dodge the dog nose.

The main building was something like a mansion. Grand and expansive, shaped vaguely like a W composed of rectangles. Two great side wings and one main building linked to all the others, through the windows a myriad of shapes were keeping busy navigating around with a mad intensity. Nary a guard in sight, not a single armed soldier of fiend wizard to repel invaders. Whoever ran this place was certainly sure of their power, Cruxia considered.

The carriage pulled to a halt on a cobblestone road, white like bones. Rostrul hopped down, the carriage springing up some. He pulled open the door for his master and saw that she was...stuck. Him jumping down had apparently sprung her up and...he looked at the roof of the carriage, the tips of black horns poked through.

“Not a word.” Cruxia hissed. “If you laugh or tell anyone about this or think about laughing, I will do the kinds of things that make you beg for death.” She locked eyes with Rostrul to make sure he understood, he silently nodded and his tail went limp. He reached over the roof of the cabin and delicately pushed down on the horns.

“Sorry,sorry,sorrysorry.” He kept saying faster and faster as Cruxia exited the carriage, shaking her head to dislodge any wood or chips that had made their way into her hair. She crossed her arms over her chest and faced her massive butler. His ears plastered to his big fuzzy skull, a little whine emitting from him and his hands held up just in front of him as if he was preparing to block a blow. She just shook her head and teased loose a chunk of wood from her hair.

“You’re walking back.” She said simply and walked on, Rostrul let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding before falling into step behind her.

“Yes master.” He said trying not to sound excited. If he was alone he’d get to run properly and not worry about his clothes. His tail wapped excitedly behind him.

“If the suit comes back dirt or there’s a single scuff on your shoes you’ll be made to clean the torture implements with your tongue.” She amended and Rostrul whimpered, his tail lost all life.

Cruxia stood there for a moment and noticed a lack of something. Nobody had come out to greet her, no weak lesser demons had pried open the giant bronze doors of the manor, no entourage of demon guards to escort her into the guts of this place. She groaned and stormed forward shoving open the massive doors with a single quick push. They groaned open on ancient latches and opened into a long tiled corridor. Black over white stretched back to a desk where there sat a squat thing drumming on the desk. It looked surprised to see her.

“Hey,” it chirped in a tiny voice as Cruxia marched toward it, Rostrul shoving the door closed with his giant paws behind her. “You can’t just show up here you need to be summoned or make an appointment.”

Cruxia slammed her hands on the desk and the tiny lizard thing behind the desk cuddled it’s fat tail in fear. “Check again. I am sure I have an appointment. Cruxia Astaroth Malitrus, overlord, owner of Gauntlet Hold. I am here to speak to the man in charge.” The lizard looked in the book, flipped through pages hurriedly and on a perfectly blank page she said.

“Oh yes! Here you are! My mistake, Ms Malitrus! It’s right that way!” It squeaked as Cruxia pushed past her, fanged teeth readily on display. Cruxia shoved open another door.

“Just go down there, last door on the right. Lord Fimbul will happily see you now.

“Thank you.” Cruxia tittered between a thick ugly laugh. The little lizard looked up at Rostrul who halfheartedly growled at her as he passed. The little lizard decided cuddle up beneath its desk and be sad. For the rest of the day. But first it loosened the latch on a brass pipe under the desk and spoke into it.

“Appointment coming Lord Fimbul, I couldn’t stop them. Sorry.” It chittered and rolled over to cuddle it’s tail.

Lord Fimbul raised a delicate eyebrow at the message and then the door to his office exploded inward. It’s important as a salesman to size up potential clients with a single glance, Fimbul was well aware of this and took in the specimen at the door with a voracious stare.

Cruxia for her part saw the demon at the end of a big room, it was less of an office and more obviously a throne room. A long walk to a little desk instead of a throne, you could put any chair at the end of this room and the walk too it would transfer the nervous quality of approaching royalty.

Classic mental torture without having to raise a hand. Mentally you’d ask why they had such a big room, must be important. Notice how lovely the carpet is and how clean it is, infers not many people come through here; it’s a privilege to walk in this room. You’d notice eventually that the figure in the chair was taller than you, the desk and indeed the man behind it on a slight incline to include that little mental suggestion of lording over you.

All in all an office set up to hint that this person was much more important than you and really what were you even doing here? It’s a good thing Cruxia got past throne based mind games over six centuries ago.

The figure behind the desk was harder to surmise than the room. He had a trio of front facing horns on his forehead, two long and one vestigial short thing that was more nub than horn. A skin tinted blue and teeth that looked see through and almost like jade. When he smiled his teeth clacked together with a sound like glass on glass contact sports.

“Good evening,” the voice that emerged from behind the glass teeth was one of refinement. The figure stood and clicked two twig like fingers. From behind curtains appeared a trio of lesser implings, horrid misshapen spidery things that tripped on their own surplus limbs as they dragged in a chair. Cruxia repressed a shudder, minions reflected on the master and these things were certainly a funhouse mirror.

“I estimate from the door and the sound of my secretary’s gentle sobbing that you have a problem,” he gestured to the chair which Cruxia sat in with Rostrul standing at her side. “We don’t have...chairs in his size, forgive me.”

“I don’t care about chairs or Rostrul’s comfort.” Cruxia said and Rostrul’s ears fell flat. “I’m here to talk about this trite insurance contract.” She held out a hand and Rostrul plucked out the papers from his coat, quickly. “It reads, very vaguely, like a threat.” Cruxia smiled at him, the kind of smile a cat gives a rat in the very moment before disemboweling it.

Horrid sharp teeth caught and played with the light in horrid ways.Fimbul clicked again and more horrid spidery things clambered up Rostrul’s pant leg and snatched the thing from his paw before leaping to the floor. Dozens of them, a carpet of twisty limbs and spindly digits crossed the gap between Cruxia and Fimbul. Scampering up the desk to deliver the contract. Fimbul looked it over.

“Oh yes. The standard Overlord package,” he turned a page and shoo’d away the implings with a few vicious swats. “Protection against a lot of things, protection against invasions. It’s really a standard package.” He looked at her guarded posture, arms cross and legs crossed. Tact was required. “Really I will confess it was insulting.”

“Damn right it was.”

“To assume you needed such things.” Fimbul continued catching Cruxia off guard. “We have these contracts pre-written to save time. We own a lot of land down here and it saves time to pre-prepare all our contracts. You are, however, our first Overlord tier buyer however. Our contract’s work in tiers and we usually just slap on more and more protection for every tier. Understandably Overlord tier by proxy would have everything we could think of,” he laughs lightly and rests a hand over his eyes, tiny nub horn holding up his whole head. “We were clearly not thinking straight, most overlords could take these issues in their sleep.”

It was flattery, Cruxia knew that it had to be. Deference perhaps? He was talking smoothly and didn’t seem nervous. But after years of smooth talking she was used to flattery, dishing it out was the best way to get contracts signed and souls consumed.

“It’s regretful,” he continued and stood up to his full height, lanky and horrid in limb and feature, he smiled through those broken bottle teeth at her. “I hope you’ll forgive our transgression Overlord Malitrus. It can be easily remedied.” He clapped his huge boney hands, fingers colliding sounded like twigs shattering. More of the living skittering, jostling carpet of chitinous flesh emerged from curtains around the room. Dozens of them all rushing together in a mad man’s race to get to their master.

“Fetch us the Clause Negotiation papers, please.” He said to the mass and they skittered out between the chair legs and Rostrul’s giant feet. “I’m very sorry.” He said again with a small smile. “I can’t cancel our contract, while you own Gauntlet Hold now we own the ground it’s on. A small tithe is necessary to us but we can easily change all the insurance stuff.”

“What exactly is so good about owning the ground Gauntlet Hold is on? Do you provide a service? I don’t see you growing grass or tilling fields in the surrounding area, what exactly am I paying you for?” She wanted to know, show a bit of teeth and see just what they did.

“Oh, I’m glad you asked.” Fimbul said warmly. “No doubt you saw them as you rode here, the tethers? Black-Star Harpoons affixed to the many floating islands of the The Under. Several of them hold this very island in place.” He sat on his desk, sharp talons for feet. He scored a pattern in the carpet with them slowly as he spoke.

“As you know the ground here is flimsy at best, we are free from laws down here in the The Under. Like it or not...gravity is a law and at times the land decides to make it void. This has led to whole castles floating off and getting destroyed or colliding.” He shook his head, and scratched at his cheek. “A wholly terrible thing. An Overlord of powerful demon could easily keep the island in place with their power but what happens when they sleep or fall down some stairs or I dunno do something that splits focus?”

“The island could float away, I see. So you made the harpoons?” Cruxia said and the figure snapped a finger at her and pointed.

“Yes my partner Basleigh was a blacksmith of some small renown. He forged the harpoons out of dead stars and such like,” he tapped a rune on his skull, “I have mild affinity for teleportation so I could summon such things for his forge. We entered a partnership to hold the runaway islands to the land. Overlords were grateful as were the base demons. We got rich and Basleigh...being a thing of greed ran off with some of the money leaving the running of the business to me.”

Cruxia guffawed at that, typical demons. “I see. So now you, in hopes of keeping your empire afloat keep the insurance game going?”

“Yes.” Fimbul said nervously. “There’s also the fact that all the Dark Star Harpoons are connected to this island.” He said and Cruxia realized the suddenly vast scale of this group. There were enough harpoons to build a bridge up to this floating island. There must have been thousands of people involved in this scheme. “If for any reason I was unable to afford the soul power needed to maintain the energy field on the harpoons they could...fail and suddenly whole chunks of the word go hurtling into cessation.” He finished the sentence with something approaching a sly look.

“Thus I charge people just enough soul power to refresh the mana seals on the harpoons. Basleigh took most of them or I wouldn’t even be doing this!” He groaned flopping back on the desk, his talons having finished etching whatever into the thick carpet. “So I charge them enough to refresh the mana stores and then for the gullible ones,” he sat up conspiratorily, “all that insurance jazz. So that I can stay ahead in the game a little. You know how many people are even smart enough to be literate these days?”

“Not enough,” Cruxia said with a knowing nod, “so I can’t be the first one to see through this scheme.”

“Shockingly, you are.” Fimbul pointed at her. “Most demons trying to establish a powerhold these days are too busy stabbing their incestous brothers to death to read a giant piece of real-estate legislation. That’s why we have the huge sheet that just says how much you need to pay. Most of them don’t bother to check the fine print and more often than not they end up dead before they grow smart enough to question my contracts”

“Dog eat dog world.” Cruxia said in understanding. “It’s quite a crafty little niche you’ve carved out You’ve made your services wholly indispensable.” She cackled aloud at the idea, it was brilliant. If it was up to her she’d have axes hanging over the damn chains, get people ready to pay as much as she wanted, but this little demon had done well for itself. She couldn’t begrudge him that, a few centuries and he might just turn out promising. “A shame your partner ran off with the spoils, eh?” She needled and his face went sour, a forced smile in place.

“Greed demons, what can I say?” He forced the words out. “Thankfully he’s set up enough that we can manage without him. I’m not rich but a bit frugality and I’ll live the rest of my days in comfort.” He turned to Cruxia. “Unless you’re going to kill me now.” He said it flatly, voice bleak as the silence between stars.

“It was on my mind,” Cruxia said showing off her fangs. “I mean this is a business that could be run better. Slop houses, eviction notices, roving rates and charge dates. You could literally harangue people into moving out while paying you and keep people coming. A rotating financial circle. People don’t like it launch a couple into the void, no mercy.” She clapped, simple as that. “But you’re young, plenty of room to grow the business. I’ll decide if I want it later.” She said delicately, let it hang in the air. He’d fed her a juicy secret and she’d hang on to it, there was power in things said in confidence.

“Splendid, I think.” Fimbul said back and beamed. “Ah here they come now. I do...apologize for this also.” He indicated something behind them and Cruxia turned to see something that was equally inspiring and horrible.

“Is that what I think it is?” She asked as the carpet of implings dragged in an army of paper, rank and file of dead trees. An endless sea of white crisp sheets of paper.

“That’s the renegotiation paperwork,” Fimbul mangled the words through his teeth, “we really do need it done on paper. Lots of it is just agreeing you want to cancel something. A lot of it really just requires a signature and seal.” He could only see the back of Cruxia’s head but he could feel the sheer incandescent rage radiating from her expression.

“You must be joking.” She snapped twisting around to face him. “All this!? To cancel stuff I didn’t want!?” She screeched and Fimbul nodded quickly, almost falling over to get away from the woman.

“I am afraid so! I am a legitimate business. Normally doing this comes with a fee,” he said and she raised a hand to hit him, “but we’re waiving it on account of your letting me continue to be alive, I am very sorry.” He curled about himself in fright. “You know how demon contracts are! Surely!”

Cruxia stopped. There was power in the written word down here, more than she’d care to admit. There was no way to know that not filling these in would void something and force her to pay more or suffer in some unforeseen way. She ground her teeth. “Very well! We will fill these in and return...how long will it take to fill these in?”

“I have no idea. There are like...2 thousand forms.” Fimbul replied from his puddle on the floor.

Cruxia turned to Rostrul. “Suppose it’s a good thing your huge ass is walking or we’d never fit all these on the carriage. Now carry these to the carriage.” She barked at him and he went to work gathering the papers from the crusty little limbed imps on the floor.

As Cruxia filed out Fimbul waited, waited until he could hear the carriage peel away from the cobbles and then he unfolded from himself groaning at the cricking of his bones. He made his way back to his desk and pulled up one of the brass pipes and spoke into it.

“We have perhaps a day, two at most. Bring up a Dark-Star Harpoon and a mana infusion. I need to prepare.”

---

Ink. Oceans of it. Drowning the whole world. That’s what Cruxia saw when she closed her eyes. She was used to getting people to sign contracts and doing very little actual writing. Really most contracts were done verbally because the human creatures were simple idiots who really wanted to get everything as fast as possible. The smart ones wanted contracts and even then only the smartest of them ever read the things correctly.

She was not used to signing them. She’d read them first of course, she was no fool. She made her business in such things as doublespeak and no-think. She’d had men sign away the horse for a nicer cart. She’d not be caught out at her own game. But man, maaaaan, was there a lot of writing on these.

She reached the bottom of a page. Signed with a lazy flourish. “Next page.” she mumbled numbly to her tiny minions. The little gel like people trilled with joy as they dragged away that sheet of paper and added it to the growing pile of finish paper. They cheered at Cruxia, bouncing on the spot in support of their most favourite person ever.

“Thanks guys, mama needs this.” She said as one sat on her shoulder and snuggled up to her cheek. She soldiered on. She couldn’t trust this to minions or goons of skeleton weirdos. When an Overlord leaves their mark it is imbued with some small stain of their power. Any signature not made in her own hand would be obvious to tell apart from a layman’s pathetic forgery. It would have been easy to expend some great effort on the project and use her power to sign them all but these forms required careful reading before signing.

Some had to be signed in blood, others ink, some needed ground up spider venom and the eyes of nuns. This was the paperwork equivalent of a torture rack. Just when you get nice and settled you turn something over and your spine screams for sweet release. She leaned back in her chair her own spine crackling like snail shells as she did so. “Ugh.” She rubbed at her eyes and her minions looked on at her, forming a tiny cheer squad to chant to keep her going.

The little horned buggers could be counted on to boost even her darkest moods. She sent one off to get her something to drink and continued to work at the files. She was starting to regret not murdering that Fimbul with every passing second.

She had devised to tackle at least a thousand reports today and a thousand the next day but that was obviously not going to happen. She’d had a few of her more educated new vassals observe the Black Star Harpoon that held the main body of Gauntlet Hold to all it’s other parts. None could devise a way to shatter it or to remove the energy charging it without far more resources than she could afford right now.

Substandard help. She’d fire them as soon as someone better came around.

A horrid thought crept through her mind that better help may never come. The angels barked orders now, the people were slightly tricker to enthrall. Her previous power was long gone thanks to an eternity in that void, she could recoup but it would take years. Centuries. Aeons perhaps. The old demonic energies of the world were reduced from a torrent to a trickle and there were many idiots would drain the lake dry for one last chance at status.

Everyday wasted on something like this increased the likelihood of that idiot coming into existence and ruining it for everyone.

“HAHA!” Her minions had returned with that thick black lava human’s had cooked up in her absence. A beauteous elixir that turned any late night into the burning heart of the sun. WIth a single cup she could manage feats of intense speed. Truly mankind was starting to reach the precipice of becoming worthwhile with this invention. She tanned the glass with one scalding swallow.

“Oh there we go.” She sighed contently, warmth spreading from her belly into her whole body. Electricity sprinting up her spine and lighting up her brain. She read through this page again, for a fourth time. Found no interesting uses of double-speak or trickery and signed it with a flourish.

The door to her chamber opened. “I have...returned master.” Rostrul said from the doorway, his fur stuck tight in messy clumps to his sweating form. “Is there….is there anything I can do for you?” She cast her eyes over his trembling form.

“Yes. Run a bath.” She said and he let out a little sound, tail smacking against the ground. “For me I am quite sore from all this writing.” She looked up at him and savoured that delectable second of his heart snapping in two. “Press my suit for tomorrow.” She said. “After that...see if you can find someone to hose you down, wet fur smells awful.”

“Yes….master.” He said slowly and padded out into the hall slowly. Cruxia let herself enjoy the moment, the warm satisfaction of misery waking her far more than the coffee brew ever could. You have to treat yourself sometimes. It distracted you from, she looked down at the next contract page.

She groaned. Should have flayed Fimbul, it would have saved her so much hassle.

---

Two days. Two days she was chained to her desk, from the moment she woke to the moment she slept she signed contracts. Her hand moved in the open air in the practiced and now mechanical motion of signing her signature. She groaned, she’d hardly slept. The threat of contracts looming overhead. The tedium simply so awful even sleep could not release her from the grisly promise of it. She simply did it and once that was done she’d expected to spend time in bed. But the contracts loomed still.

What if they were time based!? She didn’t see anything like that written on them but that was the trick, you never clearly specified those sorts of things outside of a line or two. If she waited a day she’d have to do it all over again! A fate worse than death. She simply rushed them into her carriage and rushed Rostrul with her to keep her awake. The beautiful toxic coffee pumped directly into her fanged maw with regularity on the way.

The journey to the Fimbul and Basleigh estate came between blinks. She saw Gauntlet Hold. Blinked and now she was in the wastes. Blinked. An expanse of stars twisting in the sky. Blinked. At Fimbul and Basleigh’s human like compound in the sky.

Rostrul lowered himself from the back of the carriage, giant paws holding the carriage in place so as not to repeat his previous transgressions. He was pleased to open the door and find his master NOT stuck in the roof. That was a good start. She stepped past him, her all askew and eyes gummed shut. She grumbled something that he decided to interpret as “Good job Rostrul, you’re the best!”

She’d never said that. But that’s what he decided she said just then.

He gathered up the documents of the contract and buzzed behind her. They entered the main hall and the little lizard thing saw them and dove for cover behind a box of receipts. The two walked past it without incident, they had no time to harass the help. Which really, Rostrul knew, meant his master was very tired.

His master could spend hours harassing the help. He knew.

They pushed open the door to Fimbul’s office, a new door to replace the old one that she’d destroyed last time. Fibul was sat behind his chair in his slanted office to look larger than he was. He grinned at the pair of them as they walked in with the contracts in tow.

“My word.” He said softly. “You’d only just left and come back. I could have sworn it would take longer to finish the contracts.”

“There were...five thousand.” Cruxia managed to say, her voice hoarse. “Five thousand sheets to sign in triplicate. Multiple ink hues, multiple types of signatures, dozens of variations of signing. I think all of them, no I know all of them!” She gestured for Rostrul to move and he wandered up to the desk to deposit them.

“Exactly right, I must have miscounted,” Fimbul said warmly. “I knew you’d be dedicated, you know that? You know what I saw when you first came through my door? I saw everything.” He leaned back in his chair slumping low.

“ You wore finely tailored garments, no signs of wear or tear which meant extravagant care or they were freshly created. The look implied one of the less meat-headed demonic professions. I’d bank souls on either a contractor or a messenger. The former seemed more likely with an outfit like that.”

Cruxia straightened her posture, just what was happening here. Rostrul had ceased moving sensing a growing tension in the air. Fimbul for his part didn’t move, just stared with those swampy green eyes of his.

“ A delicate frame, slight in the limbs, deceptive as they were able to tear apart the door with ease. Clinched contract demon, tricky looks hiding a lot of power.” He chortled. “An impressive rack,” he coughed and gestured to her head. “Horns used to be something of a status symbol in circles of demons and these were certainly a pair that you’d be hard pressed to miss. Someone of status, then.” He let a slow smile split his face. “

“All in all; a classic case of a demon far more powerful than they have any right to be feels put upon by the little man. They come in all blustery and pumped up for action.” He rolled his jade eyes and indicated her symbol. “Symbols, no symbol singular. Scattered across your clothes, a family seal? A mark of power? From there I found out who you were...banished for 500 years. What a wretch you are.”

The carpet was ruined, Cruxia lept forward her gloves shredded as wicked claws emerged from the tatters. She’d have his throat, show her the power he so casually mocks. He smiled at her, lifting one leg.

“An old titan had woken up and they were cranky. My black heart weeps.” He kicked forward at something below the desk. It was telegraphed but the speed the attack came at was still unexpected.

The wooden timbers of the desk rose like liquid disturbed by some great beasts passage. The front of the desk shattered apart as a thick obsidian needle emerged from the depths, wicked and curved. Covered in thick hooking barbs and a menacing head it’d shred through her, she knew that without a doubt. She leapt from the ground, kicking hard and shattering the floor with the force of impact.

She spear stopped just under her, attached to Fimbul’s wrist by a long chain, he was looking up at her a sly smile on his blue face. A trap! The rune on his forehead pulsed to life, it’s form defined suddenly by fire. Energy arced between his two massive horns and a hole opened in the air, shredding the air as though it was cheap fabric.

Cruxia saw darkness, thick endless black. The nothing of space and then all at once the roaring heart of creation a sun. She swore and barked a protective hex that she knew would not be enough. Heat screamed forth from the portal and slammed against her hastily conjured shield.

The red runic material, twisted from her own power, bent concave from the force and collided with her.

A roaring flame shot forth with a sound like an angel’s choir. The force was immense, Fimbul felt the back of his skull collide with the wall behind him, splintering the hardwood of his chair before the sheer force of the blast tore it apart. His vision swam from the pain, a moment of blurry vision but he could see clean to outside. His blast had destroyed her, surely. It broke through the walls of his manor and cut a clear line into the clouds above.

The cosmic furnace was a weapon of unbelievable power. Still he co- PAIN. Sudden, immense, vice like he felt it around his chest. Digging into him he was lifted from his chair and shook like a child’s plaything.

He felt blades rub against his chest, break bone, grind against organs! The dog! The butler thing! It had seized him in it’s colossal jaws and was shaking him around, smashing against the wall. SLAM. SLAM. SLAM. His vision swam, he could taste his teeth in his mouth. Black ate the corners of his vision. He tugged on the chain around his wrist.

The master had been hurt! The attacker would suffer! Rostrul was in a frenzy, trying to bite the attacker in half. Crunching, chewing, warm blood soaked into his mouth and slid down his throat. Rotten! Demon stuff, horrid like spoiled milk and treachery! He bit harder and elicited a scream of utter agony from his prey. He was a warrior! He would defend the master and if not fight for her honour.

Fimbul bit his tongue, focused on the pain to keep himself awake. He would not die to some furry horror now! He felt the body of the harpoon in hand, he grinned and took a grip closer to the head and thrust forward. He stabbed the thing in the chest and wrestled with the harpoon digging it deeper, gouging and tearing and shredding this things flesh. Worm it into his guts and make him regret this.

Rostrul whined and with a twist of his head threw Fimbul to the floor, there was a pleasing cracking sound as he hit tile. Rostrul looked at the shape dug into his stomach, it was horrid and cold and he could tell the wound would be severe. He saw Fimbul on the ground and lept for him, raising one of his shiny shoes to stomp the man’s skull to paste.

Fimbul hacked up some horrid black liquid, he was sure that might have been one of his lungs actually when the shadow was over him. He twisted at the last minute, pure instinct had saved him from the impact. He couldn’t clear the shadow, his foe was massive, huge up close. The way he dressed and acted, the cowed little butler dog was all an act.

He twisted onto his back and saw the hound raise another foot. Fimbul acted first kicking out with both of his taloned feet. They connected with the spear and pushed it, dragging it through Rostrul’s body with a horrid sound like fabric shredding. Rostrul whined loudly in pain as Fimbul pushed off from the ground using his hands. His talons locked around the spear and tore it free from Rostrul’s body.

The massive canine fell to the ground and moaned in pain. Let the master down. He saw through his cloudy vision Fimbul drag himself to his feet. Blood pouring through his vest and onto the floor below.

“Ruined it,” he managed to say, “my outfit.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a box, within was a red vial he drank. His wounds began to seal. “Healing tonic, I had it saved for special occasions. Never thought some mutt would make me use it.” He hissed as he felt bones knit and skin mend. “You should have been the master in the end, you were more of a fight.”

He stood over Rostrul, with a flourish he spun the harpoon about his hands the blood on it’s tip fanning across the tiles. “More trouble than you were worth.” The spear went down and then nothing.

“That’s not yours,” Fimbul heard the voice breathe into his ear, “that’s mine. You don’t get to do that to my things.” He turned and felt something smash into his side like a jackhammer, he flew out of the room and through one of the windows into the courtyard. Shards of glass sliced into his face.

“Master?” Rostrul breathed, his breath laboured and heavy. He turned up to face Cruxia standing there, her suit scorched free of her body and the single gleaming eye of her parasite suit staring back at him. She said nothing and plucked something from the ground and pressed it to his muzzle.

“The idiot never finished his potion. Some left, drink it.” She snapped the command, but didn’t sound as angry Rostrul thought. He limply licked at the red life giving liquid. He felt better, not much, but the cold fingers of death released their hold on his chest. He tried to get up.

“No sit.” Cruxia commanded. “You ruined your suit. I won’t have you make a further mockery of me by fighting my battles.” She said running a hand through his soiled fur, blood was there. His own and Fimbul’s. He’d fought hard, wasn’t made for it, but he did it. “You did good Rostrul, not perfect. Not great. But we can sort that out later. Wait here.” She said and made her way to the window.

Fimbul was dragging himself up using the spear for support, ache was his entire being. He hadn’t siphoned enough, needed more. He had to get to the spot below the island, had to get to- a shape.

He twisted, harpoon between him and the blow. Bracing it with his arm turned out to be all that saved him. The harpoon took the hit, it was made of the things of worlds it could take it. He, however, was not. The harpoon was hammered into his side, one of it’s barbs digging into the side of his skull. The force of the blow threw him back again, he smashed against the cobble road and rolled to a stop by the entrance to his compound.

The air was gone from his lungs, to inhale invited agony.

“Get up.” Cruxia said, slamming together her fists. Her parasite suit was a full body weapon, fused to her very being. With the slightest mental command it could use up some of it’s mass to bolster her attacks. Her “delicate frame” as he called it was not so much any more. Her arms from the elbows down were thick moulds of flesh. A mess of skin and bone and ruin, no refinement in the design just thick black mass. Great black eyes spread across her form, trembling and blinking in rapid succession as they focused in on the crumbled mass of her attacker.

The shield had held long enough for her to concentrate her parasite into a more durable shield. IT had taken much of what the creature had, she’d not be finishing this fight with one of her more durable beast forms. She’d spent too much to manage that, the blast was ferocious. Had she not been faster that would have been it. The only reason she could stand right now was her healing magic and the parasite bolstering her legs enough to stand.

The blast, though less damaging, had mangled both her legs. The act of walking was a new twisted horror, she’d revisit the damage on Fimbul tenfold. She felt her bones pierce through skin, grinding against one another, digging into the parasite’s synthetic form. Walking was all she could manage right now, but her opponent couldn’t even stand.

“Damn it,” Fimbul muttered and looked up at his foe. That was unpredictable. He looked back, the gate was just behind him, the chains below. He had a chance, a small one. He had to buy time to make sure. He dragged himself back slowly, inching with his legs. “You can’t!” He barked at her. “You can’t kill me!”

“Oh?” Cruxia replied, a thick bubbling laugh rising in her throat. “I think I can.” He was inching back, did he think he could escape? She tried to speed up, legs were getting back together but the agony was immense. Her poker face was strong it wouldn’t show.

“No,” he said, “I’m connected to the chains. I command the thing that powers them! You can’t kill me! There’s a failsafe, it’ll send all the islands flying including yours.”

“I don’t give a shit!” She roared and was sure she meant it. She didn’t like the idea of losing her home but this thing deserved a thrashing, he’d proved a capable liar before this could be equally false. She saw him stop at the edge of his compound. He looked up at her, the rune on his forehead buzzed.

She threw herself to one side, legs crackling like tinders in a fire as she did so. Fimbul only smiled and looked down, the blast destroying the floor of his compound. He dragged himself forward and tumbled into the hole. Cruxia stared and snarled, dragging herself forward.

“Faster.” She hissed and her parasite responded, stealing yet more mass to spawn spindly black limbs, covered in twisted eyes. They lifted her from the ground and with subtle mental suggestion she urged them on, she felt numb sensation through them. The feel of cobble, her own weight resting against them, the slight off putting nature of the rest of hanging limply. The legs bound her toward the hole when she leaned over the edge she lept back.

Heat! She felt it before she saw it. A great pillar of flame erupted from the hole and split the clouds overhead. A blind shot, a damn smart one too. Only one way to go, surely. Was there something below the manner or was he simply going to hide in that little hole. Cruxia was curious so she used her new limbs to bolt back inside.

The assistant was terrified, there was explosions and fire and oh man today was a bad day to be a tiny lizard receptionist, that was for sure. She peered over her desk and saw teeth and eyes and horror.

“You.” Cruxia said plucking the thing up by it’s tail. “Is there anything under this hideous building!?” She shook the lizard around and it flopped uselessly in her grip.

“Ahhh!” It squeaked. “It’s where Mr. Fimbul can monitor the seals on the black harpoons!” It squealed. Cruxia got it, he was tunneling below his mansion to detach her chain. Throw Gauntlet Hold into the void! The sneaky fuck.

“Where!?” She barked and the receptionist indicated a little door to the right. “That leads down!” It said and Cruxia tossed the little thing into a box.

“If it’s not I will come back up here and eat you!” She replied before tearing the door from it’s hinges and leaping down the stairs. Her great spidery limbs made it a horrid squeeze, cramped and suffocating but they only went down. She didn’t trust herself to make the journey on her own feet quite yet.

She managed the journey at less than optimal speed but as she ventured down she felt a new pressure. A new sensation of power that dwarfed Fimbul’s own. Some horrid assortment of energy and mana that she was reluctant to say was near her own. She was freed into what was likely a large chamber or was...until the thing in it took up residence. Cruxia couldn’t understand the scale of it.

A mass of fat flesh, rolls of horrid overlapping corpulence filled the back of the room. Reddish and raw with rashes and scabs, wounds all over the thing leaked a thin black slime. A dozen or more of the harpoons stuck from the things flabby gut. It had no visible limbs and no apparent head, lest it was wedged between the stalactites up there.

“This,” came Fibul’s voice from somewhere, the cavern’s shape playing hell with sounds, “was Basleigh. My partner if you might recall I said we struck it rich. Souls mostly, Basleigh was a fat thing of stupid intention and let his gut do the talking. He would swallow up our profits in scores far more than he could handle. Thankfully it came with a bonus.”

Cruxia turned, where was he. She began chanting a spell of protection from heat.

“He bloated in size and power! A mass of corpulent flesh brimming with potential. He was immobile but he had potential yet to tapped. I took our harpoons and stabbed them into him, feeding them off his own glutted energy. It made them stronger, more durable. They could support whole worlds! His supply of mana runs out slowly so we need the souls to keep him going.” A sigh. “Still it doesn’t take many and I get to keep the rest. Unlike my fat friend I can pace myself. Feed slowly and gain power.”

Cruxia wandered past the fat beast, craning her head and scanning the roof for any sign of Fimbul. She stepped on something and looked down to see bones and clothing, seals of houses.

“Previous demons who saw through our contract and yet came to stop us. While human souls are powerful I’ve found feeding Basleigh live demons seems to keep him going longer. Still he has a bad habit of rushing his meals. So I always have to get more...thankfully there’s always someone like you amongst them.”

Cruxia wandered and Fimbul moved, he was stuck in the roof using the harpoon, he lowered himself on the chain once Cruxia was behind the bulk of his partner. Sliding down the chain and then unlocking it from his wrist to drop to the ground. Landing catlike he slid toward cover. Talking all the while.

“Basleigh was too dumb to think so I branded him with my seal, I can control his power with my mind. Sadly it takes a great deal of effort to make him do anything more than hold the chains up. Still I’ve been really motivated to think your little slice of land into a whirlwind of horrors and sooner than later he’ll do it.” All a lie of course. He had no control over this fat fuck, he was sure the bastard had somehow eaten his own brain.

Basleigh was an idiot at anything beyond eating and weapons, a shame he’d decided the former was a talent more worth investing in.

Cruxia paused, something on the roof glinted in the light through Fimbuls makeshift passage. The spear!? That meant that Fimbul was up there, but the way it caught the light told her he’d shaken free of it. He was down here with her then, she’d have to do something tricky. She wandered into the darkness amidst some of the rocks and bones of the dead.

“What do you want, Fimbul!?” She asked him as he crept toward her. He paused to pluck a black harpoon from Basleigh’s bulk, it was heavier than he was used to. Designed to hold up land and not a simple weapon like his other one. It’d do, one to pin her and then he’d use his solar furnace. Finish it. Blast her until she was a smoothie and feed her to Basleigh as a treat.

“I want what anyone wants. Power.” He crept forward he could see her there in the dark, simply standing around and twisting on her giant spidery limbs. This way and that, probing amidst the bones in utter darkness. “I wanted it so bad I’d kill for it. But then I got it and..well I wanted more. I imagine this must have been how Basleigh felt all the time.”

He braced himself. Waited for a moment, wanted the sound of her voice to cover his last charge.

“Probably was.” She said and he acted. He leapt forward pushing all his weight into the back of the weapon and hurled it ahead of himself. It hit home and she topped forward soundlessly. He was on her in a moment, braced against the weapon he channeled his energy and opened the solar furnace. The light illuminated a grinning horned skull.

A foot cracked into his spine and threw his head back. Hands braced around his horns and pulled as the foot pushed. The hands turned into thick black masses of skin and twisting flesh, the pressure cracked his horns and he howled with horror and pain. Then the force jerked and twisted the hands tore free of his skull as did his horns. A mute scream, he was in so much pain nothing came from his throat but a stuttered gasp.

“Idiot.” She snapped and he heard something clatter down behind him. “No more of that, no energy to work with or aim now. You can’t use that power. Your spent, too much agony to concentrate I bet.” She spoke and he felt her grab at his legs. “This would be where I gut you slow but you’ve put me in a predicament. I have no idea how deep your connection to this pus-ball is. So I have to do something drastic now.”

There was a pressure against his back as she straddled him mumbling something he couldn’t quite hear. “I need your magical energy to control this ball of blubber, eh?” He felt something against his back, sharp and hot at first and then nothing.

“They say,” Cruxia mumbled as her arm transfigured into a sharp scalpel like weapon, a dozen edges digging into an excavating Fimbul’s spine. “That the soul is in the base of the spine, human’s say that of course. I have no idea who came up with it. As good a place as any to find yours I imagine.” She chuckled, focusing her energy into her palm. A lure as it were to catch a souls.

Souls were moronic they’d chase lights if they saw it. She felt a presence against her palm and tore her arm free. Fimbul jerked once and went limp, a husk deprived of a soul. In her bloody mitt she held something that looked like a black lump. Stereotypical she supposed. She turned it over in her hand, wanted to make sure she hadn’t just yanked out a gallbladder. She found a crack in the surface of the orb and inside, glittering just so tantalizingly was a little flame of yellow.

Tiny reedy eyes regarded her from inside the shell. A hermit crab gazing out, around it was a tiny sprinkling of something like a mirror. It admired it’s own shine in that greedy little hovel, tiny and afraid of the world a greedy soul would hide and admire it’s own shine, coveting all others. They were particularly tasty all said, you just had to suck them out of their shell like crabs.

That said with Fimbul pacified like this he couldn’t control Basleigh. The question of if he ever could was not important. She’d find a jar for this sucker and a deep dank basement. Not even worth the empty calories of eating it. Didn’t look like it’d last five seconds regardless. Some meagre thing. She closed her palm around it and stole away it’s light.

---

Rostrul patted himself absently, the bandages itched and was super sure that these little cuddly minion things were not doctors. But they seemed very enthusiastic to be helping him. Gauntlet Hold was still there when he opened his eyes which meant that they’d won. The master was alive and angry which meant she was happy.

He had a new suit and was given one day to quote; “Get over his sorry shit and get back to work, pronto.”

He’d never had a day off before and he decided to spend it all in bed. That would be fun. Bed was nice and warm. Maybe he’d have a bone or two.

Cruxia meanwhile was looking over her new property. All the deeds to Fimbul and Basleigh was signed in Fimbul’s energy which she now had..the majority share of. Which meant that as she could replicate his signature and POWER she ran the company. There needed to be some changes made.

“So...I get the big desk?” The little lizard said to her, cowering behind it’s stumpy black and white tail. Cruxia nodded.

“On the understanding that should anything go wrong you are to blame, yes. You get the big desk and to be the public face of Fimbul and Basleigh, you get a thirty percent share of profits and I get the rest. We will continue the charade of the company running as normal. You will be acting on Mr. Fimbul’s orders while he is...indisposed.”

“Oh that’s, sure.” The lizard said nodding as Overlord Cruxia Astoria Malitrus laughed. “Do I have to do anything else?” It asked and the overlord pushed something toward her, a piece of paper.

“All you have to do,” she held out a pen for the lizard, “is sign.”

#Cruxia #Writing #Cruxia Astoria Maltrius #Parralect #Rostrul #Not my characters

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