Without the help of the locals and the defeated guard, Claudia spearheaded their trip into the inner city. Getting through the outskirts was more of a hassle than any of them thought. Too many dead ends, convoluted alleyways to keep track. Mostafa’s notes became so cluttered that he surrendered the idea of annotating the path out. As another day and night cycle passed, they ate the last of their salted rations. Even as the hours passed, it seemed so strange that they never once saw anyone enter or leave their domiciles. The streets they walked through were empty and showed little signs of wear. Even throughout the night, as they split up their watch shifts, none of them really noticed any activity.

  The third day of being within the city limits, they finally worked their way into the city’s downtown, where the first signs of life were prevalent. Much like most human towns and cities, people walked up and down the streets, carrying goods, food, pulling carts. However, these people were a mix of hellions and non-hellions, with almost no imps or other demonic creatures in sight. It seemed as if the hellions had established their own colony, their own city outside of the hells with a working society that mirrored humanity’s. From the shadowy depths of the alleyway, none of them noticed the four outsiders lurking; or nobody cared. Claudia turned on the Geiger relic once more and almost instantly turned it back off. The chime, for the brief few seconds it was active, screamed with beeps and chimes rapidly firing a hundred times a second. The needle had instantly shot into the red. Radiorum filled the city.

  Despite the hellions showing no side effects, Boris had displayed signs of sickness. He’d been feeling nauseous since he woke up that morning and declined to eat. The salt content, the moment it touched his tongue, felt not just unappealing but wholly repulsive. For the first time that morning, he vomited. It came fast and violently. He folded in half and lurched, throwing it with a wide open mouth and repainted the lower half of the concrete wall next to him. Amongst the bile and scattered remains of mostly digested food particles were streaks of blood. Some of it was darker than others.

  Claudia turned once she heard the retching and splatter spree. Throwing another incense disc into the reliquary, she waved it over him, praying, “Torcall, Father of Humanity, protect this man, cure him of what ails him. Give him the strength needed to see tomorrow’s dawn.” A faint aura of golden magic encapsulated him, and after a minute, dissipated. She, along with Morgan and Mostafa, waited with bated breath.

  Then Boris coughed violently and out came a second wave of yellow intestinal juice. A puddle formed against the wall. He groaned, but the sickness that stabbed at his stomach finally lessened to something tolerable. Weakly, he stood up, clutching his abdomen and leaned against the opposite concrete wall, the dry one that hadn’t yet been repainted. The blade of his weapon laid on the ground, partially submerged in the human waste. He looked at it and then, with inflated cheeks, swallowing down the urge for a round three defeat, he said to Claudia, “I don’t think your god can fix this. Blood in barf is rarely a good sign.”

  Claudia walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a solid squeeze. For once, she was openly showing her priestly compassion, something she’d reserved for the Church and its clergy. She removed her helmet and set it down. Upon her face was a look of genuine concern. She examined him, staring at his eyes, the skin around his mouth, his teeth. Some skin peeled like bad sunburn off the nape of his neck. Might have actually been sunburn. “I heard the radiorum had lethal effects, but I didn’t think this is how it would’ve presented itself.”

  Boris, despite everything, despite his distaste for her and her zealotry, mirrored the gesture. “I took this job knowing that I would be in harm’s way. I’m here to finish it. If you need to see the source of it all, then damn it all, we’ll see to it that you find the core.”

  Morgan walked up and pulled one of Boris’ arms over himself. “I’ll carry him. Mostafa, can you carry the weapons?” He asked.

  Mostafa nodded silently. He carried both weapons, using the strength of his spine and shoulders to make it easier on himself. It still felt like carrying an ox.

  The four of them walked out into the open street. Despite being surrounded by hellions of all shapes, sizes, and colorations, they weirdly felt invisible to them. Some gave at least a passing nod of acknowledgement before continuing about their day, but none really approached them. Amongst the concrete structures were plants of weird styles that none of them could easily explain. Some displayed that spaghetti-like stringiness that they’d seen before at the dump site, but unlike those dying birch trees, these plants seemed to thrive in their own weird sort of way. At ground level, the fronts of the seemingly endless wall of interconnected structures were all store-fronts, not too dissimilar from what Claudia had read about in history books, or even seen in some drawn picture novels that had been archived and recreated. For once, it really felt like she’d stepped backward in time, seeing an era that existed long before she’d even been a speck of dust in the cosmos.

  Now that she was actively watching the scene, she noticed the clothing the hellions all wore. Although many of them dressed differently from each other, she saw form fitting clothes on most, some that defined rigid silhouettes and broadened the shoulders with some sort of overshirt or jacket. The colorations in them had a much wider variety than she was used to seeing in her hometown and in the neighboring cities she had regularly visited. Some colors, the brighter blues and weird vibrant succulent pinks looked almost fake, like some weird chemical coloring than something that came from a natural dye.

  Looking up and down the street, she saw something that resembled what the orc had claimed. At the far end of the street was a city park where radiorum afflicted trees leaned and plant-life grew in abnormal ways. Claudia pointed to it with her staff. “There!” She exclaimed. “Central park, c’mon.” Then she took off running for the park.

  With the other three falling behind, she waited at the entrance to the park. Located right in the middle of it all was a palace-like structure, also made of spiteful concrete. It had more depth to its face, featuring a walk-up front porch before opening into a door-less entry way. She waited for them to catch up and when they finally did, lead the swift march to the doorstep of the capital.

  Stepping through the doorway felt overly nauseating. Claudia’s vision felt warped, like she’d just finished a binge drinking spree at the pub in New Haven; something she’d done a few times too many in her early twenties. Her center of balance fell way off to the side and she toppled over. Her armor racked up quite the noise upon impact with the stone brick floor. She heard someone retch and vomit behind her. It took all her willpower to not add to the splatter. Several minutes passed before any of them were in the right state of mind to walk again.

  However, as they made their first steps, a voice boomed out across the empty monotonously stone room saying, “For a group of outsiders, you sure know how to make yourself known.” The feminine voice had a masculine side tone like a set of backup vocals. “I honestly thought Mephistopheles was pulling my leg when he said you lot were traveling. Count me surprised that you all made it this far.”

  Despite the Geiger relic being turned off, the sheer energy in the room powered it and the chime blared and screeched as the indication needle slammed itself repeatedly into the edge of the scale, deep into the dangerous red. Claudia cast the relic aside, and it hit the floor, breaking on impact. She looked to her companions whose skin, within seconds, had showed signs of second degree burning. All of them collapsed and huddled in pain. Claudia lit her last candle and situated into the reliquary atop her staff and quickly said a prayer, asking for Torcall’s protection. His presence felt weak wherever this place was. It was still enough to minimize their pain. Her gaze moved to her gauntlets. Through the viewing glass in her helmet, she realized that the armor was mitigating the radiorum, at least temporarily. “Where are we?” she called out.

  A dim light flickered from the concrete ceiling above. It was wrapped in a glass sphere and attached to a metal base. As it warmed it, its luminosity increased to something more usable. The room was mostly concrete, but ahead of her, at the light’s edge, stood a large wrinkled mass of materials that looked like the crust of a stagnant lava flow. Despite being encapsulated in metal armor, she could feel the burning energy it emitted. She dared not touch it. The voice returned with a more condescending tone. “A place where one of humanity’s greatest triumphs came crashing and burning. You came to a place where your kind are not meant to live in. What you see before you is the unfettered containment breach of the Carrhae Nuclear Reactor.”

  “What is that?” She asked.

  “Think of it like a wick on a candle. This place is just one giant candle compared to the very sun itself.” The voice let out a cackle. “That burning sensation your companions feel, it would’ve liquified them within minutes if not for your god,” they said with a scoff. Stepping from the darkness came forth a seven-foot tall humanoid demon with blue skin, curled horns, and large bat-like wings stretching out behind them. Despite displaying feminine features, a small gray chin warmer of a beard grew on their face. Their even grayer hair was pulled forward and upward with the sides completely shaved, creating a strange balcony that leaned forward on their forehead and hid it entirely. Their cloven feet clacked against the brickwork. “And again, I express my surprise that I see you standing so tall in my presence, priestess.”

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  “I am Claudia Sergia Genesia, Confessor of the Church of Galvisius—” She was cut off mid sentence with a single swipe of the archfiend’s hand across the air.

  “Oh, I know who you are. A dog of Torcall will suffice as your title and name. You came looking for me expecting to simply cleanse this city of this elephant’s foot,” she said, gesturing to the mass behind her. “Your country, your people don’t have the knowledge or equipment to get rid of nuclear waste. I don’t think you even know what nuclear fuel rods look like, do you?”

  Claudia stood stiffly. She couldn’t breathe out a word as the archfiend had taken her voice away.

  “A simple head shake or nod will suffice,” they groaned. “Alright, so, here’s how this’ll play out. You all have trespassed into my territory and thus will face due punishment for violating my personal space and the sovereignty of Ozorik with the intention of colonization and eradication. The only suitable penalty is eternal suffering.”

  At the snap of their fingers, mythical chains wrapped around Claudia’s body, pulling her limbs away from her. The chains then pulled her straight toward the mass and pressed her against it. The energy it emitted worked through her armor, and she felt her skin burn and blister. It felt worse than spilling hot cooking oil. Worse, Claudia couldn’t scream.

  The other three men could barely stand, all of them succumbing to the radiorum’s sickness. They were of no threat to the archfiend. They approached Morgan and removed the bucket helmet. “I had heard of a rumor of a succubus losing her prey to a Torcall priest. I didn’t think that would be you. You two really had a thing going, know that?”

  Morgan spat bloodied saliva at the archfiend’s hooves. “Burn…” his voice trailed off. It pained him too much to speak.

  “And you,” they pointed to Boris. “So determined to save a life that you ignore the differences between hellion and human. It’s almost noble of you, if not for a selfish reason. Still, I may have use for you.” She waved her hand into swirls and loops, as multicolored magic fumes poured out into the space and engulfed him. When it dissipated, he was gone.

  Mostafa stood up despite being weak at the knees. He drew his saber and pointed the pointy tip toward the archfiend. “Do your worst.” He said defiantly.

  They gave him a wicked smile. “A desert dweller with the heart of a lion. A sad waste of meat.” They then snapped their fingers and in an instant, he exploded into a million and one meat chunks, repainting Morgan and the area around him with boiling blood. “You humans think yourselves gods just because one of you had the gall to ascend. Things were so much better when you all knew your places.” They grabbed Morgan by his head and threw him down, face first at their feet. “When you all kneeled before us.”

  Claudia grabbed the chains with her hands and pulled on them, using the pain reflexes to put even more stress on them. In her mind, she called out for Torcall. Her every thought was of his light, his mercy, and the warmth she felt in his presence in the temples she visited. She could not break free, however. For the first time in her life, Torcall felt miles away. She began to cry.

  The archfiend turned and approached the confessor, reaching out with magic to remove the helmet. With exposed skin so close to the mass, it boiled and blistered immediately. “Your god has no power down here but your loyalty to him shall become loyalty to me. I think Mephistopheles needs a new imp.”

  When all seems lost, it is the strength of one’s faith that will light the way through the darkness.

  The voice she heard in her head reverberated with the strength of crashing thunder. She felt her body shift, her mana grow exponentially. When the chains that held her down shattered, she realized what was about to happen. She felt newfound strength and willpower flow through her veins. There was no wrath in her mind, just an overwhelming sense of duty. She was still in control of her mind and body. Instinctively, she flexed her fingers. The metal gloves she wore felt even lighter. She cracked her neck. “Torcall has chosen me,” she said with a giddy and excited voice. “I am His avatar!”

  The archfiend braced themself for battle. “Disgusting dog,” they spat. “Fear me!” As they spoke the words, a powerful wave of magic emanated from them, blasting Claudia’s mind with the effect. Yet, it seemed to do almost nothing. Claudia stood stalwart. They tried a different spell. A quick wave of the arm and a snap of the finger, a blackening aura formed around Claudia.

  Exposure to the radiorum burned. She could still feel her flesh bubbling beneath her crispy skin, but by Torcall’s will, shock hadn’t yet overcome her. Feeling the space around her fill with darkness and dread, she quickly lit up her last incense disc and tossed it into the reliquary. For a moment, she glanced at its interior. Old wax and ash plastered the inside. It looked terrible. She told herself she’d clean it as soon as she returned to the church. As the darkness closed in on her, leaving her feeling partially paralyzed from the dread, she closed her eyes and prayed again, rapidly speaking the prayer aloud, “All father of humanity, hear the plea of your servant. Hear the cry for help, so that you may deem me worthy to feel your strength. I ask for thy guidance, I ask for the strength of your promises so that I may find myself able to stand up against the evils of this world.” As she spoke the words, the darkness began to recede and thin. “Give unto me my daily duties so that when I lay my head tonight, I may be granted the gift of peaceful rest. Torcall, I ask of thee, watch over me and protect me.”

  The archfiend growled and picked up Morgan by his head. The man screamed in pain as he felt the demon’s hands squeezing his skull. He flailed his arms, slamming his fists into the demon’s massive hand, to no avail. The archfiend held him up, showing his helplessness to the confessor. “Bow to me or this man’s life is forfeit!”

  The darkness cleared from her vision. Her grip on the staff tightened as she heard the archfiend speak. “This fight is between you and me. Leave him out of it.”

  The archfiend chuckled. “Ha, no. You brought him here. He’s as much of a tool for you as he is for me. And what a fine specimen he is.” Black mystical smoke poured out from their hand, enveloping Morgan in it. “His mind is so weak, so easily broken. Lilinyra is still on his mind,” they taunted and dropped him.

  The black smoke dissipated a minute later, and Morgan stood up and readied his fists. His eyes had sunken into pools of black, showing only a solid red iris at the center. He broke out into a full sprint toward Claudia with his arm cocked back and fist ready to strike. He thrust his fist and dented the reliquary on her staff.

  The quick thinking on Claudia’s part saved her the literal headache of taking a fist to the skull. She swung out the base of the staff and tripped the man. She then held the staff over him and let the smoke from the incense flow over him. He writhed and screamed in pain. He tried to stand up, but with a solid knock to the head, he remained on the floor, dazed. Claudia turned to the Archfiend. “Torcall, cast into the hells, all the evil spirits.” She then swung the staff and from it, a crescent-shaped blade of holy magic launched at the archfiend.

  The holy magic burned and charred their abdomen. They laughed it off and again called upon their dark powers to attack the confessor’s mind. However, this attack also landed with no effect. The archfiend then pulled their arm back and in the grip of their fist, formed a large javelin made of dark magic. They threw the javelin, and it landed square in the confessor’s chest. It oozed liquid black, which weakened her body.

  Claudia tried to remove it but it condensed and liquified, filling her chest cavity with its black ooze. Breathing became harder. Still, she stood, waving the staff around. From above, a beam of bright white light washed over the archfiend, bathing them in radiant damage. Their skin burned and charred, but it wasn’t enough. She waved her staff again, drawing out the smoke of the incense and blew it toward the archfiend.

  With a wave of the hand, they made the sanctified smoke dissipate before them. “Your strength will be my strength,” they said blatantly. They reached out toward the confessor and a sickly green smoke trail formed from Claudia’s mana aura and slowly wormed its way toward the archfiend’s hand.

  Her eye began twitching. She could see and feel her magic being drained. Exhaustion threatened to overcome her. She stuck her hand into the reliquary, grabbed the incense disc and threw it with all her might at the archfiend.

  The disc exploded into a cloud of ashen powder, obscuring their vision and interrupting their concentration on the drain spell. They coughed violently and took several steps back. They waved their hand and as before, black smoke emitted outward, engulfing the space around the confessor with the sense of dread. At the edges of Claudia’s vision, she saw glowing yellow and red eyes, sharp teeth, moving like laughing mouths. The burning sensation in her skin worsened, becoming almost unbearable.

  Tearing the gauntlets off, Claudia stared at her hands. There was a hole in her index finger that exposed bone. Her mind began to race and panic, recalling to the forefront the memory from the day she got the news of her promotion and subsequent mission. That dream wasn’t actually a nightmare. It was a vision, a glimpse into the future that now became her tormented present. She touched the bone with the tip of her finger. Her biggest fear had materialized before her, her fear of dying. She looked up at the thicket of swirling darkness in front of her. It encroached on her personal space, feeling like thick smoke as she breathed it in. It filled her lungs with ash and soot, making her cough violently. Then, as if Torcall’s strength disappeared, she felt every pain her body had muted since she entered the space. Claudia’s eyes widened in terror, but she couldn’t muster the strength to fight back. Her mind was going blank from the pain that she felt from her melting skin. Her limbs quickly fell numb and her vision was nearly gone.

  She dropped to her knees, slowly turning to look at Morgan, who looked even worse than she did. He’d stopped breathing entirely. She reached out and touched his head. His flesh melded with hers and as she pulled back, peeled it from his skull. The man she’d once saved from a devil’s fate had perished. The courage that once swelled within her collapsed to regret as the growing fear, amplified by the archfiend’s psychic magic, replaced everything else in her mind. “Torcall,” she whimpered. “Forgive me.”

  She had but one last wish…