So soft. So tender and ripe, the Butcher whispered. Blood and offal will nourish our bones. Our roots will drink deep.

  The wolf-chimera’s roars echoed in the darkness of the antechamber, as the beast forced itself forward, inch by inch, through the broken doors of the courthouse. Its left shoulder was almost past the door frame it had shattered with its own charge.

  Oak looked at the beast and shivered in delight. He was alone. He could let loose and enjoy himself to the fullest extent. And there was so much carnage ahead for him to appreciate.

  He thanked Ashmedai for the gift of Darkvision. Without it, his eyes could not feast upon all the wondrous sights to come.

  Can you hear the meat sing to us? the Butcher asked.

  Yes.

  He could. It called to him, full of blood and so alive. So sinfully alive. The twitching flesh yearned for the comfort of his touch. It yearned for the peace of stillness. He would grant its wish. After all, it was his calling.

  First, we split the skull. The Butcher giggled. Chop, chop.

  The bloody hands on his shoulders pushed him to the right, and Oak followed their guidance. He came at the beast from the side, where it was weak and defenseless. The chimera’s left shoulder was fully inside the antechamber now, and so was the stump of the tentacle attached to it. Just the stump. His blade had cut off the wolf's head, which now rested somewhere on the Square of the Secretariat.

  May ghoul's feast upon it. May cockroaches nest inside the hollowed out skull.

  The stump of the tentacle tried to strike him down, but Oak sliced through it with contempt. Meager measures would not hold him back, not now. He raised his falchion high and chopped into the side of the beast’s head with all of his considerable strength.

  The blade made a wound, but only scratched the bone.

  The wolf-chimera snarled and tried to turn its gigantic head so it could bite the annoying gnat stinging its head. Twice, it wrenched itself to the left, trying to catch Oak with its fangs. It could not reach him.

  Chop, chop, chop.

  The hall shook, as the beast threw its head this way and that, trying to avoid the sting of Oak’s falchion. A futile effort. Its neck was stuck between the edges of the doorway and its own shoulder. There was nowhere for it to dodge. Hot blood dripped onto the shattered marble. Chips of white bone landed amongst the splattering of red.

  Chop, chop, chop.

  Oak could smell it in the air. The panic. The fragrance of fear. Whines of pain echoed from the stonewalls, as the chimera recoiled away from his blade as much as it could, and tried to retreat through the doorway. Back to the steps of the courthouse and the Square of the Secretariat.

  Mightily, the beast struggled and writhed in place, but it was of no avail. The stone held it in its grasp, and the thick walls of the courthouse did not yield in the face of its desperation.

  Chop, chop, and chop.

  The falchion sunk deep into the chimera’s skull. The beast convulsed, and its legs went limp. It crashed to the floor. Unseeing eyes stared straight ahead, as it lay there twitching, choking and bleeding. Incapable of further struggle, but still alive. Felled by its own hubris.

  Oak pulled his sword free, and chopped some more until the entire top of the skull cracked like an egg. He climbed on top of the monster’s snout and bathed the exposed brain in flame. No notification came from his engine. Even after he had turned its gray matter to cinder, the beast clung bitterly to life.

  It was still regenerating.

  No half measures, remember? The Butcher laughed. Bring the halberds. After that, we need all those benches.

  Oak hopped down from the smoldering head of the chimera, sheathed his sword, and walked over to the halberds mounted on the wall of the antechamber. He ripped them from their brackets and brought them back to the beast.

  Do what comes naturally, the Butcher whispered.

  The halberd felt solid in his hands. Oak tested the edge of the axe blade with his thumb. It was still sharp enough to draw blood. He brought the weapon above his head and chopped into the inside of the chimera’s skull. Charred brain matter flew everywhere, and the axe blade stuck deep into the bone.

  He repeated his actions with the other halberd.

  Try regenerating around those, you big fuck.

  Now, the benches, the Butcher murmured.

  Oak chuckled and rubbed his hands together in glee. He could see it unfold in his mind's eye. The conflagration to come moving backwards in time to this moment, from the crescendo that would swallow the beast. He moved quickly and carried the benches over to the chimera from both sides of the antechamber.

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  They were made of some dark wood Oak did not recognize, and they were heavy. Solid. Age had dried them out, and calcified the wood. Out of them, he would create a foundation for the bonfire.

  He would send the beast off like a heathen king of old, ashes rising to the Heavens above, scattered by the four winds.

  One by one, Oak piled the benches over and around the chimera’s gigantic head. Bench by bench, the bonfire took shape, and he found it good. Pleasing to the eye. When he was happy with it, Oak gathered some fist sized pieces of marble the beast had knocked loose, and threw them at the glass windows high on the front facing wall, over the doorway. The fire would need air to feed it, and the smoke needed a place to go.

  Glass shattered, and shards of it rained on the floor and on the steps outside.

  It was time. Oak gathered himself and set the bonfire he had built ablaze with a steady stream of flame. Slowly, the fire built upon itself. Wood cracked, and sparks flew to the ceiling above, already clouded by smoke, streaming out of the broken windows.

  Fur smoldered, and the smell of burning hair invaded his nostrils. Not much longer now. The flames were hungry. They raced across the wood and danced on the beast’s whiskers.

  There it was. Oak breathed deep, and sighed. Fat sizzled, and the aroma of burning meat overpowered all other smells, as Empress Aoibheann’s favored pet burned like kindling. The conflagration he had imagined, realized.

  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

  The sight of it was inspiring. All the suffering and toil had led him to this moment. The Oak of old could not have brought this beast low. He had been an accomplished warrior, but his old self would have died a hundred deaths before even reaching the Square of the Secretariat and this courthouse. And on that square, in all of that open space, the chimera would have caught him with ease.

  It would have ripped him apart, spilled his guts to the cobblestones.

  Hells, a week ago summoning flames so many times in succession, would have left him shivering on the brink of death. Now he was slightly winded. The exertions of his time in the City of God had strengthened his soul. He was a Warlock now, and he carried the boons of Ashmedai with pride. The beast’s soul was his to claim. His to wield in the fulfillment of glorious purpose. It would fuel the fires infernal inside his engine, just as the beast’s body now fueled the bonfire he had built.

  Be this a sign of things to come. A premonition of the future.

  Shadows danced on the walls, and sweat ran down Oak’s face and chest. It was getting hot inside the antechamber. Almost uncomfortably so. Despite the heat, he did not move away. Could not, until the soul was his. Nothing could cheat him out of his price.

  Ah. Yes! The song of the meat fell into silence. Stillness, at last.

  Oak threw his head back and laughed in delight. To see the fruits of his efforts was a joy so sublime it almost consumed him. He wanted more. More death. More souls. More. The evidence of his rise was exhilarating to witness.

  Hungry is the heart, ain’t it? The Butcher asked. Do not worry, the work is never over. Creation provides for the Slaughterman.

  A step back. Another. Oak breathed deep, and tried to claw back control. The bloody hands holding onto his shoulders resisted his efforts. He felt the blood dripping from them, staining his skin. Warm, cloying liquid mixed with his sweat.

  He did not relent.

  Bit by bit, Oak dragged the Butcher back into the pit of his mind, and closed the door shut. He gasped and sagged in relief. The keys to his own consciousness were still in his grasp.

  Time to leave this wretched city behind. So long, Ma’aseh Merkavah.

  Oak gave one last look at the burning corpse of the wolf-chimera stuck in the doorway and the ruin of the antechamber. The smell of smoke was heavy in the air, and the flames crackled merrily, throwing bursts of sparks to the ceiling. Firelight twinkled from the shards of glass covering the floor.

  He turned around, facing the hallway leading deeper into the building, towards the atrium, and walked into the darkness. Ur-Namma and Geezer awaited.

  Down the hallway he stalked, cloaked in shadow and silence. Past open and shut doors leading to who knows where. There was only one destination that interested him today. The fold in space. The open sky called to him, ready to welcome him to the world beyond the sphere. Soon, he stood in front of the heavy doors leading to the atrium at the heart of the building.

  He stepped inside and looked around. The circular space was, for the most part, covered in neat rows of chairs and desks, every section narrowing symmetrically towards the center. In the heart of the atrium was a circle of empty space, with a podium in the middle of it. The ceiling was multiple stories tall, and a balcony circled the room, allowing those above to watch the proceedings below.

  You could have easily fit a longhouse or three inside the atrium, and there would have been room to spare.

  Everywhere he looked, Oak could see signs of use. The furniture was worn in the places people had gripped it over and over again, like the armrests of the chairs, and there were paths of wear and tear on the stone floor. Thousands, no, tens of thousands of feet had walked these paths over the years this court had given judgements.

  He lifted his gaze away from the stone floor. Right across from him, opposite the main doors on the other side of the room, was an elevated dais. On it was the judge's bench. Geezer stood on top of the bench and stared at an empty point in space in the middle of the dais. The hellhound had a funny look on his face, and his head was tilted slightly in a familiar posture that signaled deep confusion.

  Ur-Namma stood to the side of the judge's bench, looking at the same point of empty space. The elf took some type of wooden rod from a nearby desk and chucked it at what Oak presumed was the fold they had been looking for. One moment the rod flew through the air, and the next it vanished, like it was never there.

  What in the Hells?

  “Nice of you to join us. You are just in time,” Ur-Namma said. “The fold is destabilizing, so if we are going to use it, we must do so right away.”

  Pretty freaky. Well, nothing for it. Out of our two options, I much prefer this fold. At least reaching it did not require a climb up the slope of the sphere. In a place like this, a man must find joy in the little things.

  In a way, it was a blessing in disguise that they had no time to waste. If there had been no hurry, Oak would have had time to agonize over whether the fold would spit them out two hundred feet above the ground or not. Now, he just had to act, and hope for the best. That he was quite good at.

  “All right then,” Oak replied. “Let's get out of here.”

  He had taken only a couple of steps towards the center of the atrium when something crunched under his boots. Oak lifted his leg to look at it and blanched. Droplets of blood, and something white and small. He leaned down to get a closer look.

  Why are there human teeth on the floor?

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