“Demon of Wrath. The Last Believer and the First Apostate. The Scourge of Thrones,” Oak prayed, focusing his will down towards the Hells. “Ashmedai, oh Conqueror of Heavens. Hear me, and answer my call.”

  His plea was heard, and his call answered. A presence dripping with familiar infernal power dragged Oak’s mind down into the Hells. Into the unholiest of the unholy. The seat of his patron. Ashmedai’s personal domain.

  Oak opened his eyes, and blinked. He stood in a meadow, surrounded on three sides by an old, dark forest. The trees were thick and gnarled with age, twisted around each other like wrestlers in the middle of a match. Each of them pushed the others down so they alone could reach towards a dawn that would never rise.

  The meadow ended on a cliff, and beyond it lay a vista of carnage. Volcanoes erupted in a staccato rhythm of war against Creation itself, spewing molten rock, ash and smoke into the red hued air. The explosions sent entire mountain faces stumbling to the chasms dotting the harsh landscape of knife-edged rocks and pillars of sulfur.

  Nature’s wrath was on full display.

  A few feet away from the edge of the cliff, stood two comfortable looking armchairs made of brown leather. Ashmedai sat in the armchair on the right, fingers steepled together under his pointed chin and legs crossed. His rooster’s leg was crossed over the human one. The handsome demon dressed in black trousers and a dark red button-down shirt was sucking on a pipe, and staring at the unfolding natural disaster.

  “Demon of Wrath.” Oak bowed low.

  “Ah, there is no need for that, Warlock,” Ashmedai said and blew a long string of smoke into the sky. The smoke streaked through the air, rising above the erupting volcanoes and shattered earth before it transformed into a comet and struck down with the force of a falling star. A mountain exploded, and the titanic fragments sheared two other peaks into mutilated chunks of rock and pillowing dust. “Join me.”

  Not having to stand on ceremony was one of the many things Oak liked about his Patron.

  He walked up to the cliff edge and flopped down into the large armchair’s sweet embrace. A content sigh escaped from between his lips. The upholstery was sinfully soft and comfortable. It felt like he was floating on a cloud.

  I really need to steal one of these things.

  “What’s the occasion?” he asked, surveying the unfolding devastation.

  “Astaroth is testing the defenses of my first Hell.” The demon fingered the cufflinks of his dress shirt. They were shaped like crowned skulls. “As you can see, his 10th legion has encountered…difficulties.”

  Now that Oak looked for it, he could see distant shapes on the slopes of the volcanoes, being blown to smithereens by the rain of molten rock. From far away they looked tiny, but he knew better. Those snake demons could swallow him whole, if given the opportunity.

  “Who gave him that smart idea?” Oak asked, leaning forward. “The combined might of the Choir of the Hashmallim already gave it a go and couldn’t do it. What makes him think he might succeed where the angels failed?”

  Another mountain top exploded in the distance, spewing lava on top of a column of devils advancing in the valley below it.

  “Who, and what indeed?” Ashmedai tapped his fingers together. “Is Astaroth slothful? Of course. Uncaring and cruel? Certainly. But stupid? I doubt anyone has ever accused Astaroth of being stupid.”

  Oak shrugged. “Seems stupid to me, especially when you consider your history.”

  “I believe Astaroth is doing me a favor, in his roundabout way.”

  “Okay, tell me. How is this nonsense going to help you?”

  “How do you think this will look from the perspective of the angels? Think about it, Oak.” Ashmedai grinned. “Utter chaos. Demons at each other's throats like in the good old days. The Choirs will count their lucky stars and be happy that I am ‘busy’ while they plot in peace.”

  Oak narrowed his eyes. “When you put it that way, the attacking force seems a little small for the job,” he said and shook his head in wonder. “The Great Duke is giving us room to maneuver in the dark, unseen by the Host of Heaven.”

  Ashmedai breathed out a trail of smoke. This one did not blow up a mountain top. “The Choirs will like what they see, and not look any further. At least for a time,” the demon said. His hands clenched into fists and purple hellfire sparked from the cufflinks of his dress shirt. “Still, I am the Demon of Wrath, and this is a transgression upon my people and my domain.”

  Before Oak’s ascension to Warlock, the heat of the hellfire dancing on Ashmedai’s cufflinks would have seared his mortal soul. Now, it felt like the summer sun, gently wrapping him in the pleasant warmth of infernal rage.

  “I let the 5th legion out to play. They seemed hungry for action.”

  The sound of approaching wings filled the meadow. Oak looked up. A flying armada of infernal spirits passed over them in the sky, heading straight towards the front lines in the slopes of exploding volcanoes. Their numbers were beyond counting and so varied were their shapes and sizes that scholars could have catalogued them for lifetimes without an end in sight.

  Beautiful men with wings made of shadow and spite flew next to horned infernal beasts and representations of wrath so abstract in form that Oak’s mind could only see the shadows their flight cast upon the immaterium.

  Lance, fang and rage made manifest descended upon the remnants of Astaroth’s 10th legion and ripped the attacking force apart. Savagery won the day, and cold rage mopped up the survivors.

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  Ashmadei relaxed his shoulders and a fleeting, content smile ghosted across his face. “It’s always a treat to see them in action,” he said. “But, we have more pressing matters, don’t we?”

  Oak started. The battle between demonic forces in the distance had utterly captured his attention. “Ah–yes. Of course. I would humbly request another boon.”

  After such a display of power, Oak felt that courtesy was warranted. His patron was so affable sometimes that it was easy to forget the demon could throw down with the likes of Astaroth and come out on top.

  Status. He wanted to look at the state of his engine one last time before he made his choice.

  Not too shabby, for such a new Warlock. Soon, another boon would take its place among the rest.

  “I have been reviewing my options, and I would like to get another boon from the Branch of Buer,” Oak said, mind wandering over the many scars he had earned during his desperate escape from Ma’aseh Merkavah. Thanks to his basic regeneration, those same scars had already faded away. “Demonic Constitution saved my life multiple times in the City of God, and I would like to have the upgraded version.”

  Ashmedai took a long drag from his pipe and waved his hand. A representation of the Branch Buer materialized in front of them. The thick and gnarled branch glowed with many boons, ripe for the taking.

  Oak’s eyes were glued to the tantalizing and radiant spark near the base of the branch, just above the first boon Ashmedai had already grafted to his infernal engine. The improved version of Demonic Constitution. His current boon allowed the recipient to, for example, heal a broken bone in a single week. The improved version would cut that time down to somewhere around three days. It would serve him nicely.

  “It’s going to cost you. As I said when we first met face to face, healing is an expensive power.”

  “I know.”

  “Then who am I to stand in your way,” Ashmedai said. The demon spread his hands and smiled. The light of distant explosions danced on his pale face and glistened on his perfect, dazzlingly white teeth. “Have you given any thought to what comes after?”

  Oak nodded. It would not do to come in front of his patron unprepared. “After this, I want to shore up my lack of strength and durability.”

  The demon raised an eyebrow. “Lack of strength?”

  “I’m not comparing myself to the average peasant here.” Oak gestured vaguely towards the battle. “Everyone on that field could push me around like a toddler.”

  “Fair enough. I think I have just the thing for you,” Ashmedai said and rubbed his hands together. “It is a power I claimed by conquest and strife. The Branch of Amaymon. Enough martial might to suit all of your needs.”

  “Great. It is good to have something to look forward to,” Oak replied. “It keeps a man going.”

  The 5th legion had finished mopping up the enemy, and Ashmedai’s armada of infernal spirits moved on to secure the boundary of the Hell. One surprise attack per day was enough. Oak doubted anyone else would be stupid enough to try after the trouncing Ashmedai had given to Astaroth’s forces, but it seemed the leader of the 5th was not the type to leave things to chance.

  “Congratulations, by the way,” Ashmedai said. “Your slaughter of those foolish zealots was downright diabolical.”

  “Thanks,” Oak said and rubbed the back of his neck. Compliments always made him embarrassed. “I–I have a question, actually. If you don’t mind”

  “Oak. You have given me your worship and chosen my domain as the resting place of your immortal soul. In addition, I have entrusted you with furthering our common aims in Creation. I will always make time for you.”

  “Really? Even if it's a bit silly?”

  “I’m all ears,” Ashmedai said and un-crossed his legs. “I would do the same for every follower, every child of strife, if I could.”

  Oak stared at the vista of erupting volcanoes, ash and ruptured earth. He felt stupid and it was hard to get the words out. “I have known for years, in my heart of hearts, that I am a rotten bastard.” He coughed into his fist. “I want…I don’t really know what I want. To change? To do better?”

  “I see.” Ashmedai leaned back on his armchair, a contemplative look on his handsome face. “I do not require my followers to adhere to any strict moral code, but I am not in any way opposed to you bettering yourself. In fact, I would encourage you.”

  “I have done terrible things. I have inflicted needless and thoughtless horrors out of nothing else than petty cruelty. Something has to give.” Oak squeezed the armrests of his chair in a white-knuckled grip. “I can’t go on like this.”

  The Demon of Wrath took a drag from his pipe. The fire inside the pipe's chamber glowed intensely, and smoke crawled out of Ashmedai’s nose in little puffs.

  “Are you seeking punishment, or something more practical?”

  “I doubt whipping myself would do me any good.”

  “Hmm. No, I doubt it would,” Ashmedai said and glanced at Oak. “One deed cannot erase another. That is a child’s notion of morality. I suspect you already know this, in your heart.”

  “The wheel only turns one way. I know,” Oak replied. “But there must be something sensible I could do.”

  “Have you considered that you are already on the right path?” Ashmedai asked, smiling like a proud father witnessing his son take their first steps.

  “What?” Oak asked. This was not how he had expected this conversation to go. “How so?”

  “Save one life, save the world entire.”

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