The black streets of Styx were pushed open by the crowd that flooded in from the outside. Parishioners, garbed in white robes that obscured their faces pressed into the streets with a great sense of self-importance. Even the grungy, nihilistic inhabitants of the city felt like they could not oust the pack and scurried off into the side streets and alleyways to watch the procession with narrowed eyes.

  Atop a palanquin sat the spiritual leader of this procession. Herzblatt, with his newfound wealth, waved at the demons below with his fur covered hand. Eyes of disbelief tracked him.

  This was the charlatan that went from demon to demon preaching of opportunity and inviting any who were interested to a small auditorium on the far side of town. What would have otherwise been dismissed as another holy man looking to reform his church, there was someone who earnestly believed in the concept they were preaching. Rule and wealth were simply byproducts of the truth that he peddled.

  And then he left, with anyone that he had pulled to his side. It was only until the orchestra of voices that constituted Styx lost that particular sound did people realize how many had left with him.

  And now, he was back. For what?

  That question followed the procession down the main street of the city. The barrel chested demons in the front pushed aside all those that did not move in time.

  A right turn. Then a left turn. Another right.

  The procession was squeezed into narrower and narrower streets. The river of bodies were condensed into fast moving streams that snaked through the densely packed neighborhoods of Styx and led them to their final destination.

  A sign that blinked the name ‘Desire’ waited for them. The line of demons that waited to gain entrance into the establishment were squeezed against the walls. Body parts were strained and air was slowly sapped from the lungs. Each breath brought less air and took a little bit more, leaving less and less room on the next breath.

  The bouncers that stood in front of the doors didn’t have the chance to take control of the situation before they too were squeezed. Reflexively, they raised their arms, fingers gripped around weapons.

  One of them plunged downwards into the nearest demon. As the victim fell, the bouncer went wide-eyed with the realization of what they had done. The punishment for breaking the sole rule of Styx activated. A burst of blood erupted from their nostril and they dropped to the ground, writhing and convulsing as the leak from the mouth spread to the rest of their face.

  The other bouncer, wisely, allowed themselves to be forced into the walls of the alley and surrendered the doorway to the procession.

  A pair of scaled hands, my hands, pressed into the doors, forcing them open.

  I smiled widely as I stepped through the doorway. The bouncers barely had the chance to yell out at us before the room was rapidly overrun with bodies. The demons inside who were gambling were swept up in the wave of meat. Card tables were broken and roulette wheels were overturned to spill dice on the ground.

  I cut a direct path from the doorway and strode towards the stairway. A column of white robes followed me down the stairs. Hundreds of us, all moving towards the same purpose.

  It was electric in the same way playing a football game felt. Knowing there was an entire group of you all working like dogs towards the same place made you want to work harder, to not be the weak link that made everything fail.

  But, this was different. This was the weaponization of a crowd; turning a mass of weaklings into a battering ram of flesh. The bouncers at the bottom of the stairs, confused and wary by the sounds above, were obviously among Charles’ best. But, there wasn’t anything that they could do in this situation. Did they have an ability that could kill several in one go? Did they have the best weapons in the city? It didn’t matter. They were held to the same rules as the rest. The more effective they were, the worse the punishment they would be if they fought back.

  And so, the runic door was the only thing that stood between me and Charles.

  “This is the door you spoke of?” Herzblatt said.

  “It is,” I confirmed.

  The dog priest emerged from the chaotic crowd with a refreshed look and sheen on his fur as though he just stepped out of the shower. He leaned forward and inspected it closely. His paw tapped on the surface twice. The armed door emitted some magic that arced into his paw like a static shock, but he did not seem overly concerned.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “What do you have?” I asked. “A demon that is an expert in runes? I lock picker? I know there must be at least a few of those down here.”

  “A crafter,” Herzblatt answered. “Dear Brother Cunard, would you take a look at this for us?”

  Cunard’s name was passed from follower to follower. The words disappeared upstairs. But, quickly, a demon with the appearance of a field mouse emerged from the group. His robes were disheveled from pushing through the bodies and the spectacles perched on the end of his nose were crooked.

  “You have an opportunity for me. Your Holiness?” Brother Cunard asked meekly.

  “Exactly, Brother Cunard. I have an opportunity for you to show everyone your skills,” Herzblatt said with an eager nod. “We have a door crafted with magic here and we are looking for a way through it. Do you have any insights for us?”

  The mouse demon quickly started to put his pink hands all over every surface of the door. The magic attempted to reject him in the same way that it rejected Herzblatt, but the mouse seemed to bear through the discomfort without much complaint.

  “It’s extremely well-made,” Brother Cunard reported excitedly. “There are four, no five, different circles of protection magic layered over each other. Does anyone know who made this? I must meet with them so that I can serve you the same way.”

  “Can you get through it?” I asked.

  “Oh, goodness no,” Brother Cunard answered with a shake of his head. “I could get through a single circle, maybe two if it was a poor quality rune. But this, this will need a custom key at the very least.”

  I groaned. Charles definitely knew we were here already. Probably already hopped through a portal.

  “How would you break through a single circle?” Herzblatt wondered.

  “You would imbue your own magic into the circle,” Brother Cunard explained. “If you exert enough pressure, you can break the spell and make the magic inert. But, I don’t have nearly enough magic or know-how to break through such a complicated piece.”

  “You just need enough force and you can break through?” I asked eagerly.

  “In theory.”

  I gripped onto the door. Small currents of magic struck my hands and warned that the door was locked shut. I ignored the words of the spell. I shifted all of my stats into magic. I didn’t have an ability that was suitable for lockpicking, but I did have the Master’s punch.

  My fist tapped the door weakly. But, an ocean of mana spilled out from my center and flooded the magic circles. The sudden impact caused the magic inside to strain and try to keep its shape in the face of the mass infusion. The runes warped and sparked.

  I punched again and the magic contorted more. We could hear it wail in protest from the obtuse energy inflicted against it. An infusion from a magic stat that was likely above the Level 50 cap. It wasn’t designed for something that wasn’t supposed to exist. More punches created cracks in the magic that led to a cascade of breaks.

  With a violent explosion of mana, the door was ripped from the frame and fell inwards. The room inside shook. The chair I normally sat in was crushed by the impact.

  Predictably, there was no Charles inside. The scent of him remained. The tobacco and cologne still hung heavy in the air. A half-finished glass of alcohol sat on a small table near his chair. He fled recently, and in a bit of a hurry.

  “Where do you think he escaped to?” Herzblatt asked, wandering towards a magical circle burned into the carpet. “We could try to activate this one.”

  “I doubt he would allow himself to be too easily followed,” I answered. “Besides, I think I destroyed the realm that that portal went to.”

  “Still, there has to be some sort of trace of a spell being cast,” Herzblatt countered. “Come on all of you, tear this room apart. We need to find the circle.”

  Herzblatt’s followers stormed the room. They pulled up the carpet, ripped down the wallpaper, and even tore down the chandelier. I joined in as well, if, for nothing else, to participate in the destruction of Charles’ room. With each thing that I broke, I hoped that he got to observe it and seethe that a group of barbarians ransacked his office. It would be just the thing that would wriggle under his skin.

  I lifted up the booze stand and held it over my head, ready to snap it over my knee. Right before I swung down, a hand grabbed onto it.

  “What are you doing, Herzblatt?”

  “Hold on, Ishmael. I noticed some etchings on the bottom of the stand.”

  I flipped the stand over to see the runes that Herzblatt was referring to. A small pattern was etched into the metal. I touched it with my fingers and the metal was warm from recently used magic.

  “It’s this one,” I said excitedly.

  I pressed my hand onto the portal and activated it. An orange portal swallowed me and the liquor stand that I was holding. I tried to toss it out, but it disappeared between my fingers, leaving no chance for Herzblatt to follow me.

  A trap.

  The smell of burning wood filled my nostrils. A realm of thick black smoke welcomed me. It swirled and danced around me, giving off phantom movement that caused my brain to go wild with anticipation for any attacks that would strike out at me.

  I could hear someone walking nearby. Their measured steps paced around me without a shred of concern.

  “Where are you hiding, Charles?” I goaded.

  “Hello, Ishmael,” Charles’ deep voice reverberated through the smoke. “I didn’t think that you would be back so soon, and with an entourage.”

  “What can I say? When I get my teeth into something, I don’t let go easily.”

  “You know, I am not so unlike you,” Charles admitted. “There wasn’t going to be a chance in Hell that I was going to let you walk away clean after what you did. I didn’t think I was going to have to dirty my own hands to do it, but I think it is better this way.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “You don’t respect me, Ishmael. You say that I make assumptions about us, thinking that we are the same as in life; that we assume the same dynamics. But, aren’t you looking down on me? Do you still fashion yourself as the stronger of the two of us because you could lift more weight than I could when we were human? I don’t think you fear me quite enough.”

  “Then make me be afraid.”

  Tendrils merged with the smoke and danced along with it. I could feel the ground shake as they slammed against the ground. A pair of red eyes and a white crescent moon shone through the blackness.

  “Gladly.”