“So low have I fallen that I must seek the aid of a chimp to do my bidding,” Death sighed. “Great Lizard Hall… what kind of weak-spined human created such a standard, boring name?”

  Vera put her hands on her hips and pouted. “First, Mister Death, I’m a fox, not a chimp. Second, I’m not ‘doing your bidding’ until you’ve displayed you are who you say you are, all my actions up until now is just faith and trust. Third… yeah, it’s a shit name.”

  “Terrible name,” Snow added. “What should we expect of the whole thing? I’m not an amazing fighter, nor do I have a hidden power buried up my ass…”

  “All information about their guards, entry points, all the boring stuff that we wouldn’t know from memories… Willie will have it stored away in a book somewhere.”

  “No,” Death scoffed. “I will not go back into that place.”

  “Aw, what’s the matter?” Snow teased. “Does the big, scary man feel frightened asking for help from someone they hurt?”

  “He has no reason to help us; he will turn us away, shall be a waste of my time.”

  Snow raised her eyebrows and held her laughter.

  “Don’t do it,” Death warned. “I’ve seen that damned smile on your face many times, Snow, command me to apologise to him and I swear that I will return here when my powers are mine again, then poor Willie will find himself a bit unhappy, I will toss him into the sun where he will burn eternal.”

  “Is he always throwing around threats like that?” Vera asked.

  “Adorable,” Snow whispered. “I like when he does.”

  “I am not your entertainment!” Death yelled. “I have killed the kings on jewelled thrones! Flattened mountains, slaughtered—”

  “Say sorry to Willie of your own free will,” Snow interrupted. “Behave yourself for once, I seduce men to get us what we need, the least you can do is say a single word.”

  “Fine,” Death huffed. “But I am not happy about this.”

  “Doesn’t seem like you’re happy about anything,” said Vera.

  “He’s grumpy,” Snow added. “One more year of sleep and he’d be bright and hopping.”

  “My sealing is not funny,” he snarled at the two, who were both sharing laughter. “I will remember this.”

  They came back to the library, earned another soggy kiss from the old librarian, and returned to Willie in the basement, who hid behind a shelf from Death.

  “Come out, average man,” Death sighed. “I will not harm you again, you have my word, I apologise.”

  “That was more than one word,” Snow teased. “You’re getting better at being nicer to people.”

  Death’s neck creaked with how slow it turned to her. He tapped her on the nose. “If you were not bound to my soul, I would choke you to death right here.”

  “Nothing is stopping you from choking me,” she whimpered. “I don’t mind if there’s people around.”

  “And that is why I should stop talking to you,” he sighed. “I broke your nose, Willie, allow me to set it straight for you. Let this be an acknowledgment of your forgiveness, no time to dwell.”

  Willie shuffled closer. Death pressed two thumbs into his nose and cracked it back into place, two quick arrows of blood came from each nostril. “That hurts!” Willie yelled. “But… oh, heavens, that is bliss… thought my nose was just stuffed with blood… the air feels so cold and soothing, even with the smell of iron.”

  “Are we settled?” Death offered a handshake. “No mention of what happened from this point forward.”

  Willie accepted the offer.

  “Yippee!” Snow exclaimed. “Death is making friends!”

  “What services do you three need this time?” he said to Vera. “I see a sparkle in that eye… I know it well, what’s the scheme?”

  “We’re breaking into the Great Lizard Hall.”

  “What?” he boomed. “I mean… pardon my loudness, but the Great Lizard Hall, of all places? This town may be unworthy of praise from the nations, but that building is our trophy.”

  “Are you in, or not?”

  “Of course I’m in,” he said excitedly, scurrying to his books and searching through stacks of papers. “I’m just giving ample warning, you know they say Quinn has a contract to keep it safe?”

  “Quinn… who is that?” Snow squeaked. “Oh… you don’t mean the—”

  “—the bounty hunter,” Vera confirmed. “Famous lapdog of the lapdog. Follower of Bianca, who serves the Valan heirs, a man like that wouldn’t bother himself defending a library.”

  “Guilty until proven innocent,” Willie reminded. “I hear he has arms like a monkey, bigger than your whole body, Vera, be wary of a puddle when you see one.”

  “We’ll be fine if we don’t have bounties on us. In and out without fuss, the guards won’t even know!”

  Death and Snow shared a subtle look, both nodding, agreeing not to mention the acts at the Sekoi tavern that likely got a tasty price linked to the cutting of their throats.

  Willie placed dozens of papers onto the table, scribbles of the structure, notes of the entrances, payrolls of the guards and where they were likely stationed. “You have all of this?” Snow was very impressed. “How do you get this?”

  “I pay for knowledge,” he winked. “This is fresh, wrote it up a year ago. Wait until nightfall, use the west entrance… the trees will block the vision of all outside presence. It’s next to a notoriously loud brothel, lots of screamers, should you have to get into a fight with the two guards stationed. What are you infiltrating for?”

  “Information,” Death said.

  “Well, of course, but what information? That building is large, filled with artifacts, statues, books, all sorted into sections. You’d be scouting through an entire room dedicated to pottery if you’re browsing mindlessly. Think of it like a maze, memorise the path.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “History,” he decided. “Preferably any that extends far beyond the Succubi extinction.”

  “Take this route, follow the hall with the statues, and at the end you’ll have what you need. A linear storage, they will turn from book to scroll, and they will get older the further you walk.”

  Vera gave him a kiss on the cheek and thanked him. Snow gave him a pat on the head, and Death gave no praise.

  They waited until nightfall, hiding in the shadow of a large tree.

  The Great Lizard Hall shocked both Snow and Death with how large it was.

  It looked like it belonged in a glorious Capital Kingdom. Towers that brushed the clouds, stone statues of gargoyles, demons, knights, and harpies sitting high on the edges. Every wall a result of a skilled crafter pouring passion into the design. Stained-glass windows, thick iron doors, a crescent moon shining above.

  “You getting hard looking at a structure?” Snow whispered teasingly. “How adorable.”

  “Silence, Snow, I do not get aroused by brick and glass.”

  “I do,” Vera admitted.

  “I will choose to ignore both of you,” Death sighed. “This door is tiny compared to the big ones at the front. I shall kill these two.”

  “Let us kill them!” Snow insisted. “Let us do something!”

  “I agree,” Vera said. “I like killing. They’re proper guards too, look at their Valan armour, they must report directly to Bianca or one of her many lessers.”

  “Fine. Those two guards, both of you, seduce them, take off your shirts, stick out your chests, lure their hands away from their hilts and kill them at the same time.”

  “Oh, are we your little sluts now?” Vera said.

  “Yes. You will fuck who I tell you to fuck; you will undress when I tell you to undress; you will do as I say, or you are useless to me, do you have an issue with this, Vera?”

  Vera, who never once had an issue with undressing herself, now seemed shy to take off her clothing.

  Snow went first, removing her shirt and exposing her breasts to the chilly weather, her nipples hard like red pebbles. “Don’t be a wuss,” Snow said, shivering. “You’re a fox, not a chicken.”

  “Didn’t think I’d be so frozen when ordered to take my shirt off,” she whispered. “Just let me prepare for the cold.”

  If this vixen bitch even tries to steal Death from me, I will order him to kill her, Snow thought. I’d kill her myself.

  Vera flicked her wrist, loosening the black ribbons on her chest. She compared her chest to Snow’s, unhappy with how they were bigger than her own.

  “This’ll help,” she said, shaking Snow’s hair and making it look wild. “Men like this enjoy it when girls appear rough.”

  The guards were easy to seduce. Their boring shifts had them jumping at the sight of a woman’s bare skin. They removed their gauntlets like they’d been wishing for it, then their helmets too.

  Vera bit into the neck of one and tore out his jugular, swallowing him with a hungry moan. Snow took a simpler approach, ramming her kneecap into his hard cock and balls, stunning him. She kicked him repeatedly, then took his sword and stuck it into his neck.

  “Wonderful,” Death applauded. “But I still think it would be a lot quicker, and far cleaner, if I killed them both with a single strike.” He tossed Snow her shirt. “Put it back on, if there are any more in there, I will be the one to cut them open.”

  Vera covered herself too.

  He has such a nice voice, Vera thought. Is that why I struggle to take in orders? I want to take orders… he said Snow is linked to his soul? Makes me feel jealous.

  Why is she looking at him like that? Snow thought. That bitch is jealous of me… good.

  Death complimented the messiness of Snow’s hair. She blushed and decided to keep it that way, then took the scabbard of the man she had killed.

  “Put it back,” Death demanded. “You do not need to fight with a sword, that is my duty—men are less susceptible to cuteness if a woman is armed with steel.”

  Snow blushed even harder after being called cute.

  She is ridiculous, Death thought. I can’t even give advice. She takes it the wrong way every time.

  Willie was right, the inside was a maze of sorted knowledge. Death recalled the turns and staircases, ignoring rooms filled with hundreds of shelves. When he finally found the straight hall guarded by the statues of historical heroes, he was relieved.

  “That took long,” Vera complained. “Did you get lost?”

  “I do not get lost,” Death snarled.

  “We did a circle at one point,” Snow giggled. “I think we did get lost.”

  “I can assure you I DO NOT get lost. I simply wanted to return to that area; thought I missed something.”

  “He’s not good at lying,” said Vera.

  Death walked through the halls, looking at every face on the statues for a scar over the eye. None caught his attention, until one surrounded by a red curtain made his heart feel pained.

  He stared at it for a long while, unsure of what the feeling was.

  A knight, young, with his sword dirties in a pile of realistic seeming muck. Short, curly hair, triumphing over a slain ogre beneath his boot, clad in Valan armour.

  “Why are you ogling at that one?” Vera asked. “You getting a rock-solid dick looking at it? He does look feminine. If I had a cock, I would close my eyes and fuck his mouth.”

  Snow held Death’s hand. Her touch made his mind clearer, and without the fog of his thoughts he recalled a memory—fighting, a bloody battle at the bottom of a mountain, with his opponent having the same face of the statue.

  “I… I know this man,” Death admitted. “It’s… foggy… but I can sense that he was a powerful foe of my past. I killed him, put my scythe through his belly… and… I can’t remember anything else past that point.”

  “Is it the scarred man?” asked Snow.

  “No… they would’ve documented the name of the man who took his life. This man could have an answer for me.”

  Death read the statue’s plaque.

  Scarce Vallane.

  “Vallane? Allane… Valan is the nation of Allane?”

  “Correct,” Vera confirmed. “Don’t know how you know that. Willie taught me it, said it’s not common knowledge, they changed the name four thousand years ago.”

  “I have been sealed for more than four thousand years…” he said in disbelief. “Is there a date of when this man died?”

  “No,” Vera said sadly. “Look at the plaque. No date of birth, no date of death, the information is full of dust.” She wiped off the dust caking the lower half of the metal. “…it says he simply died protecting his nation.”

  “Well, yes, I did kill him.”

  “No, you didn’t,” she said. “Look… this little bit of writing. Scarce Vallane faked his death against a powerful foe, then died to protecting his nation after a civil war of brother versus sister.”

  “A powerful foe? A powerful foe? I conquered every damned nation, and they don’t even write my name? Just say my name, you bloody statue, or I shall turn you to rubble!”

  “Statues can’t speak,” Snow snickered.

  “I know that!” Death boomed. “I’m saying that—I—Vera, there is more at the bottom, more dust, wipe that.”

  “—After Scarce was fatally wounded, he passed on an ancient relic to his only son, a glowing crystal that whispered voices.”

  Death was confused. “One of my trophies,” he realised. “But all of them were on me when that succubus bitch drained my powers. It makes no sense for him to have one of them… unless this is part of a bigger plot, one I don’t yet understand.”

  “Do I get a kiss now?” Snow squeaked.

  Death knelt to the plaque. “Vera, you fucking fool,” he said. “This is not dust, this is dirt, fresh dirt.” No other plaque had this dust. “For this to be here to gain my attention makes no sense… no one knows I have been unsealed… or maybe…” He wiped off the rest of the dirt, seeing something had been carved into it. ‘It has been done,’ it said. “…I think this could be a coincidence.”

  “What?” Vera growled? “You think that—”

  “Silence Vera,” he said, drawing his sword. “Something in that room smells of death.”

  Vera sniffed the air then covered her nostrils. The two girls hid behind Death as he approached the door. The lock was smashed, ajar, a glow of candlelight coming through.

  He gently pushed up the door with the tip of his sword. Broken tables, scattered papers, a library ravaged and torn apart.

  There was a breeze in the room. Vera wandered to the flowing red curtains and found a broken window, a tiny drop of blood on one of the jagged shards, still fresh. She took it, licked it, then reeled in disgust. “Demon-blood,” she hissed. “One was here.”

  “Succubi?” Snow asked.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve never tasted it… but I know from books that all demon-blood has a scorch to it.”

  “Did it taste like honey?” said Death.

  “A little.”

  “Cambion,” he said. “A cambion murdered this girl.”

  “Murdered who and—oh my, what the fuck!” Vera yelled. “Is that what that smell was? What the—who did this?”

  In the middle of the papery carnage, a young woman had been torn apart. Her lower legs were chewed to the bone, intestines ripped out and stretched in a circle around her, used to draw symbols of sacrifice. Her skull was smashed, brain exposed, her arms cut at the shoulder and cauterised. Her clothes were ripped, her nipples cut off and still freshly bleeding. There was a straight cut down her chest, the skin slowly being peeled away to reveal the muscle, her throat cut deep with bloody bubbles and a purple haze rising from her parched lips.

  Death stared blankly at it, then saw the girl’s chest rising and lowering in a steady rhythm.

  The girl, somehow, was still alive.