A truth that Death would never admit to the others was that he was feeling rather overwhelmed with paths. Each time he felt he had a solid goal, a new road shown itself, shining brighter than the last.

  Regardless of this, he stepped through Beion’s portal into the Flame family home to face Morgudeion the Mauler, prepared to kill him if needed.

  “We were having such a fun time,” Vera complained. “I didn’t know you were such a good dancer, Bei-bei.”

  Beion and Rica both seemed cautious, uncomfortably sweating and checking the corners of the corridors.

  They seem frightened. I remember what that guy looked like in Aleirica’s memory, Death thought. He seemed large… but a memory is not always accurate. He could be bigger. I need to be prepared for anything.

  Death found Morgudeion standing atop a table, pissing into a vase. He laughed at what he saw—a short, stumpy demon. All fat, no muscle, the horns of a great elk. His eyes were colourless, as was his sense of humility. He wore beige rags, stains of yellow which could’ve been piss, vomit, ale, or possible all three. Covered in spots and pimples, an aquiline nose.

  Morgudeion wiped his sweaty, orange hair over his horns and jumped from the table with a bang. “There he is!” he roared. “That’s the man who killed my sons!”

  He charged for death like an angry goat, ramming him in the stomach and into the wall. Death grabbed the demon by the hair and threw him against the ceiling, summoning his Choking Chain and threatening to squish Morgudeion like a cockroach.

  “I see you two are getting along well,” Ash said flatly. “Try not to break anything. I handcrafted a lot of this furniture.”

  Morgudeion laughed like a pig. He waddled to Death, patting his elbow. “Damned good strike on you!” he commended. “Maybe you should take my role, spank Rica’s backside whenever the girl misbehaves.”

  Aleirica was speechless. “I—father! You’re embarrassing me!”

  “Shut the fuck up, you bloody wuss.” He whacked her arse with a long stick, making her yelp. “Move out the damned way. Beion, you too, don’t make me slap your cheeks purple like I did the other night.”

  Beion coughed in awkwardness, clearing his throat and pressing his back against the wall.

  “Aw, he’s like a big gnome,” Vera said, leaning down to his height. “Bei-bei, why didn’t you say your father was so adorable. I just want to pinch his cheeks and take him out fishing.”

  He sniffed Vera intensely, nodding. “A hybrid. You’ve mated with my son. I can smell it on you.”

  “Excuse—what?! I don’t smell like anything!”

  “Father, please,” Beion begged. “You don’t have to embarrass us like this. She’s not my breeding partner—I’ve already told her that I’d break her heart.”

  “You wouldn’t break my heart,” said Vera.

  “Oh, my darling, yes I would.”

  “Nonsense,” Morgudeion roared. “The offspring of a hybrid and my son would make some mighty monsters.”

  “Offspring?” Vera squeaked. “Well… I don’t know about any children yet. I do want them. Now is not really a good time.”

  Ash giggled. “Stop tormenting the kids. They’ve brough guests to Hell, treat them well.”

  “Bollocks to that. This one killed Deilon. Look at him!” He squeezed Death’s muscles. “Solid like steel. Flung me into the damn ceiling like I was a snail.”

  “You attacked me first,” Death hissed.

  “And I bloody regret it I do. I wanted to see your strike, get a feel of what my sons endured. You even took Aleion’s chain. You’re a mighty warrior, like me.”

  Death cocked his head. “You’re a mighty warrior?”

  “Course I bloody I am! They call me Morgudeion the Mauler for a reason! In my prime I was slaying beasts with my eyes closed, fighting off the pretty women who wanted a taste of me.”

  Aleirica released the secret that her father was a seventhborn son who chose the name himself. He whacked her ass with a stick again, pointing a proud yet offended finger at her.

  “Always the finest demon ladies who end up with the stumpiest little ogres… ain’t that right dad?” said Beion. “When’s the last time you were able to finish your duty in bed?”

  “Beion!” Rica exclaimed. “That’s our mother! Have respect!”

  Their father burst into wheezes of joy. Ash peeked over the couch, shaming Beion with a glare that could kill.

  “What did you say this big one’s name was? Death? That means the white-haired one must be Snow.” He spat into his hand and gave her a handshake. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Hello,” Snow said shyly. “Very nice home.”

  “Tis indeed. Now, the reason I sent that shit-bird parrot all the way to you—I wanted to tell you, man to man, that I won’t come for revenge for my son’s deaths. My last son said you travelled by horse and cart, bring them here. We’ll look after them. You’ll stay here with us for a while. Your two companions can help keep the place nice and tidy.”

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  I remember Beion asked me to kill his father at one point. Was this request to avoid personal embarrassment? Understandable.

  “Shall I cook you a meal and suck on your toes too?” Death said drily. “I am a conqueror. I care little for your desires.”

  Morgudeion laughed harder. “A bloody conqueror! That’s the spirit you damned fart. When I was spanking that damned little brat, she said you were on the side of the cambions.”

  Aleirica went redder. “I did say that.”

  “What are you still doing here, you shit-sucking imbecile,” he said at Beion. “I said go and get their horses and carts, bring them all here! We’re a bloody bank for their jewels and gold, couple of horses aren’t an issue.”

  “I don’t know where they are.”

  “I know where they are!” Vera exclaimed.

  “There you go, son, take the hybrid and go find the cart—if you come back here stinkin’ of her scent, I’ll give you a black eye.”

  “Yes father.” Beion took Vera’s hand and quickly left through a portal.

  Aleirica was displeased that she’d been left as the only child.

  “Now, all of us, sit,” Morgudeion demanded. “I wish to discuss terms of this alliance.”

  “Aliiance?” Death scoffed, sitting next to Ash, Snow hugging his arm. “What makes you think I want an alliance with you.”

  “Because I’m bloody Morgudeion the Mauler!”

  Rica cautiously sat on the other side of Snow. “He means he wants you to talk to my family,” she said.

  “Good shit, Rica, finally you know what your pa wants.”

  Death leaned forward with intrigue. “Deilon spoke of a war with the humans. Your daughter wishes for peace by the death of King Godwin and Prince Harren.”

  “I want to piss in the city alleys without some posh little sack of meat skewering me with a spear and selling my cock to a witch. My daughter lacks the strength to fight. I want you to help her get inside the head of someone with influence, lay the seeds for the cambions to trickle back above… then, when we’re ready, we’ll launch a full-scale assault on those Kan cunts, stick our fists up their arses!”

  “My husband is very ambitious,” Ash said. “We need to start on a smaller scale. You are not the first human to take an interest in the affairs of the demon-blooded—Stroke Valan was promising. They killed his protector, there was no repercussion, the youngest prince of Valan was not the right path. Speak with my grandfather, be our ambassador.”

  “I don’t think they’ll listen to us after what we’ve done,” Snow said on their behalf. “I killed a lotta people. They locked my Death in a cell.”

  “Bollocks to an ambassador,” Morgudeion yelled. “Kill the king and Prince Harren, put Stroke on that damned throne and we may not even need to use my daughter’s mindfuckery! I want to put on some armour and go clobbering some Kan fuckers before I piss myself to an early doom.”

  “Does the rest of your family not wish for retribution? I’m not familiar with Hell and their rituals,” said Death.

  “For the millionth time, ye damn human, the Flames aren’t gon’ be taking that gigantic sack between your legs. You’re one of us.”

  Death suddenly felt colder than usual. He felt Snow’s fingers grip his arm, too shivering. He felt a breath on the back of his neck, an invisible, icy hand brushing against the hair of his arms. A rush of coldness entered his ears like an exhale.

  “I found you,” a voice said. “You couldn’t escape me for long.”

  Snow stood bravely and summoned her sword, holding it with both hands and searching the room.

  “Is everything alright?” Rica asked in worry.

  “Did you not hear that?” said Death. “That voice.”

  Ashlereina seemed to know exactly what was happening upon seeing Deilon’s sword in Snow’s possession. She touched the blade cautiously, confirming it was one and the same.

  “What else is the voice saying?” Ash asked. “Don’t speak. The voice, focus on it.”

  “Oh, gather ye, small lambs and small hens,

  and hark a tale of the days of old men.

  The Crooked Devil walked, with one crooked shoe,

  he danced down the lane as Heaven’s bells rang two.

  He bowed to the moon and tipped his black hat,

  stole poison from peasants and fed it to cats.

  ‘Good morrow, Crooked Devil,’ sang birds in soft rhymes.

  ‘Why wander so lonely, so crooked, at all times?’

  Mothers looked doors and children said prayers,

  and hoped they would escape the Crooked Devil’s lair.

  For the angels care not, and the devils care many,

  For when the Crooked Devil sings, souls be reaped plenty.

  So, say softly, ‘Go home, thou Crooked Devil, do!’

  Perhaps with luck, he will bid you adieu.”

  “Am I being taken for a fool?” Death scoffed. “Explain this at once. A voice whispering children’s tales into my ear?”

  “Well, that ain’t good,” Morgudeion grunted. “Rica, you didn’t think to tell us your guests had Deilon’s sword?”

  “I thought I mentioned it!”

  “Well, you didn’t. I’ll be giving you a beating for this later.”

  “You’re being challenged,” Ash said. “The Crooked Devil made a deal with my son for that sword… I don’t know why you have it, you shouldn’t have it. When a devil feels cheated, they speak to you through whispers. That devil is a monster. Why do you both hear it? The sword seems linked to Snow.”

  “Long story,” Snow whispered. “Death, I’m scared.”

  “I do not give any mind to the politics or power of Hell. Take me to lair of this fool who thinks he gets to challenge me? Challenge me? No. I challenge him myself. No soul plays games with me. Not human. Not the gods. Certainly not a soul that calls themselves such a crude, simple name.”

  “I like him even more!” Morgudeion roared. “That bastard Beion better hurry or I’ll give him a whack in the ear.”

  “I’ll take you,” Ash offered. “I have dealt with him before.”

  This opponent is where Deilon’s strength snuck too instead of joining me, Death thought. This devil is the power I need to stand a chance against any of those jesters of Vatanil—whether it will be enough for Godwin, only time will tell… but I doubt it will bring me close.