Now instead of the priest’s golden light, a bloody light seems to come up from the earth, bathing the alter, illuminating the piece of Myuriel’s staff. I mount the steps solemnly to take it in my grasp. Then an even darker presence seems to fill the church.

  I turn with a kind of knowing to see a shadowy figure standing in the back pew. She wears a dark robe and her face is covered by an iron mask.

  With a chill in my bones I start towards her, and bow myself at her feet, holding out my prize.

  “My lady, Charis. I have retrieved the first part of Myuriel’s staff.”

  “Yes. You have done well. My champion.”

  I am surprised at first when she does not take it. Then, on closer inspection of her feet, I see her form is not quite opaque, that I can see a little of the wall on the other side.

  She’s not here at all, I realize.

  “You’re just an image of my lady.”

  “Yes. I was detained, but I shall catch up with you at the next church.”

  “No, you won’t,” I predict, rising to my feet, still gripping the staff piece. “Being what you are, you cannot set foot in this holy place.”

  She straightens her body. If I could see her eyes, I’m sure they would flash with indignance.

  “And what am I?” she demands.

  “Half-infernal,” I guess. “Or is that—all infernal?”

  She sucks in her breath with a sharp hiss.

  “You have no claim to this staff. It’s why you could not come for it yourself. Isn’t it. Charis.”

  “You use it to flippantly,” she says, her voice changed from emulating Tamiel’s to a hissing metallic sound. “It is a name even the most powerful demons of Hell dare not utter.”

  “Are you like Jezol?” I ask her, gut clenched.

  “I am Charis, Forth Prince of Hell.”

  “Prince?”

  “It is a title. I am, as you mortals call it, female.”

  “Why did you choose me for your champion?”

  “You were proud. Easy to flatter.”

  I’d wondered if that was it, the common denominator between the ‘champions’ she chose. “That night, you praised my Constitution. Is it because that one stat was much higher than all the others? For BB, you must have praised her Intelligence.”

  “Who is BB?”

  “Forget it. Just take off your mask,” I say, wondering at my own audacity, that I should order one of the Princes of Hell. “Show me your face.”

  “Yes. That was...our agreement...”

  I don’t know what I’m expecting as Charis removes her mask and wimple. But her face is the same, a replica of the beautiful half-celestial Tamiel.

  For a moment I’m tempted to demand she show me her true face. But no, I think, recalling Jezol’s unnatural form. That is not something I want to see.

  Let her be as Tamiel to me, I think, drinking in her beauty, her icy skin and pale eyes, her gorgeous, fiery red mane.

  The truth of what Charis is, of what she’s making me do, I am willing to overlook it all. So long as I can go on gazing at her like this.

  She is...beyond exquisite. A perfect beauty with every filter turned on, only right in front of my eyes. Human in form but better than human, an AI lover that would be beholden to my every whim, once I bind her to me.

  Yes. To have this woman, I would even sell my soul.

  “What is the reward?” I ask her, swallowing down the heat that’s started in my throat. “If I bring you the completed staff, what will you give me?”

  “Power. Godlike Fortitude. A gift...beyond mortal imagination...”

  So she’ll increase my Constitution stat.

  “I’d rather have you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “You remember me, that proves I have earned your favor. Then, could I also ask your hand in marriage?”

  Her eyes spark with a kind of fury at my impudence. And yet, she’s smirking too. Amused.

  “You would take me, the Forth Prince of Hell, to be your bride?”

  I swallow again.

  “Will you keep this form after we’ve married?”

  “I can take any form I wish. Any form you wish,” she adds meaningfully, and already my imagination is running wild.

  It wouldn’t mean anything, an in-game wife. She’d just be practice. A man should have experience, I justify myself. And why not with this devil who can shape-shift into my every fantasy?

  As though reading my thoughts, Charis smiles wickedly.

  “Very well. When your quest is finished—if you survive—I will marry you. Revelator.”

  “When I give you the completed staff.”

  Her eyebrow arches dangerously, but I hold my ground. She says ‘when the quest is finished,’ but who knows how long this fetch quest of hers will go on? Once I give her the staff, she might ask for this or that—she might ask for anything!

  “When I give you the completed staff, you will marry me.”

  Charis straightens, looking down on me haughtily through half-lidded eyes.

  “I will honor this promise only if you swear it in blood.”

  “Whose blood?” I ask, glancing back at the remains of Gavril the priest. How many more will she ask me to kill?

  “Your own.”

  Is that all?

  Taking the sharp end of the staff piece, I score my hand violently, so that even with the gore turned down, crimson pools in my palm.

  Like some kind of vampire she sucks her breath sharply at the sight of it, her pupils widen then narrow to pinpricks in her ice blue eyes. Then she puts her hand out, and her palm hovers over my bloody hand. Pain like fire sears me, sends me to my knees.

  “What are you doing?” I demand.

  “This mark identifies you as my consort. Any servant of Hell will obey you. Even the demons will do your will. Though not willingly,” she cautions.

  I look unbelievingly into my left palm. Over the freshly scared cut is a black mark, a circle with the symbol of a coiled serpent within.

  “You disapprove?” she queries, and I grip my fist quickly.

  “Of course not,” I say, bowing before her once again. “I am your loyal servant, my lady.”

  “Yes,” she says, eyes once more half lidded, looking down on me. “Do not forget it.”

  And with that, her form vanishes, and a little light seeps back into the ruined church.

  Dawn.

  I look over my shoulder as it streams through the stained glass window, illuminating the world tree. Illuminating the smoldering, bloody nightmare laid out beneath it.

  What in the actual Hell did I get myself into? I wonder, shaking myself as I rise and shove the staff fragment away in my inventory.

  Now, with the sun rising and the shadows banished, somehow I question everything. Every single choice that led me to this point. Then I feel the throb in my palm, and I look down to see the mark of the snake is still fresh and black against my pale skin.

  She branded me, I realize with a sinking feeling.

  Guess it’s too late to turn back now.

  I should get out of here…

  After a brief stop at the blacksmith to sell all the Iron Breastplates I crafted last night, I meet up with Sherbie back at the inn. He has questions but I put them all to rest with plausible sounding lies. I spent the night working at the blacksmith, I got attacked by thugs on the way to the auction house, etc.. Fortunately he’s pretty easily dissuaded from interrogating me too closely by my suggestion we get breakfast.

  He’s disappointed that we can’t find crepes, but perks up at the innkeeper’s mention of dire bore bacon and flying serpent egg omelet.

  “Now that’s not something you get to eat every day!” he says to me excitedly later over breakfast, though for my money, I’d say it was regular old bacon and eggs. Of course technically I don’t need to eat in the game, but there’s something about the flavors and routine of the act of eating breakfast that presses a reset button in my brain, so I can almost imagine the events of last night and this morning were all just some terrible dream…

  “What’s that?” Sherbie startles me from my introspection with a question.

  “What’s what?”

  “That mark on your hand? Is that a tattoo?” Sherbie starts to reach for my hand but I pull it back, hiding Charis’ mark self-consciously. I hadn’t meant for him to see that…

  “Yeah. You never noticed it before?” I bluff. “I’ve always had that tattoo. Just a little something I added in character customization.”

  “Lame,” Sherbie declares, surprising me.

  “Why’s it lame?” I ask defensively.

  “Getting a tattoo in a video game to look cool when you’re too scared to get one in real life.”

  “No way! I’d totally get a tattoo!”

  Sherbie rolls his eyes at me and I feel my face go red.

  “What? I only turned eighteen a few months ago! I just haven’t got around to it yet, alright? I totally have big plans to get a tattoo!”

  “Of what?” he challenges me.

  I sputter, searching for some kind of cool sounding response. “A-a-a flaming skull!”

  “Pffft!”

  What’s happening right now? Is Sherbie actually laughing at me? What is this world coming to?

  “Tch,” I say, face flaming. “Like you could come up with anything better on the spot…”

  “I don’t have to,” he says smugly. “Unlike a certain inexperienced kid, I actually have a tattoo.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “God’s truth.”

  “Of what?”

  “Raijin and Fujin, the gods of thunder and wind, battling. There’s a whole scene on my back. Done by a Japanese master who tattoos Yakuza. Took him twelve sessions,” he says proudly.

  I whistle and curse, admittedly looking at my friend in a new light. He waits haughtily for my next question and invariably I have to ask:

  “Did it hurt?”

  “It hurt so bad!” he exclaims, tears streaming suddenly from both his eyes like a cartoon character.

  I laugh. I don’t meant to—it just comes out.

  Ah, what would I do without this idiot? I ask myself. Just being around this goofy druid is healing, somehow. Then I feel guilty when I see Sherbie’s questioning, watery eyes.

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “No! No, of course not.” I clear my throat. “We should go…”

  “But—” Sherbie shakes my arm as I get up and pay for our breakfast, still crying at the memory of his pain. “I’ve been holding it in for so long, I need to tell someone about my traumatic experience!”

  “I’m good, really.”

  “But this is valuable firsthand information—you may need to know this one day.”

  “Fine, tell me on the way.”

  “The seventh session was the worst!” he says as I head out the door, pulling up the map to check our next destination.

  Well, now. I’ve got the first piece of Myuriel’s staff. Considering the other stops on my unfinished quest, as well as the side quest I got after fighting the giant and Ari’s next skill acquisition recommendation, I guess our next stop should be—there.

  The city of Highwall.

  “When he did the detail on my kidneys, I seriously thought I was gonna die!”