Treason by the Styx

Marcus Mason stole my sword from scabbard,
And shattered the spear that was hurled towards me
Eight neko princes, eight times are bastards
For plotting against us in treachery!

Eight names etched upon the throne of Hades
For they had claimed infernal rank themselves
And not a mountain of oaths and treaties
Could satiate these Eight Princes of Hell

Deftly did Marcus arc the Blood Wing Sword
Sank grey steel into red fur and white bone
With magics reserved for the King alone
I invoked flames that lit the Underworld

Incinerated, the Traitorous Eight
Their ashes float beyond the River Styx
And their Darkness throbs in infinite hate
One sibling left the powerful Void picks

Now my son and I must prepare for war
for Sekhmet shall see her children avenged
And Koen? From far below I hear his roar
As the Darkness to him the full Void sends.

separation

"Do you remember the bull-dancers of Minos?"

I explained my plan to Xavael, and the angel released me. We circled the monstrous wasp, wary of her six massive spiked legs and jagged mandibles as we threw the intermittent ball of fire or ray of holy light at her nigh-invulnerable carapace to distract her when there was a near-miss.

A tactical error! In weaving through the increasingly aggressive twitches of the colossal beast, we found ourselves both far too close her stinger! And sensing the blunder, her abdomen rose towards us at a blurring speed!

"NOW!"

Half a wing's breath for each of us to sidestep her poison-drenched harpoon, flanking it on each side. I grabbed Vortex by his shoulder and his knee, and Xavael did the same.

"PULL!"

Yes. We ripped my son in half...and seven red neko spread their red demon-wings and scattered in all directions.

I pointed them out for Xavael as we broke away from the range of the Queen's venom.

"They were a one-birth litter. Sekhmet insisted I pay support for nine kittens, but Hades decreed payment only for the one birth.
There's Runihwa...Akil...Bomani...Gahiji..."

"They are daughters too?"

"Yes! Mosi, Aziza, Layla and Pila."

"And the one plummeting downwards without wings?"

I peered down. "Why isn't Koen..?"

I slapped my horns out of shock at my own stupidity.

"MARCUS!"

the captured king

The angel was holding me back. For all my curses and pleadings Xavael would not release the grip around my chest.

"Yes. I know they are your children. But that is what she wants us to do. It is a trap, Bloodwing!"

My gaze never left the stinger of the Wasp Queen as she chased after us with roaring wings too fast to see. Impaled upon that jagged ichor-smeared barb the size of of a tree trunk was a red neko with the horns and wings of a royal demon. Tatters of crimson robes clung to him still solely from the force of the wind.

Insult upon injury, the neko's crown fit snugly upon the very tip of the stinger, shining beneath a translucent bubble of honey-tinted venom flowing from the end.

Eight of the children that composed the Vortex, along with the usurper Marcus. What has she done to them?

His wings flailed helplessly with the movements of his captor. His eyes opened as he struggled for breath. His features were blurring. Glimpses of a human face. Two sets of hands. Three and four legs dangling. Two again. The magic holding them together as a collective was starting to unravel. A sign that their deaths were near if we didn't do something fast.

"Xavael! I have a plan..."

the Founder returns

I sat up and watched quietly as the crimson light erupting from my unconscious son's eyes and mouth coalesced into the translucent spirit of might floating above him. I knew the form all too well. The burning eyes and chalk-white skin striated with ancient black battle-scars. The distinctive facial markings of an Ereb'ai prince, copied by Japanese actors centuries ago in their plays. The arc of defiant horns. And of course the majestic red expanses of skin that stretched from his broad shoulders across batlike wings. The very being that wrapped his hand around my throat and, through those burning eyes, held up a mirror to my corrupted soul.

I swallowed, trying to gether the strength to address him. "Darien...he lives?"

"Yes," rumbled the demon, "he shall recover...and I am freed from his toxic prison."

I turned my gaze to the grassy soil of the marsh, which I expected would soon be a barren circle from my instant cremation.

"At least I did something right."

"Jeremiah," he said calmly. "Gaze upon me." Either he was getting larger or he was drifting towards me. "Yes, in your chemical madness you tried to conquer the world. As a vengeful ghost, you and the other Fallen of your kin tried again and failed. Twice resulting in the death of your own grandson."

"WE REMEMBER THAT!", shouted Vortex from the portal above the altar.

I nodded slowly. "That is true, Founder."

"However, you did save this world from the Fires of Apollo." He was referring the nuclear weapon I tried to disarm with Professor Antfarm. "In addition, you repaired this son after your other son stole his body."

"I remember that, too!", laughed the Vortex. I caught a telltale maniacal giggle in his voice.

"Marcus?" I turned to stare at the composite being leering at me from the depths of Hell. "What have you done?"

"Koen abandoned the Vortex collective, and Marcus took his place," Bloodwing explained with a note of disgust, "and in so doing defeated the Hydra. He...they...have earned the throne."

"Indeed we have, Father! And since you're not challenging our will to power I'm willing to invite you to..." Vortex paused as a buzzing drone grew in intensity from from his side of the portal. "Wait Poppa Legba what do you mean 'look behind me'? GYAAAAH!!" The portal instantly snapped shut in a flash of light and a lingering sound that pierced the eardrums as it slid beyond human range.

Bloodwing grimaced as he held his ears, continuing to suffer lightly from the broken portal. "What was that, Poppa Legba? A giant wasp, you say?"

I was startled again by the screech and squawk of the portable radio-wave receiver that lit up from where it lay on Darien's knapsack, placed just outside the summoning circle. Through the interference I could easily discern Qlippothic's slightly metallic voice, clear and measured even in her obvious distress.

"Mayday-mayday, invasion fleet intercepted at following coordinates..."

regeneration

As best as I can remember...

One minute I am disarming a nuclear device. Then Mr. Antfarm's magic rucksack bites off my hand. Death came so fast I wondered how I survived the atomic fire. That is when I realized I did not. The sack, however, did. And part of my soul was still in there. This is what has survived. This is why I am here.

Where am I?

Nowhere. Where do you want to go now?"

Home. Just home...

I was swatted across time and space like shuttlecock in a game of cosmic badminton. A felt a moment of comfort on the carpet of my room in Miss Burton's barn. How long was I going to live like this? Another second or two? She burst in.

She thought Antfarm was me. She was the landlady. She declared it his home, not mine. The spell backfired.

Your previous home was New Erebus.

But it's gone!

Old Erebus, then!

The very damn center of what used to be the Empire. The Throne of Hades, shredded as it was. I grabbed the tail to keep from getting sat on. Marcus and the Vortex shoved me into a lead box. When it reopened I leaped and grabbed the first thing I could...

I couldn't let go. The rush of reanimation serum, a thousand times worse than when it warped my mind. Pain screaming through every nerve as stretched and knit around bone and organ and muscle and skin.

My body was complete...almost. My hair was a bit shorter. My nails as well. That means I didn't overdose at least. I look down at the body...a splitting image of myself.

"Darien? DARIEN! You had enough reanimation fluid in you to regrow me from just a hand? Damn Founder, boy! I was never crazy enough to...Darien?"

I heard the Vortex's voice from a glowing portal behind me.

"Ha! You killed him after all!"

I knelt over him, compressing his chest. My shouts of DAMMIT BOY LIVE drowning out that cat-demon's taunts. All my work seemed to do was drive him deeper into the swamp mud. Without warning he let out a sharp gasp, drawing in the stifling damp air.

"That's it, boy. Breathe. Just breathe."

His eyes opened, glowing so angry of crimson in the darkness I had to look away. I knew that glow. It was the last thing I saw in New Erebus. I fell back, too weak to fight. I collapsed in the mud, waiting for Bloodwing to smear blood over the last line of the tragedy of my life.

If he bellows let him wail

The thunder of horns greeted the Vortex he descended the concrete steps built into the crater. He adjusted his resplendent spidersilk robe that matched his crimson fur to avoid an unfortunate rip from being pinned to his footpaws, and ensure it was hanging correctly around the hole cut for his slowly writhing tail. Two dwarfish demons waddled hurriedly behind him, taking quick jumps to reach the following step.

When the demon prince reached the floor of the crater, he flexed his paws to feel the red velvet stretching out all the way to his new throne. He admired the avant-garde design of the strips of black metal that were re-welded to again form the Throne of Erebus, albeit in a form unrecognizable from the original rococo design the Ereb'ai were infamous for.

"I especially like the red particle effects," he muttered to his advisers as he adjusted his collar before continuing. The advisers stared at the patches of magic radiating from the center of the throne like shimmering rubies. They looked back to each other each other and pointed back and forth, shrugging in bewilderment. They looked back to the throne nervously in the stoic silence shared by all of the neko-demon's servants.

Vortex gazed straight up at the names engraved on the flanges of steel, hammered out to abstractly resemble the Hydra he slew, just enough to remind the residents of this faded province of Hell of his mythic feat without reawakening racial memories of stark terror. The names of his collective self were inscribed on the nine metal ribbons that hung closest. One of them had to be twisted at the end to hide the name "Koen" (whose name was now shorthand within the capital walls for "coward") and etch in the name "Marcus" (now whispered outside the Imperial Sector as a synonym for "opportunist") on the reverse of the leaf in its place.

Vortex sighed happily, and in a fluid twirl of his gold-trimmed robe sat down upon the down cushions.

And promptly jumped high into the air howling in outrage. As he shredded the silk with his claws he roared GET IF OFF GET IT OFF as his diminutive servants fell over each other circling their master, trying glimpse the trouble without being eviscerated by a flying claw. Like that one just did.

(I'm sorry, I seem to have gotten some gore on the camera.)

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!?"

"It seems to be a..."

"YES I KNOW WHAT THE HELL IT IS! It's...oh...what? You're kidding!"

"Sir! We've got the axe! Hold still!"

"GET AWAY YOU IDIOTS! Can't you see it's my...!"


TO BE CONTINUED