Unexpected Return
Under the red sky of hell. The shift bell on the ramparts hadn't rung yet. A few night guards slouched in front of the gate, while Nas sorted bundles of messages at a makeshift desk beside it.
"They won't be back yet."
"Said they'd return around dawn tomorrow."
"Going all the way to the Astamar sector and back in a day? That wouldn't be demonic."
Before the words even finished, a watchman on the ramparts suddenly straightened up.
"......Right side."
"Dust."
Red ash and gray mist swirled in on the wind. And through it, four shadows approached the gate in a straight line.
Rak. El. Zan. Navriel.
"What."
"Now?"
"Now is 'now'?"
The watchman's voice rose a tone.
"Nas! They're returning!"
"No, not returning......"
Nas looked up, then his words cut off.
Behind the four, something dragged along the ground. Something gripped in Rak's hand. An upper demon, hauled by the scruff of its neck. Its limbs had already been severed. Just a lump of torso and head. Black fluid leaked slowly from the stumps.
Astamar.
The demons at the gate instinctively stepped back.
"......Is that thing still alive?"
"No arms, no legs......"
"Look at the eyes. Still open."
Green eyes flickered faintly, like light about to die.
Rak stopped in front of the gate. Before crossing the threshold, he glanced up at the ramparts once.
"Open it."
At that single word, the demons by the gate hurriedly unbarred it. As the gate swung open, air from inside the base rushed out.
Nas barely managed a greeting. "Welcome back—"
The greeting didn't finish. Nas's eyes fixed on the trophy in Rak's hand.
"...Astamar."
El jerked her chin toward it. "Yeah."
"Brought it back alive."
Ballag watched the scene from atop the ramparts too. The ground below seemed to sink again, like drawing a deeper breath.
Rak offered no unnecessary explanation.
"Clear the path."
A short command. The demons parted with a shout.
Zan walked in a bit behind. Her steps wobbled ever so slightly. The recoil still coursed through her body.
El sidled up beside her. "Holding up?"
Zan steadied her breath. "......Yes."
"I'm... fine for now."
Despite her words, the dried blood on her lips told the real story.
El lightly supported Zan's shoulder. "I'll patch you up again once we're inside."
"Just hang on enough not to die."
Zan nodded curtly.
From behind, murmurs trailed long.
"Dragging an upper demon by the scruff......"
"First time seeing something like that."
"Are all the demons in hell really gathering here now?"
Rak didn't look back. Before the gate even closed, he turned straight toward the tower.
Rak passed the command room and descended beneath the tower, deeper still. Stone stairs leading underground. Air thick with blood, water, and mold.
He paused at the entrance. Nas and a nearby guard naturally straightened.
Rak said, "From here down."
"No one comes except me."
"Yes."
Nas answered without hesitation. Rak added, "No matter what happens, hold at the door."
"If you enter, you die."
Nas's throat bobbed. "......Understood."
Rak descended without another word. Astamar's body thudded against the stone steps as it was dragged down.
The basement was an improvised interrogation room. Stone walls. Floor crusted with dried blood. Discarded chains and torture tools from before.
Rak walked to the center, then dumped Astamar on the ground.
Thud.
The rotting flesh spread out upon impact.
Astamar's eyes fluttered faintly open. No voice came.
Rak looked down at those eyes.
"Told you I'd keep you alive."
Then, he slowly tilted his head toward the ceiling.
"Bell."
At that word, the air shifted.
The first sensation was the buzz of fly wings.
Whirr——
Tiny specks seeped into the chill underground air. Flies. Insects. Shadows.
The small things crawled walls and ceiling, gathering at one point. The shadow swelled slowly.
No mouth anywhere—yet suddenly, the center split into something like a maw. From it, Bell emerged as if stepping out.
"...Rak."
Bell leaned half against the shadow.
"Why'd you call?"
Rak nodded toward the floor.
"Got food."
Bell's gaze drifted down slowly. Astamar, limbs severed and discarded. Faint rot-flower stench and plague mist still seeped from its body.
Bell smirked faintly.
"Ah."
"The plague guy."
Bell nudged the torso with his toe.
"Flesh doesn't look tasty anymore."
Rak said, "Flesh isn't for you."
"Just eat the prayer lines."
Bell's eyes sharpened.
"......Prayer lines?"
Rak pressed his foot on Astamar's chest.
"It's still tethered up top."
"If we use it like this, they'll see everything we do."
Bell chuckled softly.
"You called me just to eat that?"
Rak replied, "Still gotta do it."
Bell tilted his head.
"Prayer lines taste bad."
"No chew, doesn't fill you up."
Still, his smirk widened.
"But."
"Tasteless or not, sometimes it's fun."
Bell stepped toward Astamar. The air rippled.
Black shadow spread from his feet. Something unseen slithered up from within.
Prayer lines. Invisible to the eye, thin cold threads linked from Astamar's chest, head, cracked skin upward to the heavens.
Bell extended a hand. Fingers crooked as if grasping invisible strings.
A sharp snap in the air.
Then—
A black maw opened in Bell's palm. It bit at empty air.
Tough lines severed at once.
Astamar's body twitched with the sensation of something snapping.
Bell mimed chewing quietly.
Crunch, crunch.
"...Tastes like shit, as expected."
Bell frowned slightly.
"But."
"The quieting sound is nice."
The basement air fell suddenly silent. The faint tremor linking above and below dropped to dead air.
Rak glanced at the ceiling. No one above would hear prayers from this room now.
Bell shook his fingers.
"Cut."
The invisible lines, shredded, sank into the shadow.
"Now they won't see whatever we do up there."
Rak nodded. "Good."
Bell turned. "Don't call me for annoyances."
With that, the shadow at his feet rippled and sank back into the floor.
Only Rak and Astamar remained in the interrogation room.
Rak looked down. "When you wake, plenty of work."
Only after the prayer lines severed did Astamar's breath turn fully to its own body, not the 'upper ones.' Short inhale, exhale.
Green eyes fluttered vaguely open, then closed again.
Rak's gaze swept the damp basement walls. Spots where corpses piled. Cracks where blood flowed and dried.
"This one's plague."
"From now on, handles our waste."
Days later. Base outskirts, old corpse mound site.
Once a battlefield where Raphael's legion and demons tangled, piled, rotted.
Now, a different scene unfolded.
The corpse mound lost form. At the center stood Astamar.
Arms and legs regrown. Not as sleek as before, but enough to move.
Black fluid seeped from cracks in gray skin, soaking corpses, stones, blood pools.
One gesture, and rotting flesh powdered.
Astamar's voice leaked low. "......This much."
"Should be reusable."
Rak watched from the side. "Keep the rot inside this line."
"Leak out, you get cut again."
A bit away, Zan stood. Dark circles under her eyes lingered, but she walked without issue.
Red fragments rose faintly from Zan's fingertips. Weak, but a ceiling over the whole base. Invisible barrier making prayer lines graze, lose flow, scatter.
Prayer line blocking veil.
Lines from above now had to snag once more.
Below the ramparts. Ballag eyed the deployment map.
The ground felt heavier than before. Deeper. Firmer.
A perimeter guard muttered, "Air's different from before."
"Used to be just a battlefield, now it's like..."
"Got some system to it."
Nas overheard and smiled faintly. "Kill or spare."
"All moves inside set lines now."
He looked up at the ramparts.
"That's Rak's base."
As day waned. From above the command room, Rak surveyed the base.
Astamar cleared the rot. El wrapped what mustn't die. Zan blocked eyes from above.
Ballag and Nas filled the gaps between.
Rak glanced at the red sky.
"...This much."
The words, for no one, slipped out quietly.
"Worth keeping alive."