Hellfire: Conflagration

It was a cold sunless morning when the man in black stepped through the foggy forest, the autumn air fresh and crisp and the fallen leaves crunching beneath his boots. The vibrantly colored leaves on the ground scattered as he walked, carried by a chilling wind which bit into his face and sent shivers down his back.

The man sighed and pulled the collars of his coat closer. He was tempted, sorely tempted to reach for the pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket, a spot of warmth to fight the chill. But he knew he couldn’t afford to relax now. With everything he was staking on this endeavor, it would be utterly stupid to risk it all on something as simple as a cigarette break.

No, he needed to stay focused.

He opened his eyes to the world and saw his surroundings as they were in truth. His senses expanded outwards like a ripple, encompassing everything which lay within his proximity, gathering information that fed directly into his mind.

...the wing beats of birds flapping through the air...the leaves detaching from their stems, carried along by the trailing wind…

...the rattling chains biting into his skin...

Guided by his senses, the man in black continued to push through the fog, walking until his feet carried him to the edges of a hill. He clambered up the sloped surface until he was at the very top and peered into the distance. There, looming through the mist was his target, a massive old-fashioned mansion surrounded by a vast field of grass.

But it was not undefended. Even with just his mortal senses, he could make out the barest outlines of a watchtower looming in the distance and towering stone walls. If the information was accurate, there would be at least a dozen similar watchtowers surrounding the entire property, each manned by a pair of guards equipped with long-range marksman rifles.

To think those were only the visible defenses…

The man in black dropped to a knee and placed his suitcase down flat on the ground. With hands covered in black leather gloves, he inserted the key into the lock and lifted the heavy lid. Nestled within the suitcase, on a bed of vibrant red cloth, were a pair of firearms, their sleek metallic frames gleaming as they caught the light.

The first of the weapons was a Benelli M4, an Italian-made semi-automatic shotgun with a detachable stock. He examined it briefly to confirm that everything was in order, before drawing back the action and reaching into his coat for a bandolier of shells he hung at his waist. After retrieving a few shells, which he slid into the shotgun, he slung the strap over his shoulder and moved to the next weapon.

The other weapon was a large metal revolver, a Smith and Wesson Model 29 revolver which he had modified with a few special features. He grasped the frame and the demonic sigils along the frame glowed with a crimson light. He opened the cylinder to confirm that all six bullets were loaded, before tucking the pistol securely inside its customized holster inside his coat.

The man then turned to the watchtower, closed his eyes and focused. His psychic senses expanded outwards, plunging through mist and stone until he was suddenly seeing inside the watchtower. His mind drifted over to a guard standing by the railings and brushed a mental tendril against the surface of her mind.

There were no thoughts of alarm in her mind, no sign of wariness or panic in her thoughts. It did not seem as though they had been forewarned of his arrival. Perhaps that was for the best.

Breathing out, the man withdrew his mind and opened his eyes once more. He knelt to the ground and slowly drew back the folds of his right sleeve to reveal his lower arm, wrapped in strips of white cloth adorned with sigils and runic script. The man paused for a moment, his hand hovering above the bandages, before taking a deep breath. His fingers gripped the fabric and slowly unraveled the cloth.

On his forearm was an a pair  of crossed sabers heralded by a set of stylized wings carved into his skin with what seemed like black ink. The moment he exposed the mark, the damp air around the brand began to hiss with steam. The burning magical energies within the brand boiled to the surface, filling the mark with a bright scarlet light.

“Resiak.” He incanted, the words passing through his lips in a tongue older than civilization itself.

“Resiak,” He repeated, the magic resonating with his voice and the winds began to intensify, spiraling like a miniature whirlwind around his kneeling form.

“Resiak!” He declared, an image of a gateway flashing before his eyes. Scarlet energy crackled around his arm, before discharging into the ground in a blazing circle of light.

Then it was there.

The man turned around and there the demon he named Resiak was, silently floating above the blazing circle of scarlet light. Yellow eyes shimmered from a face covered in shadows beneath a crimson hood, the long ends of his scarlet cloak flapping to a conjured wind.

“We meet again, Elias Seth,” Drol’Resiak spoke, his mental voice eerily smooth and light. He raised a silver finger to his chin, his glowing yellow eyes bright with interest. “It has been quite some time since our last meeting. How may I assist you today?”

The mark on his arm grew hotter still as the demon steadily siphoned away his magical energy. But he allowed none of it to show on his face, instead silently turning to the mansion hidden in the mist. Resiak followed his gaze, examining their target for a few moments, before suddenly nodding in understanding.

“Hm.” The demon’s eyes shimmered as they looked over the facility. He snapped his silver fingers, casting a silent illusion to obscure their conversation. “These defenses...are quite formidable, especially for something of human make. But hardly beyond my ability to penetrate. Is this one of your missions, Elias?”

“Not this time. I’m here on personal business.” Elias shrugged and rolled back his sleeve to cover the still glowing mark. “This mansion belongs to Grigory Syrio, an eccentric art collector and magical practitioner. But you would perhaps know him better as Syrio of the Silver Hand.”

The yellow-eyed demon was silent for a long moment. The pupils of his eyes narrowed into cat-like slits. “Him.”

“He has something that belongs to me that I wish to retrieve.” The man continued casually, seemingly unperturbed. “And judging from your words, I take it the two of you have something of a history?”

“A history?” Resiak chuckled, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. “Well, yes...I suppose you can say that. Though...I must admit, it seems the two of us are more alike than I imagined.”

“Oh?” The man asked, his expression carefully neutral. “What do you mean?”

“That human...” Resiak’s expression darkened. “...has dealt me a most grievous wrong. More grievous than anything you can ever imagine. I will see him suffer for all that he has wrought.” Yellow eyes met Elias’s own, burning with an uncharacteristic fury.

“But I am a patient demon. It does not matter how long it will take, but come this century or the next, I will have my vengeance.” His voice was deathly calm. “As long as we share this common endeavor, you will have my assistance. Now how shall we proceed, my contractor?”

The man said nothing for a moment, mulling on Resiak’s words. His lips curled into a knowing smirk. “You know how I usually do things, Resiak.”

“Of course.” Resiak released an exaggerated sigh. “I should have nothing less from you, Elias.” The demon extended out his two mismatched hands, his right a gleaming incandescent silver and his left a mangled patchwork of burnt and mutilated flesh. “Are you ready?”

Taking the demon’s hand, Elias nodded in the affirmative. The demon’s eyes gleamed and the air around them began to swirl with the familiar pressure of his demonic energy. The very fabric of reality seemed to distort, the world around them disintegrating further and further until for a moment, there was nothing.

And then he was there.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When he did, he was standing in the middle of a narrow corridor. The walls were white and adorned with an assortment of expensive-looking paintings, while the floor was covered with an opulent red carpet.

Pointing his shotgun forward, Elias opened his senses. Right around the corner were a pair of armed men, their spiritual essence bright in his mystical sight. He crouched to a knee and mentally tagged them as they approached. Adrenaline kicked in and the world slowed to a distant crawl.

It would only be moments before they would be spotted. No time for Resiak to cast an illusion, no time to make any sort of explanation that would justify their sudden appearance in the middle of this heavily fortified compound. No, there was no other choice.

The moment they stepped around the corner, Elias fired.

A round of buckshot slammed into one of the guards center-mass, the sheer impact hurling him into the wall and splattering his blood across the walls of the corridor. The second guard reacted quickly and raised his submachine gun; but his shotgun was already in place.

But before he could fire, there was a soft whisper in his ear.

“Allow me.”

His finger paused halfway between the trigger, right before a glowing emerald blade erupted from his target’s chest, spraying blood like a geyser across the corridor. The air behind the man shimmered like a mirage, and suddenly the guard found himself staring into a pair of gleeful yellow eyes.

The guard opened his mouth in an attempt to speak, but he could not. His facial muscles were paraluzed in a rictus of horror, frozen by the toxins flooding through his body. Resiak gently caressed the guard’s face, smiling with pointed teeth as the energies of the Green Blade devoured his body from within, shutting down his internal organs one after the other. The scarlet demon slowly lifted the man into the air, watching the latter’s blood gush generously between his fingers and into the carpeted floor.

There was a time...when he might have smiled at the man’s pain. Where the glee in his eyes would have matched even Resiak’s own. But now...as he looked into the man’s tearful eyes and watched his lifeblood seep into the cold earth, he could feel nothing of that sort.

This was no way for a warrior to die.

The light faded from the man’s eyes and his body went slack. Resiak withdrew his blade, allowing the lifeless corpse to slump to the ground.

“Is something the matter, Elias?” The bloodstained demon tilted his head, likely sensing his unease through their bond.

“No.” Elias dispelled the thoughts with a shake of his head. He needed to stay focused. “Just a change of plans. It won’t be long before the rest of the guards notice they’re gone. We’ll have to accelerate the time-table. Take a more offensive approach.”

Being detected this was early on was a problem, but hardly an entirely unexpected one. After all, it was hardly the first time they had been caught in this sort of situation. If things didn’t go as planned, they would simply have to adapt.

“We’ll split up for now,” Elias continued. “I’ll head for the artifacts. In the meantime, I need you to run interference with the rest of the guards and delay them for as long as you can. I’ll signal you when I’m finished. You have my permission to do whatever needs to be done.”

“Very well.” Resiak bowed one last time. “Then I wish you well in this endeavor, Elias Seth. I shall grant you as much time as you need. In return I ask only...that give the master of this house my sincerest regards.”

His great blood-red cloak unfurled, expanding and lengthening until they were great batlike wings sprouting from their wielder’s back. A wave of pressure erupted from his form, engulfing his form in a miasma of power. Reality twisted and distorted-

-and then he was gone.

It was then that the screaming began.

Facing in the direction where the demon had gone, Elias hesitated for the slightest of moments. The mark on his arm warmed and he couldn’t help but flinch at the sharp, sudden pain. But then his expression hardened and he turned in the opposite direction, moving deeper into the mansion itself.

There was no time to waste. Despite the demon’s veneer of self-assured confidence, Elias knew better than to trust his assurances. Resiak could delay them for a time, but even he couldn’t hold them off forever. Not while he remained in such a weakened state.

Until the demon learned to swallow his pride and tether himself to a human host, there was a limit to how long the demon could remain in the human world and the amount of power he could use. Perhaps it would be 30 minutes, perhaps even an hour. But eventually, Resiak would have little choice but to withdraw.

But the demon’s actions would buy precious time. Time that he intended to make every use of.

Sliding two more shells into his shotgun, Elias continued down the hallway. Towards the end of the corridor were a pair of double doors. Not far beyond the doors were another pair of guards, moving briskly down the hallway, their weapons drawn and raised. It was clear that they already sensed his presence.

Elias sprinted towards their direction at full speed, before suddenly dropping into a slide. The instant the doors open, he opened fire. A spray of buckshot tore through the first man, splattering blood across his companion’s face. The second guard flinched for a moment, before quickly raising his weapon to his target.

It was only for a moment, but that moment was enough.

Elias fired first, sending a round of shot through the guard’s leg. The man toppled to his mangled knees with a scream. He looked up just in time for the demon summoner to slam his shotgun stock into his helmet, knocking him out.

Onwards. Ever onwards.

Pushing past the double doors, he soon came to a staircase, painted white like the walls. After briefly looking around to confirm that no one was around, he quickly descended down a flight of stairs. There, looming in the distance at the end of a long corridor were a pair of silver doors etched with an array complex magical sigils.

The  moment his foot touched the basement floor, there was an imperceptible change in the atmosphere. An indescribable pressure descended upon his body and soul. Magic energy radiated from his surroundings with such an intensity and pressure that he could practically taste it in the air.

This was it. He was here.

Elias paused midway through the hall and released the grip on his shotgun, letting it hang loosely at his side. He reached into his coat and drew forth the magnum revolver, gripping it with both hands and aiming it at his silver doors.

Even from where he stood, it was easy to see the amount of effort Syrio had placed in protecting his treasures. Waves of magical energy radiated from the door, emanating from layers upon layers of protective enchantments carved into the door in complex arrangements that must have taken a considerable amount of time and resources to construct.

Even if were to summon Resiak here and draw on his expertise, it would likely have taken a considerable amount of time for the demon to break through these seals. It was time that they simply did not have.

It seemed that he had no choice but to take a different approach. A more direct approach.

Elias cocked back the hammer of the magnum. His mind was calm and his hands were steady. His forefinger pulled back and the barrel discharged, sending a bullet crashing into the silver doors.

For a single brief millisecond in time, all was still.

Then the bullet detonated and the entire corridor exploded into flames.

Great balls of fire bloomed where the bullets landed, causing a massive wave of heat and force to wash over the corridor. Scalding winds whipped past his face and he was forced to raise an arm to shield his eyes. Clouds of smoke and ash filled his vision and the acrid taste of sulfur registered on his lips.

Yet, through the clouds of smoke, the silver doors gleamed. Though clearly damaged, with cracks and scorch marks across its surface and the array of mystical spellwork and enchantments visibly straining against the destruction he had unleashed, the doors were nevertheless firmly intact.

Even despite the circumstances, a small part of him was impressed. Even a single shot from his magnum could annihilate a half-truck. That the door was standing even against a direct shot was a testament to the craftsmanship of its maker and the power of its enchantments.

It was almost a shame that it wouldn’t be enough.

All around him, the corridor was burning. The roaring flames spread swiftly through the corridor, burning with such a pressure and intensity that it seemed to drink in the surrounding light and radiating such heat that the very air appeared to distort at its touch.

This was the substance known as Hellfire, the mystical flames intrinsic to all of demonkind that burned the body and soul of its victims alike. Left uncontrolled, he had little doubt it would burn through anything and everything in its path, until there was nothing left to burn beside itself.

Elias raised his hand and the hellfire responded to his will. An image of rattling chains flashed through his mind. The surrounding flames gathered and coalesced, swirling into the form of a single glowing sphere which shone like a miniature sun suspended above his gloved hand.  Then, pushing his hand forward, he launched the fireball straight into the damaged silver doors.

The soul-devouring flames ripped into the door on like a starving beast, ripping and tearing through one protective spellwork after another. In a way, the heavy enchantments on the door proved to be its own downfall. Each enchantment that burned away became fuel in which the flames would consume the next.

But...

A bead of sweat formed above Elias’s brow. He inhaled slowly, drawing shallow breaths through gritted teeth. His lungs burned with exertion. A sharp stinging sensation filled his arm, which spread through his body until it was as though it were burning from the inside out.

Hellfire did not like to be restrained. To hold its reins was to hold back a starving and frothing beast which clamped at his control, a weapon that was just as likely to consume its wielder was it was its targets. With every moment that passed, with each enchantment it consumed, the flames grew stronger still, and as the flames grew stronger, his own control weakened. It wouldn’t be long before the flames grew beyond his own ability to control.

It was utterly pathetic that he had to expend so much effort just to control these pitiful flames,  a testament to how far he had fallen. To think of how he had been before that day, to remember how there had been a time...

But that was irrelevant. That was the past and this was the present. The flames which he generated had proven more than sufficient for the task at hand and that would suffice for now.

In one smooth motion, Elias raised his magnum and fired again. The bullet ripped through the flames and exploded against the door. The weakened metal doors crumpled under the force of the explosion, the battered enchantments shattering like glass.

But he wasn’t done yet. Not yet.

Focusing into the flames which surrounded him, Elias gathered his will. His raised hand slowly closed into a fist. The burning sensation in his palm intensified, but he clenched his teeth and redoubled his effort.

The hellish flames dimmed. They strained and thrashed, struggling against the power of his will, but they could not stand against the power of his mipressure of his mind and his will. Slowly, and steadily, he eroded their power until all that remained of the flames were small isolated embers burning amidst the ash.

Only when the last of the flames disappeared did Elias release the breath he had been holding. He wiped his sweat-stained forehead and continued down the corridor, sheathing his revolver and drawing his shotgun. He did not dare to lower his guard. Who knew what other traps could be lying in wait?

Stopping just before the entrance into the vault, Elias braced himself for the worst. He raised his shotgun to the door, prepared to react to the slightest movement. He waited for a few moments. When no response came, he stepped slowly into the room.

It was a massive room, tall and wide, filled with all sorts of objects and artifacts. The room were lined with an assortment of expensive paintings and statues, arranged compactly in an aesthetically pleasing manner. Books and tomes filled wooden shelves, alongside rows upon rows of locked metal drawers.

This was the famous collection of the mansion’s owner, the sum of an entire lifetime’s efforts. The value of all of the items was easily in the hundreds of millions. Even with all the treasures he had already seen and the places he had already been, it was nevertheless quite impressive.

It was truly a shame...that it all had to belong to Grigory Syrio.

He opened his senses to the world around him and focused. His senses stretched across the entire length of the room, moving through the rows of shelves and drawers. He ignored the paintings, the magical tomes, the collections of priceless jewelry, focusing all his attention to search for the distinct magical signature of the one object he sought.

Then, he stopped and raised his shotgun.

There was someone else in the room.

His eyes snapped to the presence he sensed and immediately fired his shotgun.  There was a loud yelp and a crashing sound. He followed the noise to a single figure lying on the floor. It was a man, large and obese, with balding black hair and plump rosy cheeks. His dark robe were covered with dust and splinters from where he had fired, but the man himself did not seem to have been hurt. Rather he seemed to have tripped on the trails of his very long robes.

The man whimpered as he approached, his bright emerald eyes wide with fear.

“Don’t move,” Elias warned. “Keep your hands where I can see them. Try anything funny, and I’ll blow off your head.”

The man nodded and obeyed, raising his hands into the air. They were soft and doughy, much like his cheeks. Even from a brief glance, it was plain to see that this man was no fighter.

“Good,” Elias nodded, but didn’t lower his shotgun. “Now tell me your name.”

“A-ah,” The man fumbled with his words for a few moments before speaking, his voice tinged with traces of a foreign accent he couldn’t quite place. ”M-my name is Adrien. Adrien Stavros.”

“Adrien Stavros...” Elias tested the words on the words on his lips, trying to remember if he could remember anyone associated with Grigory Syrio with that name. “Are you a practitioner?”

“N-no,” Stavros stuttered out. “I-I’m just a curator for M-mister Syrio. I-I o-organize his collection.”

His eyes narrowed. “I see.” The man’s thoughts were murky. Though his surface emotions clearly radiated fear and panic, his inner thoughts were much harder to read. When he tried to move deeper into the man’s mind, his thoughts grew murkier and murker until it was like pushing through a thick, murky fog. But even with that, it was clear to see that the man was much more than he appeared. No mere curator would have such powerful mental defenses. “I think you should know something about me, Stavros. I don’t like people who lie to me.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Stavros visibly gulped in an apparently genuine expression of fear. “T-then I shall endeavor to be truthful to the best of my ability. May I help you, Mister…”

“My name is irrelevant,” Elias interrupted the question with a glare.  “But if you really are as you say, a curator, then perhaps you can help me with my problem. You see, I’m looking for a certain artifact that I believe is in this very room.”

“W-what sort of artifact are you looking for, M-mister??”

“A sword.”

“A s-sword?” The man blinked owlishly. “I...I’m afraid you will have to be more specific than that. M-Master Syrio has a considerable number of different swords in his collection. Is it an European style sword? An Eastern bla-”

“A two-handed  zweihänder, with a blade at least five feet from the hilt and ancient runes etched into the blackened steel.” Elias cut him off. Perhaps he could have been more polite, but he simply didn’t have the time to waste.  “Is there a blade here that fits that description?”

“I don-” The man hesitated for a moment, before wilting under the force of the demon summoner's glare. “Y-yes...I believe so.”

“Good.” Elias nodded again, the beginnings of a smile on the corner of his lips. “Now where is it?”

“I..I’m not sure if Master Syrio has the sword you’re looking for, but his sword collection...i-it’s over there in the drawer,” Stavros pointed over his shoulder to a series of locked metal drawers built into the wall.

The man didn’t seem to be lying. His thoughts were as murky as ever, but the man did seem to genuinely think he was telling the truth. Elias nodded and reached out his senses, his mind crossing the distance, delving into...

...only to recoil as something slammed into his mind with the force of a hammerblow. He grunted and raised a hand to his eyes, sharp pain ripping through his head. His eyes burned and his vision filled with a crimson color. Something warm was dripping down his face, staining the hand he had placed over his eyes-

Blood.

Blood seeped from his eyes, dripping down his face and staining his hands. Blood that was there because of his own stupidity, his own hastiness. Fool, utter fool. He should have expected this. He had expected this. But of course he just had to dive straight in without even bothering to check for even the most basic of traps.

Fool. Fool. Utter fool.

Even through his blurry vision, he could see Stravos had already gotten to his feet. The man was running away, scurrying across the room the lying little rat he was. He tried to aim his shotgun, but his vision was swimming and his head was light. The shot went wide into a bookshelf, scattering wood and paper fragments. Stravos didn’t look back and and only ran faster.

He tried to scream at the bastard, but he couldn’t. His lungs were frozen, paralyzed by a cloying chill.  He tried to focus, but his eyes were blurry and his head was spinning. The foreign magic was spreading rapidly through his body and mind, slipping its tendrils down into his very soul. Trapped, paralyzed and cold...

Without warning, a memory flashed through his mind. Standing in the midst of a frozen wasteland, a pair of unflinching crimson eyes staring into his own.

“You will never understand.”

His hands balled into fists, a feral howl erupting from his throat. He summoned his hate, his anger, his rage and channeled them into strength. His hands seized the chains within his soul with all his might and pulled with all his might, loosening them for an instant. Only an instant, but that instant was enough.

In the instant the chains loosened, releasing a rush of demonic energy from his soul. It filled his body with an explosive power and burned away the foreign magic. A bright incandescent light filled his eyes, casting the world in shades of molten gold. All his pain vanished in an instant and for a moment, he almost felt like...

But then the light faded and the power receded from his veins. His vision sharpened into focus and he was standing in the room once more.

Exhaling a shaky breath, he quickly turned to the direction where Stravos fled. A crimson portal had swirled to life in the distance, flooding the room with a dark, looming chill. But before he could even think about how to react, Stravos leapt through the swirling circle and then the portal disappeared behind him.

“Stavros, you-”

But the words died on his lips. His instincts flashed out in warning right before a blur of movement sped through in the corner of his left eye. He had scarcely a moment to dodge before a set of spectral claws carved across the space where his head had just been.

Another moment passed; no time to breath. His assailant swung again, spectral claws darting towards his chest. He twisted his body away and the claws instead rammed into his side, sparking against the protective enchantments aligned across the interior of his coat. It drove in for all of a millimeter before it was stopped.

But his coat did little to stop the sheer force behind his attacker’s blow. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, sending him across the room into a bookshelf. Tomes and books tumbled down from broken shelves. Dull pain radiated from his left shoulder. Even without looking, he could already tell the impact had dislocated said shoulder.

Gritting his teeth, Elias raised his head to look at his attacker properly for the first time. It was a pale humanoid a full head taller than he was. Its skin was inhumanly pale, almost translucent to the point that he could see the muscles and bones underneath. Its body was long and lithe, with jagged nails that appeared like bloody daggers, stained with dried blood. The upper portion of its face were wrapped tightly in an opaque cloth covered in strangely familiar sigils, exposing only its toothy maw, from which black saliva dripped.

The creature shambled wildly towards his direction, its footsteps inhumanly soft. It cocked its head from side to side, each time with an audible pop as black liquid seeped from neatly sliced sigils in its neck. Its steps gradually became a sprint and soon it was dashing at him full speed.

With a grunt, Elias raised his shotgun with his one remaining hand and braced the stock against his shoulder. The creature kicked off the ground in a lunge and he fired a barrage of shot into its chest. It sent it staggering back in a spray of the black liquid that served as its blood. He fired again and sent the creature crashing into a bookshelf. Then a third time, simply for good measure.

Rising to his feet, Elias dropped his shotgun and seized his shoulder with his right hand. He took a moment to prepare himself before forcefully wrenching it back into place. White-hot pain tore through his shoulders, but only for a moment. Just as quickly as it came, the pain disappeared in a soothing rush of relief.

He looked back to the creature rising to its feet and drew his magnum. Despite the shots he had fired, it was already recovering. Even as he watched, it was reknitting its wounds, the black liquid seeping back into its body and the wounds closing until not even a mark that remained on its translucent skin.

Such resilience was hardly uncommon among supernatural creatures, but the manner in which it...reconstructed itself was odd even amongst them. Then, there was that black liquid...but that was something he would have more time to think about later. He raised his magnum and prepared to attack, the beginnings of a makeshift plan already formed in his mind...

But then the creature did something that surprised even him.

It pressed its face into its hands, opening its mouth that sounded like something between a scream and a sob. Black tears seeped through his cloth-covered face, running down its cheeks. Its whole body seized up in a wracking cough, retching black bile from its throat. It raised its head to look at him, its covered eyes somehow peering into his own.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t sense any emotions from the creature. Even an inhuman mind would have some sort of emotion, especially from a creature he shot three times with a shotgun. But there was nothing. No anger, no rage, no hatred.

Where its emotions would be, there was only a dark and empty void.

An empty void...

Elias flinched, his eyes widening in sudden understanding.

“Void spawn.” The words passed through his lips in a curse.

He fired the magnum at the abomination, the bullet embedding into his target’s chest and sending it stumbling back. The creature tilted its head inquisitively at the hole in its chest, before the bullet went off and the creature exploded into a thousand bloody chunks that splattered all over the room.

Such a wound would have at least outright banished a considerable of the mystical creatures he knew, if not it didn’t kill them outright. But if the creature was what he suspected it was, it was not enough. It was not nearly enough.

As if to prove his point, the creature was already reforming before his eyes, streams of black liquid rushing along the floor towards the point where the creature had been. The tiny chunks of its pale flesh sailed across the room to join together in midair. A frigid atmosphere flooded the room, causing the once roaring hellfire to flicker and shrink.

Elias scowled and slowly backed away from the reforming corpse. The voidspawn was recovering faster than expected. The hellfire was delaying its regeneration, but it was already adapting, using its innate aura to weaken the flames. At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before the creature recovered entirely.

He needed a plan and he needed one fast. As it was, he stood little chance in a head-on confrontation. He didn’t have nearly enough firepower to put the creature down for good. Even if he fired all the remaining bullets in his magnum, he could only delay it for so long.

On the other hand, he didn’t necessarily have to kill the creature. There were a number of rituals he could use to bind or banish the void abomination back to the beyond where it came. But those rituals were complex workings that required a considerable amount of time and concentration to pull off. Even if he did somehow did have enough time, one stray mark, one misspoken phrase and the whole ritual could backfire in his face.

It was simply not a realistic option. His chances of successfully pulling off the ritual were close to zero. Was there anything else he could do?

Perhaps he could call Resiak to assist, but it would take some time for the demon to arrive. The protective wards around him would have prevented any sort of magic from being used to teleport directly into the vault. In addition, with the foes he would otherwise be holding off, they would only have a short window of time to deal with the void spawn before the rest of the guards arrived.

Their only realistic option thus...would be to run. To flee and leave the abomination for the guards to deal with. If Syrio was indeed the one who had summoned the creature, they should have some sort of countermeasures for dealing with it. Even Resiak would have been satisfied with all the destruction they had caused.

That would have been the smart decision, the sane decision and the decision he would have made any other time and in any other place. But...not this time. Not when there remained the possibility that the sword was indeed somewhere in this vault. If there was even the slightest chance, there was no way he could leave. Not until he had confirmed it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

But where could it be? There was no way he was going to be able to delay the creature long enough to search through the entire vault. With all these metal containers, a significant number of which would be magically protected, how could-

Elias froze in place, struck by an epiphany. Slowly, he turned to the place where Stavros had pointed to earlier.

Earlier when he was reading the man’s thoughts, all the evidence seemed to indicate that the man believed that he was indeed telling the truth. All this time, he had assumed that the man had somehow managed to fool his senses, but what if that wasn’t quite the case? Could it be possible that the man was telling the truth after all?

It was...certainly possible that the man had anticipated the possibility that his assailant would be able to detect lies. Such abilities were hardly uncommon in the supernatural world. So to be safe, instead of telling an outright lie, he decided to tell...a half-truth ? To tell the truth about the location of the swords, but simply neglect to mention the enchantments protecting the swords?

Admittedly it was only a possibility, but it was hardly one he could discount. Nor was it the first time he had encountered such a thing. Lies and half-truths were simply the way their world worked. Even if it was there was the slightest chance, it was still worth a shot.

Popping open the revolver cylinder, Elias took out one of his three remaining bullets. He flicked  the bullet into the air, and focused. In an instant, the enchantments within the bullet ignited into an explosion of flames, which swirled down in a circular motion into a flaming sphere above his open palm. He pointed his hand forward and the hellfire streamed towards the drawer.

The moment the flames touched the steel, the drawer melted. Guided by his will, the hellfire burned through steel and magic alike, rapidly eroding through whatever enchantments Syrio had layered within until there was a hole expanding through the surface of the steel.

His theory had proven to be correct. It seemed Stavros was indeed telling the truth after all.

Inside the drawer were a wide array of different blades from all over the world, from oriential Chinese jians carved of white jade and curved Japanese blades to ornate cavalry sabers and well-worn broadswords.

Then he saw it.

He moved towards the sword almost in a trance, the flames along his path parting at his command. His hand reached through the hole in the drawer, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the blade.

The moment his hand made contact with the sword, a jolt of energy ran into his hands, up his arm, through his body and down into his very core of his being. The demonic script engraved into the sword began to glow and the edge of the blade began to rapidly climb in temperature, causing the surrounding air to hiss and distort. The rattling chains within his soul loosened, allowing a steady trickle of energy into his body. His muscles tensed up, filling with an explosive power that simply begged to be unleashed.

But the moment he touched the sword, Elias understood the truth.

It was obvious that the blade was made in the image of his sword, as all the blades of its kind were. It was undoubtedly a fine weapon in its own right. The sheer power channeling through the blade was a testament to the ability and skill of its maker.

But this was not his sword.

Even as he examined the sword’s appearance, it only served to support this feeling. It was shorter, three-feet from the hilt where his sword had been five. The blade was thinner, the point more pronounced and the runes...the runes were all wrong.

As potent a vessel as this sword was, the power he channeled through the blade was only a fraction of his sealed potential. A mere shadow of what had been mighty. His chains may have loosened, but his soul remained bound.

With a resigned sigh, Elias closed his eyes and lowered the enchanted sword. It wasn’t his sword, but it would serve as a decent enough replacement. At the very least, he wouldn’t be leaving empty handed.  “Resiak. I have what I came for. We’re-”  A sudden pressure flooded the room, stopping his thoughts in their tracks. The chill intensified and the last of the flames disappeared, casting the room into darkness. “-leaving.”

Elias snapped to the void spawn, now standing exactly where it had been before. Not a mark remained on its translucent skin. The black liquid seeped from its neck as it always had. The only thing that was different...were its eyes, no longer covered by the opaque cloth.

He stared at the creature and the creature stared back, the dark bottomless pits staring into his own with an unerring focus. Black liquid seeped from the creature’s eyes, dripping down its face. A pale-white tongue extended from its toothy maw that black embers billowed out from.

Something was different about the creature. It was no longer shambling around. Its movements were now steady and precise, guided with a strange unerring focus. It was...as though he had been watching a sleepwalker the whole time and suddenly, it starting to wake up. But why? It couldn’t be-

That cloth.

The cloth that was covering the creature’s eyes...that was why the sigils seemed so familiar. He had seen it before and he knew what it was. That cloth was a seal that was keeping the creature restrained, likely keeping its mind asleep as its master puppeted commands for its body to follow.

Now the seal was broken and the creature was awake.

The abomination took a step forward and Elias raised his magnum. But before he could pull the trigger, the void spawn disappeared. Time and space distorted with a blink of an eye and suddenly the creature was right before his eyes, driving its claws into-

The claws slammed into his abdomen, knocking the air from his lungs. The revolver clattered from his hands. Suddenly, he was flying back, sailing through the air until his back slammed into the wall. Sharp pain erupted in his chest. The coppery-tang of blood filled his mouth.

Elias gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the sword. He called upon the explosive energies flowing through his veins and they responded to his will, rejuvenating his body in a burst of heat. His wounds reknit. His pain disappeared. He stabbed the sword into the ground and pushed himself to his feet. With a thought, he commanded the blade to ignite and it roared to life with a billowing flame.

Suddenly, his senses cried out a warning and he twisted to the side right before the creature drove its claws into the wall behind him. As the creature turned its head, he brought the burning sword down onto its arm in a vertical cut that severed it from the rest of the body. The severed arm exploded in a burst of sulfurous flames. Then, as the creature staggered back, he smoothly transitioned into a forward thrust aimed straight at the creature’s chest.

The sword plunged into its target, parting through flesh like a heated knife. Elias pressed forward to drive the blade deeper, before it vanished. He stumbled from the sudden loss of balance and shifted his foot forward to compensate. A blip flashed across his senses and his eyes snapped to the creature now standing a few dozen meters away at his right.

The creature looked down at its stump of an arm. Then at the hole in its chest. Both wounds cauterized by his heat of his blade. It raised its head to look at him, something flickering through its black eyes. Then it disappeared again, reappearing from...above.

His reflexes kicked in and Elias twisted away, barely avoiding the creature's foot as it smashed into the ground, moving even faster than before. As he dodged he used the momentum of his rotation to retaliate with a diagonal slash. But before his blade could make contact with the creature, it disappeared again. Elias turned around, senses cried out in warning and suddenly the creature was right before him, its claws swinging towards his exposed face.

He whipped his head back just in time and the creature’s claws scraped across his cheek. When the creature swung again, this time Elias kicked off the ground, leaping away from the creature in a burst of speed. When he was a safe distance away, he raised a hand to his stinging cheek. Despite the warm blood trickling from the cut, the surrounding skin was deathly cold. It was like...that of a corpse.

“Seven hells,” He cursed before raising the sword into a defensive stance. The cloying chill of the void was just as he remembered it. Even with the sword allowing access to some measure of his sealed vitality, he was still only a shadow of what he had been. If he had been a second slower and creature somehow landed a solid blow...

Suddenly, the creature raised its head. The muscles on its face tightened with concentration. The black liquid seeping from the creature’s neck suddenly began to rise into the air, streaming into its toothy maw. His eyes widened as he realized just what the creature was doing. Without a second to spare, he stabbed the burning sword into the ground, causing a barrier of flames to erupt from the ground just before-

The creature screamed, a tide  of dark energy erupting from its mouth and washing over the room. It crashed against his barrier and his flames flared in response, beating furiously against the encroaching void. But even with all the heat around him, his hands were clammy and cold. They shook as a frigid chill washed over his body, seeping through his skin, into his muscles and down into his bones.

The fire dimmed and his knees buckled under him. His limbs grew heavy as he continued to funnel his energy into the blade. Even his vision began to fade. But he refused to fall.

This would not end here. This would not end here.

With a snarl erupting from his throat, Elias forced himself to rise. He drew on his anger, his hate, his rage and fed these emotions as kindling into the fire. The renewed flames roared and pushed against the dark. But the numbness continued to spread until…

The tide of darkness passed.

The tension fell from Elias’ body and he collapsed to his knees, panting heavily. He could sense the creature walking towards him, its footsteps tapping softly against the ground. But he couldn’t move. His muscles ached, burning with exertion and his whole body was numb and hurting all over. He couldn’t move and the creature knew that.

It wrapped its cold fingers around his throat and lifted him into the air. He tried to twist away, striking against the creature with his hands, but his blows were slow and feeble. The creature’s hands tightened, clamping around his neck like an iron chain. It closed in tighter and tighter until it clamped around his windpipes and suddenly he couldn’t breath at all. His vision swam, blurring with streams of white and black and red until…

A familiar voice whispered in his ear.

His lips quirked into a ghost of a smile. A blur of green streaked across his vision. The sound of a blade slicing through flesh. The iron grip around his neck loosened and he toppled to the floor, wheezing and gasping for breath. Slowly, his vision returned into focus.

“...took you long enough.”

He pulled the abomination’s hands from his neck, the skin freezing cold even through the fabric of his glove. His eyes looked up. Resiak floated in the air before him, covered with blood and gore and his cloak ridden with holes. His face was a blur through his hazy vision, but he knew the demon was grinning. The wave of ecstatic joy radiating from his mind could be mistaken for nothing else.

“My apologies, Elias.” The demon dipped his head in a mocking bow. “I came as swiftly as I could, but the...traffic was heavier than I had anticipated.”

“Nevertheless…” His yellow eyes surveyed the burning room, a touch of amusement entering his tone. “I must say, I quite enjoy what you’ve done with the vault. I can only imagine the face of our mutual friend once he learns of this most fortunate event.”

Elias snorted and began to push himself to his feet. Resiak extended a hand which he took and helped him to his feet. The demon’s eyes flickered over his form, before settling on the shining runes upon the sword he as holding.

“That sword of yours...is this what you were trying to find?”

“No.” Elias admitted with a sigh  “But...it’s a decent enough blade. I figured it would be a shame to leave it here to rust in this dusty old vault.”

“Quite so,” The red-cloaked demon smiled viciously, before turning back to the abomination which was now beginning to reform its head. “It is indeed a marvelous blade. But now to the situation at hand. I don’t suppose you have a plan for dealing with this...creature?”

“No,” Elias said, resting the blade on his shoulder. He walked over to retrieve his revolver and holstered it securely into his coat. “But I don’t need one. Now that I have what I came for, there’s no reason for us to remain here. As for this creature...I imagine the guards be arriving quite soon.” He plastered a smile on his face that he didn’t quite feel. “When they do...we’ll have quite a surprise waiting for them.”

A small, irrational part of him couldn’t help but wonder if he was making the right choice. Leaving the human guards to deal with the abomination...simply didn’t feel right. But why now after all this time? With everything he had already and all the blood on his hands, what did a few more stains matter? It...it was the way it had always been, the way...

“You are a most generous man, my friend.” The bloodstained demon chuckled mirthfully, shaking him from his thoughts. “If only you were born a demon…”

Elias chuckled tiredly as well, but not for the same reasons as the demon. If only Resiak knew the true irony of that statement...but he doubted the demon would be laughing then. Perhaps there would come a day when he told the demon the truth of what he truly was...but today was not that day.

Resiak snapped his silver fingers and the air around them began to swirl with demonic energy. Reality twisted and distorted and the world around them began to disappear.

Elias closed his eyes and allowed the exhaustion to consume him. His vision disappeared into a swirl of light and shadows and he could feel himself falling back into a pair of arms. Idly, he felt himself itching for a cigarette. Perhaps...

And then they were gone.